Mariana Adams Foster pushes her black rolling chair back from her computer, foists her arms skyward and stretches langourously in the now darkened offices of Speckulate. She lets out a small sigh, as her muscles groan in protest against their many hours spent immobile and unhealthily hunched in front of a glowing screen.
According to the digital read on Mariana's phone, the time is now 10:25 p.m. Numerous texts and alerts fill the bottom portion of the device. It's her roommates from the Coterie . . . documenting a night out at the bars . . . wondering whether she's coming or not? Not. She thinks to herself ruefully. The last vestiges of Mariana's dutifully applied mascara and Scarlet Venom lipstick disappeared from her face hours ago, as has any ability she typically possessed to be charming or witty over frosted Margarita glasses and loud music.
Mariana's ability to be hungry, however, is apparently still alive and well. A sideways glance at a barely eaten (and now likely bacteria ridden) plastic container of Light N Fit Blueberry Yogurt balanced precariously on the corner of her desk, reminds the young programmer that it has been about 14 hours since her last solid meal. She vaguely remembers an impromptu party in her office a few days ago to celebrate the launch of some time-management app, which prompted the delivery of no less than ten pies of pizza with varying toppings, and wonders if she might find a leftover slice or two in the lunchroom freezer.
And so, Mariana finds herself situated in front of said freezer, elbow deep in freezer burned Lean Cuisines and forgotten slices of birthday cake, when she is startled by a masculine voice in her ear. "I've already looked. Only the Hawaiian slices are left. I hate the Hawaiian slices."
Startled, Mariana abruptly withdraws her arm from the freezer, resulting in a cavalcade of frozen food tumbling toward her feet. Flustered, Mariana bends down quickly to clean up her mess, as Evan Speck, CEO and founder of Speckulate, kneels before her to do the same. "Evan, I'm so sorry," Mariana explains abruptly, as she and Evan both reach for the same plastic bag containing a single, slightly green around the edges, chocolate chip bagel. "I didn't know that anyone else was here and I . . ."
"You got hungry for bad free food that no one else wanted," Evan offers with a wry smile.
"Yes," admits, Mariana, suddenly feeling a bit shy and self-conscious, for reasons she can't quite pinpoint.
"You are here late," Evan notes, and it seems like a declarative statement rather than a question.
"Says the person who is also here late," the young programmer replies emboldened a bit by her boss' matter-of-fact tone.
"This actually isn't late for me. I normally leave the office around 11:02 p.m., which means I still have another 46 minutes and 22 seconds, before I'm officially here late," the CEO responds.
"Really? You have that much work to do?" Mariana asks, making a face, as she sniffs someone's leftover container of Moo Shoo Pork that probably should have been discarded a month ago. "Don't you have like hundreds of staff members at your beck and call to cater to your every need and desire?"
"It's not the work," Evan qualifies. "In fact, I have less actual work to do lately than I'd like. Everyone's always jumping up to do things to me that I used to do for myself before Speckulate became . . . well, what it is now. And that's good, I guess. But now, when I come home, I just have all this extra energy that I don't know what to do with. My mind races. I pace my apartment, straighten and reorder things over and over again. I have . . . panic attacks, bad ones."
"Here, that doesn't happen," Evan continues. "I feel more peaceful, like I'm right where I am supposed to be. So, I've started to stay here until I tire myself out, so I can go home and fall right to sleep. And it worked. No more panic attacks. I'm cured."
"So, you have social anxiety, but you also can't be alone. Sounds kind of lonely," Mariana muses, as she reaches for a pre-packaged bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. (It is 10:27 p.m. on a Tuesday night, and she was still at the office, she thinks to herself. Healthy choices be damned!)
Evan considers this for a moment, as he munches thoughtfully on a bag of pre-packaged pretzel sticks. "You are the second woman in this office to call me lonely," he admits.
"Because the first was . . . Amanda?" Mariana responds probingly.
Evan frowns as he leans back against the lunchroom counter. "You know about Amanda . . ."
"Sort of?" Mariana responds sheepishly. "I know you . . . liked her?"
Evan begins staring into his half-empty bag of pretzels. "I don't believe there is a full serving size in here. The packagers must have weighted the bag down with air. I'm going to contact the company first thing tomorrow morning. It's false advertising, at the very least."
Mariana doesn't respond to this diversion. She simply waits quietly for Evan to return to the matter at hand.
"Amanda was an exceptionally talented programmer. There were no barriers for her. If she had an idea in her head, she could duplicate it on screen, perfectly, without question. I mean I could do that too, of course. But Amanda's mind worked differently. She was artistic, creative. She had the ability to see beyond the code, in a way that I couldn't. Amanda could really . . . reach people through her programs. She was a lot like you in that way, I think."
And there it was . . . the link between Mariana and this mysterious Amanda that everyone had warned her about. Could it be true? Could Evan's so-called "professional" interest in her be because he saw her as a bizarre romantic surrogate for the Hot Programmer that Got Away?
The thought made Mariana uneasy, more than anything because, right now, she wasn't feeling like an exceptionally talented programmer, who could magically translate her thoughts into workable code. She was completely stuck. In fact, it was this feeling of being stuck that was causing Mariana to spend her night eating potato chips in an empty office with her boss, instead of out partying with her friends. And with a deadline looming to present a Beta Test for her app, being stuck didn't just make Mariana feel frustrated, it made her feel like a fraud.
