“Design intern?” I ask, despite my bruised ego.
Mona nods. “He came on board about two months ago in a part-time virtual role as he helped us strategize. He’s coming on the trip. Should arrive any minute,” Mona says, glancing at the clock. “Same with my partner. I’m surprised she’s not here by now, actually.”
“You’re dating someone?” I ask, sniffing out a romantic interest like a bloodhound. Mona is a lesbian and I’m desperate to inherit a sister (in-law) that I actually click with.
“Business partner,” Mona snaps. Way too aggressively for there not to be something there if you ask me. “I’ve told you about Amina a million times.”
I’m about to open my mouth and push the matter when a husky woman’s voice calls out from the door.
“Hello, darlings,” the woman says, walking into the kitchen. And holy shit is she a stunner. Sharp, high cheekbones, amber skin, and coffee-black eyes. Her locs are draped over one shoulder and a pale pink dress hugs her curves. The probability of Mona not having a crush on her “business partner” is diminishing by the second.
“You must be Tilly,” Amina says, shooting me a wide smile and walking toward me.
Oh my God, is she going to hug me? She might just be my favorite person ever if she hugs me. I can’t tell if she’s actually going for a handshake at the last minute, but I don’t care, I stretch my arms out and give her a hug.
She hugs me back, rocking side to side in what I choose to believe is excitement. “It’s so lovely to meet you!” she says, pulling away and holding me at arm’s length, giving me a once-over. “We’re excited to have you on for the summer. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
I can’t stop the automatic, skeptical glance I shoot at Mona. Amina laughs like I’m a stand-up comedian, squeezing my shoulders kindly before releasing me and moving to the kitchen.
“Our other intern here yet?” Amina asks Mona, bumping her lightly on the hip to gain access to the espresso machine. Is that a blush I see on Mona’s cheeks?
“No, but I’m not expecting him till nine thirty,” she says, looking again at the clock, which ticks to half past right as she speaks. There’s an immediate knock at the door, and we all blink in surprise.
“Punctual chap,” Amina says, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink.
“An excellent sign,” Mona says, heading to the door. She turns out of sight, but her voice carries. “Hi! I’m Mona. So lovely to meet you in person.”
I take a sip of my tea as their footsteps approach around the corner.
And, next thing I know, I’m spraying out my drink like an overzealous bathing elephant, showering myself (and Mona’s white throw rug) in hot brown liquid.
“Jesus, Tilly,” Mona says, stepping in front of her intern as if to protect him from a bullet.
I start hacking up a lung as I stare at my worst nightmare, dressed (once again) in crisp black pants and shirt.
Oliver’s dark eyes bounce up and down my braless, retainer-wearing, really short pajama bottom–clad form like a rubber ball. He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them again, looking at me in horror for a beat before dropping his gaze to his shoes.
“Shit,” I groan. “Why does it have to be you?”
Chapter 9
This Can’t Get Worse
OLIVER
I’ll be the first to admit that I regularly and spectacularly miss social cues, but Tilly’s utter despair at my entrance is not a sentiment easily misconstrued.
I’m not exactly thrilled to see her, either. After creating the most physically unsafe in-flight experience of my life, she then proceeded to scream a pickup line at me, and before I could even process what she was saying and how I should respond, she sprinted away. I’ve replayed this bizarre scene over and over in my head and all I can figure is that she did it as some sort of rude joke to make fun of me. She wouldn’t be the first.
I clench my jaw, staring at my shoes. What is she doing here? Why is she in … in what appears to be her knickers? Or are those supposed to be pajamas? It’s half past nine, put on some trousers for God’s sake.
“Why are you being so rude?” Mona, my boss, asks Tilly.
“Why is he here?” Tilly counters, gesturing at me like I’m the antichrist. God, this girl really knows how to make spectacular welcomes.
“I’m here,” I snap, my patience worn thin, “because I run a highly successful Instagram page on modern design and color applications, and was asked to basically start from scratch on establishing a brand for this nail polish company. So, I think the better question is, what are you doing here?”
Amina, who I’ve met a few times over Zoom meetings, sucks in a breath. “I wouldn’t call it starting from scratch…”
“Ruhe’s business page has one hundred and thirty-four followers on Instagram and seventy-two on Twitter. Last I checked, I believe it was four on TikTok,” I say, eyebrows furrowing. “You don’t view that as successful market penetration, do you?” It’s a genuine question. We’ve had a handful of virtual planning sessions and emails in preparation for the summer, and I want to make sure I understand their goals.
I can tell by the way Amina’s and Mona’s mouths hang open that I must have been too blunt.
Sigh.
I’m apparently always too blunt. I try to be mindful of it, I truly do, but why say something in fifty “gentler” words when the point can be made in a dozen concise ones?
“Isn’t he the charmer,” Tilly says, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry. That came out … er … badly.”
Mona blinks at me for a moment before straightening her shoulders. “Okay. Pause. It’s only been five minutes and this entire thing feels like a derailed train shooting off a cliff.”
“That was beautiful, Mo,” Tilly says.
Mona shoots her a dirty look. “Oliver,” she says, turning to me with a smile. “Let’s start over. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
“We’re so thrilled to have you on the team,” Amina says, walking over and shaking my hand.
“This is my sister, Tilly, and she’s sorry for being so abrasive,” Mona says, glancing at Tilly with a warning look. Tilly crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s our other intern this summer. My parents and I agreed it would be a good opportunity for her to get some life experiences before she starts college. She’ll also do some modeling of the lacquers while she’s with us.”
There’s an energy shift, like Tilly is physically dimming at Mona’s words, her shoulders curling and arms sliding down to hug around her middle.
“Where are you going to university?” I ask, trying my best to offer an olive branch of small talk despite how much I hate it.
Tilly frowns at me like I just shat on her shoes. “I’m not.”
Mona glares at Tilly, and Tilly glares back, something sharp and biting that I can’t read being said with their looks.
“And what school will you be attending, Oliver?” Mona asks, eyes still glued on her sister.
“University of the Arts,” I answer, that huge swell of anticipation shooting up my spine and down my limbs, making my fingers tap in excitement. “They’re allowing me to design an accelerated dual-degree program merging photography and digital media curation for businesses, all with an emphasis on color theory and psychological applications in marketing and advertisements. You see, it will take the fundamentalist concepts of art and design applied to marketing, but with studies into broad appeal versus regional and cultural implications of color psychology. Because even Pantone, this massive authority that has created a universal language on color, chooses their color of the year, right? And that color then influences everything from smartphones to fashion on a global scale. But can we really do that? Find a single color, maybe two, that should be implemented into global design? Is that truly the best branding strategy for a company? Or should they look on a more micro scale when executing their goals? You see—”