over to Matt and Pam, who were watching a copywriter attempt the hustle on the orange-and-avocado shag carpet.
“I’m declaring a new law for company holiday parties,” Matt announced. “No one should ever see their coworkers dance or wear bathing suits.”
“Oh, God, that’s funny!” I said, laughing hysterically.
Matt took a closer look at me as I wiped the giddy tears from the corners of my eyes. “Are you pregnant?” he asked.
“Mattie!” Pammy chastised him. But she cast a discreet glance at my stomach as I instinctively sucked in. “You should never ask a woman that!”
“Either you’re pregnant or you just got named VP,” Matt said. “Because you’re glowing brighter than those Lava lamps.”
I couldn’t help the huge grin from spreading across my face.
“You did it, didn’t you?” Matt said, tapping his glass against mine. “Like it’s a surprise.”
“Congratulations!” Pammy squealed. “You’re a vice president?”
“Keep it a secret,” I begged them both. “Mason’s not going to announce it for another hour.”
“You look really happy,” Matt said. “Good for you.”
“It’s kind of overwhelming,” I said. “But I am happy. Really happy.”
“Happy about what?” Someone stuck his face so close to mine that I could smell his lime-scented aftershave. I twisted to the right and found myself staring at Doug, one of the copywriters on my team.
Doug’s gorgeous, if you like your men big, rawboned, andas subtle as sledgehammers. Every woman in the office has a secret crush on him, and he seems intent on fulfilling all of their fantasies, one at a time. Or two at a time, if you believe the stories of what went on after last year’s holiday party.
“And who’s this?” Doug asked, turning to Pammy with a smile. Matt put an arm around her and pulled her closer.
“Pammy,” Matt said tightly. “My girlfriend.”
Doug held up his hands as if to say:
No harm, no foul, man—plenty more where that one came from.
“Why so happy?” Doug asked me. “Are you the new VP yet?”
Matt saved me: “No, we were just talking about Lava lamps. Lindsey loves them.”
“Seriously?” Doug said. “That’s cool. So can I get you a drink, Lindsey? Pammy?”
“I’m good,” Pammy said.
“Why not?” I said. Forget the seltzer; what harm could there be in downing a couple of glasses of champagne on the best night of my life?
“Hey now,” Doug said, his head whiplashing toward the front door. Cheryl was making her grand entrance. She was still wearing the nonshirt she’d had on at her pitch for Gloss. The shirt hadn’t gotten any bigger; if anything, it had caught the flu and lost a few pounds.
Doug was off like a shot to greet her.
“You may have to wait awhile for that drink,” Matt told me.
“You think?” I said sarcastically. By now three other guys were vying for airtime with Cheryl.
“I should go on over and wish her luck on the Gloss account,” I said. It was customary for competing creative teams to wish each other the best, much like boxers tapping mitts before beating each other to a pulp.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Matt said, and he waved down a waiteras I headed toward Cheryl. God, this was turning out to be an amazing day. My exhaustion was gone. Now I felt like I could stay up all night.
I was only a few steps away from Cheryl when my BlackBerry vibrated in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the message:
You’ll never believe where I am and who I’m with. Call me.
I smiled. The message was from my old buddy Bradley Church. I hadn’t talked to Bradley in weeks, maybe even a couple of months. I’d call him later tonight, I promised myself. Getting his message made me realize how much I’d missed him. Bradley and I had officially become friends in the second grade when the class bully tripped Megan Scully in our school lunchroom, making her fall splat on top of her tray of mystery loaf. As she sat there groping for her
“I’m declaring a new law for company holiday parties,” Matt announced. “No one should ever see their coworkers dance or wear bathing suits.”
“Oh, God, that’s funny!” I said, laughing hysterically.
Matt took a closer look at me as I wiped the giddy tears from the corners of my eyes. “Are you pregnant?” he asked.
“Mattie!” Pammy chastised him. But she cast a discreet glance at my stomach as I instinctively sucked in. “You should never ask a woman that!”
“Either you’re pregnant or you just got named VP,” Matt said. “Because you’re glowing brighter than those Lava lamps.”
I couldn’t help the huge grin from spreading across my face.
“You did it, didn’t you?” Matt said, tapping his glass against mine. “Like it’s a surprise.”
“Congratulations!” Pammy squealed. “You’re a vice president?”
“Keep it a secret,” I begged them both. “Mason’s not going to announce it for another hour.”
“You look really happy,” Matt said. “Good for you.”
“It’s kind of overwhelming,” I said. “But I am happy. Really happy.”
“Happy about what?” Someone stuck his face so close to mine that I could smell his lime-scented aftershave. I twisted to the right and found myself staring at Doug, one of the copywriters on my team.
Doug’s gorgeous, if you like your men big, rawboned, andas subtle as sledgehammers. Every woman in the office has a secret crush on him, and he seems intent on fulfilling all of their fantasies, one at a time. Or two at a time, if you believe the stories of what went on after last year’s holiday party.
“And who’s this?” Doug asked, turning to Pammy with a smile. Matt put an arm around her and pulled her closer.
“Pammy,” Matt said tightly. “My girlfriend.”
Doug held up his hands as if to say:
No harm, no foul, man—plenty more where that one came from.
“Why so happy?” Doug asked me. “Are you the new VP yet?”
Matt saved me: “No, we were just talking about Lava lamps. Lindsey loves them.”
“Seriously?” Doug said. “That’s cool. So can I get you a drink, Lindsey? Pammy?”
“I’m good,” Pammy said.
“Why not?” I said. Forget the seltzer; what harm could there be in downing a couple of glasses of champagne on the best night of my life?
“Hey now,” Doug said, his head whiplashing toward the front door. Cheryl was making her grand entrance. She was still wearing the nonshirt she’d had on at her pitch for Gloss. The shirt hadn’t gotten any bigger; if anything, it had caught the flu and lost a few pounds.
Doug was off like a shot to greet her.
“You may have to wait awhile for that drink,” Matt told me.
“You think?” I said sarcastically. By now three other guys were vying for airtime with Cheryl.
“I should go on over and wish her luck on the Gloss account,” I said. It was customary for competing creative teams to wish each other the best, much like boxers tapping mitts before beating each other to a pulp.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Matt said, and he waved down a waiteras I headed toward Cheryl. God, this was turning out to be an amazing day. My exhaustion was gone. Now I felt like I could stay up all night.
I was only a few steps away from Cheryl when my BlackBerry vibrated in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the message:
You’ll never believe where I am and who I’m with. Call me.
I smiled. The message was from my old buddy Bradley Church. I hadn’t talked to Bradley in weeks, maybe even a couple of months. I’d call him later tonight, I promised myself. Getting his message made me realize how much I’d missed him. Bradley and I had officially become friends in the second grade when the class bully tripped Megan Scully in our school lunchroom, making her fall splat on top of her tray of mystery loaf. As she sat there groping for her
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