“I’ll take it in my office,” I said, standing. “And I’ll look at the résumés.”
Cord was right about needing to move on with hiring someone, seeing as my ex-girlfriend—the person I thought I’d spend my personal and professional life with—was CEO of HottrYou, our fiercest competitor.
3
I HOISTED THE stack of plates from the cupboard and set them gingerly on Ben’s kitchen counter next to the roll of Bubble Wrap. “Maricela okayed my pitch,” I said, smiling up at my friend, whose gaze was focused on his phone.
“Pitch?” He walked toward me without looking up.
“You know, the one I told you about.”
Wrap.
Stack.
Silence. “About the fitness app?”
Wrap.
Stack.
Silence.
“Oh yeah, of course.” Ben finally shoved his phone in his pocket and flashed me a smile. “The weight loss thing.”
“Not weight loss, but the fitness thing,” I corrected, though I wasn’t sure he heard me.
“You’re going to do it?” Ben flattened a strip of packing tape across a cardboard box, his white T-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of tan skin between his shirt and jeans.
Maricela had hired him as an editorial assistant at the same time as Claire and me, but soon he’d worked his way into a position running a popular segment of Best Life that appealed mostly to men. After a few years, Ben worked magic, made a big name for himself, and, in no time, had an offer to host a reality show on the Home network. He described the show as a straight Queer Eye meets This Old House with a few touches of The Bachelor thrown in.
It took all of three minutes for my crush on Ben to bloom, with his wavy blond hair and thick glasses over his big green eyes. I would have done anything to spend time with him, and though I didn’t like this desperate feeling, I wasn’t able to stop myself. That included devoting a Friday night to helping him pack for his move across town.
I paused my flatware wrapping to stare at his long fingers as he worked. He has hands like a lumberjack who moisturizes.
“I don’t have a choice now. You should have seen the look on Claire’s face. She definitely would prefer to do this alone.” I’d never admit it, but I was kind of glad she’d be posting, too. I liked the idea of someone besides me baring their soul on the Best Life social platforms.
Ben straightened and reached for his phone. “Claire’ll get over it.”
“Have you met Claire?” I waited for him to take his eyes off his phone so we could exchange a smile or a wink, but he didn’t look up while tapping out a text.
“True,” he mumbled into the screen. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he added, “Maybe don’t leave your coffee unattended.”
I laughed at his dry sense of humor, though the laugh was more from habit than finding him funny. I’d racked my brain about how to cross the bridge from friendship to more, and I hadn’t come up with any good strategies other than always laughing at his jokes.
He spoke over his shoulder while reaching for another box, his gaze darting down my body. “Besides, it makes much more sense for you to do it together—she’s a great writer and you’re hilarious. You’ll complement each other.”
“Definitely.” He wasn’t wrong—Claire was a good writer, and I was funny. I just always hoped he’d see more in me than humor. I focused on the plates in my hand, securing another stack in Bubble Wrap.
“Don’t get me wrong. You’re way cooler.” Ben stacked books in a box resting on his coffee table.
“If you mix that box with pillows, it will make it easier to move.” The subject change did little to untangle the double helix of disappointment and hope.
“Good idea.” He grabbed the burnt orange pillows from his couch. “Anyway, I’m proud of you, Britt. Taking on a project Maricela’s excited about and losing a few pounds. It’s a double win.”
“Um, thanks. Really not about losing weight, though.” I wanted to disappear into the Bubble Wrap, in part at his flippant comment, but also because he hadn’t listened the first time I said it. I sealed the box of kitchen items and plastered on a happy smile. “This room’s about done. Should we start on your bedroom?”
Ben glanced at his special edition Apple watch with the designer band. “Thanks, but I need to call it a night. I’m meeting people in about an hour.”
Oh.
“Britt. You’re the best.” He crossed the room. I hoped he’d wrap me in a friendly hug and remind me he cared. His long arms around my shoulders always sent a tiny spark through me as I inhaled his woodsy cologne. This time, he reached over the box to give me a high five. “What would I do without you?”