Meet Me at Midnight

Chapter 8

“Where in the hell have you been?” Avery asks, peeking around the corner of the wall between our cubicles and startling me into a jolt.

Not only was she not at her desk when I walked by it a minute ago, she hasn’t been in the office all morning. I’ve been running around like a headless Chicken Little to cover both our asses, so I would know. Her questioning my whereabouts is the height of irony. The Mount Everest of irony, really.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, my voice playfully jeering. “Taking notes for Mr. McKenzie in his call with Big Energy in London, running to Starbucks for the whole exec wing, toting spreadsheets for Tom in Accounting, running to the fourth floor for Carla with changes for Digital Marketing for the commercial that goes live next month for Langley, and sorting through our email box to see what needs to be done next.” I’ve been hustling my little ass all morning, but the real travesty is that I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to check in on Beau or ascertain if our messages last night are on his mind at all.

Avery just stands there, her work-averse mind refusing to digest the words that just left my lips.

“Where in the hell have you been for the last two hours?” I ask, and a secretive smile crests her lips.

“You know Luke from Copywriting?”

I shake my head, but my eyes are focused on the screen of my laptop, organizing emails into folders and assigning myself tasks in Asana, our company’s work management platform. If I stopped what I was doing every time Avery showed up with a story, I’d end up getting the same amount of work accomplished as she does.

I’m not self-centered enough to think I’m vastly important to the operation of Banks & McKenzie as an intern, but I definitely take a chunk of busywork off everyone else’s plates that would lower production at least a little.

“What?” Avery questions, rounding the thin wall and jumping up to sit on my desk. It’s just Pretty Woman -toned enough to make me worry she’s going to unzip her over-the-knee black Prada boot and start pulling out condoms. “You must be living under a rock if you don’t know who the hottest guy in the company is!”

I snort. She would be horrified if she knew who I think the hottest guy in the company is.

“Anyway,” she continues, immersed in her own story enough to carry the conversation herself. “I saw him in the elevator, after I ran to Starbucks to get a coffee, and let’s just say, he’s a really good kisser.”

“Avery!” I chastise, dropping my voice to a whisper. “You do realize this is your father’s company, right? You can’t just run around kissing employees in the elevator.”

“Oh, relax. I didn’t kiss him in the elevator,” she retorts. “I kissed him in his office on the eighth floor.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I say, leaning back in my chair to stare at her. “You stayed out late, woke up late, went to Starbucks, and then kissed Luke whatshisface in his office on the eighth floor, and I got Chris McKenzie’s Men in Black face.”

Avery covers her mouth and giggles. Because of Beau’s friendship with Seth in college, I’ve known his father Chris much longer than any other intern would. I know the quirks of his attitude and what drives him nuts, and I know, when he’s really angry, he looks like Vincent D’Onofrio in Men in Black . This morning, on the call with London, he was full-on alien.

Beau does a great impression when he’s off the clock and you get a few beers in him, but the real thing is much scarier.

“I keep inviting you to join me. There are a lot of certified foxes on the eighth floor. We could have found one for you,” she counters.

I roll my eyes. “Remind me again why you wanted this job.”

“Because I love working with my best friend.” She nudges me with her knee.

“It’s funny when you say working… Is it a code word for something? A secret message? Please, help me understand.”

“Okay, fine,” she replies. “I love hanging out and watching my best friend work.”

I laugh at that. “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you.”

“It’s part of my charm, you know? I’m irresistible.” She winks. “Just ask Luke Harrington.”

“You do realize that if your dad knew you were hooking up with his staff during office hours, he’d lose his shit, right?”

She shrugs. “He’d get over it.”

“But would he?” I question, but her response is interrupted when the phone on my desk starts ringing. I shove Avery’s hip out of the way so I can answer it, and she jumps down and waves goodbye with wiggly fingers. “Hello?” I say into the receiver as Avery heads off to do anything but actual work. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back to my cubicle in an hour to tell me she let some hot dude in HR touch her tits.

“Juniper, it’s Steve down at reception. You have a delivery.”

My eyebrows knit together. “A delivery?”

“Yes. Do you want to come down and get it?”

“Uh…sure. Be down in a sec.” I hang up the phone and stand up, and a quick crane of my neck shows Avery has Houdinied completely.

I’m not expecting a package. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I beat feet from my cubicle to the front of the floor, past the reception desk, and over to the elevator to call the cart.

The most pathetic part of me wonders if Beau figured out who I am from our chat last night and has decided to start a mystery romance. It’s not likely per se, but fairy tales are built on exceptions to the rule, aren’t they?

The elevator ride to reception is a balloon of wild thoughts. Somehow, I even manage to squeeze it through the doors without popping it when I get down to the lobby. Right in front of Steve sits a giant bouquet of pink roses, and my heart races, daydreams of a Beau and June love story sending it into overdrive.

“Are those for me?” I question tentatively, bringing Steve’s head up from the desk at the sound of my voice.

He looks down at his notes and then back up at me. “Are you Juniper Perry?”

I nod and flash him my badge.

