Briefly, I consider running for the emergency exit located on the opposite side of the floor, but my mother didn’t raise a coward. So with no choice, I lift my chin, wrap my fingers around the metal bar of the sandwich cart and push it toward the trio of men who are absolutely joking if they think I want anything to do with them.
My internet search history notwithstanding.
Chapter Six
On my way across the cubicle graveyard, I build up a hot head of steam. Every eyeball in the place is turned toward the tram trio and these Ivy League-educated reporters are quickly putting together the pieces, probably since I am plowing my cart toward Tobias, Banks and Gabe like a one-sided game of chicken. Not only are they likely stirring up speculation about me, but they’ve put me in a weird position with Karina who will henceforth refer to me as Hide The Eggplant Girl.
The fact that Tobias pushes off the wall and casually drawls, “Utterly heartwarming. The Tram Fam is back together,” does nothing to even out my mood.
By the time I reach the men, I’m so irritated that I send the cart sailing straight into Tobias, hoping to knock the wind out of his sails—or perhaps maim him in some such way—but he catches the cart with one hand, his grin only stretching wider.
“Ah now,” he says with a sniff. “I can tell she missed me.”
I peer over my shoulder to find everyone and their sister draped over the tops of their five-by-five patch of real estate, their recently purchased sandwiches forgotten in their hands. “What are you doing here?” I scream-whisper at them through my teeth. “This is my place of work.” I reach over and snatch the badge from around Tobias’s neck. “Did you steal my badge so you’d have some way to track me down?”
“I did not steal it,” Tobias responds, hesitating for a drawn-out dramatic pause before pointing at one of the men to my right. “Gabe did. He swiped himself in through security and let us in the back entrance.”
“Gabe stole it? You really expect me to believe that?” There’s no way. Not soft-spoken, wounded-by-betrayal Gabe. But when I glance over, he’s avoiding eye contact with me and the tips of his ears are the color of a fire engine. “Gabe. You didn’t.”
“Sorry, Elise,” he rumbles, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “You asked me out and I didn’t get the chance to…you know.”
“Close the deal on the date,” Banks supplies, his eyes unwavering on me, as always.
“Yeah,” Gabe says, taking a step in my direction. “You left so suddenly. Before I could get my shit together. I saw the strap of your ID hanging out of your bag and I thought…this is how I’ll get to see her again.”
“Wait. I’m confused. Which one is the sandwich girl dating?” someone says behind me, followed by a storm of whispered guesswork. Afraid of what I’ll find, I nonetheless glance back over my shoulder and people appear to have joined from other floors to witness this.
“That’s more or less what we’re here to find out,” Tobias informs them, cheerfully.
At this point, I’m surprised steam doesn’t blow my head through the ceiling. “Can I speak to you three somewhere private?” I say through my teeth.
“Of course,” Banks answers immediately. “Lead the way.”
The only room I have access to is the kitchen, so I breeze past the three men and the elevators. “Tram Fam on the move,” Tobias announces to the office.
“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper at him over my shoulder.
He beams back at me.
We continue down the short hallway to the other side of the elevator bank and hook a left. Surrounded by three men who each have several inches of height on me, I unearth the key from my apron and slide it into the lock, ordering my fingers to firm up and stop trembling. There’s no reason to be nervous. None at all. I’m going to explain to these men that I have no interest in dating any of them and shortly, they will disperse toward their respective corners of Manhattan, leaving me to figure out my next move with Karina. If there is one.
How did I get stuck in another unachievable pipe dream?
That’s the question echoing in my head as I step inside, flip on the light—and far too late recognize that the kitchen is only half the size of the tram car.
They’ve already piled in, arms crossed, looking at me expectantly.
We’re standing very close to one another, their big chests offering me warmth. The showered cleanliness of them so inviting, I mentally sob. No single man has ever been so touchable to me, but somehow these three beg for welcoming strokes from my palms. Valiantly, I try to ignore the effect their nearness has on my pulse. Or…is it one of them? All of them? I’m so confused. “What?” I ask semi-unsteadily, closing the door. “You have the nerve to show up here—at my job—and look at me like I owe you money?”