Can't Touch This (8 page)

Aislin nods.  “Right up your alley.”

I’m still blinking hard over the term “start a dialogue.”  Do they teach you to talk like this in business school?  No wonder our American economy is in such a challenge when companies and clients can’t just
talk
to each other.  They have to “start a dialogue.”

Jack feigns interest in the business-talk as he flips through the “Curious George” book I gave Aislin for the baby.  “Oh, this is the one where George eats the puzzle piece and goes to the hospital,” he exclaims.

“I had a crush on The Man in the Yellow Hat when I was a kid,” Aislin adds.

“Me too,” I admit.

Kyle snickers.  “You like tall men, don’t you?”

Taken aback, I ask, “What do you mean by that?”  Kyle can’t possibly know that Rory sent the night in my room.  Not unless he’d been parked outside my room, which I doubt he did.  I decide to cover the awkward moment with a laugh.

Jack looks at me like I’m nuts.  “You’re both sick, lusting after a cartoon character.  Course, Jessica Rabbit was
hot
.”

Kyle nods in agreement.

“Now who’s sick?” I retort to the two of them.  Next thing I know, it’ll be Veronica from the Archie cartoon or the pretty one from Scooby Doo.

 “Back to the plan, please,” Aislin says, very mother-like.

I don’t miss a beat.  “I’ll coordinate the meetings.  Kyle will charm the socks off our customers, Jiles and the Board will be happy, and we’ll all get big bonuses at the end of the year, right, Ais?”

“It works on paper.  It’s all in the execution and I know that Jiles will be happy to see you and Kyle working so closely to get this done for our clients,” she says with a smile.

I’m going to dread reporting to Little Baby Jesus.  (Damn Jack for having me call Jiles that.)  Then there’s the marketing budgeting stuff.  I’m so not a numbers person—my SAT math score was testament to that—and I don’t relish the thought of sitting in Jiles’ office while he plays with his beard as we go over facts and figures.

“You’ll do fine, Vanessa,” Kyle says and pats my back.  “If you ever need me to run interference, just let me know.”

There’s a warm fuzzy feeling on my skin where Kyle touches me.  It’s as if I’m back in high school and the cutest guy on campus is paying attention to me.  I’ve got to get a grip.  I sigh and will my heart to stop racing like a stock car while I entertain visions of Kyle on the back of a white horse.

Jesus!  I’ve obviously had too much sugar this morning.

*****

“I’
m in the middle
of preparing this killer spreadsheet to report the daily sales leads to Jiles, when my Microsoft Outlook notification pops up.

From Jack:  “Who said ‘I am the way, the truth and what’s always right?’”

I reply:  “What does LBJ want from you?”

Jack:  “Everything.  And He wanted it ten minutes ago.  He’s in a foul mood.  Must not be getting it at home.”

My response:  “I don’t want to imagine Him in the throes of ecstasy, thank you.”

Jack:  “No, you’d rather picture Kyle Nettles in the throes...with you.”

Where did that come from?  God, is my attraction
that
obvious?

Me:  “I don’t think so, Jack.”

Jack and I only sit two cubes away from each other, but it doesn’t stop the never-ending flow of e-mails.  And, crap, he’s picked up on my unconscious lusting of Kyle.  Not good.  Can’t let that happen anymore.  Don’t need Nancy Mendelssohn from HR marching over with the employee manual and a “warning.”  I need to concentrate.  I have to come up with creative ways of doing tradeshows to get leads for little or no money.  I have to prove my worth to everyone at DigitalDirection.  From Jiles on down.  This job is my life-source.  My oasis of independence.

Outlook dings again and I silently curse Jack.

It’s not Jack, though.  It’s from: [email protected].

My eyebrow lifts in anticipation.  My heart strums hard in my chest and I reach my hand out toward my mouse.  I highlight the e-mail entitled “
Hey you
,” double-click and read:

“Vanessa:  I can’t stop thinking about you.  When can I see you again?  Are you doing the InfoTech show in San Francisco in two months?  Or maybe you’ll be in Miami in two weeks?  Let me know.  R.”

I read it a second time, and a third.  His words on the screen reach out to me as if spoken from his mouth.  He can’t stop thinking about
me?
  But that’s not what was supposed to happen.  Wasn’t I merely flirting with him to get information on SalesTracker?  There was nothing information-gathering about rolling around with him on the bed in my room.

