I wake my computer and smile at Locke. “Well, at least I have plenty of time to caffeinate before everyone else comes back.”
Locke shakes his head, but his eyes are smiling. “Single-minded, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
He nods. “Hey, you see that email from Curt yet?”
“What email?”
He grimaces. “You’ll see. Fair warning, you’re not going to like it.”
My chest tightens. “Why am I not going to like the email?” I turn my attention to my computer, and the offending email headline catches my eye. Fall organization changes. “I—oh.” Ohhhh shit. I glance up quickly and meet Locke’s eye. “We’re re-orged?”
Ever since I started, the small but mighty writing team has been considered part of the customer success organization, which also includes the customer support team that fields phone calls and helps customers navigate premium services. Change doesn’t have to be bad, but this is all I’ve ever known.
“Seems like we’re part of the Design team now,” Locke informs me. “These things happen every so often. Part of the company’s shifting priorities, blah, blah, blah.”
I bring my gaze back to the computer and look closer.
Damien Price will continue to lead the Design team.
The air goes out of the room, and I feel lightheaded and spinny. The words blur before my eyes.
“This can’t be happening,” I whisper. The news snatches the breath from my lungs like a gut punch.
Locke looks at me in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t have the words to answer. I was wrong before. So, so wrong. There’s something way worse than getting dumped by a guy without warning on the eve of your thirtieth birthday.
Like having your ex become your new boss.
2 Locke
“It’s not that bad, Greer. It’s really not bad.” I shoot a worried glance at my friend, who’s got her forehead on the edge of her desk and is taking slow, deep breaths through her nose.
“It is though.”
“Why? It’s a re-org, but you’re fine. No one got laid off.” Not that I know of, anyway.
When Greer lifts her head, she looks almost queasy. “Damien and I had a thing.” She mumbles it low and fast, and it takes a second for the words to sink in.
I lean back in my chair, reeling. “A thing.” My stomach drops. “Like you dated?”
“Shh.” She darts a glance around, but we’re alone in the office. “Breaking the company guidelines wasn’t one of my proudest moments. And now…”
Her groan is pitiful.
Now he’s her boss.
Fuck.
Damien fucking Price. With a name like that, he should either star in a romance novel or be the villain in a James Bond film. I never gave the guy much thought before, but I instantly hate him a little.
Definitely the villain.
I run a hand over the stubble on my chin and offer Greer what I hope is a smile. I’m wired so tight it probably comes out closer to a grimace. “You know, he doesn’t really strike me as your type.”
She snorts at my assessment and shoves a strand of hair out of her face. Greer has hair like a shampoo commercial—long, thick blond strands that flow partway down her back in a glossy sheet. It’s gorgeous hair, really, and she knows it. Taking care of it is probably half the reason she’s always running late.
“He’s—” She sits up straighter in her chair and narrows her blue eyes at me. “Wait, what’s my type?”
Me.
I hold back from blurting out the word. I’m not going to deny that there were a few minutes when Greer first started at WanderWell that I thought there was a little bit of something there between us. A hint of flirtation, of interest. After all, she’s got this way of smiling at me like I’m the only one in the room, and when she listens, she really listens. But a few weeks into Greer’s employment, Eden, the tech blogger who rounds out WanderWell’s writing trio, cornered me by the espresso machine and said, “Don’t do it.”
I’d raised my hands in self-defense. “Do what?”
Eden fixed me with a bullshit-cutting gaze. “Give Greer a chance to make her own impressions in the company before you become too much of an influence, okay?”
I pretended not to know what Eden was talking about, but I backed off a little. By the time Greer got up and running, too much time had passed, and we’d fallen into the swing of things. Despite how much we seem to like each other as humans, after a few months with neither of us making a move, I figured it was time to stop holding my breath.
I still think Greer’s hot. But her friendship’s too important to lose, so there’s no way I’m going to tell her that.
“Never mind,” I say. I wave my hand in her direction. “Anyway, you’re too good for him.”
She smiles weakly. “Thanks.”
It’s not just blowing smoke, though. Greer’s not as tall as other girls, and she wears these dorky-cute glasses that hide just how pretty her eyes are. But she quotes fiction like the characters are her friends, is fiercely loyal to the people she cares about, and she’s really fucking smart. And funny. There’s something effervescent about her—like life’s a game that she can’t lose, and she’ll buoy you up along with her.
I get why Damien wanted her.
I just don’t like it.
Eden strides past us on her way to her desk at the back of the room, and Greer and I both fall silent. I take a sip of my coffee and watch out of the corner of my eye as Greer
