Page 42 of Manhattan State of Mind

Lying in bed this morning, I’m ashamed to admit I entertained that foolish fantasy.

That Wolfe finds me attractive, instead of my usual lineup of weirdos.

That an experienced, successful,sexyguy like Wolfe looks at me how he looks at Helen.

That he sees me as more than another idiot on the IT team with a habit of doodling giant penises on printouts. That he could find me witty, charming, an equal. That he might respect me. And want to tear my clothes off to reprimand me over that cartoon of his furry likeness.

I mentally kick myself for being such a moron. This is Wolfe we’re talking about. The day that man cracks a heartfelt smile overme, the four horsemen will ride, aliens will reveal themselves, the earth will spin in reverse, and Mom will finally get the hang of WhatsApp.

An exaggerated throat clearing interrupts my thoughts.

Swiveling around, I find Dwayne looming over my desk.

“Hi, Dwayne.” As if my day couldn’t get any worse.

“Hello, Lucy,” he responds solemnly, eyes fixated on me while he runs his hands along the length of his tie. Both actions are equally unsettling. “So you really can’t remember anything from this year, then?”

Christ, how many more times am I going to get asked this? Should I carry a sign?

“That’s right.”

“Interesting.” He nods slowly, apparently mulling it over. “I’ve been doing some reading on your condition.”

Oh, here we go.

“You’ll require monitoring.”

My brows jump to my hairline. “Excuse me?”

“As you are aware, besides being the data protection officer, I’m also the appointed health and safety watchdog for this floor.”

“Uh-huh,” I drawl, glancing at Matty, who’s now all perked ears. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘monitoring’?”

“I’ll be observing to ensure you follow safety protocol.”

Now the entire floor has hit pause on their tasks to eavesdrop.

“I’m not a convict on day release,” I say through gritted teeth.

Dwayne slides his glasses up his nose, giving me a look that conveys he will not tolerate any defiance. “Safety is paramount. It’s for your own good. And considering your recent head injury, it’s only prudent for me to assess your workspace for potential hazards.”

I snort out a laugh. “What, like dangerous staplers?”

His lips form a thin line. “I take my job seriously. I suggest you do too. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He looks at me expectantly.

Grunting, I heave myself up. “Fine then—let’s get this over with.”

Matty leans back in his chair, beaming as Dwayne starts his inspection. “Have you considered making Luce wear a helmet around the office? You know, to avoid any further head injury?”

“In case I get hit by a flying stapler?” I add sarcastically.

Dwayne pauses mid-inspection, and peeks out from under my desk. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. I did see Matty throw a chicken hat at you.”

As Dwayne fusses around my desk, tingles spread up my spine. I feel eyes on me from a corner office. Call it woman’s instinct.

Cautiously, my eyes drift toward the corner office, and there it is: the zing of connection.

My instincts are on point.