I nod and clear my throat. Leaving that section untouched, I move on to her biography. The corners of my mouth twitch into a half-smile as I skim through her rambling opus once more before deleting the entire thing. My fingers fly across the screen, typing up a quick but clever enough replacement. When I’m done, I open the camera app and hold the phone up.
“What are you doing?” Margot asks, shifting nervously in her seat.
“You need a new picture. Unless, of course, your bedroom door is looking for love.”
“Right,” she says, fussing with her sweater and correcting her posture. She reaches up to remove her glasses, but I stop her.
“Leave them on. They’re very…” I bite back the word cute because it feels like it crosses a line. “… you,” I say instead.
Margot nods and poses for the camera. Her lips part in a tight, weird smile. Somehow, she manages to produce an extra chin that I’ve never seen on her before. Her eyes flare wide, and for some reason, she stops blinking.
“Try to look less scared,” I tell her.
My words have the opposite effect.
In Margot’s mind, this translates to “find something fancier to do with your left hand.” After some more fidgeting, she balls her hand into a fist and rests it under her chin. There’s nothing supporting her elbow. It’s just dangling there while she poses like her time machine just crash landed in the middle of an 80s glamour shoot at the Sears portrait studio.
She’s overthinking this. Telling her so will only make matters worse.
“Okay,” I say gently, dropping the camera. “Put your elbow here.” I tap the wooden bar beside her. “Good. Now sit up straighter,” My hands move to her shoulders, lightly directing her then reach up to pull a tendril of hair forward. I sit back and admire my work before grabbing the phone again and pointing the camera at her. In that short time, her tight, awkward smile reappears.
“Okay, now say cheese,” I say.
The word cheese is forbidden between us due to a long-running inside joke. The unexpectedness of it makes Margot laugh, her smile transforming into something genuine and charming as I snap a few photos.
After uploading one, I pass the phone back to Margot. “All done.”
9
Margot
I’m expecting the worst when Ethan hands my phone back to me. My boss is no stranger to the world of dating apps, but we’re in entirely different leagues. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ethan’s profile is just one amazing professional headshot of him alongside the words “Take a number.”
Some of us have to work a little harder than that. We can’t all be Denver’s Most Eligible Bachelor.
Holding my breath, I glance down at the screen. A tiny, circular version of myself smiles back up at me. I look… good? I’m not sure how, but Ethan actually took a really decent photo of me.
Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m not hideous. With a little effort, I’m passably pretty. I won’t turn heads or stop traffic, but no one is going to mistake me for a troll who oversees bridge crossings either.
Being the center of attention has never been a goal of mine. In fact, the mere thought of it makes me itchy and nervous. I prefer to fly under the radar. To hide behind an oversized sweater and some quirky glasses. And even though I think the look suitsme well in person, it doesn’t always translate into flattering photographs.
When I glance up at Ethan, he’s taking a sip of his beer. I flash a quick, awkward smile, unable to find the words to thank him for the nice photo without drawing attention to my appearance.
My eyes drop back to the screen. I scroll past the small, green checkmark that just announced my desire for casual sex to my boss and feel my cheeks growing warm again. Ethan and I may be friends, but first and foremost, he’s still my boss. I’m sure he doesn’t want to know this much about my sex life… or lack thereof.
Everyone in the office is well aware of Ethan’s thriving sex life. He has strict rules against dating women he works with, but their sisters, cousins, friends from out of town, and god knows who else seem to be fair play. Word travels fast around the office, so naturally, everyone knows the nitty-gritty details of Ethan’s hookups. I’ve heard the words “sex god” thrown around, along with a few anatomical comparisons that I absolutely do not want to think about in relation to my boss.
I scroll down the page to my new bio. It’s a short, tidy paragraph instead of fourteen rambling ones.
Just out of a long chapter and ready to write a new one. I love all things literary, so if you can name a favorite book, you’ve already got my attention. Looking for a real connection to start a new story, but I’m open to a few plot twists along the way. Let's see if we can create our own bestseller or just enjoy a few fun pages together.
“Oh,” I say, slightly taken aback.
“You hate it,” Ethan guesses.
“No, it’s good.” I glance up at him. “It’s perfect, actually. You might have a bright future in marketing.”
He laughs against the rim of his beer bottle as he takes a sip then nods at my phone. “Have you gotten a lot of messages?”