Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen

RAE

Colton Pharmaceutical demands far less human interaction than Quincy Ventures, and I’m A-okay with that.

They’re redoing their website and need shots of their office, products, and scientists at work. Super easy. No obnoxious headshots like at QV.

I’m not about big pharma, but I am about this assignment. Hopefully, the Bernie sticker on my non-work laptop compensates for my lack of morals.

Steven, a marketing analyst, is my supervisor here. He’s the polar opposite of Taylor, meaning that he’s, well, nice.

He copied me on the company-wide email informing staff that a photographer is in the building and that they can email me if they have any questions or concerns.

I’m on day three, and no one has questions or concerns yet. No Dylans here, thank you very much.

“Knock, knock!” Steven always announces himself by pretending to knock. Colton has an open-floor plan, so there’s nothing to knock on, but I appreciate the advance notice.

“Hey, Steven. The photos from this morning just finished uploading.”

“Mind if I see what you got?”

I grin. “Sure thing.”

Steven’s an amateur photographer, and he’s taken an interest in what types of shots I’m getting.

On Monday, he told me that I have free rein in the content department and asked if I could give him pointers when we go through the photos.

I really enjoy working with him, and not just because he’s as excited about photography as I am. He’s a bit awkward, if you couldn’t tell from the whole ~knock knock~ thing, which puts me at ease.

I show Steven the headshots of scientists who were willing to have their portraits taken. Then, we flip through some candid shots, a few more portraits, and several science-y photos with microscopes and the like.

“Damn, Rae. These are awesome. The research and development page is going to be state-of-the-art.”

“Thanks, Steven. I’m pretty happy with them too.”

“You should be. My boss wanted some close-ups of products. Would you want to get those tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

Steven opens his mouth to say something, but my dinging phone cuts him off. Logan’s name pops up on the screen.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I thought I put that on silent this morning.”

“How dare you receive text messages?” he teases.

I giggle. “The audacity, I know.”

“Feel free to check it. No big deal.”

“I’ll get it later.” I force a smile. “I have some ideas for the close-ups. Do you have a few minutes?”

Steven does have a few minutes, which is ideal. I don’t want to read the text from Logan. Not at my desk.

We haven’t talked since he left my apartment Saturday. We had an intense heart-to-heart, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s texting to politely inform me that he’d never like to speak to my crazy self ever again.

I mean, after he held my hair and suffered through the world’s most awkward Uber ride, I told him way more about my family and breakup with Jake than he ever needed—or wanted, probably—to know.

I vaguely remember going off on a full-blown rant about my parents’ wish to marry me off before I hit twenty-five and why I refuse to learn to cook just to spite their antiquated gender expectations.

As if that weren’t enough—and it definitely was—drunk Rae decided that one in the morning was the perfect time to share that I have feelings for him.

I don’t know what he responded to that little confession because I promptly fell asleep and faceplanted on the counter.

I woke up on the couch. Zoe said she didn’t put me there, and there’s no chance I made it across the room by myself, which means Logan carried my unconscious ass onto the sofa.

Yeah, his text is definitely a polite but firm rejection. I was a hot mess, and CEOs don’t go for awkward messes like me.

I don’t open the text until I’m home from Colton and the JA weekly team meeting. I’ve cried in far too many office buildings this month.

Logan

Hi, Rae. Sorry I haven’t texted in a couple of days. I’ve been swamped with work. Wanted to see what you’re up to Saturday.

I’m flattered that he thinks I’d ever have plans two weekends in a row. I’m ~very~ flattered he actually wants to spend time with me again.

Rae

Hey, Logan. No worries. I’m free Saturday.

Logan

Can I take you out to dinner and a movie?

Rae

That sounds great. 😊

Logan

How is 7?

Rae

7 is perfect.

Logan

See you Saturday at 7.

Rae

See you then.

***

I shove my phone in Zoe’s face the second she comes home from work. “Look what Logan texted me!” I squeak.

“Rae,” she sighs.

I frown. “Why aren’t you happy?”

“I just think you’re moving on too quickly. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately. I’m worried about you.”

My stomach sinks. I was expecting hugging and happy squeals, not ~this~. Not Zoe gearing up for a lecture.

“There’s nothing—” I try.

“You’ve been hooking up with a guy you can barely stand. You ran off from the bar on Saturday after saying I’m overprotective. You didn’t even tell me you got fired.

“~Court~ asked me about it, and I had to pretend I knew. Now you’re jumping into this ~thing~ with Logan. You’re not acting like yourself, Rae.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m sick of being myself,” I grumble.

She drops her purse on the floor. “What does that mean?”

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me.” She crosses her arms, signaling that she is ~not~ to be trifled with.

Fine. She signed up for it. “I’m sick of people feeling sorry for me and seeing me as shy, awkward little Rae. I don’t want you to have to protect me and take care of me all the time. Everyone pities me, and I’m done with it.”

I brush away tears, wondering why I’m even bothering to participate in this argument. Zoe won’t understand. How could she? She doesn’t have social anxiety.

She doesn’t know what it’s like to clam up before every conversation, to second guess everything that comes out of her mouth, to be the cause of more awkward silences than she can count.

“You’re not ~shy, awkward little Rae~. I’ve never seen you like that. Frankly, it’s pretty insulting that you think I ever would,” Zoe snaps.

“Then why don’t you think I can make decisions about guys on my own?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffs.

It’s what she meant, but I’m too tired to fight. I’m terrible at arguing. I’ll never win against Zoe. “I’m going to bed. Night.”

I lock myself in my bedroom before she has the chance to respond.