"Would you like to switch?" I offered.
Instead of answering, she reached forward, grabbed the edge of my plate, and slid it toward herself. She compared the two pieces closely while they were side by side, and I chuckled when she didn't slide one back.
"Lex."
"Mine has approximately two percent more cheese than yours, and the sauce ratio is nearly one to one."
"Lex, please just pick a slice and give me the other."
She huffed. "It's not that simple."
"Lexi." I tried to be patient, I really did, because it was amusing as all hell and seriously special to watch her mind work, but if I let it, this could go on forever.
"Give me a minute," she shushed me, waving a hand and diving closer to smell each slice. I could only assume she was assessing the herbs.
I was just about to reach out and grab one before they both got cold when my phone rang in my pocket.
Lexi, knowing that meant she'd have a little more time for her appraisal, smiled gleefully.
I narrowed my eyes, and then without looking at the screen of my phone, swiped my finger across it to answer it and put it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Well, hello, trivia letdown."
I rolled my eyes and sank back into my chair with a smile. Charlotte. "I never claimed to be good at trivia."
"You're a neurosurgeon!"
"Yeah, that means I know about the brain. It also means I have very little time for anything else."
"Jesus Christ, I'm coming over later to give you a DVR tutorial."
"Most of the time, if I'm home, I'm sleeping or spending time with my daughter. Not watching TV."
"Couldn't some of that time with your daughter be spent at a sporting event?" she argued cleverly.
I laughed. "Charlotte."
"All right, all right. Jesus. I just expected a better performance out of you, Dr. Raines."
"Sorry. I guess you'll have to find a new partner for … " I glanced at Lexi and decided to abbreviate. "FMSP."
"No way!" she nearly yelled. "You'll just have to brush up for next time."
"Next time?"
"Trivia night is every Wednesday."
My eyebrows drew together. Lexi, meanwhile, finally slid a slice of pizza back over to me. It was the one I'd started with.
"You know I said no to the job, right?" I asked suddenly. I knew she knew, but she was still trying to make me her new best friend. I didn't want to let myself succumb to the pull, only to find out it was all a powerful professional ruse.
"Yeah," she said easily. "Of course."
"All right."
"Why?"
"You're just contacting me a lot. I wanted to make sure you knew it was a dead end."
For the first time since I'd met her, she actually sounded a little bashful. "I'm contacting you a lot because you're cute." She laughed, but it was completely devoid of its normal magnificence. "And dense, apparently."
Jesus, I'm an idiot.
"Charlotte-"
"Dad!" Lexi interrupted. "I chose the better slice. Eat your inferior one."
"You sound busy," Charlotte said in my ear. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Charlotte."
"Bye!"
Ah, fuck. I sighed and pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at the blank screen and grind my jaw. That didn't go well.
"Who was that?" Lexi asked frankly and without pause.
Internally, I groaned. I couldn't lie to Lexi. She'd sniff that out faster than a police K-9 looking for weed, but I really didn't feel like going down this road right now. I already felt like a Grade A jackass for embarrassing Charlotte unnecessarily.
I thought she was cute too, for shit's sake. I was just … slow.
"Her name is Charlotte," I said, hoping a vague answer would satisfy her curiosity enough to move this conversation along.
Of course, if anything was true about Lexi, it was that her curiosity was never, ever satisfied.
"How old is she?"
"Uh," I mumbled, swallowing a surprised half laugh. "I honestly have no idea."
"Are you having sex?"
"What?" I yelled. Everyone in the pizzeria turned to look at me at once. Averting my eyes to the table, I picked at the crust of my rapidly cooling slice and forced my voice back to normal. "What? No. Why would you think that?"
"According to Brice and Romlan's latest study, male-on-female interaction, without familial relation, is seventy-two percent more likely to be sexual in nature than platonic. It's biology. The male brain-"
Jesus Christ.
"Okay, yeah, I get it. But no, Charlotte and I are not sleeping together."
