Chapter Four: Jack

Welcome to Chapter Four of Xexie’s serialised office romance. Click here if you need to catch up on Chapter Three, where Becca and her housemate stalk Jack on LinkedIn. Enjoy the read, and let us know your thoughts in the comment section!

Could the woman soften up already? You’d think with the scorned look on Becca’s face that I killed her precious cat or something.

Or maybe she knows that I know that she looked me up this morning via a former colleague by the name of Vivian Li-Bancroft. It wasn’t too big a stretch to make that connection. Scrolling through her LinkedIn, the mysterious inquisitor from out of the blue had worked with Rebecca Fuller in digital health three years ago.

Admittedly, I did feel slightly smug that she cared a little. But that facial expression she’s giving me now would suggest otherwise. All I wanted to do this morning was pay her a compliment. I manage to tell her, “The reports you pulled together on Monday with the additional analysis was really useful.”

With our height disparity not quite reaching a foot, I stand over her and can’t help but notice her big brown eyes staring up at me as though she’s waiting for me to say something else. Is she seriously refusing to acknowledge my compliment? Or she just doesn’t know how to take one?

She responds with, “No worries.”

That’s it? She clearly does not want to engage. I’ve never been that guy to try and fill in the silence, but this standoff is palpable.

We’re standing at the North entrance in silence and next thing I know, I blurt out, “I was hoping you could help me on this other task?” This is not completely far from the truth. I do have another list for her. Now is as good a time as any to mention it.

“Sure, did you want to email me what you’re after? Or did you want to set up a meeting?” Becca asks me politely.

“Let’s set up a meeting. What’s your morning like? Shall we grab a coffee and have our meeting outside?” This is almost certainly the wrong approach to get on Becca’s side who clearly prefers that I email her. In truth, a short meeting is more productive than a task list that’s open to ambiguity and interpretation. Who knows what kind of output I’d be getting? I just prefer to be clear about expectations.

“Meetings work for me. They’re better for clarification.” She responds to my surprise.

Having agreed to meet at the lifts around ten o’clock, I arrive there a couple of minutes early because I hate being late.

Contrary to popular culture, there are no water coolers in the office and most of us millennials prefer to work from home. Becca’s workstation is located on the other side of the office and unless I find some excuse to go around to that area, we hardly ever run into each other when we’re both onsite.

I hear the door buzz and look up to see Becca walk towards me with her laptop bag and coat. I check her out with a once-over glance. But because I’m a guy, I may have made it a bit too overt I was checking her out.

Becca’s style is chic and classic. Today she’s wearing a mid-length black skirt that’s not too tight with a beige turtleneck top that hugs her figure which curves in all the right places. Her face is fresh, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

“Sorry, I’m a little late.”

“Two minutes past the hour is on-time in my books.”

“I dislike being tardy. Where did you want to grab coffee?” She asks me as she simultaneously hits the down arrow by the lift and dons a navy-blue trench coat. The lights on the lift named P light up and we move towards it.

“Where do you normally get coffee?” I ask politely. “…other than the Starbucks in Haymarket that is.” I add, reminding her of the first time we met.

Photo by Sung Jin Cho on Unsplash

Becca doesn’t respond to my question. Nor does she smile. I guess she’s trying to forget how we met and got off on the wrong foot. It’s not like it was completely my fault. I suppose she thinks I’m some kind of entitled, philandering flake. Which is a somewhat fair assessment I would say. But that’s not all that I am. Other than the merino wool thermal under my grey knitted sweater, there are many layers to me. She has me all wrong and I intend to prove it to her.

As we enter the lift, I get a whiff of Becca’s scent. She smells like a sweet, clean flower with hints of peach and citrus. I’m not familiar with the scent but the more I take it in, the more my olfactory system goes into overdrive. We stand in the lift with a bit of distance, and I try not to make it too obvious that I’m standing there inhaling her like an animal. Already doing a spectacular job of proving myself.

As we exit the lift into the building foyer, I’m hit with a relief of cool breeze. The weather in Sydney can get to as low as ten degrees now that we’re moving into June.

“Have you ever tried coffee from the Naked Duck?” Becca asks walking towards the West end of the building away from the George St entrance.

