Company Ink by E.L. Lewis

t w e n t y – s e v e n

"Cassie! Stop laughing! This is an emergency, what the hell am I supposed to do?" Monique cries.

I duck my head so Kitty and David can't see that I'm talking on my phone during work. "It's just two pounds, girl! It's not going to make a difference."

"What if my dress doesn't fit?! I can't afford any more tailoring! God, this is all Matt's mother's fault. She's making me stress eat!"

Oh. My. God. I never thought I'd live to see the day that Monique loses her composure. Ever since we were kids, I've always been the spazzy one and she was the rock. Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Okay, Mon, you really need to relax! You look the same, thinner even! It's probably just water weight from all the miso soup we ate last night. It'll be fine," I reassure her in a whisper. "If you're that concerned just go get a lymphatic drainage massage." I pause. "I'll pay! My gift to you, just please stop freaking out!"

This is why people should not get married, it turns everyone into demonic aliens. Even though when Monique says, 'I do' an entire chapter of my life will close, I'm starting to count down the days, at least then I'll have my best friend back.

This past weekend, I wanted so badly to talk to her about this whole Adrian/Blake fiasco, but we literally had no time. When we weren't deciding between fourteen shades of purple for the tablecloths or trying to hunt down the cheapest yet most realistic looking fake flowers, we were having lunch with the wedding party, half of whom didn't even show up!

"Okay, you're right, you're right," Monique says in a frenzied tone. "I need to chill. I think I need to go and lay down; I feel dizzy."

"Yes, go lay down. Put on some Sade and do a face mask, that always helps me." Or take a freaking tab of lorazepam.

Monique mumbles something incoherently and hangs up the phone. I sit up straight and get back to work. I'm not sure if something is going on at the executive level at the firm, but every lawyer has been cooped up in their office for the last two days. Other than a couple of run ins by the water cooler, I've barely spoken to Adrian or Blake since the gala.

I don't even know how to talk to Adrian now; I've severed whatever it was that was linking us together. It's not like he's been rude or cold, he's just been—professional. I can't even be mad, I told him to stop, I demanded it. But I honestly didn't think that he'd listen.

Just a little past noon, Blake shows up at my desk, peering down at me over the divider, his eyes glossy and red. I can envision how bugged out Kitty and David must look like right now. Blake never comesdown this way, ever.

"Please don't ever go into law, Cassandra," he mumbles. "Just don't do it. It's not worth it."

I tilt my head. "Rough day?" I ask, leaning back into my chair.

"Think Franz Ferdinand getting assassinated and multiply that by ten," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I laugh. "Okay, I think you're being a little dramatic. You can't seriously compare your day to the event that was the catalyst for World War One."

"Yet somehow I feel like I'm in the trenches," he murmurs. "It's been non-stop since Saturday morning."

"You worked the weekend? Man, your job really does suck. I'm sorry."

Blake lets out a deep breath. "I don't know how my father did it. He was always so happy and energetic, and he was home for dinner. Hell, the man never missed a single football game when I was a kid, and here I am, on the precipice of quitting my own firm."

"Awe," I pout, a part of me incredibly envious of his father. "Maybe you should take a break. Go get something to eat or...take a nap."

"Funny you should say that." Blake pulls out a pamphlet from his pocket and drops it on my desk. "Page four, open it."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously as I flip through the summer edition of See Seattle until I reach the fourth page. "Taco Fest?" I read.

Blake nods, a light grin on his face. "Yes, apparently there's a food truck festival happening today down by Pike Place."

"You want to get tacos?" I let out an amused chuckle. "I'm impressed Mr. Pearson, that's a lot of flavor for a guy like you."

"I'm evolving, what can I say?" Blake nods towards the elevators. "So? Tacos?"

"You want to go...together?"

"I'd go by myself but seeing as I'm such a novice, I'm afraid I won't know what to order," he smirks. "I need a guide."

"You want me to be your taco guide?" I cross my arms, entertained by his logic. "One day, Blake, we're going to have to take the training wheels off. I won't always be here to be your culinary captain."

"But that day is not today, so grab your jacket, Captain Cassandra, and let's go." Blake checks his watch. "I have approximately fifty-four minutes until I need to be in a meeting with a man who is single-handedly making me wish I never became a lawyer."

I grab my jacket off the hanger. "Mr. Wagner? I thought you liked him?" I ask as we head to the elevator.

"Oh no, Elliot is fine. I'm talking about Pierre Allard, he's this uppity Frenchman who wants to expand his business to America." Blake presses the button down to the lobby. "No matter how many contracts we draw up for him, he always comes back with edits. I'm almost on the verge of telling him to find a new firm."

"If he's such a problem, why don't you?"

Blake chuckles. "Because if we land this account, it'll be beneficial to all employees. It'd be selfish to deny his business."

