made.
I wasn’t the only graphic artist in the company, but after four years of working almost exclusively with Andrew and his clients, I’d wound up as the company’s top designer.
They kept offering me promotions, but I kept turning them down. I didn’t want to deal with some of the others in the sales department. I liked how I worked with Andy. It was a comfortable relationship. We were both in our mid-thirties, both of us divorced from our high school sweethearts, and both of us had an understanding.
We were best friends. No complications of nookie getting in the way. Some around the office thought we were friends with benefits, but whenever such rumors popped up, Andy took care of them.
I didn’t care. I mean, he was a cutie. I could say that in a clinical capacity because I’d known him all my life. It’s really hard to see someone who used to wipe boogers in my hair as anything but a buddy.
“The Bumblebee’s Salon wants a new ‘Buzz into Spring’ theme for their stuff. They’re talking the whole works: website, stationery, new cards, everything. You up to doing something?”
“Sure,” I said. While most companies didn’t ask for springtime stuff this early, Andy knew I liked to perfect my work and not get bogged down.
I hated rushing anything.
He handed me a jump drive. “All their stuff’s on there. They loved the original design you did for their website, but they haven’t updated it except to adjust a few minor things. They want to get more personal—blogs for their stylists, that kind of stuff.”
“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll get to work on it.” I stuck the jump drive in my desk drawer.
Andy should have walked out of the room. He usually did after he brought over something for me to work on. Today, though, he stayed, staring with those damn green eyes that could burn holes in me if I wasn’t careful.
“What else is there, Andy?” I asked him.
He grinned. “You haven’t called me Andy in forever.”
“Sorry. What else is there, Asshole?”
“Tramp.” If any other person called me a tramp, I’d probably come out of the chair and kick their ass. Hawkins, though? We’d called each other names for twenty years. They were practically terms of endearment.
“You wish.”
For a second his eyes shifted, changing, and the air got thick in the office.
I tugged at the neckline of my sweater. “What is it?”
He took in a deep breath. “Mom—”
“No, Andrew Hawkins. No. Do not go there.” I knew exactly where he was going. His mom was inviting me to Christmas dinner again. She did it every year, and had for a decade. Even when Andrew was married, she still invited me to dinner. Andrew’s wife had never been crazy about it, but not even Mr. Hawkins could control Mrs. Hawkins when she got an idea into her head.
Not that I went.
Andrew ignored my protests. “Mom wants you to come to Christmas Eve gift exchange and Christmas dinner. You don’t have to bring any gifts, but as required by law, you have to help prepare the food.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know how I feel about Christmas.”
He walked around my desk and took my hand and knelt down. I glanced back at the door, looking for Candid Camera or something. Or worse, the gossip crowd to see him on his knee in front of me.
“Erica, you know you’re my best friend. It’s not just for my mom. It just makes me sick to think of you alone on Christmas.”
“Trust me, alone is better than in public.”
He squeezed my hand. “Please think about it.”
Staring into those green eyes, I couldn’t help the words coming out of my mouth. “I’ll think about it.” Think about gagging, maybe .
Gah, what was wrong with me?
He stood, and placed a short, chaste kiss on my cheek.
I about fell off my chair.
He was gone before I could yell at him.
Friday
“You know, I really should kick your ass,” I said to Hawkins as we finished dinner at Chili’s. The place drowned in Christmas decorations. Twinkle
I wasn’t the only graphic artist in the company, but after four years of working almost exclusively with Andrew and his clients, I’d wound up as the company’s top designer.
They kept offering me promotions, but I kept turning them down. I didn’t want to deal with some of the others in the sales department. I liked how I worked with Andy. It was a comfortable relationship. We were both in our mid-thirties, both of us divorced from our high school sweethearts, and both of us had an understanding.
We were best friends. No complications of nookie getting in the way. Some around the office thought we were friends with benefits, but whenever such rumors popped up, Andy took care of them.
I didn’t care. I mean, he was a cutie. I could say that in a clinical capacity because I’d known him all my life. It’s really hard to see someone who used to wipe boogers in my hair as anything but a buddy.
“The Bumblebee’s Salon wants a new ‘Buzz into Spring’ theme for their stuff. They’re talking the whole works: website, stationery, new cards, everything. You up to doing something?”
“Sure,” I said. While most companies didn’t ask for springtime stuff this early, Andy knew I liked to perfect my work and not get bogged down.
I hated rushing anything.
He handed me a jump drive. “All their stuff’s on there. They loved the original design you did for their website, but they haven’t updated it except to adjust a few minor things. They want to get more personal—blogs for their stylists, that kind of stuff.”
“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll get to work on it.” I stuck the jump drive in my desk drawer.
Andy should have walked out of the room. He usually did after he brought over something for me to work on. Today, though, he stayed, staring with those damn green eyes that could burn holes in me if I wasn’t careful.
“What else is there, Andy?” I asked him.
He grinned. “You haven’t called me Andy in forever.”
“Sorry. What else is there, Asshole?”
“Tramp.” If any other person called me a tramp, I’d probably come out of the chair and kick their ass. Hawkins, though? We’d called each other names for twenty years. They were practically terms of endearment.
“You wish.”
For a second his eyes shifted, changing, and the air got thick in the office.
I tugged at the neckline of my sweater. “What is it?”
He took in a deep breath. “Mom—”
“No, Andrew Hawkins. No. Do not go there.” I knew exactly where he was going. His mom was inviting me to Christmas dinner again. She did it every year, and had for a decade. Even when Andrew was married, she still invited me to dinner. Andrew’s wife had never been crazy about it, but not even Mr. Hawkins could control Mrs. Hawkins when she got an idea into her head.
Not that I went.
Andrew ignored my protests. “Mom wants you to come to Christmas Eve gift exchange and Christmas dinner. You don’t have to bring any gifts, but as required by law, you have to help prepare the food.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know how I feel about Christmas.”
He walked around my desk and took my hand and knelt down. I glanced back at the door, looking for Candid Camera or something. Or worse, the gossip crowd to see him on his knee in front of me.
“Erica, you know you’re my best friend. It’s not just for my mom. It just makes me sick to think of you alone on Christmas.”
“Trust me, alone is better than in public.”
He squeezed my hand. “Please think about it.”
Staring into those green eyes, I couldn’t help the words coming out of my mouth. “I’ll think about it.” Think about gagging, maybe .
Gah, what was wrong with me?
He stood, and placed a short, chaste kiss on my cheek.
I about fell off my chair.
He was gone before I could yell at him.
Friday
“You know, I really should kick your ass,” I said to Hawkins as we finished dinner at Chili’s. The place drowned in Christmas decorations. Twinkle
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