Conflict of Interest

Chapter Thirty Four

Carrie

She was a knockout. An absolute knockout.

There's something about the things we can't have that make them inherently more appealing. The way you envy someone else's car, someone else's job, someone else's life. The way I had more than my fair share of days when all I wanted to do at work was sleep, then went home completely unable to shut my eyes. It's the same way that everything's more amusing in a quiet room where the one person who laughs receives glares from all directions. It's the forbidden fruit, the thrill of the chase, and the grass that always seems greener. Part of the attraction - an overwhelmingly large part - is simply the fact that you can't have it. Because not only would having it be satisfying in and of itself; but rather, having it would be a big, emphatic middle finger to everyone who ever tried to say you couldn't. It's a fallacy, and in large part, in our heads, but that doesn't make the things we want any less appealing.

And Christ, did she look appealing.

I might have blamed it on the alcohol the way I shamelessly stared as she walked in the room. I knew at that point that I had no idea whether I liked her as a person - we'd only just met - but while I was objectifying, I certainly liked her as a thing. People refuse to admit - are too proud, maybe, too sanctimonious to admit - that that's in reality what inital attraction is; before liking someone as a person, it's liking her as a thing. But I did, without remorse. I liked her as a thing; I liked her as many things, or rather, a collection of things. I liked her as striking posture, as a smile whiter than my apartment, as a pair of perfect, long legs that I could easily see myself fitting perfectly between.

I liked, but couldn't have, and I knew that. I was a touch drunk, a touch reckless, a touch available, and a touch depressed. It was the perfect storm to flirt with a stranger. But I didn't try it, perhaps by divine intervention, or perhaps because I was too upset on my own merits.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said smoothly, having no problem taking a seat next to mine. "I get on an elevator, you're in it. I stop for a drink after work, and you're a step ahead of me."

"I'm like Jesus Christ," I said flatly, in the mood, but not in the mood at the same time.

"Because you're everywhere?"

"No," I decided. "I have billions of followers."

She let her head fall back slightly as she laughed. Her teeth, I reiterate, were perfect, but again, I was well behaved.

"What are you drinking?"

"My problems," I said grimly. "Want some?"

"No thanks, I'm working on my own," she smiled, before turning to the bartender and holding up two fingers. "Whatever she's having."

"I figured you for more of a wine drinker," I admitted.

"Why, because I wear a suit to work?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"You wear a suit to work," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and look how that's working out for me."

"You're not making any sense."

"Yeah," I said again, apathetically, taking another drink. "Story of my life."

She laughed again. "You're too cute," she said.

I made a face. "That's not something I hear every day."

She looked genuinely surprised. "It's not?"

"No," I laughed slowly. "I get harsh, fierce, cruel, intimidating, or just plain scary..."

"You don't say," she smiled.