Can't Touch This (26 page)

Dear God, he’s going to kiss me and I’m going to let him.

“Yo, Nettles.”

We jump apart.  Surely my face registers my shock and awe.  My eyes shift over his shoulder to see one of the Willies.

“What’s going on here?” he asks sternly.

Kyle rocks back and clears his throat.  “Nothing, just working on a flyer for the customers.”

Will doesn’t seem convinced.  “That’s not what it looked like to me,” he says with a bit of a sneer.

I can’t look up.  I can’t meet his stare or his judgment.  Holy shit!  I can’t believe what we were thinking of doing.  We were almost busted.

“I’m, umm, finished here,” Kyle says, standing up.

“Will needs to see you,” the other Will says, then turns.

I stare at the computer screen and queue the final version to the printer trying to swallow down the reality of what almost happened.  Not at being caught.  Over what could have been.  My pulse is going triple time under my skin.  I don’t want Kyle to go meet with a Willie.  I want him to stay right here.  For the rest of the day.  I want to put him in my pocket and take him home with me.  Kyle almost kissed me.  In the office.  Here for everyone to see.

He seems reluctant to leave, but scratches his head.  “Look, I’m sorry I—”

Please don’t let him have regret
.  I switch back immediately to professional business mode.  “I’ll get copies of the flyer into the portfolios and ship them to the hotel in California.”

He smiles in relief.  “You’re the best, Vanessa.”  Then, before leaving, he leans over the cube divider and says, “Don’t forget that drink tomorrow night at the holiday party.”

As he rounds the corner, I grab the phone and buzz Griz’s extension.  E-mail’s too slow for
this
development.

K
yle is into me.

Or so I’m trying to convince myself as I sit at the pre-holiday party Board presentation (bored, more like) with my mind wandering to Kyle.  That scene in my cube yesterday was enough to whack out my sensibilities and damn near throw a Molotov cocktail at the “no office dating” rule.

When the meeting finishes, we move into the main ballroom of the Royal Sonesta, overlooking the Charles River.  The setting sun throws an amber glow over the banquet room, decorated with tables in fine linen, plain white holiday lights, and with several buffet stations lining the walls.  One of the HR ladies hands me two drink tickets when I walk in.  I work my way into the room and see Aislin with her newborn, Caitlin.

“Oh, Ais, she’s adorable.”  The little bundle has fuzzy red hair just like her mother.

“Do you want to hold her while I get a soda?” Aislin asks.

Even though I’m not very good with babies, I take the squirming bundle into my arms.  “You’re such a lucky little girl, you know that?  You have a great mommy.”  I prop Caitlin up slightly and show her where Paul Honan stands at the bar.  “Look, there’s your daddy over there.”  A dull knot stabs me in the gut.  “He’s a good guy.  He’d never abandon you, leaving you to wonder where he is and when he’ll return or not pay child support—”

My breath catches in my throat and I want to run from the room screaming.  Just when a cloud of contentment and self-assurance hangs over me, I’ve let
him
back in.

“Here, Jack, can you take her?”  I pass Caitlin to my Nordic co-worker who happily accepts her.

I clench my fists at my side and turn away.

Rory.

Damn him.  Damn everything about him.  Damn anyone who won’t damn him.

My physical makeover may be complete, but I can tell my soul still needs some work.  I need to get out of here.

I spin quickly on my heels and bump square chested into Kyle.

“Whoa!  What’s the hurry?” he asks, smiling down at me.

“Sorry, Kyle.  Just needed some air.”

He nods over at Caitlin.  “You looked good with her.”

“She’s a little doll,” I say, feeling my anger draining.

Kyle looks me straight in the eyes.  “Takes one to know one.”

Man, his timing’s good and my heart springs back to life, diving straight to my feet and back with his blatant flirting.  I open my mouth to speak, but one of the Willies pulls him aside.  Those men are always interrupting at inopportune moments.

“Hey, I heard that,” Griz says, stuffing a carrot stick into her mouth.

“Heard what?”

“Kyle’s compliment.  He’s really into you and you like it.”

I shrug, not wanting to give away my game.  “Around Kyle, I feel empowered.  Not like I’m some useless little woman who’s nothing without a man.  I don’t harp on my failed relationships or my work stress.”

