“Come on, sit down.”
I sat. She poured me a drink.
“Daryl Whitney, that piece of trash. I never could stand him.”
“You couldn't stand him either, even back then?”
“Who could? Out there every day playing big shot, then coming home for you to wait on him hand and foot. He's nothing.”
I took a sip.
“Forget it. Let's not talk about him.”
“Right. No more talking. Just drinking.”
Halfway through the bottle, Gloria leaned in close.
“Hey, I want to tell you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“You remember the VP at my company? Grant James?”
“Yeah. What about him?”
“He asked me for your WhatsApp.”
My hand froze mid-pour.
“What does he want my WhatsApp for?”
“What do you think? He likes you.”
“He's seen me?”
“Yeah. Last time you came to the office to find me, he ran into you in the elevator. Came right back and asked me who the gorgeous woman was.”
I thought about it. Couldn't even remember anyone else being in the elevator.
“What does he look like?”
Gloria pulled up a photo and showed me.
Not bad. Big eyes, dimples when he smiled.
“Two years younger than you. Family's in building materials. Not crazy rich, but not hurting either. Good guy. No pretenses.”
“How do you know he's not pretending?”
“I've worked with the man for three years. You think I can't tell?”
I didn't say anything.
Gloria pushed his contact card straight to me.
“Add him or don't. Either way, one more friend never hurts.”
Back home, I showered and lay in bed, the glow of the contact card Gloria had sent still on my screen. I stared at it for a while, then added him.
He accepted instantly.
“Cicely?”
“Mm.”
“I'm Grant.”
“I know.”
“Gloria gave me your WhatsApp. Hope you don't mind.”
“I don't.”
Then his side went quiet for about two minutes.
I was about to put my phone down when another message came through.
“Are you free Saturday? I want to take you out for a meal.”
I thought for a second, then typed：“What time?”
“Whatever works for you.”
“Noon.”
“Done. I'll send you the address.”
Saturday. When I got to the restaurant, Grant was already there.
He stood up. Black jacket, hair a little shorter than in his photo.
“Been waiting long?”
“No, I just got here too.”
He pulled out a chair for me.
Handed me the menu first.
“Go ahead and order. I'll eat anything.”
I picked a few dishes and gave the menu back.
He added a soup and a dessert.
“How'd you know I have a sweet tooth?”
“Gloria told me.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“That you like spicy food, hate cilantro, only drink lattes, and won't touch bitter melon.”
I laughed.
“You two are pretty close, huh.”
“She's my boss. I don't have a choice.”
He didn't talk much over the meal, but there were no lulls either—work, movies, a book he'd been reading.
I asked which book. He said 《One Hundred Years of Solitude》.
“Did you actually understand it?”
“Not really. But Gloria said guys who read it seem cultured.”
My chopsticks paused.
“You're honest, I'll give you that.”
“No point faking it. You'd figure it out sooner or later.”
I looked at him and thought of the JPMorgan analyst from a couple of days ago. Really not the same at all.
After the meal, he walked me to my car.
“Next time's on me,” I said.
“Sure. I'll wait for your message.”
