Blogger Girl (7 page)

THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS
went by fast and I counted the days until my high school reunion with the dread of an inmate on death row. I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do about the review of
Cut
on the Bias
and figured Hannah would ask me about it at the reunion. The plan was to maintain a distant eye on her and then
coincidentally
find myself on the opposite side of the room at all times. Bridget promised to play co-lookout. To buy time and maintain some semblance of professionalism, I had returned Candy’s email indicating that I was extremely backlogged with book reviews (fact) but that I would try to move things around so I could read and review Hannah’s novel prior to its publication date (fiction).

I was also doing my best to avoid face-to-face contact with Nicholas. If I had no chance with him, I really had no interest in being his friend. It would be too hard to pretend to be platonic when each time we made eye contact, my pulse quickened, my face warmed, I felt light-headed and my stomach flip-flopped. The only way to avoid it was to avoid
him
. When I felt him walk by my desk or heard Rob on the phone asking him to stop by, I either began typing on my computer at a frantic pace or feigned a very important telephone call with the dial tone until he was safely out of sight. If Rob called me into his office while he was meeting with Nicholas, I focused my attention solely on Rob even though I always felt Nicholas’ eyes on me. I felt kind of bad for the guy considering he hadn’t technically done anything wrong except not want to date me, but it was for self-preservation.

I had spent most of the morning waiting for a huge color copy job for one of Rob’s cases. Ever since one of the copy guys misunderstood Rob’s instructions to collate the copies as making 100 copies of page one, 100 copies of page two, etc. rather than 100 copies of pages 1-20, Rob insisted I oversee his big jobs. So as to not be a distraction, I stood off to the side, reading
First Star I See Tonight
, a paranormal chick lit novel. Every so often I looked up from my Kindle to gauge their progress. I was on the last page and surprised by how much I had enjoyed the read since books where the characters had special powers like, in this case, the ability to travel through time, often fell short for me. Sensing someone watching me, I closed my Kindle, glanced up and saw 6’5” Tomas hovering over me with a stack of pages the length of his very long torso.

“Finished?”

Glancing at me and then lifting and lowering the papers in his arms, Tomas said, “All done. But you gonna be able to carry this yourself? I can help you. Or at least get you a box.”

I hated when people associated my lack of height for my lack of strength. I was my family’s resident jar opener despite being the smallest. I put out my hands palms up. “Try me.”

Tomas chuckled. “Okay. If you insist,” he said before transferring possession of the documents. He kept his hands beneath mine as if he thought the papers would slip right through my fingers.

The second the paper made contact with my skin, I felt my biceps burn and regretted my sense of independence. Pride kept me from reconsidering Tomas’ offer for help and so I choked out, “Got it. But can you open the door for me and press the elevator button please?” There was no way I was taking the stairs from the 23
^rd
to 24
^th
floor while carrying the weight of a small country.

Holding the papers, I carefully followed Tomas to the elevator which had answered my prayers and arrived immediately. I smiled at Tomas as the door closed. “Thanks!”

By the time the elevator opened on the 24
^th
floor, I was in serious pain and afraid I would lose all feeling in my arms, drop the papers and wind up spending the rest of the day on the floor putting them back in the correct order. I walked as fast as I could to Rob’s office, quite the challenge since I could barely see over the documents and, out of breath, placed them on his desk. I momentarily kept a hand on either side of the stack in case the papers fell. Without looking up, I said, “Oh my fucking God. That was heavy.”

I heard a cackle behind me, turned around and saw Nicholas sitting in Rob’s guest chair looking at me beguilingly.
It figures.
At least this time my face was hot from sweating and not merely my body’s reaction to being in the same room as him.

The moment it occurred to me that I was sweating and Nicholas was in the room, I brushed a damp hair away from my brow and turned back to Rob. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Rob leaned back in his chair, his arms clasped behind his head. “Watch the language, Long. Good thing I don’t have a client in here.”

I began backing my way out of his office and said, “I’m going downstairs for lunch. And next time, we’re hiring a body builder to carry your enormous copy jobs.”

“Enjoy your lunch,” Rob said. “And by the way, Tomas called and said you insisted on carrying them yourself. Dumb ass.”

Defeated, I gave a half-hearted shrug and walked out.

Fifteen minutes later, the feeling had returned to my hands and I was happily eating my salad while writing a blog post.

