I give this some thought. To tell the truth, while I wasn't sure I still wanted to work with her, it would be foolish of me not to at least leave the door open.
"Now is not a good time," I hedge. If Samantha were here, I would ask her to go with us. I'm not too proud to say I'd like a chaperone for any meetings I have with Marcia Pittman.
"Not now, silly!" Marcia says. Though I have shrugged off her touch, she places a hand on my bicep. Her nails are long, sharp, and blood red. "I was hoping we could get a drink after work today!"
She names a high-end bar near downtown, and I agree to meet her there at seven. She sashays out of the office, then bumps into Samantha, who must've just arrived. Marcia looks Samantha up and down, her bright smile fading, then brushes past her, tossing a final word over her shoulder, "See you tonight, darling! Don't be late!"
Samantha blinks, and her eyes follow Marcia out with a curious gaze. She has her eyebrows up and a quizzical expression on her face. Her lips part as if she is about to say something. Clearly, she wants to know why Marcia is here. Since I'm not even sure that she's going to be an investor, I decide not to answer Samantha's unspoken question.
"Didn't think I would see you at all this week," I say, taking in her appearance. She’s wearing jeans and one of her branded polos, this one pale pink with her company logo arcing over one nice, round, boob. She’s cute and ready for whatever personal concierge/assistant type duties I might throw her way. "We agreed I would stop by the office to work a couple times a week," she reminds me. She takes out her laptop and sits to work. "What did Marcia want?"
"Just an impromptu meeting," I say. For some reason, I do not want to discuss Marcia Pittman with Samantha. "Thanks again for helping me out on such short notice."
She looks at me with a trace of a smile on her lips. "Anything for the customer," she says, then turns her attention back to her laptop.
I turn away, go into my office, and shut the door. I let out a breath, lean back in my chair, and stare up at the ceiling. For the rest of the afternoon, I attempt to focus on work. I stay in my office until I hear Samantha leave before I come out. I feel a little foolish doing this, and I'm not quite sure why I'm doing it, but there you have it.
I poke my head out into the reception area and see Samantha has left the computer I’d given to her for Cooper Restaurant business on the desk. Frowning, I turn the laptop screen around to see what she has up, and I realize it's a website, one I'm not so familiar with.
Dear Ida:
I'm starting a new professional project, and I'm excited about the challenge. This is potentially one of the biggest contracts my fledgling business will see for the foreseeable future. However, I'm worried about my ability to remain professional. The man I will be working with is extremely attractive. I am committed to maintaining professional decorum with this man, but he is attractive to the point of being distracting. Also, I sense that the attraction may be mutual. This project could make or break my new business venture, and I do not want to jeopardize my professional relationship. I think it's important to have a good working relationship, especially since this man may have referrals for me in the future. What is the best way to maintain a professional demeanor with this man?
Sam in Texas
This looks like some sort of advice column. What is more, the question Sam in Texas poses to Ida sounds remarkably like my current situation with my Samantha in Texas. I stare at the screen. I know I should stop reading... But I don't. I'm just too curious. I read on for the answer.
Dear Sam,
Congratulations for landing such a lucrative contract, and good for you for launching your own business. What makes you think you can't be professional with your new client? Surely, you must meet attractive men all the time in a work setting, correct? Make the most of this excellent opportunity.
With this in mind, remember why you took on this job. Whenever you feel the urge to flirt with him, think about your future goals and whether a momentary interaction is worth possibly keeping you from living your best life.
I blink at the screen, astounded at this information.
My heart thrums in my chest as I consider that my Samantha in Texas, with her long legs, fellatio inspiring lips, and sometimes smart mouth, is attracted to me. At least, I think she is. She hasn't mentioned taking on any new clients aside from me, and as I look at the date of the original email, it appears she sent it shortly after I hired her. My mind flashes back to our meeting, and the thong underwear that fell out of her bag at the dry cleaners. My dick hardens, only this time, it's without the faint sense of guilt, because I now know that instead of being a perv, I am in a mutual attraction situation.
