“I GOT THE JOB,” I TELL TESS AS SOON AS SHE ANSWERS MY CALL LATER that day.
“Congrats?” she says, and I know her tone has several layers of underlying subtext. She’s happy for me but doesn’t condone the sexist details of my arrangement. She supports me in any choice I make but knows it means Charlie and I cannot continue.
“It’s a dream come true,” I tell her.
Before she can reply, Tess giggles distantly and it’s clearly not intended for me. Tess giggling is, in and of itself, rare behavior.
“Teesss . . .” I say, long and drawn out.
“Sloane, I’ve gotta run. Keep me posted on the job, okay? I’m here for you,” she says before hanging up.
I stare at my phone. Tess obviously has some semblance of a new relationship she’s unwilling to divulge to me. And it’s nagging at me that she hasn’t told me she’s finally found someone. Someone she spends sleep-in mornings with and who joins her for Runyon Canyon hikes. Someone who makes her giggle. Someone who has made her willing to take a chance, despite her uninspired days wading through client divorces, seeing the fallout of love.
Is she holding back on this big, momentous turn of events in her life because she’s afraid of what it might do to me? Does she think it would send me backward into the breakup spiral I just recently crawled out of—the one she held me up through? She couldn’t be more wrong. I want to call her back and tell her as much, but I don’t. She’s with this mystery man right now, and we should talk in person anyway.
Monday morning, I arrive at the Catapult Games office fifteen minutes early, dressed in slacks, a plain gray blouse, and black flats, my hair pulled back in a low, tight ponytail. It’s the outfit I deemed most subdued but professional in my closet. When I arrive, I’m greeted by Anita.
“Welcome, Sloane. Nice to see you again,” she says brightly, and I’m struck by her gorgeous magenta lipstick. Anita, Jack made sure to tell me when I called to accept the offer, is the only other woman who works regularly in the office. “We’re lucky to have you. I saw your final interview game design of Arsonist Betty. Excellent concept,” she says as we walk the long hallway to her office.
“Thank you,” I tell her as we pass the Zelda conference room where my interview took place. Inside are all three of my interviewers: Jack Palmer, Kenji Sugano, Ross Feldman. Jack is facing me, and though we make eye contact, there’s no smile or acknowledgment on his face. His lack of response makes me question if he remembers who I am and that I now work here.
Anita’s office sits in the far back corner, though it’s not that kind of corner office. It’s stark and unexpectedly bare for someone who’s been here almost four years. There is no artwork on the eggshell-painted walls, no framed family photos on the desk. Not even a nameplate or business card holder or sticky note stuck to the edge of her computer screen.
She catches me sizing up her space. “Never know when you’ll need to make a quick escape,” she says with a wink, and I’m pretty sure she’s joking.
I sign the usual new hire paperwork and as we wrap up, I wonder more and more about Anita’s personal life. I take note of the bare ring finger on her left hand and wonder if she too promised her life away to Catapult in exchange for her continued employment.
I’m not comfortable asking Anita this within my first hour of employment, but something else has been gnawing at me since receiving the offer.
“Anita, can I ask you something?” I say as I hand her back the Catapult logo’d pen. She waves me off in a motion that says keep it, so I drop it into my purse, far too excited. The pen is a tangible reminder that I, Sloane Cooper, work at Catapult Games.
“What is it?” Anita asks.
“Did they—Jack and team—did they want me for this job?” I pitch my head in the vague direction of the Zelda conference room. Or did you insist they hire the girl? I want to add, but can’t manage.
Anita clears her throat, clasps her hands atop the bare desk. Her nails, perfectly oval, are an impressive shade match to her magenta lipstick.
“You were the best person for the job,” she says after a moment.
I understand her perfectly. I was—am—the best person for this job but they—Jack and team—wanted Zane anyway.
The burn of embarrassment rises to the tips of my ears.
“You’ll prove yourself. You’ve got it in you. I can see it,” she continues.
“How did you prove yourself? It seems like they respect you. Enough to take your hiring recommendations.”
She smiles conspiratorially, leans farther in. “Off the record?”
I nod.
She glances at her office door, then centers her attention back on me. “I play the game when I have to. I smile. Laugh. Nod. Excitedly agree when they come up with ideas I’ve already presented. But when I just can’t anymore, when it becomes too much, I threaten legal action. Gets their panties in a wad every time.” She winks again, and again I’m pretty sure she’s joking.
Pretty sure.
I nod, my suspicions seemingly confirmed, but my resolve strong. It doesn’t matter how or why. The fact is, I’m here. And I’m not afraid of proving myself.
I spend most of my first day with Anita. She gives me a tour, makes general introductions. She settles me in at my desk toward the end of the day, which is in the far corner of the main workspace where every employee other than the executives and Anita sits. All the desks around me are empty and I’m as far away from the others as possible, just outside Anita’s office.
I ask her what I should do next.
“Read through all the policies and procedures and play the games.”
I can’t hide my smile. “Really?”
“Yes. You should get to know the products. Jack will get in touch when he needs you.”
This particular “perk” of the job, getting to game at the office, is one I intend to take full advantage of. Once again, I feel like I should pinch myself. Whatever the exact circumstances that got me here, it’s still my dream. And for that, I can’t stop smiling.