“Well, then, yes, these are for you,” he says and leans down to pick up a white box wrapped with a Tiffany-blue bow from where it sits beside his computer screen. “And this too.”

My hands pluck the note from the roses, my fingers shaking with anticipation. I open the tiny envelope and pull out the card, and instantly, my giant balloon of hope and daydreams and delusional Beau-filled fantasies deflates until it’s a pathetic, shriveled-up piece of latex.

I recognize the handwriting painfully well—my father’s assistant, Shirlene.

Juniper,

I still think you should come work for me.

Then I’d get to see you more.

Love and miss you so much, my darling girl,

Daddy

Ugh . Same old words, same old actions. Even if I worked for my dad, I’d still see him as much as I see him now—a big fat never. His and Lola’s feet practically never touch the ground.

I don’t even bother opening the box, already knowing it’s probably some expensive bracelet or necklace from Tiffany’s. From the outside, the stuff seems nice—that at least the thought counts. But that’s only if the thought comes from the right person, and I know for a fact that this one came from Shirlene.

Almost all of them do. Well, except the ones that come from Carmen, my father’s backup assistant when Shirlene is too busy with all of his day-to-day shit.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Steve?” I ask, my voice audibly scratchy. Swallowing tears always makes my throat raw.

“I’m married, actually.”

“Perfect,” I comment and slide the pink roses and Tiffany box back toward him. “I think you should take these gorgeous flowers and this box and give them to her when you get home tonight. Or, if you can, sneak away and surprise her with them.”

His eyes go wide. “I don’t… That’s way too much. I can’t take—”

“Please?” I plead. “You’d actually be doing me a favor.”

“I’d be doing you a favor by taking these flowers and gift?”

“A huge one.”

I don’t want to see any more reminders of my father’s make-believe. I don’t want to face how na?ve I was to hope it was anything else.

He searches my eyes for a long moment and then smiles, giving in with a nod. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

I grin. “Good.”

I leave before he has a chance to protest, staring down at the marble floor as I make the loneliest walk I’ve ever done back to the elevator. I rub at my forearms furiously, their position crossed over my stomach, and try valiantly not to cry. I don’t know if anything will ever be the way I want it to be—with my father or Beau—and freaking hell, does reality sting.

The elevator dings its arrival, and I step on. But just as I do, Beau comes jogging toward me, one arm held high. “Hold the elevator!”

Nerves prick at my belly, and I almost let the doors slide closed, trying to avoid him entirely, but when he adds, “June!” I can’t ignore him.

Beau strides on, and I slip into the far corner, trying to hide my somewhat obvious feelings from one of the most observant men on the planet.

“How’s the day, Juniper June?” he asks, and I clear my throat before answering.

“Good. Busy, but good.” I’m surprised but proud of how normal I actually sound.

“Good,” he says, his eyes looking up to a small elevator screen that shows each floor as we pass. He turns to smile at me, and my knees wobble. “I stayed up way too late last night. I’ve been behind all damn day.”

I suck my lips into my mouth, nod, and pray like hell he can’t see that my whole body is vibrating with nerves.

The elevator dings.

“Have a good day, June,” Beau says, striding off the cart without another word, and I follow after him, looking painfully like a dutiful puppy, thanks to our matching routes.

Beau stops at an office just across from my cubicle, catching Mary from Public Relations on her way out. I sit down and wake up my computer, but my ears have their own agenda.

“Have a good night last night, Mary?” Beau asks, making me smile. Even being as busy as he is, he always makes time to be personable with all the employees. I know he has at least two campaigns coming to a head this week, plus the Midnight prep and planning, and still, he’s taking the time to stop and chitchat with Mary.

“I did,” she replies, a sweet smile in her voice. “How about you, Beau?”

I open an email from Neil with a contract he needs copied and start to type out a reply. Still, my ears…they listen.

“It was good. Interesting, actually.” He chuckles. “Unexpected, if you will.” As he pauses, so do my fingers on the keyboard. “Did you do anything fun?”

“Just made Bill and me some dinner and watched a little TV.”

“So, you didn’t do any Midnight chatting?”

Oh my God. I pause mid-type, and my fingers hover over the keys. Is he…trying to find out who the whistleblower is?

Clicking print on Neil’s contract as quickly as I can, I stand and make my way to the printer between Avery’s and my cubicles. Hers is a little closer to their conversation, and along with the ears, the eyes are now involved.

“Oh no, honey,” Mary says, patting him on the shoulder. “Bill and I are in bed by ten at the latest.”

Beau smiles and dismisses himself, and I stretch my neck to watch as he walks down the hall toward his office. His head swings back and forth, peering in on coworkers as he goes, and my stomach does a backflip on itself.

Holy hell. I wonder if he’s going to be questioning everyone all day about his Midnight Mystery Chatter.

I also wonder if I should be hurt that we already had alone time in the elevator and he showed absolutely no signs of suspecting it to be me.

No way. This is good. This is exciting. In fact, this is an opportunity.

What might I not be afraid to say if I were truly anonymous? What would it be like to be more than me?