“Reed Eastwood’s office. How may I help you?” I answered the phone via my headset and took another giant stride into my next lunge as I waited for the caller to speak. It was my lunch hour, but no one was around to answer the phone, so I’d eaten the salad I’d brought at my desk and then proceeded to do lunges and squats in my office. If the president of the United States could find time to exercise, damn it, so could I.
“Is he in?” the caller snapped.
I scrunched up my nose at the attitude from the woman on the other end of the phone and pushed farther down onto my back toe to tighten the lunge. “No. Mr. Eastwood won’t be back until later this afternoon. Can I take a message or assist you with making an appointment?”
The breath of sour air on the other end of the line sighed loudly. “Where is he?”
What a bitch. I stood between lunges. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. But I’d be happy to assist you by setting up an appointment or taking a message.”
“Tell him to call Allison as soon as he gets in.”
I knew the answer but asked anyway. “May I have your last name and ask what this is in reference to, please?”
Another loud sigh—although somehow I doubted it was because she was doing lunges on her lunch hour while answering a phone and trying to hold her patience with a rude person on the other end. “Baker, and it’s in reference to our honeymoon.”
Well, that last bit of information was confusing. “Umm . . . okay.”
Click.
The bitch had hung up on me.
“Well, you have a nice day, too,” I mumbled.
After that, I plugged my headset into my iPhone, turned the music up, and lunged with renewed vengeance.
Chin up.
Chest lifted.
Back straight.
Long stride.
Heel pointed to the ceiling.
And . . .
Hold positioning. God, that woman had nerve. What the hell did she have to be so pissy about? She’d had it all—the feather dress, the gorgeous and wealthy fiancé, a man who wrote her romantic notes. I should be the pissy one. What did I have? Her bad-luck dress that I couldn’t zip, no man in my life, and her romantic fiancé had turned into a man that now wrote hate notes on his same haughty stationery.
Bitch.
What a bitch.
I’d been lunging around my office for at least a half hour, and my legs were starting to give. Deciding to call it quits, I took one last lunge, closed my eyes, and held my position until beads of sweat formed on my brow and my legs began to shake.
After a minute or two of strenuous balancing, I had the strange sense of being watched. My eyes flashed open to find I wasn’t wrong. The door to my office was wide open, and Reed was staring at me. Startled by the unexpected visitor, I lost my footing and fell straight on my ass.
Reed was at my side practically before I hit the floor. “Jesus, Charlotte. What the hell? Are you okay?”
I slapped away his extended hand and ripped off my headset. “No. I’m not okay. You barged in here and scared me half to death. And this isn’t the first time you’ve knocked me over.”
His brows lifted. “I didn’t barge in here. I knocked. You didn’t answer. So I let myself in to leave something on your desk. Maybe if you were a little more connected with the world going on around you, you would’ve been aware of my presence sooner. What the hell were you doing anyway?”
“Lunges.”
“Why?”
“So my ass won’t look like cottage cheese, that’s why.”
Reed closed his eyes, mumbled something, and shook his head. “I didn’t mean why would you perform lunges in general. I do understand the theory of exercising. I meant, why were you doing them in your office in the middle of the day?”
I stood from the floor and dusted off my hands and skirt. “Because if the president has enough time, so do I.”
“I have no fucking clue what that means.”
I glared at him. “What did you need, Reed?” Although I was annoyed, I also couldn’t help myself. Unintentional rhymes were just funny. I cracked a small smile that I thought I’d hid pretty well.
Reed squinted at me. “You just amused yourself with a rhyme, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Good guess.” I flaunted a full-blown grin at how entertaining I could be.
He rolled his eyes, but I could see the corners of his lips twitch. “I’ll just leave you the invoices that I need processed.” Reed made his way to my desk and then turned back to the door. I’d almost forgotten all about the phone call that had lit a fire under my exercise routine.
“Umm . . . you had a call while you were gone. I didn’t get to email you the details since I was in the middle of my lunch lunges when it came in.”
“That’s fine. You can just tell me. Who was it?”
I locked eyes with him to watch his reaction. “Allison Baker.”
Reed’s jaw flexed, and a scowl marred his handsome face. “Thank you.”