When I arrive home in the early evening, Finn is equally excited and upset to see me. It’s been a while since I’ve been away from him all day at work.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I tell him, crouching down and holding his snout up to my nose. After an “it’s okay” lick of my face, he pulls his leash from the hook by the door and walks it over to me. “Yeah, I bet you gotta go.” I attach his leash and we head out. When I open the door, Finn pulls me hard into the hallway and I stumble directly into Charlie. He drops three bags of groceries on the floor to catch me. There we stand, between our two doors, entwined in our first touch since Turks. Our first anything since Turks except for that unfortunate interaction with Zane.
It all blazes back with the feel of his arm wrapped around my waist, our faces inches apart. The hot coil at my base in reaction to his touch. The confidence I have when I am with him. The desire to be more like him—open, vulnerable, resilient. The ease that existed between us. The certainty that he is my biggest fan.
He clears his throat and gently steps backward over his groceries, lowering his arms from my waist. I can now see he’s wearing the FREE HUGS cactus shirt from the night we met. I want, more than anything, to hug him, even if I get pricked. I want to grab his face, kiss him, pull him into my apartment for another couch romp. I want to sit on our terrace in Provo and watch the stars. I want to eat jerk chicken, sip rum punch, and dance to Taylor Swift. But I can’t do these things. Whatever Charlie and I had needs to stay in that expensive suite in paradise.
“Sorry,” I say, our eyes catching. We stay locked for a beat too long. I miss him, though he’s right here in front of me. I miss everything about him. Those eyes. That dimple. The bar soap smell. The way his face lights up to match my insides when I talk about gaming.
Finn grabs a baguette from one of Charlie’s grocery bags and holds it up, wagging his tail as if he’s found the perfect stick.
“Finn!” I yell, pulling the baguette from his mouth, though it rips in half and Finn promptly chews and swallows his half. I look to Charlie. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another.”
Charlie shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I probably don’t need the carbs anyway,” he says, patting his stomach. Now I’m thinking about his abs. Another addition to The List.
“Hey, Finny!” he exclaims, bending down then rubbing his hands frantically all over Finn, who jumps and yelps excitedly.
When Charlie rises to his feet, he dusts his hands off on his jeans and looks at me again. I miss his board shorts too, I think, mentally adding them to my growing list of Things I Miss About Charlie.
“Did you get the job, then?” he asks, scanning my outfit.
“I did. Though I think I’m just filling some girl quota imposed by HR.”
“Congrats, Sloane. I’m sure that’s not the case. How could there be anyone better, when your game was so mind-blowing?”
As mind-blowing as our Turquoise Point Resort suite sex? I want to say, but don’t have the nerve. “Thank you” is all I muster.
There’s so much more I want to say. I want to thank him for believing in me. I want to tell him I care about him, far more than I’ve let on. I want to tell him those seven days with him are some of the happiest I’ve ever had. That I’ve never felt so connected to someone, yet so disconnected at the same time. I want to tell him I think he is Kix. Or Fruity Pebbles, more accurately, for me.
I also know I need to keep my distance. Sharing these things with Charlie could lead me down a path that ends with me losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.
But there is one thing I most certainly need to say.
“Look, Charlie, I owe you an apology. A big one. I never should have implied it was your fault that I sent the wrong game to Jack Palmer or that he got that picture of us. That was all me, my decisions. You’re not responsible for any of it. And I’m sorry I blamed you for my own . . . stuff.” I am about to say mistakes, but I can’t in good faith refer to any moment of our seven days in paradise as a mistake.
They were too good.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I never should have asked you to go on that trip, smile for pictures, and pretend to be with me. I didn’t mean to use you, but I did. It was unfair to you. And I’m relieved to know that those things that happened didn’t cost you the job. I know it means everything to you.”
Not everything.
I don’t know Charlie fully, I remind myself. You can’t really know someone after just a few days together. But then I think about what I do know. I know I find his punny T-shirts oddly endearing—they make my heartbeat quicken a little each time I know I’m going to see him, in anticipation of what amusing statement his next one might make. I know he’s barely flappable—consistently calm, happy, forgiving—except when he’s on a plane. I know he wakes up with scrunched eyes that are vulnerable and sexy. I know he sees me. That there is no need to try to be a more perfect version of myself to impress him. That he is already impressed. I know that at first pass, I’d be inclined to say he changed me. But if I really look, I know that’s not true. He didn’t change me. He made me more deeply who I am and have been afraid to be.
I clear my throat. “Right, well, I’d better go. Finn needs to pee,” I say. Charlie presses his lips together into a thin line and nods, then gives Finn one last head scratch before lifting his groceries from the floor. I feel his eyes on me as I head down the hall to the elevator. When I press the button, I turn back and find Charlie still standing at his door, bags in hand, watching. “Bye!” I call. “I didn’t want the last thing I said to you to be, ‘Finn needs to pee!’”
My raised voice causes 6F’s goldendoodle to bark violently behind his apartment door. Finn grunts. He hates that uptight goldendoodle as much as I do.
Charlie looks down, shakes his head, and then back in my direction. “Yet, you just said it again as the last thing!” he calls back.
“Shit, you’re right!”
“That’s a much better way to end things! In acknowledgment of me being right!”
The elevator doors open. “Goodbye, Charlie,” I say, too softly for him to hear. I smile before stepping into the elevator with Finn. When the door closes, sadness overtakes me. The gamer in me wants to give up on this life and start over, apply the lessons I’ve learned from this flawed one in the next. Avoid the potholes and dead ends, the shiny paths that wasted too much time. If I could start over with a second life, I’d pursue the path that leads straight to him.
I can’t bear the thought of Charlie becoming someone I used to know.