Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Someone handed him a microphone, though I wasn’t sure it was necessary for the… I glanced behind me and backtracked. Okay, maybe it was needed. I guesstimated about seventy people were here. More than half the workforce at this branch.
And another case in point. Mr. Abrams’s speech was fucking boring, yet he still made the whole office listen quietly to every word he said. Sales numbers, growth, something about nine percent, plans for the coming year, blah-blah-blah.
By all means, keep talking, Mr. Abrams. But I was only interested in his voice. It was perhaps the warmest part of him.
“But not everything is about sales,” he continued. “Data shows an increase of traffic on our social media platforms and websites, primarily thanks to the changes we’ve made in design and accessibility.” Woo-hoo, I’d played a part in that. A small one. “Our goal to get visitors to spend more time with us has certainly been reached, and we see the results every day. Rebranding our event services has proved fruitful as well, and we’re noticing an uptick in small businesses not only reaching out but spreading the word.” He flicked a quick glance my way, and I smiled. I’d worked on the rebranding most of the summer. “To wrap things up, I’d like to convey my thanks for your hard work this year. A little birdie told me that the graphic designer who worked on our holiday gift was very particular about the branding not taking up too much space. ‘This is for employees, not for the company to push promotions.’”
Oh shit. I grinned.
“Yeah!” Several clapped for this certain graphic designer.
Mr. Abrams had asked around about me.
I had said that. I had complained about the logo being too big at first—or rather, the designated spot for the logo—and I’d basically accused corporate of wanting to turn the gift into ad space.
A few of the employees on the seventh floor joined Mr. Abrams on the podium to start handing out the gift, which, funnily enough, always got more attention than the gift that really mattered: the Christmas bonus.
While Mya and Kim rushed forward, I stayed back and kept my eye on Mr. Abrams instead. I wanted a moment with him. I was drunk enough to feel bold. To do what, I wasn’t sure of yet.
“Oh, this is cool!” someone exclaimed.
“What is it?”
Open the damn box and find out, Laura. It was a pocket grill. It didn’t actually fit inside your pocket, but close. It was tiny, folding out of a tin case, and could hold four hot dogs on a small grid placed above a little box that you put the charcoal in.
The guy at corporate had requested a large company logo on both sides. I’d bitched enough to get my way, and in the end, I’d incorporated a mountain range into the company logo and placed it on the handle of the grill.
I watched Mr. Abrams carefully plan his exit. He left the podium and slowly moved toward the corridor leading to his office, indulging a couple coworkers in chitchat on the way. The man really didn’t enjoy sticking around. But for tonight, he smiled politely and did a decent job of pretending.
There’s another corridor…
One that was way less crowded with partygoers.
I chewed on my lip and glanced behind me. I could head down there right now and intercept Mr. Abrams when he returned to his office from the other hallway. It would be a minute or two before he’d gotten past the employees who wanted a moment of his time.
Screw it, I didn’t have a whole lot to lose except face, and I could live with that. I ducked out from the party area and made my way down the corridor toward Mr. Abrams’s office. At the same time, I was due for a stern talkin’-to. Mr. Abrams was an illusion in my head. He was the epitome of my fantasies, physically. His assertiveness. His height. His age. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was nothing. My best relationship so far was probably a high school boyfriend who’d been anything but my “type.” It took a lot more than good looks to build something.
I wasn’t going to build anything with Mr. Abrams. I just wanted to test the waters and see if it might be possible to flirt or talk to him without his internal grinch ruining everything.
As I rounded the corner in the back, I noticed two young women standing near Suravi’s desk. I didn’t recognize them.
They smiled politely at me, one of them a bit more amused by my undressed appearance than the other.
“Are you waiting for Mr. Abrams?” I wondered.
One of them nodded. “He said he’d see us after his speech.” She exchanged a grin with the other one that left me feeling weird. They looked alike, both blond and pretty.