When Girlfriends Step Up (25 page)

Ugh. No pep talk is going to help today.

I stopped chewing on my nails for a second and resorted to mindlessly scrolling through my email’s inbox. No new message.
 

Of course there wouldn’t be. You checked only thirty seconds ago. Wait! How about my personal email?

I typed in the Gmail address and logged in to my personal account. My scheduled review with Mr. Lober was already five minutes overdue. His previous meeting with another employee who also happened to be up for review was taking longer than expected.
 

Oh this anticipation is eating at me!

Once my Gmail loaded my eyes noticed without a second’s hesitation that I had a new message from Emily.
 

Oh yay! I wonder what she has to say.

The email was addressed to all of the girls—one mass message that we usually expected from Emily on a monthly or bi-monthly basis.

Hey all my chicas!

How are things back at home?
 

Sophie: You still planning on a trip to London to visit John? Do it. That city’s filled with history! I’ll so join you!

Claire: Conner pop the question yet? (Sorry to bring it up if he hasn’t. Trust me though, he will!!)

Robin: A girl? (Thanks for sharing the latest ultrasound pics, BTW). Congrats! So you’re going to name her Emily, right? ;-)

Jackie: Have you burned my place down yet? Or have you found your lover man, leaving my home to fill with dust? Seriously, email me back, girly!!!
 

Lara: Hope work is treating you well. I say you need to take a sabbatical from the grind and come join me in Ghana. It’ll change your life!

And speaking of Ghana. Girls…don’t get upset. I’ve decided to prolong my stay here. The village really needs me. The school’s nowhere near complete. (Lax construction deadlines aren’t any different over here than they are in Seattle.) Anyway, the school still needs work and I’m spiritually not ready to leave. Much too much to do. But I
promise
I’ll be home in time for baby Emily’s (wink-wink) birth. I promise you, Robin! I’ll be home after Thanksgiving, girlies.

Got to go. Getting a shipment of two-by-fours in so we can get some more progress underway with the school. Always exciting! Kisses and hugs all around.

XOXO

Emily

I contemplated sending her a reply, uncertain of when Mr. Lober would conclude his current meeting and commence mine, but before I could make a decision, my phone rang. It was time for my review.

“Good luck,” Bobby whispered, as I passed by his desk, on the way to Mr. Lober’s office.

“Thanks.”

“We’re still on for lunch afterward?”

“Yeah. Either celebratory or mournful.”

***

“Congratulations, Robin!”

Bobby and I clinked our soda and water glasses over what was fortunately a celebratory lunch together. Mr. Lober sang only praises about my past year’s worth of work during my review, and he was sure that I’d continue to “impress the Board, and inspire colleagues” (his words, not mine) for many years to come. He awarded me the attractive raise I had hoped for, and added a small lift in my annual bonus package. And the best part of the review was that he said I should consider the project management position in the event the author in question signed on with Forster & Banks. No promises, although I should certainly consider the position and leave my options open.

“It couldn’t have gone any better!” I said to Bobby. “Couldn’t have asked for a better review. I’m so happy.”

“You’re a shoo-in for the PM position then.” He took a big bite of his salad.

“I wish. I know the opportunity is there, but no promises. The boss even said ‘no promises.’ At least I’ve got a shot, though.”

“I bet you’ll get it. I
hope
you get it.”

I finished chewing, then said, “Aren’t you interested in the position?”

Bobby shook his head.

“Why not? It’d be a big promotion. It’s not every day we sign a new author. And you want a long-term career at the firm. Why not try for it?”

“This is how I see it,” he started, leaning in closer to me, his fork in his hand. “I may be wanting to move my way up—get the promotions and the fancy titles and all that jazz. Obviously moving my way up the corporate ladder and whatnot is ideal, especially since I want to keep at this firm for a long time to come. But I want to go about it the right way, you know what I mean?”

“What? Not sleep your way to the top?” I joked, tapping my fork with his in a frisky way.

“The new author…she’s contemporary women’s fiction—”

“Chick lit, yeah,” I cut in.

“That doesn’t rub you the wrong way? As a woman? An empowered, career woman? ‘Chick lit’ doesn’t bother you?”