He turned and headed for the door again. But I never could leave well enough alone. “She said to tell you it was in regard to your honeymoon.”
Hours later, I felt bad about the way that I’d treated Reed. I hadn’t even asked him if he’d gone to his audition last night, and then I’d zinged him with news about a subject that I knew was a sore one, just so I could watch his face. Basically, I was rude because I was jealous from that one stupid call from Allison.
As I started to close down my computer for the night, I noticed the green dot was lit next to his name on the company internal email, which meant he was still signed on, too. Without overthinking it, I typed using the chat feature.
Charlotte: Hi. I was just about to head out for the night. Can I do anything for you before I leave? Some coffee or anything?
A minute later, a response popped up.
Reed: No, thank you. I’m good.
I chewed on my nail for a minute, then typed:
Charlotte: Are you busy? Can I ask you something?
Reed: Not busy at all. Just doing lunges in my office.
My eyes widened.
Charlotte: Really??
Reed: Of course not, Charlotte. What kind of a nutjob do you think I am?
I actually laughed out loud at that response.
Charlotte: So . . . about that question . . .
Reed: Spit it out, Darling.
Of course, my last name was Darling, and people had called me by it often growing up. But when I read that last sentence, I’d read it as Reed calling me darling—as in, honey, sweetie, baby, darling. I smiled to myself, liking the sound of that, and closed my eyes to try to hear Reed’s deep voice calling me darling without it being capitalized.
When I reopened my eyes, there was a new message on my screen from Reed.
Reed: I hope you know I was calling you Darling as in your last name . . . not darling as in the term of endearment.
As much as the thought would kill him, there were a lot of times that our minds were simpatico. I decided to feed him his own line.
Charlotte: Of course not, Reed. What kind of a nutjob do you think I am?
Reed: Touché.
Charlotte: Anyway, about those questions . . .
Reed interrupted with another message as I typed.
Reed: So now it’s “questions,” not “question”?
I ignored him.
Charlotte: How did your audition go last night?
Reed: I was starting to worry about you. It’s been almost twenty-four hours, and you hadn’t asked yet.
Charlotte: Aww . . . that’s sweet. You worry about me. So how did it go? Did you make it to the next round?
Reed: I went. But I didn’t try out.
Charlotte: What? Why?
Reed: To be honest, I’m not good enough. I listened to some of the auditions and realized that it would take hard work to get myself to the point where I would have a legitimate chance of making it.
I was disappointed. But it sounded like he’d at least done some soul-searching by going.
Charlotte: There’s always next year. Start on some lessons!
Reed: Maybe I’ll do that. And thank you, Charlotte. As much as you annoyed the crap out of me over this, I actually did enjoy going to watch the auditions.
Charlotte: You’re welcome. Glad I could put my annoying-as-crap skills to good use and be of some service.
Reed: It’s late. Why don’t you go home?
I didn’t think he was asking a question that he wanted an actual answer to, yet I answered out loud talking to my computer. “Because I have nothing to rush home to.”
Charlotte: Can I ask you one more question?
Reed: Why of course. I love personal questions at seven at night that interrupt me while I’m working.
Charlotte: I’m going to guess you meant that sarcastically, but I’ll ask it anyway. Where were you planning to go on your honeymoon?
Reed didn’t respond. After a few minutes, the green light turned red, indicating that he’d signed off the company email. I’d clearly overstepped our invisible boundaries again. So I finished shutting down my computer and packed up my desk. I was surprised when Reed appeared at my door, although at least I didn’t fall over this time.
He had his jacket over his arm and his leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Hawaii,” he said. “We were going to honeymoon in Hawaii.”
I must’ve made a face without realizing it.
He arched a brow. “You don’t approve?”
“I’m sure it’s beautiful. I just . . . I figured you for something a little more unique. Hawaii doesn’t seem to suit you.”
Reed scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “What does suit me?”
I gave it some real thought before answering. “Africa. Maybe a safari.”
He smiled. “That’s actually where I wanted to go on our honeymoon.”
“I take it Allison didn’t?”
“No. Allison’s idea of a great vacation consists of a five-star spa with daily massages and tanning on the beach while drinking fruity drinks with umbrellas out of a coconut.”