She has to be writing about me. There can be no other explanation. And the thing is, this realization is oh so freeing. No longer do I have to pretend not to notice her. No longer do I have to suppress my desires. I just have to figure out how to make her mine.
Slowly, I reposition the laptop to where Samantha had left it. She must have left it behind by accident. I have never seen her leave her laptop in the office, and I often receive email from her after hours.
I leave the restaurant before the dinner rush with a spring in my step. I'm still feeling good when I arrive at the bar to meet with Marcia Pittman. I'm still undecided on the matter of going through with the investment we talked about, given how handsy she has been with me in the past, but I'm feeling pretty mellow nonetheless. When I arrive, Marcia's already there.
We make small talk for a bit, and she mentions the botanical garden gala. There's another gala coming up, and she invites me to it, this time as her guest.
"I don’t think we got a chance to chat enough at the botanical society gala," she says, smiling broadly without the participation of her forehead. "Please, let me make it up to you."
Marcia says she will send me the details, and we both leave. When we part, I give her a social kiss, not unlike the one she'd given me earlier.
My workday has ended on an entirely positive note.
Chapter Eleven: Samantha
"Promise me you'll behave," I tell Hannah as we park my truck and cross the street to the community garden.
"You think I won't behave?" she asks with mock offense. She holds her hand up to her chest in a pearl clutching gesture, eyes wide. "Moi?"
Hannah is a cute woman, and when she bats her eyelashes at me, she looks like an emoji come to life. But as much as I love her, there have been times when I could not take her anywhere. Luckily, the event we are attending is a far cry from the fraternity rows of our misbegotten youth. Hannah is a mother of two now, and her days of drifting from house to house, knocking back the contents of red solo cups like a toddler drinking Kool-Aid are behind her. Still, my bestie did sometimes lack a brain to mouth filter. It could sometimes be amusing to experience, but not during semiprofessional events like this one.
"You've been known not to behave," I tell her, because it's true. "The only reason I brought you with me tonight—well, there are two reasons, actually—you needed to get out of the house, and I knew there would be no alcohol served here."
We enter the event, billed as an open house, and look around. Since Lincoln had given me the task of finding a community garden his restaurant could support, I have visited several organizations that manage community gardens like this one. When I suggested to Lincoln that he might look at supporting a community garden, it had been a throwaway line mostly designed to annoy him. He had taken the suggestion to heart, and with renewed inspiration, decided this would be a good use of his company's charitable endeavors. Since he is willing to pay me to look into it for him, I don’t mind helping out. So, here I am, with my bestie in tow. I turned 32 today, a throwaway birthday with no particular milestone associated with it. I’d had the obligatory calls from friends and family, and Hannah had it in her mind to take me out to carouse the bars of Deep Ellum.
In the three weeks since the gala, where Lincoln gave his impassioned speech, we haven't discussed the eve
nt, the frozen faced redhead, or the slightly uncomfortable intimacy we shared. Aside from the text messages he sent me the night of the gala, he has not mentioned me bailing before midnight. I've seen him in the office a couple days a week, and our conversations have focused on business issues only. All of this was fine by me.
This warm spring evening, Hannah and I strolled the aisles of crops, and purchased from some of the city gardeners, each selling their wares similar to how they'd sell them at a farmers’ market. This was done to raise funds to expand the program to other neighborhoods. A contribution from the Cooper Restaurant Group would go a long way to fund the expansion plans. I had already talked to the executive director of the community garden, who encouraged me to stop by and check out the benefit. Since I am a single woman married to my job, I didn't mind stopping by. Hannah's kids were with their dad, so we planned to make an evening of it after we leave the event. The current plan was to take my truck back to my place, then go out for drinks and carousing in Deep Ellum. From there, we would take Ubers home, eliminating the need for a designated driver.