I laughed. “Why should it? It’s not any different than references to chick flicks, and I don’t see a problem with that. People whine that it’s all anti-feminist and derogatory. I don’t buy it. Let’s call it what it is: literature that chicks…dig.”

He smiled, his bright blue eyes twinkling playfully. “All right…chick lit, then.”

“We can be high-powered, women’s lib, and corporate wonder women and all that and
still
enjoy a good book filled with all-things-female,” I added. “But we’re off topic. So this new author is a
chick lit
author and…?”

“And I’m no chick lit man,” he said, resuming eating his lunch. “I appreciate all genres and all forms of cover art, but I don’t see myself as being the best PM for an author of that genre. And I don’t think it’d be in the firm’s best interest and longevity to hire on to the project someone who doesn’t have their heart in it…someone who can’t give their all and their best. That’s what the firm needs. I don’t think putting me in charge of making the calls for a pink book cover with stilettos and champagne and hearts is the best move. For anyone.”

“Not
all
chick lit covers are covered in pink and hearts.”

He gave me a cunning look, letting me know that he’d won this case; and I commended him for his stance. I liked the way Bobby thought about the firm’s best interest, not only his own. It was kind of sexy, yet
so
not what I needed to add to my Bobby Holman fantasies. Not to mention, it undeniably made Janet’s take on the PM position clear for what it was: a selfish move with only herself in mind. No care for the firm or those involved in the project. Not even the author.

Bobby and I talked briefly about Janet and her outlook on the position. We’d gotten very comfortable in our new relationship; Bobby and I knew that what we shared with each other about Janet and other colleagues stayed between us. He agreed that Janet was a selfish bitch with an ego the size of Texas, but he assured me I had nothing to worry about because “what goes around comes around; Robin will come out on top and Janet will be another bottom feeder.”
 

“She’ll move on at some point, anyhow,” Bobby said, finishing his salad. “She’ll get tired of us tiny people and ship on out.”

I nodded in agreement.
 

Tell me about it. It can’t happen soon enough.

Only that morning Janet had made some snide remark about how my feet were starting to push out like puff pastries in my ballet flats. I kindly told her that that was an unavoidable side effect of pregnancy. And that I didn’t mind, because I was doing something bigger than myself—and my feet. I was going to have a baby! Her response was only a cold, “I know. My sister’s feet look like sausages.”

“Shall we get a move on?” I asked Bobby. “Get back to work so we can get out of here on time? Nothing I hate more than staying late on a Friday.”

Bobby looked a little discombobulated. Was the food not settling well with him? Had I said something wrong?

“Robin,” he said, shifting in his seat.

“Yes?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What is it, Bobby?” I asked, nervously playing with my straw wrapper.

“Will you have dinner with me?”

“Uh…” His question came out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He was so fast to respond to my one utterance of a light sound.

“No, I, uh…yes. I mean, yes. Yes I’ll have dinner with you.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Of course. I, uh…”
 

Was this a date? As in a date-date? Or was this another “business lunch” kind of thing?
 

I wanted to be clear before I put on my best perfume and (secretly) got my blonde touched up. Before I blew things way out of proportion and ended up looking like a lovesick fool.

“Like, dinner instead of lunch?” I asked.

He smiled. “Dinner as in a date. A real date.”

I was speechless, and I don’t know why, since a large part of me assumed that’s what he meant when he suggested we go out for dinner, but still….I’d been dreaming of this kind of thing. Only in my wildest fantasies did Bobby Holman ask me out on a date. All right, my
wildest
fantasies included some Tarzan loincloth thing for him and some I’m-stranded-and-helpless Jane thing going on with me. This was reality, though, and in reality Bobby didn’t ask out Robin.

Except he
did.
For a date! For a dinner date!