"How admirable," I tease. "Looking out for us little people and they say that you're a tyrant."

"People say I'm a tyrant?" he asks, raising an up eyebrow as the elevator doors open. "I'd like those names please."

I bite my lip. Stupid big mouth. "I'm just joking," I lie. "Everyone loves you. Best boss ever."

Blake rolls his eyes. "Nice try, Cassandra, but I'm aware of how my employees view me. They think I'm demanding and strict." He shrugs, unbothered. "And they're right, I am, but I have to be. There's no room for error in our line of work, especially not with multimillion-dollar deals."

"That seems like a lot of pressure," I muse as we turn the corner and begin making our way down to the waterfront.

"It is," he agrees in a defeated tone. "It requires a lot of sacrifices. Like weekends for example, or a social life."

"You don't work every weekend...do you?" I ask bewildered. "You have days off, right?"

Blake blinks a couple of times. "Days...off? Huh, I don't think I know what that means."

I nudge him slightly. "You must be kidding. If you work every day, when do you have time for yourself?"

Blake chuckles. "Usually between 10 pm and 5 am if I'm lucky."

My mouth drops. "That's insane, like actually insane. What's the point of working so hard if you don't get to enjoy the fruits of your labor? Don't you have hobbies? What about travel?"

"I try to take thirty-minutes out of my day to read," Blake says matter-of-factly then grins. "But sometimes, when I'm feeling really crazy, I watch a movie."

I gasp, covering my mouth. "A movie? Oh my God, Blake Pearson, that is simply scandalous!" My eyes shift from side to side. "You mustn't say that out loud! The lawyer police might hear you!"

Blake shakes his head, laughing. "I know, I'm such a rebel."

"Regular James Dean," I joke as we stop outside of a food truck. We both glance up to read the menu. "Hmm...everything looks so good."

"The menu is in Spanish, Cassandra," Blake notes, squinting his eyes. "How do you know what's what."

"Oh, Blake," I sigh. "Sweet, naive Blake. I might not know how to speak Spanish, but I know the most important words, such as—" I point to the menu. "Carne Asada, Carnitas, Adobada, and..." Oh, this could be fun. "Lengua." I smile at the food truck attendant. "Two of each please."

"What did you order?" Blake asks, handing the attendant two twenty-dollar bills.

"Shh...don't ask questions," I say, taking a number and sitting down at the plastic table. "First you eat, then I tell you. It'll be like a game."

"You're making me nervous, Cassandra..." Blake eyes the food truck.

"Don't be! You'll love it!" I hope.

Our order comes out in a few minutes and Blake brings it to our table. Because I seem to lack the lady gene, I devour my tacos in ten minutes while Blake carefully eats his, struggling to keep the insides from spilling out.

"Blake, just shove it in your mouth!" I plead. "This is painful to watch. We aren't eating at Altura. It's tacos—shove."

Blake takes a deep breath and plops the entire taco in his mouth, immediately bringing a napkin up to his face. "I feel like an animal," he mumbles.

"If you keep talking with your mouth full, I'd be inclined to agree," I tease, handing him another napkin. "So... which one did you like the best?"

"Hmm...I think I enjoyed the last one the most," he answers, slumping in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Really?" I exclaim. "Interesting."

"What was it?" he asks warily.

"Lengua."

"Which is...?"

I press my lips into a thin line. "Beef tongue?"

Blake's eyes expand. "Tongue? From a cow?"

"Yes," I answer calmly, trying not to laugh. "The tongue of a cow."

"Hmm," Blake hums, nodding his head a little too much. "A tongue. I just ate a tongue."

I roll my eyes. "Oh relax, you big baby, what's the difference? Thigh, leg, belly, tongue, it's all the same—it's meat. It's good."

Blake forces a smile. "Yes, I suppose you're right, it's all just—meat." He takes a deep breath. "For some reason, the idea of vegetarianism is looking quite nice right now."

I stand up and toss our containers into the trash. "Alright, let's get going before you decide to take it a step further and become a full-blown vegan."

Blake and I begin walking down the boardwalk. "Can I make a request?" he asks.

"Mm?"

"Next time, don't tell me what it is."

"You're really creeped out, aren't you?" I grin. "You want me to just always tell you it's chicken?"

Blake nods. "Yes, that would be much appreciated."

"Ok, fine," I sigh. "I guess the training wheels stay on for a little while longer."

"We'll get there, one day," Blake chuckles, looking up at the Seattle Great Wheel. "You know something, I've lived in Seattle my whole life, yet I've never been on the wheel. Is that weird?"

"What? Really? Oh, my God, we have to go! It's like a rite of passage!" I pause and begin laughing. "Actually, it's more like a ride of passage."

Blake covers his eyes with his hand, his lips quirked up into a smile. "Good one," he teases. Does no one like puns anymore?! "But we don't have time."

