From Reddit:
Subject: Can I sue?
My company was just bought by Thayer
Industries, THE MOST EVIL COMPANY in all of Boston. I was seven months pregnant
at the time, and they let me go. Two weeks of severance pay. I was supposed to
have a paid maternity leave, but obviously that was off the table. I tried to
see the CEO, Lucas Thayer, to plead my case, but he wouldn’t even give me an
appointment. As a result of all the stress, I went into early labor. My son has
had complications as a result.
Can I sue him? Because believe me,
that asshole deserves it.
In
addition to my Chanel suit, I wear a lot more makeup the next day. A lot more. Even as I was applying the
eyeliner and blinking away the little black specks that got into my eye, I didn’t
know why I was making such an effort. I guess there’s a part of me that will
always sort of want to impress Luke.
Jenna
immediately notices the difference when I walk into the office. “Why are you wearing
so much makeup?” she asks.
“Um,”
I say. “I’m sort of… I’m meeting Luke Thayer for lunch today.”
Her
eyes widen. “Oh!”
“It’s
not…” I feel my face turning red. “It’s a business lunch. I’m going to explain
our project to him and why it’s worthwhile.”
“Oh,”
Jenna says, although she doesn’t seem like she believes me. “Well, in that
case, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but…”
“What?”
“I
think you need to wipe off some of your eye makeup.”
My
hand flies to my face. “Too much?”
She
nods soberly. “You kind of look like a hooker.”
Well,
great.
Jenna
accompanies me to the bathroom to fix my makeup. She’s fantastic at doing
makeup… If this computer programming thing doesn’t work out for her, she could
easily be a cosmetologist. She gives my eyes a certain smokiness that ups my
sexy factor by at least two or three.
“There!”
she declares. “You look super sexy!”
I
roll my eyes. “I’m not trying to look sexy. This is a business lunch. Purely business.”
“Sure
it is.” Jenna grins at the look on my face. “Hey, I don’t blame you. I’m sure
the rumors about him being a total asshole are exaggerated. And either way, he’s
really hot in the pictures.”
“I
hadn’t noticed,” I mumble.
“You
would kind of have to if you’re not dead. You’re not dead, are you, Ellie?”
I
avert my eyes. I wonder what Jenna would say if I told her Luke was in a
wheelchair. I don’t want to be the one to tell her—it doesn’t feel like my
place. I’m not sure why though. It’s not like it’s a secret.
Luke
told me to come to his office at noon, so I arrive at 11:55, hoping he’ll
appreciate how punctual I am. I can’t help but notice his assistant Michelle is
freaking gorgeous. She’s got that tall and slim but curvy physique, like all
the Barbie dolls I used to see Luke dating in college. She also can’t be any
older than twenty-five.
I
wonder if Luke is sleeping with her. I watch the way they interact together
when she brings me into his office, trying to figure out if there’s anything
flirtatious between them. But Luke has that stone-faced mask on at all times.
No flirting, that’s for sure.
Yet
another thing that’s changed about Luke. He used to flirt like breathing. No
one was immune.
Not
even me.
“Here
I am!” I declare. My voice tremors slightly. “Right on time.”
“Yes.”
Luke has his eyes on his computer screen and barely looks at me. Which I
suppose is fair. Yes, I was on time. Do I want a medal? “All right. Let’s get
going.”
When
we head down in the elevator, I assume there will be some sort of limousine or
car service picking us up at the entrance. So it’s a surprise when we go all
the way down to the basement.
“Where
are we going?” I ask.
Luke
gives me a strange look. “My car. I parked in the garage.”
“Your
car?” I say. “You drive?”
He
narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t look so astonished.”
I
wince. Luke is my new boss, and right now, I’m batting zero. I’ll be lucky if
he hasn’t fired me by the end of this lunch. “I just… I thought you would have,
you know, a driver or something.”
“Well,”
he says, “I don’t.”
I
watch Luke push himself out of the elevator, trying to figure how he’s going to
be able to drive a car. I mean, obviously people with disabilities can drive.
But how can he do it with limited hand function?
Luke’s
car is a sleek black Tesla, parked in one of the handicap spots right near the
entrance to the garage. It’s probably the most expensive car in the lot—not
that I’m surprised. He hooks his fingers into the handle of the driver’s side
door, fumbling to get it open, and I blurt out, “Do you need any help?”
Luke
freezes and stares up at me. “Excuse
me?”
