Page 8 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Faye

I walk into Alexis’s office on Monday morning to discover that something isn’t right.

Alexis is in her late thirties—fairly young for a VP of Marketing—but she has the soul of an eccentric villain, with a girlboss twist. She follows Lean In like a playbook, her platinum blonde bob is somehow always the perfect length,and she wears nothing but monochromatic pant suits.

She’s assertive, and hates clutter, small talk, and children.

I’ve never seen her laugh at a joke or cry or do anything that isn’t proper and above board.

Which is why I almost don’t compute what I’m seeing because I have no context for it.

You know those massage areas in airports, where you’re sort of sitting but sort of leaning down in those weird little chairs?

Well, Alexis is face down in one of those right in the middle of her office.

Today’s pant suit is navy blue and behind her is a very tall middle-aged man with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a white linen lounge set and a very determined expression.

He’s entirely focused on the massage he’s currently providing Alexis’s shoulders.

“Oop, so sorry!”

She keeps her head down in the face hole. “Faye? I’m glad you’ve finally made it in.”

It’s 8:30, and the office opens at nine.

But I know I need to apologize anyway because it just makes her easier to deal with.

I perk up into my “work voice,” cheery enough that people like to work with me, but not so cheery that my coworkers think I’m some kind of corporate robot that cannot be trusted.

“Sorry, you know how crazy Monday morning traffic is.”

She lifts her head up, piercing blue eyes communicating that no, she does not understand why I’m unable to wield traffic to my commands. She probably operates motor vehicles like she’s Moses parting the sea of cars in her BMW.

“Come on in. I want you to meet Conrad.”

I walk into her office and sit in one of the faux leather chairs in front of her desk, wondering why I need to meet this man. Wondering why she had her door wide open for just anyone to walk in on this scene.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Faye.” The chair squeaks as I cross my legs. I’ve always hated these chairs because they’re the color of a sinus infection and are super uncomfortable.

He grunts out a barely audible, “I’m Conrad,” but doesn’t look over at me.

“You two are going to be working together on the initiative I told you about on Friday.”

I don’t tell her that she didn’t give me any details on this initiative, but I’ve learned it’s best to never accuse her of not doing something.

“Can you remind what the objectives are for that? I’d like to make sure I understand the outcomes you’d like to achieve.

” Alexis loves words like “objectives” and “outcomes.”

“Our quarterly employee survey results were awful, with responses indicating that stress levels are high. I’m heading up a new self-care initiative.” She nods up. “So, we’re bringing in Conrad.”

“To do . . . massages?”

The man in question grunts again, never once taking his eyes off Alexis’s shoulders.

“I’m doing a trial run this morning. You can work with Conrad on scheduling a day for him to come in and give a tutorial on the massage thing I had you test over the weekend.”

“He’s going to do tutorials . . . on the . . . massager?”

“Yes, I was thinking we could do ten-minute individual massage slots and then do a group class on the massager.”

“A group . . .”

At this point I’m wondering about her mental health because she seems to have taken the words self-care to a whole new level.

Why can’t we do what every other company would do and just give everyone a ten percent off voucher to a local med spa or something?

Now I have to put together a plan for an actual masseuse to come into a professional office environment and touch all my coworkers.

And guide us along in a group session for how to use the massagers?

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I don’t really know how else to confirm this is what she wants without coming out and saying that the company would likely be sued for even giving me that massager, much less handing them out to my coworkers and encouraging them to practice a little self-care with them . . . at the office.

She ignores my question and asks, “Did you test it over the weekend?”

“Did I—” I cough.

“What did you think? I thought it seemed like a great model and not too expensive. We’re not made of money here, you know.”

“It was . . . well, I guess it?—”

“Did it help with your relaxation at all? I’ve heard some friends of mine say after they use them they feel much more limber. Slept better, too.”

Come to think of it, I did sleep like a baby Friday night. “It—yeah, I mean it seemed like a well-made . . . device.”

“Good, because this is very important for employee morale. We need everyone happy and relaxed.”

Kill me.

“To confirm, you want me to order the massagers for everyone?”

“Yes.” She holds her phone out where she can see it through the little face hole in the chair. “Let me forward you my original order email so you can be sure to get the same model.”

“Should I use my company card?”

Or should I head back down the elevator, get in my car, drive to the airport, buy a ticket to Nevada, shave my head, and assume my new life as a mystical desert woman, world renowned for my glass sculpture garden?

Maybe I’m already dead, and this is some kind of purgatory I’ve found myself in.

“Yes, and rush the shipping. I’d like to get this started ASAP.”

I head back to my desk, bewildered at the direction the morning has taken, and see that I have a Slack notification.

Normally a message from a coworker first thing on Monday morning would be annoying, but right now it’s such a normal occurrence that I welcome the distraction from this bizarre day.

I’m banking on the message being one of two things: someone making three times my salary needs to know why a calendar invite isn’t opening, or someone making twice my salary needs to talk through something out loud before their client meeting.

But it’s neither. I see Eli’s name and feel a fresh new bit of jitters.

Eli: SOS

Faye: What’s wrong?

Eli: Why is the coffee machine mad at me?