“So you did what she wanted to do?”
“I compromised. Her initial choice was worse. At least in Hawaii, I could rock climb while she sunned herself on the beach.”
“You rock climb?”
“I used to.”
“Why did you stop?”
Reed shook his head. “Good night, Charlotte.”
I loved working with Iris. Not only did I learn new facets of the business every time she involved me in a project but also I felt a real woman-to-woman connection with her. When she asked how things were going, I believed she really wanted to hear the answer, unlike most people.
We’d just finished compiling quarterly financial numbers to send over to the accountant when she asked, “How are things at work, Charlotte? Are you happy here so far?”
That was probably one of the only questions that I didn’t have to ponder the answer to. “I love it here. I’m really happy, Iris. I’ve been meaning to tell you that. I know you took a big risk by hiring me, and to be honest, I probably didn’t take the job for the right reasons initially, except for that I knew you were a woman I wanted to be around. But I’m learning a lot, and this job feels right for me. I want to learn more. I want to learn everything!”
Iris chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that, dear. We all feel your enthusiasm. You’ve really invigorated the office. How about your art? Are you still working at it?”
“I am. And I think I finally found its place in my life. I always thought my dream job would be to work with clay all day. But I’m finding that I enjoy it much more when I use it to relax and escape.”
“That’s wonderful. And my grandsons? How are things going with them?”
“Well, things with Max are great. He’s really sweet.”
She lowered her reading glasses to the tip of her nose and looked at me over them. “And my other grandson?”
I shrugged. “Well, yesterday he knocked me over, and I chatted with his ex-fiancée about their honeymoon, so I probably should answer that things aren’t going that well.”
Iris blinked twice. “Come again?”
I laughed. “Well, technically he didn’t physically knock me over. He just scared me while I was lunging. And my chat with his ex consisted of her huffing a lot and being rude before she hung up in my ear.”
Iris smiled. “That sounds like Allison.”
“But on the other hand, I got him to go to church twice, and tonight I have my first climbing lesson, so I guess you could say that even though he’ll never admit it, we sort of have influenced each other in a positive way.”
“Church? Climbing? I think you need to back up a bit, dear. You lost me after Allison acting like a bitch.”
“Well, it all started with my Fuck-It List. Excuse my French. You actually helped inspire the start of the list. After our long talk in the ladies’ room and you giving me this great new job, I decided to make a list of things that I wanted to do.”
“Like a bucket list.”
“Yes. Except I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, so I called it a fuck-it list.”
“Creative. Go on.”
“Well, long story short, I told Reed about my list, and one night I found that he’d started his own list.”
Something in Iris’s face changed. “My grandson made a bucket list?”
“Yeah. I know. I couldn’t believe it, either. But that’s how I found out about his secret dream of singing in the choir. So I did some research and found out that the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir had tryouts coming up and told Reed about it.”
Iris looked pretty shocked. “And he went?”
“He did. Twice. He didn’t wind up trying out because he needs to work on his voice, but I think it was nice that he went. And I added rock climbing to my list after he said he was a climber. I’ve always wanted to try it. It seems like a badass hobby.”
“Reed is taking you rock climbing?”
“Oh. No. I said we’re tolerating each other and influencing from a distance. I think we’re a long way off from playdates. He just mentioned it was a hobby of his, and I thought I’d check it out. I found an open class over on Sixty-Second Street that starts tonight at seven.”
“I see. Well, as long as he isn’t being difficult for you.”
“He’s not. It’s funny, the harder he tries to be difficult, the more I see that it’s a wall he puts up to keep people out. I know it’s none of my business, but I have the urge to slap that Allison for whatever she did to him.”
A warm smile spread across Iris’s face. “You’ve got my grandson’s number. Do me a favor? Don’t give up on him. I promise if he lets you in, it’s worth all the effort. Even if it’s just friendship.”
Since we were done for the day, I cleaned up the papers spread out all over the table in her office and said good night. Iris stopped me on the way out.
“Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“One last thing. If we ever have the opportunity to slap that Allison, you’ll have to get in line behind me.”
I grinned from ear to ear. “No problem. Have a good night, Iris.”
