He notices me and I see the flash of recognition or surprise in his eyes. I suppose it's a mixture of both, but it means he remembers me, doesn't it? It so does.
He says nothing, but his eyes remain on mine as he turns to face me. He brings the bottle to his lips and sips, seemingly unhurried, just watching me. His expression gives away nothing, and if I hadn't caught that brief look in his eye when he first saw me I'd think he didn't remember me, but he does. I know he does.
We're alone. Just us, an empty break room, the hum of the refrigerator and the smell of coffee permeating the air.
This is my chance.
"Oh, hey, um, so you work here?"
That's what I come up with for my big moment.
"We met the other day. Last weekend. Whatever." I add a stiff wave to the pile of awkward that just left my mouth.
"That we did," he replies with a small nod of his head. He recaps the water without looking at the bottle because his eyes never leave me. Gah, his freaking eyes. They do things to me. Dirty things, at least in my mind. His gaze dances across my face and I feel flush everywhere. I take a tentative couple of steps forward, my heels clicking against the floor. He has smart eyes. Intelligent. Insightful. He looks like a man capable of quick decisions. He looks like a man who doesn't miss the details.
"So you work here? I work here." I sound a little breathless when I say it. I exhale and try to pull myself together.
"Yes. It appears that we both work here."
I think I'm repeating myself. I need to move this along while I have the chance, before someone walks in or he takes off.
"So that was nice," I offer. "When we met."
"Nice?" I think his lip twists into the tiniest hint of a smirk when he speaks, one eyebrow quirked in question or amusement. I wish I could run my fingertip over that eyebrow. Examine the tiny line running across his forehead and whisper my fingers across his jaw.
"The kissing thing," I clarify. "In case you ever wanted to do it again."
His eyes widen and both brows rise, the smirk gone. Then he shakes his head a fraction and smiles. I'm amusing him. Shit. I must sound like a teenager, he's surely used to offers way beyond kissing.
"And whatever else you want," I amend quickly. "I mean, if you're interested."
"Jesus Christ." He says this slowly and not necessarily in a reverent way. The hand not holding the bottle of water comes up and drags across his jaw and then he tilts his head a little as if he's easing some kind of stress in his neck. The smirk is gone.
Wait. Have I got this all kinds of wrong? He did kiss me. Not that kissing me was some great declaration of interest, but he must have found me attractive enough to kiss. Surely suggesting we do it again shouldn't be so horrifying to him?
He drops the hand from his mouth. The water bottle in his other hand dangles from his fingertips, where he bounces it against his thigh. I wouldn't classify his actions as nervous. Not in the least. Restless, maybe. His expression is a little tortured if I had to pinpoint it. His eyes though… his eyes look interested. I might not be the most experienced girl in the world, but I think he looks at me with interest.
"Rhys!" a voice calls out from behind me and my eyes widen. I forgot to ask his name. Again. But it's Rhys. Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. I chant the name in my head and I like it. I like it a lot. A small smile tugs at my lips before I realize that I almost missed my chance to get his name for the second time. Smooth. Real smooth. I am such a freaking amateur.
I turn my head towards the voice to find the source is a tall good-looking man striding into the break room. Not as good-looking as Rhys, at least not to me, but I can see the appeal. He slaps Rhys on the back as he opens the fridge and grabs himself a bottle of water. He's dressed nicely—I realize now that they both are. Suits. Expensive suits. I'm familiar enough with fabric to spot the quality in those suits without touching them. They're put-together, the both of them. Well-knotted ties, polished shoes, chunky watches. They're hot. Walking, talking sex appeal.
Wait. What the hell did I just say to Rhys? Whatever else you want? Oh, my God. No. I feel my face start to heat up and I quickly drop my gaze to the linoleum floor and turn towards the fancy coffee maker. I grab a mug from the open shelving and set it in place on the machine, my hand shaking as I jab at the buttons. I did not practice that. My practice runs for when I saw him again did not include me offering to 'whatever else you want.' I didn't practice for interruptions either. Why didn't I have contingency plans for embarrassing myself and being interrupted? What am I supposed to do now?
I bite my lip and turn my head enough to see over my shoulder. Rhys' eyes flicker from the man to me and back again. I turn back to the coffee machine and jab at the buttons until the machine hisses and liquid splutters into the cup below. Then I grip the countertop in front of me until my knuckles turn white.
Maybe it wasn't that bad? What I said?
It was bad. And he didn't react, did he? Not really. What does that mean? Maybe he has a girlfriend? But he kissed me! A week ago he kissed me!
Behind me I hear the other man tell Rhys they're going to be late and then footsteps moving toward the doorway. I keep my hands where they are and watch whatever the heck I've selected as it drips into the cup.
Then they're gone.
I overhear my new supervisor Bethany exchanging hellos with them as they cross paths in the hallway a moment before she sails into the break room in their wake. I move my mug from the fancy coffee maker to the countertop and grab a stir stick as Bethany places a fresh mug onto the machine and smiles at me.
"Ohh, what did you make?" she asks, nodding at my cup.
"A latte of some kind," I say and force a smile before taking a sip. I want to pour it down the sink because I'm in no condition to carry a mug full of hot liquid and no longer need the caffeine boost, but it would be weird to pour it out with her standing here watching me. I tear open a packet of sweetener and add it to my mug before speaking again. "Hey, do you know that guy who was just here? Rhys?" I manage to ask it so casually I might deserve a badge in being breezy. "Do you know where he works?"
"Rhys?" Bethany turns to me with a look of confusion on her face.
"I know he works here," I clarify. "What does he do?" I recall that my department shares this floor with legal and security. And accounting. But he looked more like a lawyer than an accountant.
I'm an idiot. As if anyone looks like an accountant or a lawyer.
"He's the general manager," Bethany replies and I pause, stir stick dangling from my fingertips over the trash can.
This is bad. Deep down I'm pretty sure there is only one general manager in the management structure, but I try all the same. "Of which department?" I manage to keep my voice steady, my eyes on the stir stick. It's landed atop a banana peel inside the trash can. There's a soda can beside it and I'm annoyed at whomever didn't drop it into the recycling bin. It only takes a second.
"Of the property," Bethany says and I lose about a decade from my lifespan in that moment.
Five
LYDIA
I made it through the rest of the day, though I have no idea how I did not perish on the spot, except to say that death by mortification must not be a quick way to go.