Griz is right about the stupid Section seven edict.  Who are these people—this employer—to tell us how to live our personal lives?  We should be able to test interactions with people we find attractive, freely, without judgment or repercussions.  I’m a grown up.  I don’t need anyone’s permission to explore my feelings toward Kyle.

I glance about trying to relocate the Hazel-Eyed Hunk.  There he is… leaning against the bar talking to Paul Honan, Aislin’s husband.  I take in Kyle’s smart outfit of gray pants and a long-sleeved black dress shirt with a gray T-shirt underneath.

Not wanting to stare, I move to the hors d’oeuvres table and pile a couple of baby quiches, some cold shrimp, and something vaguely meatball-shaped on my plate.  I love free dinner.

Griz and Rick have scoped out a table and saved some seats.  When I approach, their hands break apart quickly.  Maybe they aren’t as irresponsible as I think.  This is an official work event, after all.

I set my plate down, eyeball Griz, and then go stand in line for a glass of wine.

Suddenly, Jiles is behind me, breathing down my neck.  “Are you having fun, Vanessa?”  LBJ asks.  I force myself not to cringe hearing his grating voice.

“So far, Jiles.  And you?”

He scans the room with his beady little eyes.  “Well, it’s a waste of money to do something this extravagant, but I got over-ruled by the HR people.  They said it’d be good for morale.  I think the morale booster should be that you still have a job, right?”  He knocks me on the shoulder to make his point.

I truly hate him.  I don’t understand how he got so high up the corporate ladder having so few social skills  I want to smack him on his furry little chin.  Instead, I fake a smile and face forward.

I no sooner make camp at the table with Griz and Rick, sipping my Chardonnay when I hear, “Can I sit with you guys?”  Kyle settles his cute self down.  Our gazes touch and I swear I see a sparkle in his.

“Yeah, but we’re going be drinking this place dry, so you’ll have to come along for the ride.”  Griz toasts him with her glass.

Reagan and Ted join us and I realize all of sudden that everyone seems to be shucking off the company rules and, as Griz says, going with the flow.

When the drink tickets run out, we decide to take turns buying rounds.  If I’m lucky, the party will end before they make it to me.  Only one lone Lincoln in my Kate Spade knock-off.  Our socializing is interrupted when Jiles taps his glass to get everyone’s attention.  The conversations subside so we can hear what the president has to say.

“I want to rattle off what a great job you’re all doing. We’ve got a great team, a fantastic product and we’re going to kick major tail feathers in the New Year.”

Everyone claps politely, although I can tell my fellow co-workers want to get back to the free eats and not-so-free drinks.  I glance over at Reagan and Ted and note how comfortable they seem, almost snuggled up together with his arm draped across the back of her chair.  Rick, too, has his arm flush against Griz’s on the table, not caring who can see their not-so-subtle public display of affection.  Then there’s Kyle and me.  I wonder if people think there’s something going on with us.

Feeling warm and fuzzy, I’m suddenly knocked back into the here and now when Kyle taps me on the back and points at Jiles.

LBJ raises a large, shiny, silver spatula and announces, “I’m happy to present the ‘Chef of the Year’ to the employee who has contributed the most winning ingredients to the company’s recipe for success.  Vanessa Virtue!”

“What?” I exclaim, my hand to my heart.  “Is this real?”

Kyle wraps his arm around me and squeezes.  “I knew that was coming,” he whispers.

Goose bumps cover my arms, even though I’m clad in a Gap sweater.  Did Kyle nominate me for this?  The look in his eyes says he was in on the decision.

Griz jostles me.  “Double-Vee!  You need to get up there.”

I stand and inchworm through the tables to accept my award from Jiles.  “You’re cooking with gas, Virtue,” he says.

As I make my way back to the table, the DJ spins hits from the 70s and 80s.  Folks get up on the dance floor.  Reagan and Ted make a spectacle of themselves gyrating way too friendly-like.  All around me people are pairing off and I wonder if someone’s slipped a love potion into the Cambridge, Massachusetts water system.

I see Nancy Mendelssohn, HR Director, frown as she watches our two top salespeople.  Reagan needs to watch herself, especially after the “sex in the server room” incident a while back that put her on warnings.

I look at Griz and Rick, who have their heads bent together in an intimate conversation.  I follow Nancy’s judgmental eyes as they settle on our table.  Rick leans in and whispers something to Griz and then goes to get her more wine.