Hannah, a city girl if ever there was one, had dressed more for drinking than for visiting a farmers’ market. She walked among the rows of produce gingerly, so as not to get her fancy cowboy boots dirty. Hannah had been born and raised in New York City, then moved to Dallas with her ex for a job opportunity and decided to stay in the city so that she and her ex could share custody. She told me once that when she moved here, she bought cowboy boots because that is what people from New York think Texans wear most of the time. She must've watched too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger before they moved here. The way my friend tries to avoid getting her boots dirty in a literal dirt patch is more amusing than I can express.
"How long do you think we need to stay here?" Hannah asks, clearly unhappy to be dirtying her boots to purchase food that has not been pre-washed. I take photos with my iPhone to share with Lincoln later. My plan is to check out a few charities, then identify one or two to share with Lincoln, who can then make the final decision about which one to fund.
The event is being held on a plot of land a couple of acres big, which is uncommon for the city. It is well attended, which is a good thing and speaks to the way the charity has been able to publicize its mission.
Fifteen minutes into the event and I see the same glamorous redhead who had been clinging to Lincoln the night of the gala. I can't remember her name, but I am pretty sure Lincoln introduced me to her. And I'm pretty sure she's the investor who's been hitting on him. Despite the fact that her face does not move in natural ways, she is really quite well put together wearing snug blue jeans, a red silk blouse, and a leather jacket. She's a bit dolled up for an evening of walking around in the dirt.
I no sooner see her walk through the front entrance of the garden, than I see Lincoln follow her through the gate, looking ill at ease. She waits for him, and when he catches up to her, she grabs him by the bicep. He lets her take his arm, and they stroll in together.
Surprised, I grab Hannah and drag her behind the potting shed/office on the property before Lincoln and the redhead see us. Hannah yelps in surprise.
"Shhh!" I whisper-yell into her bug-eyed face.
"What are you—" she starts to protest.
"I said, shhhh," I say, giving her my best mean mug. I place my index finger over her lips.
She continues to look bewildered by my behavior. When I'm sure she won't say anything, I tell her, "Lincoln just walked in with his investor!"
"Where?" she whisper-yells back at me. She goes to crane her neck around the edge of the shed, but I yank her back.
"Don't do that!"
Hannah squints at me. "Why not?"
This is a good question. A logical question. But one I do not seem to have an answer for. Should I say I want to spy on my boss to see whether the redhead hits on him...and whether he responds? Who does that?
"I'll explain later," I hiss.
From the cover of the potting shed, we watch Lincoln and the redhead casually stroll the aisles of the farmers market. The woman still has a hand on his bicep, and I'm not close enough to determine whether Lincoln is on board with the woman's handsiness.
"Why didn't you tell me he was so hot?" Hannah asks, peering right along with me. "Also, as for the redhead, methinks she needs to step away from the fillers. And the Botox."
I shrug.
"You have a crush on him, don't you?" Hannah asks in a sing-song voice. “I can see it in your eyes. Don’t try to deny it!"
"What makes you think that?" It is too dark for Hannah to see my face clearly, and I'm grateful because I am blushing like crazy.
"You do!" she says. "I should've known it. He is so fine."
Hannah makes a move like she's going to get up and go talk to him. I make a desperate, flappy hand movement to get her to stop.
"Wait!" I hiss, knowing Hannah can be like a dog with a bone when she senses matchmaking opportunities.
I am not sure what to do. I tell myself that because we’re not doing anything wrong. I should just come out from behind the building and make myself known. Part of me wonders how he might behave if I'm not around, even while acknowledging how he behaves is not my business. And yet, my mind flashes back to the way he looked at me the night of the gala. The way he held me so close makes me wonder whether there might be something else between us. He did say he doesn't usually go for dating in the workplace, but that didn't mean he never did.
The redhead leans into Lincoln, smiling broadly. Lincoln doesn't seem to mind, smiling back at her. I wonder why they are here together. They look kind of like a couple stopping at the farmers market to buy veggies for dinner.
