Look at You

Chapter 37

37

I'm halfway up the lobby stairs with two steaming cups of Buzz coffee when I hear my name being called from behind me. I know it's Paul before I turn; the plume of leftover cigarette smoke invading my nostrils the key indicator.

"Cambo!" I stop where I am, turning to face him. He's taking the steps two at a time to reach me.

"Hey," I nod, thanking him as he pulls the door to the elevators open.

"That for me?" He cracks a grin, pointing to the extra coffee.

I rush out a "Sorry man, you gotta place an order if you want in." I don't know why I'm self-conscious, but suddenly I feel like 100 pairs of eyes are on me.

Paul chuckles, reaching for the elevator button. But before he can press it, the doors swiftly part. In front of us is Doug, in a Barney purple button-down shirt and navy slacks no less. "Elevator, elevator, quickly," he motions us inside urgently.

The doors close behind us. He waits, fingers pressed together, Paul and I sandwiching him on either side. He faces straight ahead, eyes closed. He doesn't make a move to press the 6th-floor button, so Paul does. I have to force myself not to hit 8.

"I'm at an impasse," he announces, eyes flicking open like he has a remote. Paul and I know better than to answer him yet. "The executives here are numskulls."

I find Paul's eyes over Archer's head—he's hardly five foot six. Paul gives me a wide-eyed stare that very clearly says oh shit. "Why's that?" He asks. He's worked for Archer ever since I was an intern, so he bites.

The elevator doors zip open on the sixth floor right as the words leave Paul's mouth. Archer seizes the moment, bolting out of the elevator wordlessly like it was scripted, ever the melodramatic. Paul and I follow closely behind.

We're lucky everyone's in fairly early today because apparently the C-Suite at the Baker TechNet office has made some rather tragic adjustments to the initial drafts and 3D renderings we had finalized all last week. Archer holds us for upwards of an hour. The first 20 minutes are dedicated to an illicit retelling of the TechNet feedback in which the words pompous, quixotic, and assholes are used more than twice. I try my best to pay attention, but Simon's coffee is going cold. And I was going to see if he wanted to see the new Marvel movie tonight. Because, as of late, we're friends.

I make it upstairs just past 9:30. I can't stay long because the list of things I have to adjust for TechNet's stupid C-Suite is longer than my memoir would be.

Simon has the big black headphones covering his ears. I pick up my pace at the sight of him.

He doesn't hear me approach, but the floor is louder than usual today—looks like Marketing Squadron picked up a few stragglers—so I'm not surprised. In an effort not to frighten him, I double tap the phone sitting on the edge of his desk and pause the music (Taylor Swift, hoax).

This seems to do half of what I expect it to. He stops typing, looks up, then turns to me, but jumps out of his skin at the sight. I laugh, wishing he could hear it through his headphones. He loves making me laugh.

He curses as soon as the headphones are around his neck, but I can see in his eyes that he's happy to see me. I push his coffee toward him on his desk.

"I thought if I stopped it, it wouldn't scare you as much." I pause, only to use his trademark smirk against him. "It didn't work."

Callie appears suddenly from behind her desk divider. "I find a tap on the back works the best. Or a forced removal of the headphones. Otherwise, he freaks."