I check my watch. "We still have twenty-two minutes until your meeting, plenty of time! Let's go!" I grab his hand and attempt to drag him to the payment stand, but the man is literally made out of marble. "Come on!"

"Cassandra, as much as I'd love to, we really don't have time." Blake points to the sign hanging above the stand. "Each ride is twelve minutes, it'll take us three minutes to buy the tickets and get on the Ferris wheel, then it'll take us five minutes to walk back to the office, and that will only leave me two minutes to prepare for this meeting which is simply not enough time."

"Wow." I blink rapidly, my eyes glazing over. "That was a lot of math."

"I'm sorry, Cassandra," he says softly. "Maybe next time, okay? We can make a plan to go next week. I'll make room in my schedule.'"

"Don't you ever do anything just spur of the moment?" I groan, slumping my shoulders in defeat as we start heading back towards the office. "Not everything needs to be scheduled and planned."

"Hey! We went for tacos today, that was 'spur of the moment'," Blake defends himself, a little too hard. "How much spontaneity do you require in one day?"

Narrowing my eyes, I purse my lips. He's being totally sus right now. "Let me get this straight, you just happened to find a See Seattle pamphlet in your office today and randomly saw that it was taco fest? You didn't read about it over the weekend? Didn't make room in your schedule for this little outing? This was all...spontaneous?"

"Yes." Blake averts my gaze. "It was."

"Ooo, you're lying to me!" I click my tongue, shaking my head. "And quite poorly might I add. Come on, Blake, if you're going to lie, you gotta do it with more conviction!"

Blake sighs, his eyes alight with amusement. "What can I say? My mother raised me to be an honest man. But I will heed your advice and attempt to be a better liar."

"Good, maybe you can pencil in deception training on Thursdays at 4 pm," I joke.

"Ah, no can do, Thursdays at 4 pm is when I stare out my window and contemplate my life," Blake responds cheekily. "Perhaps Fridays would work better."

"Oh, a funny guy, eh?" I grin.

Blake checks his watch. "Well, I am scheduled for humor at 1:50 pm," he quips.

"Oh my God! Stop!" I nudge him playfully, letting out a quiet laugh. "Who knew Blake Pearson was a part-time comedian? When should we expect your Netflix special to come out?"

"I'm currently renegotiating my salary," Blake jokes, opening the doors to the office. "Well, thanks for coming to lunch with me, Cassandra."

"Thanks for paying!" I toss him a little wink. "Oh! I meant to ask you earlier, are you coming to the retreat this weekend?"

"Are you going?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yup! I bought bug spray yesterday, so I'm committed to going now. Kitty said it's a pretty fun trip, plus if you go on the trip, you don't have to work Friday so that's a plus." Why am I telling him this? He's the boss. Obviously, he knows all of this. I smile. "So, uh—are you going to go?"

"Yes, I guess I am." Blake nods his head, his soulful eyes scanning my face. "I'll see you around.

Blake heads down the hallway to his office and I wander off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Who knew he was so clever? I can't stop smiling right now. As I'm filling my mug with hot water, Adrian enters the kitchen forcing me to still.

"Good afternoon Cassie," he begins casually, walking over to the coffee machine.

"Hi," I say, dipping my tea bag into my mug repeatedly. Why is this so awkward now?

"Was that Pearson I saw you with earlier?" he asks lightly, his body facing away from me.

"Mhm," I peep. "We went for lunch."

Adrian turns around, a tight smile on his face. "You went for lunch?"

I take a deep breath. "Yeah, we got tacos."

Adrian's eyes narrow. "Tacos?"

Oh my God, this is stupid. I roll my eyes. "Stop repeating everything I'm saying, it's weird."

Adrian shrugs. "I just wasn't aware that you get lunch with Pearson."

"I wasn't aware I had to inform anyone about who I get lunch with," I retort with an edge. "Blake and I are uh—friends." Is that even true?

"Really?" Adrian takes a step closer to me. "You said that we're friends too, right? Does that mean we can have lunch together?"

I did say that didn't I? Damn it. "I suppose it does." I pause, trying to read Adrian's expression but I'm at a loss. Is he mad? Sad? Tired? I can't tell today.

"Well how about on Thursday then?" he offers. "Greek food from Jack's? I can make a reservation."

Bad idea. Bad bad idea.

"Okay sure, that sounds good."

Fuck. I'm hopeless.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Monique. "Uh—I have to take this call, but I'll see you later, okay?"

"At lunch," Adrian says, scanning my face with an intense gaze. "On Thursday."

"Sounds good. Until then I guess," I say, heading out the kitchen. I answer Monique's call. Thank you buffer queen. "Hi, Mon, what's up?"

"It's three pounds now!" she shrieks.

Dear God.

When will this end?