"So, what happened, between you and Amanda? Why did she leave Speckulate?" Mariana inquires, her voice sounding more forceful than she had initially planned. (Perhaps, Evan wasn't the only one looking for a diversion from addressing things he wasn't ready to face, she thought to herself.)
"Nobody has ever had the courage to ask me that before," Evan admits, looking at Mariana directly in the eye, in a way he had pointedly avoided doing since they had both entered the lunch room.
"I'm sorry if I overstepped. I mean, I shouldn't have . . . you don't have to . . ." Mariana began to stammer, abruptly breaking eye contact with her boss.
"It's OK. I want to tell you," Evan interrupts. "I know there are a lot of rumors around the office about what happened, and I'd like you to know the truth."
"Thank you," Mariana responds solemnly, as she settles in to a chair at one of the tables in the lunch room.
"Amanda came to me with an app idea that showed a lot of promise. I gave her a solid team to work with, but she felt that none of them shared her vision, and she said that she'd prefer to work on it with me directly," Evan begins.
"That was ballsy of her," Mariana muses out loud.
"Yes, I guess it was," responds Evan with a small smile. "I was glad to do it. Like I said, I don't get the chance to get in on the ground floor on these type of things as much as I'd like anymore. We spent a lot of late nights together, hashing things out, ironing out code, perfecting the app. We ate a lot of bad frozen pizza."
"Uh oh . . . I think I know where this is going," Mariana mutters under her breath.
"You do? Because I didn't," Evan admits. "When Amanda kissed me one night at the office, I was surprised. I am not all that great at reading social cues, I'm afraid. And I just assumed maybe that was her way of showing friendship, like a pat on the back, or a handshake?"
"Did you kiss her back?" Mariana inquires.
"I think at the time, I just ignored it, and went right back to work. And things were fine after that . . . I thought. But then the next night, Amanda told me that she felt that we had a romantic connection, and wanted to take things to the next level. She said that knew I was technically her superior, but she felt that we could make things work on a professional level, if I felt the same way that she did."
"But you didn't feel the same way . . ." Mariana posits ruefully, her heart suddenly breaking for this stranger, in a painfully familiar way.
(After all, if there was anyone who understood the unique sting of putting your heart out there for a boy you cared deeply about, only to learn that those feelings weren't reciprocated, it was Mariana Adams Foster.)
"I told Amanda the truth, that I cared deeply about her on a personal and professional level, but that I am just not capable of exhibiting the kind of feelings most of the world describes as romantic love. She didn't take it well."
"So, you fired her?" Mariana asks icily, wondering if the terrible rumors about Evan were right after all.
"On the contrary, I offered her a promotion and a raise. But she quit. Took her app with her. I hear her new company is doing quite well, may even go public next year," Evan concludes nonchalantly.
Mariana suddenly remembers Evan's warning to her about her activism app idea being the property of Speckulate, if she ever decided to leave the company. "So that's why you changed your employment contracts, so that couldn't happen again," the programmer surmised.
Evan nodded sternly. "The legal department wanted me to sue Amanda. They said I had a pretty good case, considering how closely we both worked on the code for the app, and how it was created using software and equipment that was owned by Speckulate. But I didn't want to cause Amanda any more pain than I already had, so I insisted they let it go."
"It was a loss, both for Speckulate and for me, professionally. But I knew I'd always have more ideas, and that Speckulate would continue to do just fine. I guess because of my reaction, everyone assumed I was in love with Amanda. And maybe I let people keep believing that, because it sounds better than the truth: that the CEO of Speckulate is an emotionless robot, who couldn't handle being kissed by a smart beautiful and successful woman."
"I don't think you are an emotionless robot," Mariana responds truthfully. "You inspire me every day, and have helped me in countless ways since I've started working here. If you were an emotionless robot, I don't think I'd be here this late at night trying to make this app something worthy of your company."
Evan left lip quirks up in something resembling a smile at this. "So why are you stuck, Mariana? What is it about your code that isn't working?" He inquires, as the two head out of the kitchen.
"How did you know I was stuck?" Mariana asks incredulously.
"Because, I've been listening to you curse at your computer screen for the past three hours," Evan responds blithely.
Mariana lets out a surprised snort at this. "Oops, sorry! I didn't realize I was being that loud . . . or, really that anyone else was here to hear me be that loud," she admits apologetically.
"No apologies needed. This office could use a bit of loud this late at night," Evan responds. "So, show me the code. Let me see where you are stuck. Maybe I could help unstick you."
"Really? Now? But it's almost 11:02 . . .you'll be home late," Mariana worries, biting her lower lip.
Evan shrugs. "I'll adjust," he responds.
Mariana pauses and tilts her head to the side, as she regards Evan, taking in all the new information she has recently learned about him, and assimilating it into the picture she has been forming in her mind of her enigmatic boss. "You know," she offers thoughtfully. "I think you were wrong when you said that to Amanda . . . about you not being capable of romantic love. You have a really good heart, Evan Speck, and are probably capable of pretty much anything. And I think that love may find you yet."
And with that, Mariana leads Evan Speck into her cubicle, and the pair begin to work . . .