I’m
blushing so hard, even my toes must be red. I need to stop talking completely.
“I mean—”
He
folds his arms across his chest. “What? You think I need help getting into my
own car?”
“No,”
I say quickly.
He
arches an eyebrow. “You think I would drive myself to work without any way of
getting myself back in the car to leave?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well,
you just said that.”
He’s
got me there. He’s as good at beating me an argument as he was back in college.
Thankfully, he shakes his head and doesn’t press the matter further.
He
climbs into the car without too much trouble, as it turns out. I watch as he
lifts himself from his wheelchair into the front seat—first his body, then he
pulls his legs along with him. Then he pops the wheels off his chair and tosses
them behind him into the back seat. I get in beside him and do my best not to
stare.
As
he starts up the car, I notice he’s slouching a bit. In college, Luke used to
have a ramrod-straight spine, to the point where I felt like I could put a book
on his head in the morning and it would still be there in the evening. But now
it’s like he has no muscles at all in his trunk. I can tell he’s aware of it
because he frequently pushes his hand against his thigh to straighten himself
out. Although to be honest, he may still have better posture than me.
It
must kill him to know he’s not perfect anymore. Maybe that’s why he’s so cold
now. Heartless.
He
places his right hand on what seems to be an accelerator of some sort. There’s
no hesitation in his movements—he’s very comfortable driving using his arms. He
looks more comfortable than I do when I get behind the wheel in this city.
It
takes me a few minutes to realize we’re heading in the direction of the North
End. He’s doing a good job maneuvering through the disarray of the streets of
Boston. And by “good,” I mean he’s aggressive as hell. Let me tell you
something about Boston drivers: They’re insane. I grew up in Jersey and I
thought they were insane over there, but Boston is a million times worse. The
streets of Boston make absolutely no sense: streets change names, zig-zag, and
do all kinds of things, and it makes the people who drive here lose their
freaking minds.
“Where
are we going?” I ask.
“It’s
an Italian restaurant,” he says. “Rosita’s.”
“Have
you been there before?”
“Yes.”
“Is…
is it any good?”
He
skids to a halt at a red light. “Do you think I’m taking you to a restaurant I
think is bad?”
“No.”
Oh God, I can’t believe how badly I’m screwing this up. “Sorry, I just… Sorry.”
We
spend the rest of the drive in silence. Anytime I get the urge to say anything,
I bite down on my tongue. Hard.
Luke
pulls into the small parking lot of an expensive-looking Italian restaurant. I’m
about to point out to him that the lot is full, which was always an issue when
I went to the North End in the past, but then I realize that, of course, he can
park in the handicapped spot.
“Okay,”
he says as he kills the engine. “You can pry your fingers off the dashboard
now.”
I
laugh like he made a joke, but he’s not smiling. Admittedly, I’m a bit shaky as
I climb out of the car. You have to be an aggressive driver if you live in
Boston, but there were a few times when I saw my life flashing before my eyes.
Without
thinking, I start up the steps to the front door. I hear Luke clear his throat
loudly, and I turn around. He’s sitting in his chair, at the foot of the
stairs. “Eleanor,” he says.
I
grip the railing of the steps. “Oh. Uh… do you need…?”
“There’s
a ramp around the side,” he says.
“Right.”
I swallow hard. “Sorry.”
I
can’t believe I was so thoughtless. Obviously, he can’t get up the stairs.
Usually, I’m pretty sensitive to other people’s emotions—I can always tell when
somebody’s having a bad day. But Luke is throwing me off my game big time. I
hate the fact that I want so badly to impress him. And not just because he’s my
boss.
He
pushes himself up the ramp to the entrance, and we go inside together. This
Italian restaurant doesn’t quite look like a place where you would have a
business lunch. It’s a little too dark. A little too romantic. And definitely
very expensive.
“Kind
of dark, isn’t it?” I say with a forced smile.
Luke
frowns. “Dark?”
“Like…
it’s not…” I squeeze my hands together. “It’s hard to see. You know?”
He
stares up at me, like I’ve said something too stupid to respond to. Which I
suppose is fair.
He
made reservations and the hostess leads us to our table, which has got to be
the most secluded table in the whole damn restaurant. It occurs to me that this
is the closest thing I’ve had to a date in about six months, and that is so
sad, I almost want to cry.
We’ve
been seated for less than a minute when a waiter dashes over to our table. “May
I offer you a drink?”
