“Maybe,” he said, unconvinced.
Maybe he just had that effect on women these days. They saw him and ran in the opposite direction.
Emily’s gaze flicked to the clock above the coffee bar. “Well, I have to get back to my desk. My coffee time slot is almost up, and I’m time-mapping this week. I have to stick to it to see if it works.” She lifted her drink as if toasting him. “Welcome to the WA, Jasper. Don’t let any of the techies talk you into investing in their app. And friends don’t ask friends to join their Patreon.”
He smirked and touched his paper coffee cup to hers. “Thanks for the tips. That bad, huh?”
“Nah, don’t worry. You’ll find most people here are pretty friendly, especially when you’re giving them coffee. Don’t stress about the outliers.” She shrugged. “Some people work on their own because they’re self-starters. Others only do it because they can’t manage to work with anyone else.”
“Right. Which one are you?”
“Probably both,” she said with a chagrined smile.
“And self-aware, too,” he teased.
“I have my moments.” Emily checked her smart watch and nodded as if she were marking the period at the end of her sentence, then headed off toward the stairs with a purposeful stride, her heels clicking against the polished concrete floor.
Jasper grabbed a rag to wipe down the counter and tried to shake off the feeling that the mystery woman had given him when she’d looked at him with such disdain, but he couldn’t get it off his mind. His sister, Gretchen, teased him that he had this need for everyone to like him—an actor’s cross to bear. Or maybe just his foster-kid self-preservation instinct. So maybe that was all this was. He’d wanted to make the woman laugh this morning. She’d had this lost look in her eyes that said she needed a little boost. He’d only been trying to make friends at this new job.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He might have been attempting to flirt just a little. Those big green eyes and that mass of blond curls had made him think of the girl on that show Gretchen had watched obsessively when he’d first moved in with the Deares family—Felicity. He hadn’t joined in watching the show back then or on Gretchen’s annual binges since, but he’d always thought the lead actress was hot.
So fine, whatever. Mystery woman was easy to look at. But the flirting Jasper had done had been of the harmless variety. The last thing he needed right now was to get involved with someone he’d see every day. Or anyone at all, really. After what he’d gone through with Kenzie, he didn’t feel up for any kind of dating—casual or otherwise. He’d mostly been trying to break the ice with the woman upstairs. He figured if he could find some decent people to chat with, maybe it would make the fact that he was twenty-five and back to pouring coffee a little more bearable. Maybe.
But if Ms. Busy wasn’t interested in knowing him, then that was her issue and not his problem. So instead of doing what he really wanted to do—go upstairs and knock on her door again to see what the deal was—he put the Be back in fifteen minutes sign on the counter, grabbed his coffee, and found an unoccupied table.
Working the coffee counter and offering in-house improv classes one night a week for WorkAround members would get him free hot-desk time, video room access, and rehearsal space for his group. The pay wasn’t great, but the perks made this a better option than anything else he could find right now. Plus, the office setting was the perfect place to gather material both for his improv show and for his newest TV series idea. He pulled out the little Moleskine notebook he kept in his back pocket and jotted down a few notes.
His improv group had a few shows coming up, and though there was no preparing for the actual content of the show, they’d asked him to be the monologist for the next three performances. He liked having as many stories as possible knocking around in his head for those monologues even if he couldn’t predict what audience suggestion he’d get. The request from the group had been the first signal that they were beginning to forgive him for bailing on them and chasing Kenzie to LA. When he’d left, his group had just landed a prime spot at the Lagniappe Comedy Theater doing a sketch and improv show, but they’d been dropped off the rotation when he and Kenzie had moved to LA.
He planned to make it up to the group by killing it onstage and getting them back to a better venue than the crappy dive bar they were performing in now. He turned the page and made a few more notes, the sound of the workspace around him fading away as he got lost in thought.
After a few minutes of writing, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he set his notebook aside. He groaned when he unlocked his screen. A Google alert on Kenzie. Why the hell hadn’t he turned these off already? He needed to delete this soul-destroying, low-key stalking bullshit. Instead, he found himself clicking on the box.
Newcomer Kenzie Lord to star in and cowrite a new Netflix original comedy sketch show, Aurora Boring.
Kenzie’s smiling headshot accompanied the article, along with a candid of her leaving a restaurant arm in arm with Ames Thoren, one of the hottest comedians on the stand-up circuit at the moment. Jasper’s ex-girlfriend and former improv partner looked so happy, so goddamned effervescent, that he had to squint from the glare of all that bliss coming off his phone.
The worst part was he couldn’t even hate her for it. The woman was talented as hell. She’d earned her spot.
He hadn’t. He’d gotten the audition of a lifetime along with her and had blown it. Then she’d broken up with him because she really needed to concentrate on her career and they were going in different directions.
Her direction was clearly up, so he knew which direction she thought his career was heading.
“JASPER?”
The loud male voice startled Jasper from his internet stalking and almost made him knock his coffee onto his lap. His head snapped up and he steadied his coffee cup.
“Holy shit. It is you, man,” said a refrigerator-sized African American guy, grinning wide. “Jasper fucking Anderson.”
Jasper felt like he’d walked into some frat party he wasn’t a member of. The dude looked like he could pick Jasper up and force him to do a keg stand. But before Jasper could respond to his old surname or place the vaguely familiar face, the guy put out his hand. Jasper took it on reflex, and the stranger pulled him to a stand and into an enthusiastic man hug, thumping Jasper on the back hard enough to make him cough.
“Uh, hey?” Jasper managed.
The guy leaned back with a knowing grin. “Don’t give me some weak-ass hey.” He put a hand to his chest. “Fitz McLane.”
“Fitz…” The name snapped the missing puzzle pieces into place in an instant, and Jasper got an image of a scrawny, hyper kid whose voice was always a little too loud for the uptight teachers at the Wesley Alternative School for Boys. Jasper could almost hear the prim voice of his eighth-grade math teacher. Turn down your volume, Mr. McLane. Inside voice, Mr. McLane.