“Are you okay?” Craig asked, and I was touched by his concern. I was also thinking about the safety data binder in the bottom drawer of my workstation. I didn’t know if there was something else I needed to do in this situation, but I felt fairly certain I wasn’t going to die. I knew cyclopentasiloxane could potentially disrupt hormones, but I hadn’t actually ingested it.
If I pulled that binder out, though, Craig would know what I had just done.
“Fine. I’m fine.” I might have permanently damaged part of my endocrine system, but all good. “I just . . .” I didn’t want to confess to my colossal mistake. I was trying to win him over with my wit and smarts, not make him think I couldn’t distinguish a chemical from water.
Which was true, but still.
He set the laptop down. He didn’t say anything about my formulation, and I again felt the urge to fill in the silence. “I know it’s not all that exciting, but it’s what they assigned me. I’d love the chance to work on some of the things I’ve pitched to my boss. I think I have a lot of potentially good ideas.”
At that, his expression shifted. “Really? Have you shared them?”
How could I tell Craig that Jerry was a buffoon who wouldn’t know a good idea if it climbed up on his face and suffocated him like one of those alien larvae? “Not yet. We have a long list of things to accomplish, and I try to focus on that.”
I hoped that was diplomatic enough.
That anxious feeling returned while I waited for him to respond, and I reached across my desk until my hand landed on a thermometer. I picked it up. If someday I became famous and my biographer asked about this moment, I would never be able to explain why I made a dad joke. “Hey, what did the thermometer say to the measuring cylinder?” I paused. “You may be graduated, but I have several degrees!”
Craig blinked at me slowly, and the total and utter humiliation that filled me up, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, made me want to climb under my workstation and wait for the heat death of the universe.
Then he spoke, skipping over my world-ending joke, and I didn’t know if that made things better or worse. “Those ideas of yours, you should stop by my office and share them with me. I’m looking for the next big thing. Something that will put Minx Cosmetics on the map.”
Obviously. We all wanted that. That’s why we were here—to come up with the next great innovation that would change our industry.
Craig kept talking, almost like he was reading my mind. “I know every executive at every makeup company around the globe is looking for the same thing. Easier said than done, right? It’s just that my father . . .” His voice trailed off and he sighed. “I need to find something that will make him and KRT happy with me.”
I knew Minx Cosmetics was a subsidiary of a much larger conglomerate, KRT Limited. Was his father involved with that company?
Putting that aside, I wondered how anyone could be unhappy with Craig. It seemed impossible.
He added, “So if you do come up with something great, I want you to bring it straight to me, okay?”
Something in his tone felt . . . off. And he must have seen that in my face, because he suddenly leaned forward on my workstation, so close that if I had moved slightly to the right, we’d practically be kissing.
The thought of that made my brain short-circuit and forget what I’d just been worrying about.
His eyes lit up, a flirtatious smile flashing across his lips. “Are you going to the party tonight?”
“The company party?” I asked breathlessly. Of course the company party. What else would he be talking about? Minx Cosmetics always had a big event in January after everybody returned from the holidays to celebrate the previous year’s successes.
I’d had zero plans to go. I hated parties and being around a bunch of people. My idea of a perfect evening was sitting at home watching movies and/or playing board games. Standing around and being forced to make small talk felt like something the Geneva Convention should outlaw.
He nodded. “I hope you’re coming.” Somehow he managed to move even closer, and when my nerves started shorting out, I didn’t know if it was due to him or the possible cyclopentasiloxane ingestion. He murmured in a low voice, “It really is too bad that the company has that nonfraternization rule.”
I drew in a sharp breath. Nonfraternization rule? What? Since when? I’d never heard of it. That seemed like something Jerry would delight in reminding us about, over and over.
And a microsecond later, I understood Craig’s implication, and my heart leapt with excitement into my throat. That if there wasn’t a rule . . . that we . . . that he and I could . . .
It was like a dream come true.
I didn’t break rules . . . but maybe this one time I’d be willing to make an exception.
“Yes! I’m definitely going. I love parties!” I hoped he couldn’t hear how fake my words were. I’d always been a terrible liar.
Jerry’s door opened loudly, startling me. In my haze of excitement and hope, I’d totally forgotten about my disapproving boss.
What if he came over here?
What if Craig witnessed Jerry treating me like an incompetent idiot? That would be horrific. My intelligence had always been the trait I was most proud of. I didn’t want Jerry to make Craig look at me differently. That would be a total nightmare. I actually checked with my tongue to make sure my teeth were still in my mouth.
I was torn between the desire to have Craig stay close so that we could talk and wanting to tell him to flee before my boss ruined everything.
Even though I was doing a pretty good job scaring him off all by myself between my staring at him and drinking chemicals.
Jerry cleared his throat, and Craig glanced over his shoulder. “I should go.” He turned back toward me. “You’ll have to save me a dance, and we can talk more about those ideas of yours. Deal?”
“Yes!” He wanted to dance with me? I couldn’t imagine anything better.
“See you later,” he said with a wink, and my heart nearly exploded with delight. I watched as he walked over to join Jerry, and they went into Jerry’s office, closing the door.
I said a quick prayer to whoever the patron saint of cosmetic chemists was that I would not be the main topic of discussion between Craig and Jerry and then pulled my safety data binder out of the drawer as discreetly as I could. I quickly flipped to cyclopentasiloxane and saw that I needed to rinse my mouth out （done） and make sure I was still breathing （also done）。 I was good.
Catalina came over with a box that she set on my desk. “I’ve got some stuff for you to try out. A new mascara, this amazing organic face mask with honey and blueberries, a self-tanner that won’t streak, a long-lasting lipstick that’s supposed to be kiss-proof and sulfate-free.”
I blinked at her, my brain not shifting gears fast enough. I was still freaking out about Craig and what he and Jerry were talking about and whether I’d accidentally caused my own sterility, and she was bringing me stuff to test? To be fair, though, trying out each other’s products was something she and I did regularly—it always struck me as ironic that in our industry it was mostly men making women’s beauty products and that they did not personally test their own creations. Catalina and I were unique in that regard.