“The Naked Duck? Now isn’t that a little superfluous? Cause aren’t all ducks naked?” I ask not because I’m interested in the etymology of business names but because I like to question everything that doesn’t make sense to me. Like why is Rebecca Fuller not remotely warming to me?

“Not if you’re Donald Duck.” She says matter-of-factly.

Is she joking or serious? I can’t quite tell. Because I’m not known to be the most agreeable of people, I challenge her, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wear pants.” Don’t even ask me why I know this. Donald Duck wasn’t even a cartoon on TV when I was a kid. I hope she doesn’t think I’m some kind of cartoon pervert.

 “That’s probably because he’s working from home.”

Are we really bantering now? I can’t help but feel elation at the thought of this more witty, less serious conversation I’m having with Rebecca Fuller. And the thought that she’s alluding to being pantless when taking her work calls from home.

While my mind wants to get too excited by the thought, I quickly change the subject, “I will try anything once.”

We get to the front counter of the Naked Duck and the staff all recognise Becca. They already know her coffee order and one of the baristas looks at me to get mine. I go to respond but Becca tells them, "He'll have a large latte on oat milk. Extra shot."

Because I've not consumed my morning caffeine, it takes me awhile to process what just happened.

"Is that right, Jack?" Becca looks at me and asks.

"Yeah, that's right." I reply. The barista proceeds to make our coffees.

I lean in to tell Becca, "I'm so impressed you know my coffee order. I don't even think Richie remembers and I grab coffee with him daily."

"I think everyone at Starbucks remembers your coffee order." She sneers. And just like that, the scowl returns. Whoever said first impressions last was certainly onto something. “Besides, you can’t forget a wanky coffee order like that.” She softens this with a pretty smile and immediately I know that Rebecca Fuller has a great sense of humour.

“I’m a hipster. Don’t hold it against me.”

I can tell that even when she's got all her walls up at me, she's thoughtful and attentive, and proceeded to pay for our coffees. As I dominate her in stature and reflexes, I move swiftly to place my mobile phone to the pay machine to seal the deal. “Coffee was my idea.” I tell her.

“Thanks.” She says to me. Her gratitude warms me.

We grab the takeaway coffees and find a spot in the foyer of the building to chat about the task.

Photo by Volkan Vardar on Unsplash

The next hour goes so quickly when I explain all the tasks that I hope Becca can assist me with. Working with data and insights, this intel is invaluable for my brother and his executives to make important business decisions. The truth is, Social Maps is not in financial trouble, as far as I can see it, and there are a few ways the company could end up going. A merger and acquisition are not off the cards or a potential inhouse organisational restructure. But nobody wants to hear this and hence the need to tread carefully. Although I suspect that word has already spread given my recent unpopularity around the office.

I shared only as much context as I thought was necessary to Becca when assigning the tasks hoping that she may be able to get on with the job. She of all people can certainly appreciate how numbers matter. And judging from her follow-up questions to me, it seems she understands the task at hand.

A part of me was disappointed when the meeting had ended as I had hoped to spend some part of it getting to know Becca more but there was quite a bit to get through.

We walk back to the office together and I'm deliberately slowing the tempo of my steps. I have many questions.

"So how is it that you speak French so well?" I ask Becca as we slowly walk towards the lifts.

" Ma mère est française." She replies. That explains a lot. I didn't think Fuller was a French surname. 

"And you?" She asks me in French.

"I used to play college ice hockey in Belgium in my uni days. Foreigners on the team had to take French lessons."

I want to slow the elevator ride back to our floor so I can ask her more questions.

"I can't say that I know much about ice hockey." She confesses.

"All you need to know is that it's the best sport."

"To watch or to play?" She asks.

"That's a good question. Both. But definitely if I'm playing, watching is best."  Fully aware that I sound like an egomaniac right about now, I tell Becca that I had in fact gone pro.

"But sadly, that didn't last long." I confess. The truth is, it still hurts. 

"I'm sorry to hear." Becca’s words are still and comforting.

"Was a hard pill to swallow at the time." I manage to be real with her. By now we’re already at the entrance of our floor.

“Thanks for the meeting. And the coffee.” Becca managed to say as we parted ways.

“You’re welcome.” I count this as progress because the permanent scowl that Becca seems to wear around me seems to have vanished.