“I’ll
have a glass of pinot noir,” Luke says.
I
know having a glass of wine at lunch isn’t a big deal, but I feel like it’s
important to have complete control of my senses now. Plus, I’m a lightweight
and even one glass of wine is liable to alter my judgment.
“I’ll
have a ginger ale,” I say.
Luke
stares at me again. I desperately wish I could take back my order, but the
waiter has already dashed off to bring our drinks.
“Ginger
ale?” he repeats. “That’s what you
want?”
“I’m
not a big drinker,” I say defensively.
I
pick up my menu and study it intently, avoiding his gaze. But when I lift my
eyes, I see he’s watching me.
“You
know,” he says, “they don’t have any Happy Meals on there, if that’s what you’re
looking for.”
Oh
God. This is not going well.
The
prices in this restaurant are horrifying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen food
this expensive before. I end up ordering a salad, because I just can’t bring
myself to order a chicken breast that costs forty bucks. He orders a steak,
which costs slightly less than my rent.
“Okay,”
Luke says after the waiter takes our orders to the kitchen, “now down to
business.”
I
force my most charming smile. “Of course. What do you need to know?”
“This
app you’re developing.” He gives me a sharp look. “The one that’s supposed to ‘revolutionize’
healthcare. I want to know more.”
My
eyes light up like they always do when I’m talking about my project. “Well, the
idea is that your phone can be used to monitor your heart at all times. If
somebody is having chest pain, they can know instantly if it’s something
concerning. And—”
He
holds up his hand. “Stop. I know what the app is supposed to do. I want
numbers. Our data. Where are you in development? How long before you get this
into beta testing? What sort of costs are we looking at?”
We
spend the next hour talking about my app. Even though he was asking me for the
numbers, he’s already got a lot of the data committed to memory. Even though he
inherited his father’s company, he’s not riding on anyone else’s coattails. This
guy does not mess around. No wonder he’s been so successful.
And
he listens to me. He listens to everything I have to say very intently. His
attention is completely focused on me, and it’s flattering. It almost makes me
glad he came on board.
“This
app is going to turn Mediapp into a household name,” I say.
Luke
takes a sip of his wine. “Maybe.”
“I
believe it will.”
He’s
quiet for a moment. “We know what we are,” he says, “but not what we may be.”
All
these years later and that bastard is still quoting Shakespeare. But this time
I’m ready for him. “Hamlet.”
“Yeah.”
He puts down his wine glass. “I didn’t think you would know that one.”
“Why
not?”
He
raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I thought you never read anything by
Shakespeare before. Am I right?”
I
suck in a breath. Oh my God. “You know…”
“Know
what?” he asks innocently.
“That
I’m…” I take a deep breath. “You know what I mean.”
His
other eyebrow shoots up. “No. What do you mean?”
“That
we…” I squeeze my napkin in my lap, feeling flustered. “That we know each
other. Or knew each other.” My cheeks
burn. “I mean, I didn’t know you remembered…”
“Ellie
Jensen.” A smile plays on his lips. “Never read Shakespeare. Twelve fingers. Went
to Canada once. How could I forget?”
“Oh
God…” I shake my head. “So all along…?”
“Yes,”
he confirms. “I knew the second I saw your name.”
I
grit my teeth. “So how come you didn’t say anything?”
“Well,
this was more fun, don’t you think?”
I
feel a surge of anger in my chest. I had forgotten how much Luke used to
infuriate me. I can’t believe he played me like that, just because he thought
it was amusing.
“Uh
oh.” He takes another sip of wine. He’s nearly drained the glass and it’s his
second. “You’re mad at me.”
I
quickly compose myself. This isn’t like back in college, when we were equals. I
can’t afford to lose my temper around him. Too many people’s jobs are depending
on me. “I’m not mad.”
“Yes,
you are.” There’s a glint in his brown eyes—it kills me how sexy he still is. “I
could always tell when I was getting you angry. I used to lie in bed awake the
night before class every day, trying to think of what I could say to rile you
up.”
I
stare at him. “You… you did?”
“Of
course I did,” he says. “Arguing with you was the best part of my week.” He
sees the look on my face and smirks. “Don’t look so surprised, Ellie. I already
told you how I felt about you.”
I
don’t know what to say to that. He did tell me how he felt about me. It’s a
night I haven’t thought about in a very long time, but somehow, I’ve been
thinking about it a lot lately.
