Page 31 of Desserts for Stressed People

“Before Dan called. You were asking me something. ‘How...’?”

“Right. How’s it going?”

“Great,” I say, straightening my dress even though it’s as straight as it gets.

“No, I mean, in the office. You’ve been through your first week. How was it?”

All right. It doesn’t take the first prize for originality, but at least, he’s attempting to make conversation. “It was good. I think I’m getting the hang of things. But you’re the boss. You tell me how I’m doing.”

“You’re doing something right for sure, or we wouldn’t be driving to see locations right now.”

I nod. “And I wouldn’t have solved Dan’s problem.”

Laughter bubbles out of his lips, and it’s so cute I have to keep myself from raising my fist in victory. I made Mr. Asshole laugh, and more importantly, I made Shane laugh. It’s not the first time, because some texts we exchanged were hilarious, and last time he said he almost choked on a slice of apple pie. But it is the first time I see it, and I’m immediately addicted.

“Yes. You’re very good at your job, Heaven. But I was talking about the colleagues, the pace. It’s quite different from what you’re used to. How is that going?” When I gape at him, his brows furrow, his eyes shifting from the road to me repeatedly. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use so many words together.”

His shoulders relax as little wrinkles appear at the corner of his eyes. “Okay. And will I get a lengthy answer?”

I pause, and when he tilts his head, clearly frustrated that it takes me so long, I fight the instinct to stick my tongue out. “It’s different. You were right. Compared to you people, weareartists. But I think I’m handling it pretty well. I just don’t expect Marina to invite me to her birthday party any time soon.”

“I don’t think she’s ever invited me to that party, and I have worked with her for close to ten years.”

That’s sad. I’ve been at each one of my team members’ birthday parties since we’ve worked together. “Why is everyone on the sixth floor so…” I don’t know which word to choose. I don’t want to insult him, but the term I’d like to use is “cold,” maybe “distant.”Definitely “unpleasant.”

“We’re there to work. We make friends in our free time.”

Yet he’s making an effort with me. How is that different?

Before I can ask, he continues, “It works. I’m Mr. Asshole, and they do their job. As long as no one gets fired and we get things done, I don’t see the problem.”

“Well, for starters, it’s tense.”

“Tension is a great motivator,” he says, switching hands on the steering wheel.

“No. Tension is tense. Motivation is a great motivator.”

He grins. I don’t know what’s making him so happy, but seeing him relaxed works wonders on me. “So you think you can do my job better than me.”

“I know I can.”

A flicker of AC ruffles the locks of hair beside his hooded eyes as he bobs his head up and down, like he’s impressed by my confidence. And I have plenty to sell when it comes to my work. I’m great at what I do. More than great—I’mawesome.

I’m about to speak again when my phone beeps. It’s a weird noise, some sort of “ping” I don’t recognize. But Shane does, because his eyes shoot to me.

Oh, God. Is it RadaR? It must be.

My face sizzles. I don’t have any reason to feel ashamed, of course. Shane doesn’t know I technically still have a boyfriend, and he is on that app himself. Plus, it looks like he definitely doesn’t know that Nevaeh and I are the same person. Nonetheless, I am mortified. So much so that it takes me an entire minute to realize that if Shane is sitting next to me and I got a notification from RadaR, it means it’s Alex. I haven’t swiped right on anyone else.

My boyfriend is a few steps closer to proving he’s the horrible man that I already know he is.

At the second ping, panic spreads through me, paralyzing all my muscles.

Then the nightmare continues.

My phone pings again and again. At the third one, I reach for it. At the fourth, I have it in my hands and I’m frantically trying to turn the sound off. By the fifth, the volume’s gotten as loud as a ship’s horn, and I’m sweating profusely. When the sixth comes, I wonder if there’s a possibility Shane’s suddenly gone deaf and missed the unmistakable RadaR text notifications.