Griz smiles and slides her eyes back and forth between Kyle and me.  I give her a “don’t even think about it” stare, although I wonder what exactly she sees.  I hope Nancy Mendelssohn doesn’t note it, as well.

Kyle picks up the spatula and swats at me playfully.  “I knew what a great asset you are to this company.  Now you have proof.  How about that drink I owe you?  You drink white, right?”

It’s nice that he’s taken notice all this time.  “Chardonnay thanks.”  I watch him move through the tables to stand in line at the bar.  My heart lurches and my breath hitches.  Treacherous heart and double-crossing breath telling me it might be worth “getting caught” to have him in my life.

“Somebody’s got a huge crush,” Griz whispers.

“No I don’t,” I say a bit too quickly.

“I’m talking about
him
, Vanessa.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  It does make sense, though.  The flirting in my cube.  The come-hither looks and complimentary comment.  Not to mention the innumerable flutterings in my body whenever Kyle’s near.   I can’t tell Griz any of this because she will make too big a deal out of it and make it into something that it really shouldn’t be as long as we’re all employed under the same roof.

“Vanessa, I thought we’d gotten over the bitter stage.  I mean, you’re bathing again every day and you’re not dressing like a frump anymore.  Kyle’s a wicked little flirt.”

“He’s only being nice. We’ve done a lot on this client services plan.”  If I admit the flirting to Griz, it’ll become real.  Then I’ll screw it up or get caught.

“Well,” she says, fiddling with her napkin, “I think it’s more than that.  There’s chemistry.”

“I’m sure he has a girlfriend.  I mean, please, would
that
not have a steady thing?”

“Rick said he doesn’t.”  She pauses, then adds.  “Show him the charming side of Vanessa Virtue.  Bat your eyelashes, cross your legs toward him, stick your tits out.”

“You did not just say that.”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, and so did half the room.”

“Here he comes.  Be nice,” she says.  “Remember, where you tend a rose, a thistle can’t grow.”

“What the...?”  We both collapse on the table laughing.

“What’s so funny?”  Kyle sets a full glass of wine in front of me.

Instinctively, though, I lean toward Kyle.  “Griz just says the strangest things sometimes.  Like she’s a female Confucius or something.”

Rick returns, wrapping his arm around her and tickle-teasing her.  I see her reach under the table and place her hand on his thigh.  There’s no doubt how Rick feels about her.  Smitten.

Seeing Griz and Rick, I’m fueled by a burning jealousy.  Not that I want Rick, but my heart aches for...
that
.  What they’ve got going.  The gut-wrenching attraction.  The need to touch the other person.  Even secretly.  The desire that eats you up inside.  Closeness.  Comfort.  All of it.

I slump in the chair slightly.  I want that too.

Griz looks at her watch.  “Oh!  I’ve got to get going.”

“Why?  Hot date?” I ask more sarcastically than intended.

“No, my favorite Christmas movie is on tonight.”

“Rudolph or Frosty?” Rick asks, grinning doe-eyed at her.

“No, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’” she says.  “It’s the best movie ever.”

Something inside me clicks and an emotional maelstrom rolls up my chest causing me to spew my resentment.  Annoyed that Griz has something I don’t have.  Irritated that I’d gone for the wrong guy before.  Frustrated that I can’t have the one sitting next to me because of stupid work regulations.  The floodgate is open.  “
It’s a Wonderful Life?
  You’ve got to be kidding me.”  I pick up my glass and slurp the wine in an unladylike gulp.

“You don’t think it’s great?”  Kyle places his arm over the back of my chair, but it does nothing to stop me.

“No.”

“But it’s widely recognized as the most joyous holiday classic of love and hope,” he says.  Did he get that from
TV Guide?

I put my wine glass down on the table.  “Looking at the events of George Bailey’s life, they certainly paint a different picture,” I state.

Griz looks puzzled.  “What do you mean?”

“It is
the most
depressing example of shattered dreams ever committed to film.  The movie begins with George contemplating suicide.  And no wonder!  His life has taken one grim turn after another since boyhood.  He never went to college, never saw the world and never built things.  He was goaded into taking over a failing S&L and was almost jailed because he hired an inept relative.  He missed out on the plastics revolution, and because he was 4-F, he couldn’t even leave to fight Hitler.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Griz says, disappointment lacing her voice.