That
night. The night I became the only girl at Harvard to say no to Luke Thayer.
I
wonder if women say no to him now. After all, he doesn’t look the way he used
to. But he’s still so freaking sexy. And he’s loaded.
“So
now that everything is on the table…” His smile widens enough to nearly reach
his eyes. “We can finally catch up. How are you doing, Ellie? What’s new with
you these last sixteen years?”
“Um…”
I tug at my dangly earring. “Well, I…” My mouth opens, but I’m at a loss.
Usually, when I run into people from my past, I talk about my job. But Luke
knows all about my job. And besides that, there’s not much else to say.
“Married?”
he asks, even though he can see from my ring finger that I’m not.
I
shake my head. “No, but… I have a boyfriend.”
I
don’t have a boyfriend. Not even close. I don’t even have a boy that I’m
friends with, much less an actual boyfriend. The closest I’ve come in the last
year is this guy who accidentally brushed his elbow against my boob on the T. But
I hate the fact that I have nothing new about my life to report.
So
I made up a boyfriend. Big deal.
Surprise
registers on Luke’s face. “Oh?” he says. “Is it serious?”
Why
not go for broke? “Yes, it’s pretty serious.”
“Good
for you,” Luke says. “What’s his name?”
His
name? Um… “His name is Mike.”
“Mike,”
Luke repeats. He looks up at my eyes. His are chocolate-colored and possibly
his best feature, although it’s a tough call. “Well, I’d love to have you and
Mike over for dinner.”
“That
would be great,” I lie.
Please
don’t let him ever take us up on this dinner invitation.
“How
about you?” I ask, desperate to change the subject from my fake boyfriend. “What’s
new with you?”
He
shifts his weight in his chair. “Oh, not very much. Same old.”
Is
he kidding me? The guy can’t walk
anymore. He’s not going to tell me anything about why? He’s just going to
pretend this huge thing hasn’t happened?
Well,
fine. If he’s going to pretend, I’ll play along. “Well, sometimes it’s good
when things are uneventful.”
Luke
bursts out laughing, and he suddenly looks so much like the kid I knew during
freshman year, I get a pang in my chest. “Look at you. You’re dying to know,
but you’re too scared to ask. You’re so freaking polite.”
My
lips set into a straight line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He
grins and shrugs. “Fine. Then I won’t tell you.”
I’m
starting to long for the cold, distant Luke from a few minutes ago. I had
forgotten how frustrating he was. “You
don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You’re the boss, after all.”
The
smile fades slowly from his lips. “I was in a rock-climbing accident when I was
twenty-three. Broke my neck.”
Twenty-three.
That means he’s been in that chair for eleven years. No wonder he looks so
comfortable in it. His disability is new to me, but not to him.
“Twenty-three,”
I repeat. “So that means you’ll never… I mean, it’s…”
He
decides to put me out of my misery. “Let me help you out, by answering some of
the most frequently asked questions. No, I will never walk again. No, there’s
no stem cell research right now that I could get involved in. This is
it—forever. Yes, I live alone without a nurse helping me. And no, I’m not so
depressed I want to kill myself. I enjoy being alive, thank you very much.”
I
inhale sharply. “People don’t really ask you that.”
“Oh,
they definitely do.”
I
watched as he lifts his wine glass to drain what’s left of it. I notice he
holds it loosely supporting the weight of the glass with his fingers rather
than pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.
“And
no,” he adds, “I can’t move my fingers. My hands don’t work. That one was a
real punch in the teeth when I was twenty-three.”
“But
I saw you moving your fingers,” I protest.
“It’s
a trick.” He winks at me as he releases his wine glass. “When I extend my
wrist, my hand closes into a fist. But I can’t do it without moving my wrist.”
He
demonstrates for me how when he bent his wrist back, his fingers close. It
makes me think of that handshake he gave me yesterday. He can move his fingers,
but not very well. It makes me wonder how he does anything. How does he dress
himself? Bathe? He told me he was independent, but it’s hard to imagine. I
wonder if he was lying, the same way I was lying about having a boyfriend. I
wouldn’t blame him. Who wants to admit to needing a nurse?
“Any
other questions?” he asks me. “This is your shot to ask.”
Of
course, I’ve got about a million questions, but none of them are appropriate to
ask my new boss. So I shake my head no.
“So,”
he says, “aren’t you going to tell me why your project is the best one? And
everyone else’s is shit?”
I
frown. “No. Why would I do that?”
