Anyway, it’s all fun and games (and Netflix-binges) until I wind up with a veritable mountain of work. I’m currently juggling three different designs for WestTech’s summer ad campaign, plus the website needs updating and a man from the art department wants my approval on our billboard overlooking the Mass Pike, which will advertise my father’s new high-rise condo development.
The West Waterfront: Where Innovation Meets Luxury
No, I don’t come up with the shitty campaign slogans — I just slap ‘em on brochures and pick out the fonts.
The only thing that might get me through the stack of work I’ve let pile up is if I handcuff myself to my desk and insert an IV of coffee directly into my bloodstream for the next week.
Cracking my neck like I’m preparing for battle, I click open Photoshop and dive in.
***
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
“Ugh,” I moan unintelligibly, sounding more zombie than human.
Chiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiirp.
“Kill me,” I grumble.
Chiiiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiiiirp.
Something is ringing. Very insistently.
My bleary eyes blink open and I realize I’ve passed out on my keyboard. My cheek is wet from resting in a puddle of drool, my hair is a rat’s nest of curls since I failed to brush it out after my shower, and my back is so sore I think I’ll need traction. I’m completely disoriented, unsure whether I’ve been asleep minutes, hours, or days.
I finally locate my chirping cellphone beneath a stack of glossy photo paper.
“Hello?” I grunt, voice huskier than normal.
“Phoebe.” The voice is warm and unmistakably male.
Phey-bee.
“Cormack?”
“Lila gave me your number. I hope it’s okay to call.” He pauses. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Of course not,” I say, wiping congealed drool off my cheek with the back of my hand.Cute. It’s really a wonder I don’t have more men beating down my door. “I was just doing some work.”
“For your father?”
My brows knit. “For WestTech.”
“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, if you’re ready to take a break from work, I’d like nothing more than to take you to dinner.”
“That’s so sweet, Cormack, but I’m really—”
“I insist.” Even while cutting me off, he maintains his über-polite tone. “It’ll be my way of making up for last night. If I hadn’t been such an oaf, you wouldn’t have run off.”
Nate will probably kill me if I go out with Cormack again. Show up here all brooding and angry…
Somehow, to my crazy brain, that sounds more like an incentive than a negative. I shake my head, hoping to clear the delusional thoughts.
“I really shouldn’t—”
“Please, Phoebe? I feel like an ass. I never should’ve acted the way I did, getting into it with Knox.”
“It seemed like you two have a history.” My words are carefully nonchalant.