***

I will never understand why the final three always act so surprised when they read the card from Chris Harrison inviting them to forego their individual rooms to spend the night as a couple in the Fantasy Suite. Are we really supposed to believe these girls haven’t been watching the show for the past eleven years?

***

“Want company?”

I looked up from my note pad to see Nicholas staring down at me. I was mid-chew so I quickly swallowed and nodded. “Sure.”

Nicholas sat down and while he removed his plates of food from the tray to make more room on the table, I drank him in. I knew I was supposed to avoid face-to-face contact but he was within touching distance and I couldn’t help but stare.

When he was finished organizing the table, he frowned at me. “You mad at me or something?”

I absently scratched my head. “No. Why?”

Nicholas shrugged. “I feel like you’re avoiding me. You practically run in the opposite direction whenever you see me.”

“Not true!” Okay, so it was true but a) I couldn’t exactly tell him that and b) he looked genuinely sad. “Sorry about that. Been really busy lately. Nothing personal. Promise.” I crossed my fingers behind my back.

“Okay, good.” He smiled and cut into his quarter roasted chicken. Glancing at my note pad, he said, “What are you working on?”

“A blog post. Just a silly recap of
The Bachelor
. I’m comparing the three hot messes who are still competing for the final rose. I take it you don’t watch the show?”

A hint of pink painting Nicholas’ cheeks, he said, “Don’t laugh, but I’ve watched it. Only under severe pressure from the female persuasion though.”

I felt my heart drop as I wondered if he was referring to the pretty blonde girl from the elevator. “Well, maybe you’ll appreciate my blog then.”

“I just might. How do you find the time to do all of this with a full time job?”

Tapping my hand lightly over his, I said, “I thought you read my blog post on juggling!” I mentally kicked myself for flirting. The plan was to get over him if I couldn’t get
under
him.

Nicholas smiled. “I did. But refresh my memory.”

“Rob knows that I won’t let my job suffer as a result of the blog so as long as I’m caught up on stuff, he doesn’t mind if I write during the day. He also knows I’m in a better mood after I’ve written a post. My mood is elevated after writing a blog post or even a review. I don’t know what it is but I’d probably compare it to runner’s high if I had ever actually experienced runner’s high.” I realized that Nicholas was staring at me and felt a rush of heat through my body. “Anyway, I make the time because I love doing it.”

Studying me, Nicholas said, “I think it’s very cool that you’re so passionate about it. Ever thought about writing a book?”

I placed a piece of hair behind my ear. “Writing a book review and writing a book are two totally different animals.”

“True. I figured after reading so many books, you might have some ideas of your own though. Especially since you’re such a good writer.”

I gave him a timid smile. “That’s nice of you to say. But book writing is not for me.”

Nodding, Nicholas said, “Duly noted. So, on to new topics. Been emailing your newest friend on Facebook?” Nicholas asked with a glint in his eye.

“Not exactly. And by the way, what makes you think she’s my newest friend? You don’t think I’ve had any friend requests since then?” I teased, silently cursing myself for flirting.
Again
.

Nicholas put down his knife and fork. “I know you have.”

I looked at him curiously. “You know I have
what?
”

Holding my glance, he said, “I know you’ve had at least one friend request since then. Have you been on Facebook yet today?”

I stared at him a second before reaching into my handbag for my phone. When I clicked on Facebook, I saw that I had in fact received a new friend request. I looked at him again before opening the request.

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

I opened the request.
Nicholas Strong wants to be friends on Facebook.
From his profile picture, Nicholas’ brown eyes peered at me and his sexy smile seemed to say, “Come hither.” I looked back at him, my heart beating rapidly.

Laughing, he said, “I hope accepting my request won’t be as difficult as your friend from high school.”

“Hannah is
not
my friend,” I argued. “But of course not.” I secretly wished it wouldn’t be rude to confirm the request later, after I had untagged myself from all unflattering pictures and brainstormed the decision with Bridget and Caroline.

“Cool,” he said taking a bite of chicken.

“Speaking of which, I found out why Hannah friended me in the first place.” If Nicholas insisted on being “friends,” I figured there was no harm in giving him an update.

Nicholas dropped his fork and smiled. “So it wasn’t to reminisce all your good times back in senior high?”

“Not so much,” I said, shaking my head.

Nicholas leaned forward. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath as I prepared to tell the story again. “My friend Jonathan told me she’s writing a book. A chick lit book.” I gave Nicholas a knowing look. “You make the connection.”

