Page 5 of The No Repeat Policy

“Hey, can I come in?”

Madison peeks around my open office door.

“Madison.”

I intentionally use her name. It’s something I’ve learned to do to retain people’s names quicker. “Sure, come in.”

“Hope I’m not intruding,”

she returns, slipping through the doorway.

“Not at all. Have a seat.”

I direct my hand toward one of the plush leather chairs set opposite my desk.

It’s been so odd having people around the office asking me permission for things or reporting to me, like Logan—so far, he’s been great, and he’s certainly good at web design—and Madison, who are both around my age. At least they don’t call me sir. I’m so fucking glad that’s not a thing here.

Madison takes a seat and smooths out her skirt.

“I just wanted to check if you’ve had time to look over the copy I sent you,” she says.

I have. It was a few pages of company statements, verbiage for some of the already proposed web pages, etcetera. She sent it yesterday, which was way sooner than I’d anticipated. I haven’t even had time to really start conceptualizing how the website needs to work, let alone putting things into use. I still have to get with others in the building—the stakeholders, as my project management instructor would have called them—to figure out all their needs and wish list items. I refuse to piecemeal this site together. I’m taking a holistic approach. Something that will work seamlessly and lend itself to changes.

“I did, a little,”

I admit. “Thanks for sending it over. I’m just not quite there yet. There’s quite a bit to figure out before I need the copy really.”

“Oh.”

Madison pooches her lips.

“It’s good though.”

I wave the worry away, trying to act like I know what I’m doing. “Just means I’ll have it when I’m ready.”

“I wasn’t sure how big a rush it was. Can’t ever tell here.”

She waggles her head and springs her eyes wide for a moment.

“Oh, really?”

I ask, leaning over my desk with my elbows resting on the dark wooden top. “Do tell.”

“Sort of,”

she laughs. I’m not sure if it’s more to disarm me so I don’t think she’s complaining about management, or if she’s always like this. “Just depends on what’s happening. Usually when we’re getting ready to put out a new release, things get more rushed, or if one of the bosses wants something they tend to wait until the last minute, you know?”

“I do.”

I grin. My last job was like that. It had been an intern position at a financial institution down by Ballantyne. It was rather tame usually, but then there were times when one of the bigwigs upstairs wanted some brand-new feature, and apparently had the idea we could just create them from thin air in an hour. “You’re good. As far as I’m concerned, we’re taking this calmly and carefully. I want it done right the first time.”

My main concern is security. I’m certain Logan will have the visuals set up beautifully once we get to that stage–he was showing me his ideas earlier—but making sure it’s secure is really my main job. The quicker I put this together the more likely I am to miss something, something simple even, and that’s not how I want to start off my tenure.

“I’ve always wondered how websites were made. You know, like really made, not how Logan’s been doing it.”

Madison shakes her head and giggles.

I laugh with her, but I don’t want to minimize the work of anyone here, especially someone I have to work with, so I approach it with care.

“How he’s been doing it is okay too. We can just do better. That’s all.”

“Maybe you could show me how it’s done sometime.”

Madison’s grin rises, and call me paranoid, but there’s a moment I think she might be flirting.

I shrug it out of my mind.

“You’re interested in web dev?”

I ask, dropping back in my chair and lacing my fingers together like I’m in deep thought.

“A little,” she says.

“Maybe when things are closer to being done, I could show you some,”

I tell her.

“Sounds cool.”

She shakes her entire body. “Well, I gotta get back to my desk in case Rachel comes down.”

Rachel is the other daughter of the owner, who’s also the editor-in-chief. I think she’s the older one, and from what I’m hearing, it sounds like maybe she can have a temper, or maybe I’m just reading the room wrong. She seemed really nice at lunch Monday, and what little I’ve seen of her since has been uneventful.

I nod to let Madison go and return my attention to my computer screen. She gets up but stops at the door, turns around, and coughs to get my attention.

“You have any plans this weekend?” she asks.

Okay, she is flirting. She’s pretty though, so it’s still sort of flattering. Her skin looks soft and her complexion is even; it yells that she takes care of herself, but calmly. Dark eye shadow emphasizes the deep green in her eyes, and her lips are a natural tone. It doesn’t scream I’m trying too hard. Instead she seems effortlessly beautiful. But my type has other… How do I say it? Equipment. Yeah, and I’m just going to go ahead and assume she doesn’t have those necessary parts. Hmm…I guess I could be wrong, but I’m sticking with it for now.

“Uh…”

I decide to answer despite thinking it’s a bad idea. “Probably just going to finish setting up my apartment and have a little movie night…or something.”

God, that sounds so lonely and pathetic now that I say it out loud. Most of my furniture arrived yesterday, so I’m still putting it together or putting it in place. By myself. Ugh.

“You can’t spend your entire weekend doing that.”

Madison pats at the air like she’s patting my pathetic shoulder. “You ever go to clubs?”

“Clubs?”

I angle my face downward, looking up at her like she’s crazy. “Around here?”

“Well, club,”

she corrects.

“You mean that country bar?” I ask.

“You’ve been?” she asks.

“Yeah, I went the night I arrived up here,”

I tell her. “Not exactly what I’d call a club.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re a city boy. Charlotte, right?”

Madison props herself against my doorframe.

I shake my head and laugh. “Yeah. Clubs are much different down there.”

“Eh.”

She shrugs. “Still a club. I go every weekend. You know, flirt around, see how many drinks I can get guys to buy me.”

“Oh, you’re one of those.”

I grin mischievously. Honestly, I can’t say much. If I had the ability to get guys to buy me drinks I’d do it. I tend to be the guy buying.

“And proud of it, bitch—of fu… I mean… Sorry.”

She tries reeling the words back in.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I laugh.

“Thank God,”

she says. “Some of them upstairs aren’t as keen on it in the office. But that’s whatever. You want to join me tomorrow night at the club?”

“You mean the bar?”

I correct.

“The club,”

Madison repeats, a firm grin on her lips.

Guess I can give her this one.

“Sure—” I start.

“Awesome! I usually go at like nine. That work?” she says.

All I’d actually meant by sure was sure you can call it a club, but I guess I just agreed to an evening out.

“Uh, yeah,”

I say, trying not to sound unsure.

“Great! I’ll let you get back to work then,”

she says, and pops around the corner and out of sight.

Well, guess I’m going back to that bar tomorrow. Might have to break it to her that I’m not exactly into her, but what’s the worst that could happen?