I remember the feel of his soft lips on mine and my knees go weak.  Okay, I’m sitting down, but they still go weak.  I swallow hard and look at the e-mail details again.  San Francisco, huh?  And Miami?  I see Aislin has these shows “penciled” in to the calendar, but I haven’t filled out the paperwork or initiated payment yet.  I’ve always wanted to visit the city by the bay, as well as South Beach.  And, seeing where things could lead with Rory will squash these ridiculous—forbidden—thoughts of Kyle.

Maybe I should get Griz’s advice.  Of course, I haven’t even told her about Rory yet.  My roommate, William, is the only one who knows anything and that’s only because and he seduced it out of me by baking homemade double-chocolate brownies when I got home from my trip.  I’ve got to think.

I spend the next hour researching the burgeoning InfoTech Show and the smaller event in Miami online.  They’re exactly the sort of events we need:  good target audiences and a bundle of likely sales leads.  Perfect.  I price direct flights on American through Bing Travel and get some killer fares.  Excellent.  In Miami, the event is at the famed Eden Roc Resort Hotel, so I book the rooms.  Then, for the SF show, I find a room at the Sir Frances Drake in Union Square.  Even better.  Reagan Vanbiesbrouck, our top sales woman, is scheduled to be in Fort Lauderdale, so she can do the Miami show.  She also has a trip planned to San Jose, according to her calendar.  And Ted’s got clients in San Francisco.  This’ll work.

I think about spending time with Rory in a couple of awesome cities.  I hesitate a moment and bite down on my lip, reminding myself that I was only using Rory to get information about his company.   Suddenly that plan doesn’t seem sound.  I honestly like him and he’s made it clear that he’s interested in me.  It’s better than any online prospect from the dating sites.  Rory’s his own man.  He’s cocky, charming, and doesn’t march to corporate rules.  He bucks the system, unlike someone else I know.

I really need to stop making comparisons between Rory and Kyle.  Kyle’s a colleague, plain and simple.  End of discussion.

I dash off an e-mail to Aislin asking if these are the kind of opportunities I should be looking for.  Two minutes later, she’s outside my cube with a Twix bar, beaming from ear to ear.

“Vanessa, you are amazing.  Both shows are perfect,” she nods her auburn head.  “From now on, these decisions are yours.”

Pride beams off of me as I turn back to my work.  I contact the directors of each show, secure booth space, and confirm my flights.  Only after everything is in place—three hours after getting his message—do I respond to Rory’s e-mail.

I write:

“Hi Rory, I’ve been thinking about you, too.  I’ll be in Miami at The Eden Roc.  And then in San Francisco.  Staying at the Sir Frances Drake.  See you then.  Vanessa”

I hit send and imagine my message zipping along the fiber optic cables of the information super highway out to Seattle.  I gnaw on my index finger as I contemplate just how forward I’m being.  Then I harrumph when I remember that his tongue has been in my mouth.  I deserve to be forthright.

Ten minutes later I get: 
“Can’t wait to show you South Beach.  It’s a hell of a town.  And what do you know, I’m staying at the Sir Frances in San Francisco, too.  Can I wait that long to see you?  R.”

Now I have two weeks to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

I
 fill Griz in
on Rory over drinks at Cuchi Cuchi, a lounge and tapas place in Kendall Square in Cambridge near our office.  You can always find a crowd of happening people there to peer at as you guzzle Godiva chocolate martinis and break down the remains of the business day.  I sip the blood orange martini that’s before me and order up the tuna tartar coronets that look like they’re in tiny ice cream cones.

Setting her crutches against the bar, Griz pulls herself up onto the stool next to me.   “So you and this Rory guy do it?”

“My God, Griz, what grade are you in?  And no, we didn’t
do it
.  It’s called having sex.  Making love.  Fu—”

She waves her hand at me.  “Don’t say the ‘f’ word.  I hate it.  It makes me cringe and you’ll never—ever—hear me say it.”

“I’ve heard you say it plenty,” I snap.

The bartender pauses in front of us and Griz orders a strawberry basil martini.  As he turns to make her drink she says to me, “I probably should have just ordered a glass of wine.  I’ve got a ton of work to do when I get home.”

I draw my finger around the rim of my glass.  “William brought home some wine in a box from the bar that no one else would drink.  I’ll bring it to you.  I wouldn’t be seen dead drinking wine from a box.”