“That’s
what your buddy Nathan did.”
“He
didn’t!” I gasp.
“Oh,
he did.” Luke glances down at his wine glass like he wishes there were more. I
don’t remember if he drank much in college. He had quite a bit of alcohol in
him when he confessed his feelings for me—I always attributed it to that. “But
don’t worry, he said nice things about you.”
Well,
that’s a small consolation. “Oh.”
“In
fact, I’d say he’s got quite the infatuation with you.”
I
cringe. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh,
I would say he definitely does,” Luke says in that confident tone of his. “Tell
me, Ellie, does he know about your fake boyfriend?”
My
mouth falls open. “My…”
“Yeah.”
He grins crookedly. “What did you say his name was? Matt? Mark? It doesn’t
matter, does it?
I
drop my eyes, looking down at my decimated salad. “Um…”
Strangely,
he doesn’t seem upset. “You’re not a very good liar, Ellie.”
“Sorry,”
I mumble.
“The
question is,” he says, “why did you feel like you had to lie?”
I
don’t have a good answer to that one. His brown eyes meet mine, and I wonder
what he’s thinking. I can’t help but think that I’m glad he knows I don’t have
a boyfriend.
Even
though nothing could ever happen between us. I mean, he’s my boss’s boss’s
boss.
Thankfully,
he doesn’t push me for an answer.
***
On
the drive back to the office, Luke pushes me for more details about my project.
He wants to know everything there is to know, and even though I thought I knew everything there was to
know, he comes up with questions I can’t answer on the spot.
“I
can get you a report tomorrow,” I say. “I can have all the details you want.” I
add, “I promise, this project is feasible, and the timeline will make you
happy.”
Luke
cocks his head to the side. “I know.”
I
frown at him. “You know?”
He
lays his fist into the horn as somebody cuts him off. “I’ll let you in on a
little secret, Ellie.”
A
secret? “What?”
“Your
project is the whole reason I bought Mediapp.”
My
head is spinning. Of course, I’ve been excited about our project, but it never
occurred to me that it had created any sort of buzz outside the company. It
makes me feel happy, but it’s a lot of pressure.
Also,
did he buy the company because of the project? Or the fact that I was the one working on it?
“You’re
one of the smartest people I ever met,” Luke says. “If anyone can make this
happen, it’s you.”
My
cheeks flush at the compliment. “Well, if I’m so smart, how come you’re the one with the billion-dollar
company?”
He
winks at me. “Because I’m smarter.”
I
would protest, but he might be right. As irritating as he was in our expository
writing class, there was a time when I came to realize he wasn’t quite the dumb
legacy kid I believed him to be.
It
was the day we got our grades back on our first paper. Dr. Cole handed them out
in the last five minutes of class, and I was horrified to find a big red B on
the top.
I
was sick over it. I never got Bs in high school. Never.
Maybe an A-, if I’d been battling the flu or something. But a B? How could I
get a B? My paper was brilliant! I could argue any point expertly—didn’t Dr.
Cole know I was captain of the debate team in high school?
As
I skimmed through her comments, I felt something kick me in the ankle. Hard. I
looked up and saw Luke’s brown eyes staring into mine. “Hey, Twelve Fingers,”
he said. “What did you get?”
“None
of your business,” I snapped at him. I eyed the paper in his hands. “What did
you get?”
He
turned his paper over to show me the red A at the top. Even though I tried to
check my reaction, my jaw dropped. This was patently unfair. There was no way
his paper was better than mine. Dr. Cole just favored him because he was rich
and handsome.
“You
could read it if you’d like.” He grinned as he slid the paper towards me. “Maybe
you could learn something for your next assignment.”
I
wanted to punch him in his smug face. Instead, I yanked the paper out of his
hand and skimmed the first few paragraphs. And just as I thought—it was awful.
Well,
not completely awful. He wasn’t
entirely illiterate. And he did make some good points about Raymond Carver. But
it wasn’t better than mine.
“Too
bad they didn’t teach you to write back in Jersey,” Luke said, still grinning
at me.
I
didn’t punch him, but I threw his essay back in his face. He blinked at me,
surprised but still clearly very amused. “Too bad you didn’t keep those extra
fingers. I bet you could pack more of a punch.”
I
was so distracted by my rage that Luke took this opportunity to yank my own
essay paper out from below my left hand. He raised his eyebrows at me when he
saw the B. Even though I should have grabbed it back from him, I didn’t. I
wanted him to read it and realize how much better it was than his own essay.