Understanding washed over Nicholas’ face. “Oh. You think she’s hoping for a great review, huh?”

Nodding, I said, “I
know
she is.”

After downing the rest of his water and chewing a piece of ice, Nicholas said, “I agree. She’s definitely trying to work you. Can you blame her though? I mean, she knows you, apparently you have some clout in the biz, why not?”

Despite being humored by his use of the word “biz,” this was not what I wanted to hear. 

“What’d she say when she asked you?” Nicholas asked.

“She didn’t. She’s way too slick for that. Or at least she thinks she is. But she friended me on Facebook the same week I received an email from her PR person asking me to review the book. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

Nicholas smirked. “Doubtful. You must be at least a little curious about the book though, no?”

I threw my napkin on my plate. “Not even a little bit.”

Nicholas laughed. “Okay, then.” Glancing at his watch, he returned his empty plates to the tray and stood up. Smiling he said, “Once again, you have distracted me into taking way too long of a lunch break.”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I could use the distraction,” he said with a wink before walking away.

As I watched him disappear into the crowd, I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face until, paranoid that people might be watching me, I looked around, cleared my throat and turned back to my blog post.

***

At home later, after I unwound with some television and read a few chapters of the newest book in my queue, I did what I had been willing myself not to do ever since I got back to my desk after lunch. I logged onto Facebook to check out Nicholas’ profile.

I appreciated that Facebook could be a wonderful thing. I had reunited with old friends from senior high and college and gotten back in touch with colleagues from my days at the advertising agency and my first law firm. I was able to easily keep in touch with friends who resided too far away to actually see on any regular basis. And, of course, Facebook was great for promoting
Pastel is the New Black
. But in some ways, I truly believed Facebook was created by Satan as a way to turn completely sane people into obsessed stalkers. I had seen it happen to my friends and didn’t want to join them in their insanity. What good could come out of seeing what other girls wrote on Nicholas’ wall? I knew that I would start hypothesizing his relationships with these women and even though I’d have no way of really knowing what was real and what was invented by my overactive, not to mention paranoid, imagination, it wouldn’t matter. If Facebook suggested he was dating or hooking up with someone, I would believe it. On the flip side, what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

But I did it anyway.

Holding my breath, my eyes immediately went to the top of his profile page under relationship status. When I saw it said “single,” I allowed myself a small exhale. So even if he was dating the girl from the Shake Shack it probably wasn’t serious.
At least not yet.
I twirled some hair around my finger and put it in my mouth. Then I checked to see how many friends he had. 972. Almost three times the number of friends I had. I shook my head in disbelief and spit the hair out of my mouth. I held my hand steady on the mouse while I contemplated what to look at next. Pictures. The first was a picture of him asleep at his desk with a cute caption about sleeping in the office again. He looked so peaceful when he slept and I wished I could reach into the computer and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. I chewed on my cuticles as I wondered who had taken the picture. Was it another associate or had he brought someone with him to the office late at night? In the second picture, Nicholas sat in a rocking chair with a toddler on his lap. The adorable, chubby-faced toddler was wearing a Duke baseball cap. From the comments, all girls of course, I deduced that it was his nephew. The next few pictures were of him at a bar or a party with some friends making funny faces and clearly having a grand ole time and when he smiled, I felt like he was smiling at me. Not only was he beyond painfully cute to look at in person, he was photogenic too. Somehow I doubted that, like me, he only posted those pictures that made him look good. I had a feeling he always came out good in pictures.
The bastard.
I frowned at the screen until my eyes were drawn to one of the pictures of Nicholas with his friends, one friend in particular: a tanned blonde girl wearing white denim shorts and a red and white checkered sleeveless shirt knotted at the navel. I was positive she was the girl from the elevator and Shake Shack. I frantically scrolled through his list of friends until I found her thumbnail picture. Mary Jones.
Could she have a more generic name?
I clicked on her picture but her profile was private and I couldn’t find anything that would tell me whether she was dating Nicholas, just his friend or his friend with benefits. I had one of those, why wouldn’t he? Feeling a headache coming on, I pressed my fingers to my temples until I forced myself to snap out of it. The only way to know for sure what this girl meant to Nicholas was to straight out ask him. And I had no intention of doing any such thing. According to Facebook, Nicholas was single. That was all I needed to know for the time being.