Faye: I’m not sure. It’s usually very kind to me.

Eli: It beeped at me and won’t give me coffee.

I spent the drive to work this morning telling myself I could avoid him for a few days, just to give myself time to forget the fact that I accidentally fantasized about him feeling me up in barn while using a company-bought vibrator.

Telling myself that the only reason my mind placed him there was because Rett and I were just talking about him.

But there’s no way I can make it through this morning without coffee, so maybe I should go ahead and face the music.

I walk into the breakroom to see a very confused Eli standing in front of the coffee machine. He’s wearing the exact same outfit that he wore on Friday: plain white T-shirt and a pair of tan utility pants.

He turns around when he hears me enter. “I’m used to an old Mr. Coffee that only works if you hold your mouth just right. This is way too fancy for me.”

I walk over to stand next to him, willing myself not to look at his hands. Specifically, the way he’s rapidly pressing the on button with the tip of his middle finger.

“Not sure the, um, tapping technique will work for this particular model.”

He smirks and takes his hand away from the machine. “What technique have you found to work best?”

“Maybe, um, unplugging it and plugging it back in?”

He looks down at me and grins. “Didn’t think of that one.”

I reach behind and remove the plug from the socket. “It’s a tried-and-true method.” I plug it back in and the machine lights up.

“Well, look at that. I’m glad you came.”

Oh, you have no idea . I cough and grab a mug from the shelf. “You want regular drip coffee?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “Are you okay? You seem a little flustered.”

The machine buzzes as the coffee fills the cup. “I’m fine. Just had a weird morning.”

“Why has it been weird?”

I peek around to make sure no one else is in earshot. “Remember the . . . package from Friday?”

“Yes. Why are you whispering?”

“Because,” I whisper louder. “It’s much worse than I thought.”

“The vibrator? Seemed like a nice one to me.”

My face heats and I wish I hadn’t even brought this up to him, considering my whole plan to avoid seeing him at all.

I think I just couldn’t keep this information to myself and there’s no one else in the office for me vent to.

“She wants me to order one for everyone in the company. Because we need self-care , apparently.”

He barks out an amused laugh. “I’m relieved to know this company really values my self-care.”

I take a fortifying breath. “I think I need to find a way to make sure she doesn’t give these out to everyone.

” I can just see the look on Tina, our sweet receptionist’s face.

I don’t want to judge based on appearances, but she wears pineapple-yellow cardigans and calls everyone “sweetie.” I can’t let this happen to Tina.

“Shouldn’t your boss be the one worried about potential backlash of this thing?”

“You haven’t met Alexis. She operates in a universe that we’ll never begin to understand.”

I pull up my work email on my phone to see if she’s sent me the last order yet. And I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Oh my god.” I could cry from happiness.

“What?”

“Look!” I show him that the original order was for a massage gun. “It was a mistake. Oh, thank God, I won’t have corrupt Tina.”

He pulls a sad face. “Dang. That’s not as fun.”

I wonder if I need to tell Alexis I was sent the wrong thing. What if she asks me to return it. I can’t return a used vibrator, can I? No, I need to pretend that I got the massage gun.

He looks at me over the rim of his cup. “Did you test it?”

“I—” I should have stayed at my desk. I should have let him figure out the coffee machine himself. I should have kept the vibrator tucked away, safe and warm inside my tote bag. “That doesn’t matter.”

“So, you did use it.” He leans over and places his hand in front of his mouth as if hiding what’s he’s going to say, even though we’re completely alone in here. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

I bat him away. “There’s no secret.” I busy myself by making my own drink.

“You’re right. It’s none of my business.” I glimpse his smile before he takes a casual sip of his coffee.

I avoid looking at him by checking my phone and see that I have a text from Rett.

Rett: I’m thinking Low’s for Friday night. Thoughts?

I flip my phone over, not wanting to think about what Friday night’s potential activities.

“Something wrong?”

I show him the text. “My friend Rett is forcing me to go out and be fun again.”

“Are you not fun now?”

I’m not sure how to answer this, because I doubt my ex-boyfriend’s best friend really wants to know the truth about how I’ve been coping (or not) with a breakup.

Eli is the type of person who is nice to everyone, even someone who broke their friend’s heart.

He’d have the most hateful DMV employee baking him brownies within ten minutes.

“I guess you could say I haven’t really been getting an—I mean—having any. Fun, that is.”

Heat engulfs my face so fast you’d think the flames of Hades were reaching up to lick my neck. Do not think of neck licking right now.

“Ah, I see.” He smiles in a way that tells me he definitely noticed.

I hide in my coffee mug for a couple seconds to take a sip. “I haven’t been out in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither, actually.”

I’m shocked. “Really?”

“Really.” He shakes his head. “I probably need to go out more and meet people, because I just told my sister I’m going to bring a date to my parents’ anniversary party in a month.”

“Well, if you decide you want to venture out, you know where to find me,” I say without thinking. “Or, you know what I mean, find . . . other women. Dates. Potential dates.”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you there.” He holds up his coffee. “Thanks for your help. I should probably get back to my desk.”

“No problem.”

I text Rett back: Low’s sounds good.