Once And Forever: Virtually Impossible Part 4

But I did.

I Googled Hayden Bennett, the man.

The first thing that popped up was the company website I'd already seen, followed by Hayden's LinkedIn profile-and no, I did not want to connect via LinkedIn-followed by images. Oh, the images.

"d.a.m.n it, d.a.m.n it, d.a.m.n it." I couldn't have been more wrong about his age and his hair and every single other thing if I'd tried. He looked to be somewhere in his late twenties, maybe thirty, dark brown hair without even a hint of a receding hairline. No too-many-lunches-out potbelly. Not even a little one. From what I could tell, his belly was tight...hard...probably had those underwear-model hipbone lines that point right down to his- Oh, this was bad.

Obviously having lost all control, I clicked on one of the close-ups. At least I wouldn't be fantasizing about his body, right?

Wrong!

As it enlarged on the screen, I felt myself inhale far too abruptly. If I kept this up, I might hyperventilate.

"Now that is a man." He was incredible. Model-worthy. Fantasy-worthy. Bad, dirty-dirty-thoughts worthy. When I pictured 'old-school, Ivy League, VP, computer un-savvy' this was not what came to mind.

In one image, he was standing next to a guy who looked like him but a lot more trouble-tattoos, longer hair, a big smirk. Had to be Carson Bennett.

Oh, s.h.i.t. If I ever talked to Laney again, I was going to congratulate her 'cause that boy was a sight to behold. Just like his old-school, Ivy League, quick-where's-the-fire-extinguisher-hot brother, Hayden. d.a.m.n it. When Emilia had told me they were related, I'd a.s.sumed she meant Hayden was his uncle or a second-cousin or something. The idea that they were brothers hadn't occurred to me.

I mean, seriously, how hard would it have been for Emilia to say 'brother?' It's only two syllables. A small part of me felt like she'd left those two syllables out on purpose. No idea why she would've, but those d.a.m.n syllables changed a lot.

If I'd known Hayden was...what he was... Well, I don't know what I would've done if I'd known, but at least I would've known, you know?

The next picture could've easily been confused with an ad out of a wedding magazine. Hayden was wearing a tuxedo and standing in front of the Opera House with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. Of course, he had a gorgeous blonde on his arm. He was exactly the type that gorgeous blondes held on to. As would anyone else who had the chance. Except me. Because...because I wouldn't. Hold on to him or have the chance.

I closed the page before I could do more damage to an already damaged situation. Why couldn't he have been old and ugly and mean? Now my teasing seemed even more inappropriate. Like I was flirting with a hot, rich guy instead of humoring an old, rich one.

'Are you done yet?'

Oh, s.h.i.t. I opened up another tab on my internet browser, feeling incredibly guilty even though he couldn't see my screen. Everything had changed. I didn't know why or in what way, but it had. This was exactly why I worked virtually-it was safe. I was safe. Just did my job, and that's it. But we'd chatted, something I'd never done with another client. And now, looking back and knowing that those chats were a little too flirty, it felt wrong.

I typed slowly and then reread the word several times, trying to see if there was any way it could be misconstrued. 'Almost.' Almost. That was good. It would be pretty tough to read into 'almost.' So I pressed send and sat back in dread.

'Almost as in 15 minutes or almost as in sometime tomorrow?'

Before I'd figured out a safe response, another comment appeared.

'Don't have to mention I prefer the former, do I? :)'

Oh, s.h.i.t. He'd used a smiley face. When did he learn about those, and why was he using it with me?

I typed carefully: 'Somewhere in the middle of those two options.'

'What time do you get off?'

I groaned. "It wasn't an innuendo, idiot. He meant what time do you get off work. He does not want to know your masturbation schedule, for s.h.i.t's sake!" Oh, dear G.o.d, I think I actually might have a masturbation schedule.

Not wanting to spend any more time contemplating exactly how pathetic that was, I typed, 'I'll try to get it to you by the time you leave the office. What time is that?'

'8 or 8:30 at the latest, I hope. Thank you, Ms. Aconofoinwwetejubte.'

I laughed. 'That wasn't even pathetically close to my name.' Or Sara's.

'It's not my fault your surname is practically impossible for a novice like me to type.'

'And yet you typed that last message just fine.' That wasn't flirting, right? I imagined him sitting in his office, looking gorgeous, typing with two of his gorgeous fingers.

'Your name is more complicated. May I call you something easier?'

Something easier and more familiar. I bit my lip until I decided I was reading too much into this-obviously he didn't have a problem with our familiarity, so I shouldn't either.

I wrote, 'That depends on what name you intend to call me.'

':) Nothing too colorful. I promise.'

I typed slowly. 'You can call me Sara. Unless it's too hard to type as well.' Then I stared at it, my finger hovering over the send b.u.t.ton. Should I send it? It wasn't my real name, so telling him wasn't too intimate or personal. He probably called all of his co-workers by their first names, anyway. I wasn't his kindergarten teacher, for s.h.i.t's sake.

I was, however, positive that I'd had too much coffee today because I was freaking out over this. I deleted the last comment and then wrote, 'What did you call your former a.s.sistant?'

'Now I call her my former a.s.sistant. Or Natasha. I hope the first option won't be under consideration for a while. So should I call you Natasha?'

'You can call me whatever you want.'

'Okay. Don't you have some work you should be doing, Sira? :)' I got it immediately-Sira, a combination of my fake name and the name of the fake person programmed into a smartphone. It fit perfectly, and oddly, I loved it.