Then I see the executive director making his way through the front entrance. He stops to speak to Lincoln and the redhead. The woman laughs uproariously at something the man says. Lincoln responds with a light chuckle of his own. I feel a tugging at my elbow and turn to see Hannah looking at me grumpily.
"What are we doing here?" she asks bluntly. "Botox Barbie over there is all over your man." Hannah is no longer making any attempt to keep her voice down, and several people turn around to find the source of the voices.
"He is not my man," I say. "And keep your damn voice down, okay?"
"Why should I keep my voice down?" she asks. "I'm going to go talk to them before she molests him."
"Wait!" I say, grabbing for Hannah, but the woman has a mind of her own, and she executes a little hip wiggle as an evasive maneuver. I watch with growing horror as Hannah marches toward Lincoln and Redhead, who turn their heads in unison, eyes goggling, as if sensing some spectral presence upon them. I have no choice but to follow.
Bold and friendly, Hannah has a way with people. She offers Lincoln a hand and a ready smile. Confused, he shakes Hannah's hand. His eyes cut to me as I join them.
"I'm Hannah Black, Samantha's best friend," says Hannah, grinning brightly. "You must be Lincoln Cooper. Samantha has told me so much about you!"
Lincoln squints and furrows his brow before recovering and responding to Hannah's infectious smile.
"She has?" Lincoln asks, looking surprised, then pleased. "All good, I hope."
"Oh yes," says Hannah. "I know all about you."
Hannah gives him a meaningful look. Lincoln responds with a puzzled expression. My face grows warm with embarrassment. The redhead clears her throat, which snaps Lincoln out of his daze.
"Ladies, this is Marcia Pittman," he says, but offers no further information as to why she is there with him. I recognize her as the woman who clung to him like a barnacle at the botanical garden benefit. Since we didn’t officially meet that night, when Marcia puts a hand out, I give her a good, firm, businesslike shake. Then she and Hannah shake hands in turn.
"We're business partners," Marcia says with a smile. Lincoln looks at her, eyebrows pinched, then lets his face relax into a practiced smile.
I am reasonably sure that if Lincoln had a business partner, I'd probably kno
w about it. Part of me wonders whether Marcia and Lincoln are on the same page regarding their relationship.
"Great," I say. My voice comes out like a squeak. "Good to meet you." For a few long moments, we all just stand there, smiling awkwardly.
"What are you doing here?" I blurt, and then realize I sound inappropriately demanding. So, I smile and try again. "It's a great evening for this event, isn't it?"
"I just joined the board of this community garden," Marcia says. "Inspired by this guy here." She smiles fondly at Lincoln before sliding an arm around his waist. Lincoln flinches, then scoots ever so slightly away from Marcia. But he doesn’t remove her arm.
"We're here to check out the garden too," Hannah says. "For the initiative Samantha is doing for Lincoln."
Marcia frowns. "Oh! You two work together?" Marcia looks from me to Lincoln. "I thought you looked familiar."
She must have seen me at the gala, so she is pretending she hasn't seen me before. In the back of my mind, I realize she's trying to minimize me.
"Yes, I'm helping Lincoln get his charity initiative off the ground," I say. "Among other things."
"Really," Marcia says, her fingers tightening around Lincoln's waist. He flinches again and shifts uncomfortably. "What do you do?"
"I'm a personal concierge," I say with a smile. "I take care of the little details of my clients' lives so they can focus on the big things," I say, giving her my elevator pitch.
"What a useful little job you do," Marcia says dismissively. I blink with astonishment. Part of me wants to smack the shit out of her, but the rational part of me realizes this is a terrible, terrible idea. Next to her, Lincoln also blinks with surprise written all over his face.
Sensing my outrage, Hannah grabs me by the elbow to prevent me from going off on Botox Barbie.
"Well, it was great running into you," Hannah says brightly. "We're going out tonight," she says to Lincoln and Marcia.
"Out?" Lincoln asks, his eyebrows coming together.
Tough Customer: A Hero Club Novel Page 8
