Page 44 of Desserts for Stressed People

Grabbing the phone out of my hands, she gasps. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit!”

“What are you doing?”

She looks at me with hearts in her eyes like a cartoon as I pace after her. “What clients? Where? What are you wearing?”

“Step away from the phone, Emma. Put it down, and no one gets hurt.”

With a chuckle, she dramatically sets it onto the table and takes a step back.

“Very good.” As I stare at the email, she joins my side. “Why does he want me to go?”

“Because he likes you, of course.”

I bite my lips. There must be a reason he’s asking. Aproperreason, a work-related one. And Emma, acting like he’s asking me out, isn’t helping. He isn’t—he’s just asking me to go to a dinner with clients. Actually, more than asking, he’s demanding.

I press onReply, ignoring Emma’s gasp, then her mumbling as she grabs a cup of coffee, though I grasp something about me finally showing my worth to a man.

Shane does this to me—he makes me want to show him I’m at his level. And maybe that’s what’s drawing me to him so much. That he acts like I am too.

From:Heaven Wilson ([email protected])

To:Shane Hassholm ([email protected])

Dear Mr. Hassholm,

I’m happy to accompany you to whatever dinner you have planned. May I ask for a ride? Oh, and a “please” or a “thank you” wouldn’t hurt either. I don’t dare to dream of both, but aim for either one or the other.

Yours truly,

Miss Wilson

Heaven Wilson

Junior project manager at IMP

When I show the email to Emma, she says we’re flirting, that she can’t believe I’ve sent him that email. I have to admit itisa little playful, but that’s the type of relationship we’ve established. At least I hope so—unless...shit, was I too flirty?

My phone beeps with another email a couple of minutes later, and Emma throws herself in its direction, but I snatch it first. We both read Shane’s answer, our heads pressed close together as we stare at the screen.

From:Shane Hassholm ([email protected])

To:Heaven Wilson ([email protected])

Dear Miss Wilson,

I’m positive I’ve never met someone who talks as much as you, by email or otherwise. What’s with the chitchat? Also, no pressure, but I’m still waiting for your decision about the location.

If we’re done with the correspondence, my list of dreadful tasks for today is very long, and I need to find time for my second of unlimited attempts.

Please come to dinner with me on Friday. Thank you.

I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We’ll try out the menu for the event. Formal attire, please. And thank you.

Bye, and please and thank you.

Yours indeed,

Mr. Asshole