Page 10 of The Cyrano Situation

Chapter Seven - Caught Feelings

Hart

I wasn't sulking. I want that on the record.

I was simply engaging in extended periods of quiet contemplation at my desk while scowling at my computer screen. Completely different.

"Hart, did you hear me?"

I blinked, looking up to find Priya standing in my office doorway, arms crossed. Based on her expression, this wasn't her first attempt to get my attention.

"Sorry. Busy morning." I gestured vaguely at my screen, which displayed the same email I'd been staring at for twenty minutes without absorbing a single word.

"I said, are you coming to the publicity meeting? It started three minutes ago."

"Shit." I grabbed my tablet and followed her down the hallway. "Who schedules a meeting at 9:30 on a Monday? It's uncivilized."

"You did, Hart. You scheduled it."

"Past Hart was clearly an optimistic idiot who believed in morning productivity."

Priya shot me a sideways glance. "You've been awfully grumpy the last week or so. Is this about the Cyril situation?"

"There is no 'Cyril situation.'" I quickened my pace, hoping to end this line of questioning.

"You've been weird ever since you started playing digital Cupid."

"I have not. I've been busy," I corrected her. "The Anderson book launch is in two weeks, and the author is threatening to wear his lucky sweater vest for the photos, which would be a disaster of argyle proportions."

We reached the conference room before Priya could interrogate me further. I slid into my chair at the head of the table and launched into the agenda without preamble, effectively shutting down any further personal inquiries.

The meeting dragged on for an hour, during which I managed to maintain a veneer of professionalism while my mind wandered repeatedly to the text notification I'd heard from Cyril's phone as we passed in the break room earlier. The way his face had lit up told me exactly who the message was from.

I'd created a monster. A happy, confident monster who apparently no longer needed my help crafting witty literary banter.

Back in my office, I pulled up the marketing plan for our fall romance line and tried to focus. Instead, I found myself opening the dating app on my phone. I purposely hadn't checked it in days—not since Cyril had proudly informed me he was "finding his own voice" with Jules.

I scrolled through the messages between them. Cyril had indeed been holding his own, though I noticed he still borrowed some of my phrasings and humor style. But there was something else there now, something authentically Cyril, earnest and enthusiastic where I would have been dry and sardonic.

And Jules was eating it up.

I tossed my phone onto my desk and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.

Why did their happiness make me feel like I'd swallowed a cactus?

I should be pleased with myself. Mission accomplished.

Good job, Hart. Another successful PR campaign!

Except the product was my coworker's love life and it somehow didn't feel anything like success.

My intercom buzzed.

"What?" I barked.

"Charming," Priya quipped through the speaker. "Margo wants the final guest list for the Anderson launch by end of day."

"She'll have it."

"Also, Cyril's been hovering near your office for the past ten minutes. Should I tell him you're busy being a misanthrope, or would you like to see him?"

I sat up straight. "Send him in."

I quickly closed the dating app and pulled up a spreadsheet, attempting to look busy and not at all like I'd been stalking and obsessing over his text messages.

Cyril appeared in my doorway, practically vibrating with nervous energy. His hair was styled perfectly as usual, and his fitted button-down was a crisp blue that made his eyes pop behind his glasses. I swallowed and pasted on a smile.

"Hey, Hart. Got a minute?" His smile was so bright it was almost irritating.

"Barely. What's up?" I gestured to the chair across from my desk.

He sat down and leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I’ve decided to finally meet Jules. In person."

The prickly succulent in my stomach grew heavier and I couldn’t seem to control the snark that escaped my lips. "Congratulations. Try not to spill your drink on him when you inevitably knock something over." I cringed inwardly at myself.

"That's actually why I'm here." Cyril ignored my jab, too excited to be offended. "I need your help."

"With what? Picking out a tie? I'm not your personal stylist."

"No, with the actual date. I mean, texting is one thing, but in person..." He trailed off, his confidence visibly wavering. "What if he doesn't like the real me as much as he likes the texting me?"

I leaned back in my chair. "The 'texting you' is the real you, Cy. Mostly."

"But you know how I get when I'm nervous. I stammer, I ramble about obscure literary trivia, I once spent fifteen minutes explaining the em dash versus the ellipse to my last date."