She shrugged. "You don't have to sleep together to be sexually active."
I shook my head and looked to the ceiling, asking God why he made me have these conversations with my almost ten-year-old daughter. Part of me thought it might be penance for missing so much of her magnificent mind when she was younger, but the other suspected it was strictly for His entertainment.
"Sleeping together is an expression for sex," I explained, rubbing roughly at my eyebrow as I tried to fight a blush.
"Oh." She shrugged. "You should really find out her age. If she's not eighteen, you could have a legal problem."
I laughed, just one sharp bark, before biting into the flesh of my bottom lip. "She's older than eighteen, and we're not having sex."
"I'm just saying."
"Well, stop. I know Charlotte from work."
She rolled her eyes. "Your smile didn't say work."
I pulled my face into a frown almost on reflex. "I wasn't smiling."
"Okay, Dad," she allowed with a small scoff.
Dad. Every time she called me that, I swear, my heart contracted in my chest.
"She got off the phone fast," she criticized.
"Lex," I chastised.
She didn't even bat an eyelash before delivering the real blow.
"Well, you'll be jail-free for at least another day. After your performance just now, tomorrow should be sex-free for sure."
Monday morning.
Ugh, hairy ball sac.
I was sitting inside of my actual office at CMI's home base in Midtown, and my email box was filled with new potential prospects of companies searching for their next great leaders and executives. Business was fucking great. Fate was smiling on me, and I was a happy, healthy woman living in the best city in the world.
I truly had nothing to complain about.
But I kind of felt like complaining and Mondays were a package deal. I mean, holidays aside, could anyone really remember the last time they had a fantastic Monday? Celebrated it? Told somebody, Oh, fuck yes, I'm happy to be back at work instead of napping by my pool and reading?
I thought not.
After a quick scroll through page two of my emails, I organized my shit into color-coordinated folders, flagged the most important items, and moved on to page three.
First rules of headhunting: Keep yo' ass organized and your clients happy.
So really that was two rules, but whatever.
My eyes barely made it halfway down the page before my attention was pulled to my cell phone as it lost its shit from its cozy spot next to my laptop. Ring, bling, vibrate, I had that fucker set on every available notification setting possible.
It's possible I've missed phone calls in the past.
Nick: I owe you an apology.
My heart fluttered at both the name and the content, but I squared my shoulders.
Me: It's fine, Nick. I've finally come to terms with the fact that you're a horrible trivia partner.
Okay, so obviously, I was deflecting, but a girl could only take so many blows to her ego, and I wasn't all jazzed up to dive right back into the land of rejection.
I silently prayed his need for apology had everything to do with our last, and extremely awkward at the end, phone conversation. And I hoped if it did, my redirection would force him to vocalize his exact trespasses as a means for further avoiding confusion.
Nick: LOL. That's not what I'm talking about.
Boom. Perfect lead-in.
Me: Oh … then what exactly are you apologizing for?
Nick: For being a slow, dense idiot.
I stared at his text for a good thirty seconds, trying to find some kind of response to his words, but it was fruitless. I'd gotten just what I wanted-a direct admission of his obliviousness. But recognition of his failure to follow context clues was not the same as an admission of feelings on his end.
If I got any farther out on the pirate plank, my mouth would be full of salt water in no time.
Nick: I'm new at this whole dating thing. I mean, Lexi's mom was literally the last woman I actually dated. And that was over ten years ago. Needless to say, I suck at it. I suck at keeping my foot out of my mouth, and I suck at saying I think you're cute too. Because I do.
Over ten years? Hot damn. That was a long fucking time ago. It didn't seem possible with his body and eyes and overall fucking bachelor of the year eligibility, but I could definitely relate.
My last serious relationship had been twelve years ago, and I'd ended it about sixteen hours before we were supposed to say "I do." Not my finest moment, but despite being the hardest thing I'd ever done and taking years to get over it, it'd been the right thing.