She reaches to check her cell phone and then laughs.  “You know, I had some of that at my uncle’s funeral and it wasn’t that bad.”

I scowl in confusion.  “Wait a minute.  You drank at your uncle’s funeral?”

“No, afterwards.  It was like a family reunion.  And believe me, my family’s religious, but they know how to put away the alcohol.”   She reaches across the bar for my hand.  “Who cares about dead people and boxed wine, tell me about this Cory guy.”

“
Rory
.”  The bartender sets her cocktail in front of her.  We clink stemware and sip as I fill her in on Atlantic City and today’s e-mails.

“Here I am thinking I’m going use him to get SalesTracker inside information, but Griz, he actually likes me.”

“Of course he does.  What’s not to like?  Do you like him?”

I pause and think.  “I really do.  I had an amazing time with him.”  Certainly hadn’t factored that into my equation.

She plays with the edge of the menu.  “You know, it was good you didn’t have sex.  That would’ve been too slutty.  Wait until the third date.”

The cold cocktail trickles into my empty stomach, which gurgles with a mixture of nerves and hunger pains.  “It’s hard to ‘date’ when I’m in Boston and he’s in Seattle.  We only see each other on business trips.  How does that factor into the third date sex rule?”

She counts on her fingers.  “Atlantic City is one.  Miami is two.  San Francisco will be three.”  She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I understand exactly what she means to happen in San Fran.

“Can I get an order of the potato croquettes?” she asks our bartender.

Food doesn’t matter at this moment.  I need to think.  Hard.  Until my head hurts and I know exactly what I’m doing.

I gulp at the martini again.  “I’m attracted to Rory, but I don’t know much about him other than he’s SalesTracker’s top guy.  Which is weird because he’s not all engrossed in the business world twenty-four seven.”  Not like most of the golf club swinging crowd at DigitalDirection.  Not like Kyle.  “Besides, he’s our competition.”  I stare off for a minute as a vivid image or Rory colors my memory.

“So what?” Griz spouts and then she gasps.  “Oh wait, you’re already gone on this guy.”

“I am not.”

“You most certainly are.”

“It’s true that Rory’s more mature than guys we meet here.”  And even though he’s successful in his job, he doesn’t appear to be the type to suck up to the boss or think only in terms of bottom lines or customer satisfaction.  Again, like Kyle, although I don’t know why he always factors into the equation.

“You haven’t been dating a lot, so you’re over-analyzing everything,” my friend tells me.

Like I need to be reminded of this.

“I don’t know, Griz.  Being with Rory felt good and it was fun.”  No, I don’t need a guy for validation, but it’s nice to know someone wants to be with me.  What girl doesn’t want that?

Griz clears her throat.  “If I may be so bold, when was the last time you had sex?”

I sip my drink then hang my head.  “A long time.”

“You’re twenty-five.  You’re not a vestal virgin.  You’re an adult.  You’re out on your own—as you always say.  If you want him, go for it.  Who’s gonna judge you?”

Everyone at work, if it gets out.  Although, I don’t have to put it in the company newsletter, do I? 
Vanessa Virtue Does the Competition.
  “I’m more of a relationship gal,” I say, trying to justify.  “Or I’d like to be.  I don’t know if I’m up for a road fling.”

I’m confused by my own I backpedaling?  I’ve never been the type to just hook up here and there.  I need a connection.  I don’t know why I can’t just grow up and do what everyone else does.  Brush aside the hesitation.  Rory is gorgeous and sexy.  I’m healthy and have wants and desires.  Griz is right.  Maybe the reluctance is because I can’t get Kyle Nettles, corporate boy extraordinaire, out of my brain.

Griz shakes her head at me.  “What did I predict?”

“I don’t owe you a penny yet.  Nothing’s happened.”

“Whatever.  In this day and age, honey, take what you can get.  Make it happen.  Don’t let the opportunity pass you by.  You never know when another one will show up.”  She picks up her glass.  “I have so many friends who are married to their high school or college sweetheart because they never had the guts to take chances.  My college roommate slept with one guy in four years at Notre Dame and married him.  Two years into the marriage, she found out he had seven online identifications, secret e-mails, and was having affairs morning, noon, and night.  She settled,” Griz says.  “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t.  I’m not looking to settle.  I’m looking to
mean
something to someone.  Not be just a fling.”

Griz laughs.  “Most all relationships start out with the sexual energy building into a combustible force.  Flings happen, but they can also develop and grow into something more.”