And before I can answer yes or no, she continues. “Richard is supposedly a commitment-phobe, but would a true commitment-phobe offer to share custody of a dog? I mean, it’s a multiyear undertaking, isn’t it?”

Am I expected to answer? I straighten up and get back to eye level with her. Well, not really, since she’s about a foot shorter than me.

“And now we’re flying to LA, tonight. It’s completely professional, of course.” She air-quotes professional. “But don’t you think it’s weird he’s asked me to go to a Hollywood gala instead of Ada, when she’s the one in charge of entertainment? It would’ve made more sense, wouldn’t it?”

She framed it like a question, but I’m certain she’s not expecting an answer. Sure enough, she keeps rambling.

“Wow, this week has been crazy. First the dog, then going to jail, and now this impromptu work trip to the west coast.”

She air-quotes work, like the nature of her west coast trip should be the focal point of her story, when all I want to know is how the heck she ended up in jail. But I’m scared to ask, should my query prompt another stream of nonsense.

Then the redhead stares me directly in the eye. “Do you think LA is more romantic than New York?”

And since this is a direct question, I feel compelled to give my two cents. “Is your boss the tall man with the British accent?”

Her eyes go wide—with surprise, or with fear? “You know Richard? You didn’t tell me you knew him!”

“I don’t, I’ve just seen him in passing,” I say. Heck, if I were a woman, I’d probably be lusting after him, too. “Anyway,” I add, “it’s never a good idea to have a crush in the office, especially not on the big boss.”

Her cheeks catch fire and turn a shade of red that matches her hair. “I absolutely do not have a crush on my boss.”

The freight elevator finally stops on the ground floor, and the doors magically open on the object of our conversation, Mr. Tall and British. The woman’s cheeks grow redder, if that’s even possible.

“Blair,” the man greets her with a sheepish smile. “Glad I could catch you before you left.”

I excuse myself and walk past them, thinking, well, at least the crush is reciprocated.

***