"While that sounds fascinating, I can see how it might not scream 'sexy second date material.'"

Cyril ran a hand through his hair, immediately undoing whatever styling product he'd applied. "Exactly. I need you there. Not actually there there, but nearby. Like, coaching me."

I raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you proposing? That I hide under the table and whisper sweet nothings for you to repeat?"

"No! Nothing that weird." His cheeks pinked and he paused. "I was thinking more like an earpiece? You could be at another table or something, and just... help me if I start to crash and burn."

I stared at him. "You want me to be the voice in your head on your first date? That's not creepy at all."

"It's just... insurance. Like training wheels." Cyril leaned forward, eyes pleading. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. You got me this far, Hart. I can't blow it now."

I should have said no. Any reasonable person would have said no. But apparently, I'd left reasonable behind somewhere around the time I started ghostwriting romance for my coworker.

"When and where is this date happening?" I asked, already regretting the words as they left my mouth.

Cyril's face lit up. "This Friday at Rhyme & Reason. It's that new bookstore café near the college."

"Of course it's at a bookstore café," I muttered. "Two literature nerds in their natural habitat."

"So you'll do it?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fine. But we need ground rules. And you're buying me drinks for a month."

"Absolutely. Whatever you want." Cyril was practically bouncing in his seat. "Thank you, Hart. Seriously."

"Don't thank me yet. This has disaster written all over it."

After Cyril left, I sat staring at my computer screen, wondering what fresh hell I'd just signed up for. I was going to spend my Friday night hiding in a bookstore, feeding lines to the man I was falling for while he wooed the man I'd been flirting with by proxy for weeks.

This was fine. Everything was fine. What could go wrong?

By Wednesday, we had a plan. Or rather, we had the skeleton of a plan held together by desperation and a tiny Bluetooth earpiece Cyril had ordered overnight.

"Testing, testing. Can you hear me?" Cyril's voice came through my office speakerphone as I pressed the earpiece into my ear.

"Loud and clear. Though I still think this whole idea belongs in a bad 90s romantic comedy."

"It's going to work," Cyril insisted. "We just need to practice."

We spent an hour running through scenarios—what to say when he first arrives, topics to discuss, how to gracefully navigate awkward silences.

I tried to keep my suggestions aligned with the persona we'd created in the texts, which was essentially Cyril, but with my conversational timing and slightly sharper wit.

"Remember, you're not an imposter," I found myself saying. "You've been the one talking to him all along. I just helped with the delivery."

"Right. I know that." Cyril didn't sound entirely convinced. "But what if—"

"No more what-ifs. You'll be fine." I cut him off, suddenly tired of the whole charade. "Look, I need to finish the Anderson press kit. We'll practice again tomorrow."

After he left, I pulled out my phone and opened the dating app again, scrolling through the recent exchanges. Jules had suggested the in-person meeting, mentioning that he had been "looking forward to seeing if Cyril's smile was as warm as his words."

Something twisted in my chest. I closed the app and tossed my phone into my desk drawer.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of actual work, which was a welcome distraction from the mess I'd created. By six, I'd finished the press kit and was gathering my things to leave when Priya appeared in my doorway.

"A bunch of us are going to that new bar on 23rd. You coming?"

"Can't. I have plans with my couch and a bottle of whiskey."

She leaned against the doorframe. "You know, for someone who makes their living making other people look good, you're doing a terrible job with your own PR."

"That's because I don't care what people think of me."

"I call bullshit." Priya crossed her arms. "You care what Cyril thinks."

I froze in the middle of putting on my jacket. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Because you've been acting weird ever since this whole dating app thing started. And now that he's actually happy, you're even worse."

"I'm helping him meet Jules on Friday," I said defensively. "That's hardly the behavior of someone who—" I stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence.

Priya's expression softened slightly. "Hart, you're my friend, so I'm going to say this with love: you're an idiot."

"So I've been told."

"Just... be careful, okay? This whole Cyrano thing never ends well for the person pulling the strings."

I shrugged on my jacket. "This isn't Cyrano. This is just me helping out a friend."

"If you say so." She pushed off from the doorframe. "Offer stands if you change your mind about drinks."