That I was the one who deserved the A, not him.
“Wow…”
Luke’s eyes darted quickly between paragraphs. After a moment, he lifted the
first page and glanced at the second. “You’re certainly heavy-handed in your
metaphors.”
I
stared at him. That was exactly the same criticism Dr. Cole had made in her
critique of my initial draft of the paper.
I
snapped out of my trance and ripped my papers out of his hands. Luke still
looked deeply amused, and I wanted to say something to wipe the smirk off his
lips. I stuck my finger in his face, which surprised him, if nothing else.
“At
least I got in here fair and square,” I said. “And not just because my father
went here and gave the college a bunch of money.”
Luke
looked like he had an answer to that, but before he could give it, I jumped out
of my seat and marched right out of the classroom. I had the last word that
day, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure if I believed what I said. I was beginning
to realize Luke deserved to be there just as much as I did.
_____
Due
to my long lunch, I end up staying late at work to get that report done for
work. I’ve always been an overachiever, and now is not the time to be
slacking—not just for me, but for the sake of my entire division. Luke probably
wouldn’t fire me but I don’t want any of my team to get fired either. They’re
counting on me.
I
finally turn off my computer and gather my belongings to head out for the day,
when I realize I’m not alone. Nathan is standing outside my office. He has
sprouted small pit stains over the course of the day, and his comb-over looks
damp as well. Nathan is one of those people who sweats excessively during the
day.
“Hey,
Ellie,” he says.
“Hello,
Nathan,” I say, but I avoid his eyes. He’s never been my favorite person, but
that remark Luke made about him saying his project was the best and should be
saved, to hell with the rest of us… Well, it doesn’t entirely surprise me.
“Heading
out?” he asks.
I
don’t know why he’s asking me that. I’ve got my purse on my shoulder and I’m leaving
my office. I’m obviously heading out. “Yes.”
“Um,
Ellie?”
I
look at him—he’s rubbing at the back of his sweaty neck. “Yes?”
“I
was just thinking,” he says, “maybe we should get a few drinks together and
talk about, like, our plan for the company. We need to work together if we don’t
want to get fired.”
My
stomach turns. I’ve got a bad feeling that his idea to get drinks is less about
strategizing to keep our jobs, and more about him jamming his tongue down my
throat when we’ve both got a few beers in us. I’m way too old to fall for that
trick. “I’ve got plans,” I lie.
“Really?”
Nathan raises his eyebrows at me.
Am
I just the worst liar on the face of the planet? Or is it obvious I can’t
possibly have a life outside of work? “Really.”
“Oh.”
Nathan looks disappointed, and for a moment, I feel guilty. Then I remember
what a jerk he is, and how he’s the last person in the world I’d want to go out
with.
During
my T ride home, I entertain myself by coming up with fake plans for the
evening. In case anyone asks me about it, I went to a bachelorette party in a
bar. My gift to the bride was a red thong.
I
stop off for a takeout order of pad thai from the restaurant down the block
from my building. I try to slip by my neighbor Sadie’s apartment unnoticed with
my piping hot bag of noodles, but as usual, she catches me in the act. She’s just a little too interested in my
personal life, unfortunately.
“Ellie!”
she exclaims when she sees me.
I
halt guiltily. “Hi, Sadie.”
She
stares at the brown paper bag. “Is that Chinese takeout?”
“No…”
I say. “It’s Thai.”
Sadie
sighs. “Oh, Ellie, how do you expect to find a beau if you don’t cook?”
“I
cook,” I say defensively. I do! Mostly stuff in the microwave. That counts
though. I mean, I have to press a button that says “cook” so that means it’s
cooking.
Sadie
squints up at my face. “Are you wearing makeup, dear?”
I
touch my face self-consciously. “No… well, just a little.”
A
slow smile spreads across Sadie’s wrinkled face. “There’s a man you like, isn’t
there?”
“No,”
I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“Don’t
worry,” Sadie says. “I’ll give you a cooking lesson this weekend and you’ll
have him wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
Before
I can tell her not to bother, Sadie rushes off into her apartment, probably to
look up sexy recipes.
She
is absolutely wrong about this one. I don’t like Luke. Yes, I did put on
make-up, which I don’t usually do, but that was just to look respectable for my
boss. It was an innocent gesture.
I
swear.
To be continued....