Seeing how I hadn’t responded, he continued. “I don’t want to ruin anything we have going on between us, Robin. I’m really enjoying getting to know you and getting to talk with you. I really like…being around you.” He fumbled with his napkin. “I can’t hide my feelings anymore, though. I’ve been feeling some
crazy
, amazing things for you. All this time we’ve been going out for coffees or lunches or all those little breaks together in the break room…I know it all seems so fast. But, er, well…” He continued to fumble with his napkin, and I couldn’t help but grin. He looked adorable all nervous and frazzled. “Well, I’ve been attracted to you for a while,” he said. “And when I’m around you I’m always happy. I feel good. I feel like myself. Completely like myself. I know it might sound absurd, all so fa—”

“Bobby,” I said. He pulled the crumpled napkin into his lap and looked into my eyes. “I thought I was making our flirtation out to be something that it wasn’t. See…” I broke our gaze for a moment, suddenly nervous about the entire discussion. “See…I really like you.”

God, I sound like a teenager. Get it together, Robin.

I straightened up in my chair and looked back at Bobby. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, too, and if I can be completely straight up with you, I am
elated
that you want to go on a date with me. But, I can’t help but have some reservations—”

“It’s too fast, isn’t it?” Bobby said quickly. “Too fast, too soon. We may have worked together for years but we haven’t
really
known each other that lo—”

“No, no. Yeah, I mean, yes, it’s all happening really fast; that’s true. But that’s not it.” I stole Bobby’s napkin that he’d returned to the table, the edges threadbare from his nervous habit. “It’s just that…it’s…”

“What?” Bobby rested his hands softly on top of mine, and I decided to tell him exactly how I felt. I’d fantasized more than enough times about having a relationship with Bobby, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to some misgivings about Bobby striking up a relationship with a soon-to-be-mom.
 

“I’m pregnant, Bobby.” I searched his facial expression for any sign of discomfort, or understanding, or even bewilderment. So far, nothing. “And right now my baby is my priority. Don’t get me wrong, I would absolutely
love
to go out with you. See where things take us. But, well…I’m in a very sensitive situation. It’s
honestly
not every day some amazing and attractive and just…well…unbelievable man wants to date me. But a pregnant me? You understand if I’m a little, well, shaky about it all? No…” I corrected. “No, that’s not the right word.” I removed my hands from under Bobby’s and rubbed at my forehead.

What am I trying to say?

Bobby leaned in over the table and said in a low voice, “Robin, I completely understand that you’re in a difficult position right now. I can respect that. And if you’re not ready to date—”

“I want to take things really slow.” My response was sudden. It was honest. I couldn’t let myself get hurt. I couldn’t put myself or my baby in a tough spot.

“Slow it is, then. Absolutely.”

“You really want to go out with a pregnant woman? You do realize that it’s not just me you’re dating? Wait, that sounds kind of strange.” I twisted my mouth for a second, then said, “You know what I mean? With me comes a baby. And even, and God forbid, the baby’s father. I come with…well I’m more than just a single woman you work with.”

Bobby smiled, then said, “I like you just the way you are, Robin. I liked you before I knew you were pregnant. And, well, your daughter is a part of you now.”
 

I sighed in relief. I figured Bobby still wanted to date me even though I was pregnant; obviously he was asking a
pregnant
me out. Hearing it from his own mouth, though, was comforting.

“I still want to take you out on a real date, Robin. Get to know you more beyond the usual office lunch break. And
I
have no reservations about dating a beautiful and brilliant woman who is going to have a baby. Now come on. Let’s finish work up. We’ve got a date tomorrow night. Sound all right?”

“Sounds perfect.”

I sucked in a deep breath of relief and excitement as Bobby and I sat there, looking into each other’s eyes. I wondered if the chips were falling in a way that meant we’d share a kiss. At that very moment? Perhaps tomorrow? I was nervous and excited and full of anticipation at the sheer thought of Bobby’s lips meeting mine. How romantic and sweeping the moment would be. And how romantic it was, in its own crazy sort of way, that Bobby wanted to take me, pregnant
me
, out on a date!

Oh! Such a thing from my fantasies! Was this really happening?

He pushed his chair back and stood up, and I followed suit. The anticipation of a kiss would have to keep stirring until tomorrow night, when maybe, just maybe, I’d get to share a beautiful kiss with the man of—quite clichéd but quite possibly true—my dreams.