'Just as soon as you leave me alone.'

'Testy today, aren't you?'

'Considering I'm not paid by the hour, it's understandable, isn't it?' Then I quickly added a smiley face. Not winking, smiling-big difference.

'I'd like you to send me a list of the various faces one can make as well as the meanings of the common acronyms used in this bizarre form of communication.'

'Now?'

'No. The doc first, the list ASAP.'

'That was impressive.'

'Get to work, Sira. :)'

I was so tempted to look at his picture again. All it would take was one little click to switch pages.

This is why I didn't date, and why I would never date anyone that attractive, even if they were interested. This is also why I needed to stop drinking so much coffee.

And start drinking a lot more booze.

6.

Andi

After I'd explained four or five times using simple, non-technical words, Hayden started recording memos on his smartphone and sending them directly to me to type up. Dictation was something I could do with my eyes closed-literally-but I stopped doing it for his stuff. Because every time I closed my eyes, I started paying attention to the smoothness of his voice, its depth, the way his tone changed when he was speaking directly to me and forgot to type. Not at all good. I was fantasizing about someone I'd never meet and had less than zero chance with. And even if I did ever meet him in person, my luck was so amazing, he had to be either married or gay. Possibly both.

A message popped up. 'What did you do today, Sira?'

'I spent all day working on something for a very impatient jerk.' And I enjoyed his constant interruptions. Despite the fact that it was totally inappropriate, he seemed so relaxed with me, I felt like it was okay to be relaxed back. All I had to do was make sure we never strayed to any risky topics, shared any personal information, or discussed politics, religion, or s.e.x. That last one being the biggest no-no, of course.

'And did you finish what the impatient jerk asked you to do?'

'I did. He should probably check his inbox.'

'He will, once he's done being a jerk.'

'I'm not sure that will ever happen.'

'You're probably right.'

I wondered if he was like this with everyone. I wasn't-only my closest friends saw my sarcastic side. Or any other side, actually. 'What did you do today?'

'Sat around trying to figure out how to be a better jerk. But I got too impatient and moved on to other things.'

I laughed as I typed. 'I have bills to pay, so send me something else to do.'

'You're very demanding.'

'And impatient.' I should be working, not chatting.

'How long have you been doing this?'

Um... 'I've been impatient all my life. I've been doing the virtual thing for about a year.'

'Do you plan on continuing for long?' Simple question, really. But for some reason, it bothered me, made me wonder if our chats might be headed toward more dangerous territory.

I typed, 'You're full of personal questions today, aren't you?'

'I needed a break. And what better way to amuse myself than to bother you? If it's working too well, feel free to tell me to go away. Anytime.'

'It doesn't bother me.' In fact, I'd probably call it whatever the polar opposite of 'bother' was. Is it 'like?' Yeah, I think it's 'like.' d.a.m.n it. 'I plan on doing it as long as I can. Jobs are scarce.'

'But there's not much room for advancement in this realm, is there?'

'I don't need advancement, just a paycheck.'

'I've been told there's more to life than just that.'

'Not MY life.' Work, rinse, repeat. With the occasional meal thrown in or meet-up with a friend I couldn't get out of. 'Yours?'

There was a pause before he answered. 'It's just something I've been told.' That's when it occurred to me-what had been missing from all the images of his face I couldn't seem to get out of my mind and, in the interest of full-disclosure, had been scouring the net for. There wasn't a single bad one of him-no eyes closed, no mid-word convoluted expression, no crotch-shots. Unfortunately.

He also wasn't smiling in any of them, and there were no laugh lines near his eyes, not even a hint of them. Hayden Bennett didn't smile, not even with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. But I knew he smiled when he messaged me. I knew it. You couldn't joke and tease like that-even innocently-without smiling.

'What do you do for fun?' Holy h.e.l.l was that inappropriate, but I had to know.

'Tough question. I'm pretty boring.'

'No way. You're a shipping magnate. I bet you go yachting and drink champagne with your family every weekend.'

'Never use the word 'magnate' around me again, please. Also, fun is actually discouraged in my family. We usually stay on dry land and argue. Occasionally, we argue over wine though. Does that count?'

I would bet my paycheck he was smiling as he wrote that. 'Depends on the wine, I guess.'

'Ha.' And there was proof.

Proof that made me feel special, proud, like I'd done something miraculous by making him momentarily happy.

I guess that's what made me type what I did next: 'Do you ever wish you could start over? Go back to some point in your life and make a different choice?' As soon as I'd pressed send, I wanted to take it back. He was my client, not my confidante. I had no right to ask him that.

Then his reply popped up.

'Every single day. You?'

I chewed on my nail for a second, then answered honestly. Because he had. 'Every single day.' After a deep breath, I added, 'But if I did, I might have missed out on an opportunity to work for a boring, impatient jerk. So things could be a lot worse.'

'A jerk who wouldn't be able to get anything done without you. Maybe we should both consider ourselves lucky.'

I did. But right now what I couldn't consider myself was professional or sane. As much as I liked him, it wasn't worth s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the job. I needed his money, not him. I should be thinking about all the people I'd hurt, not myself.

I typed, 'Speaking of getting things done... Remember when you mentioned I could tell you to go away anytime I wanted? Well, now is anytime.'

'What? I couldn't hear you.'

'You mean, you chose not to listen,' I wrote.

'Still can't hear you. It's very loud in here.'