by Ava Harrison
I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t think you did. If you did, you would have worked every summer of college.”
She has me there. Instead of working, I’d decided to double major. Anyone else might have been impressed by that, but not Karen.
“Which you didn’t. Any other person with your experience—or lack thereof—would’ve been shredded upon arrival. Alas, you know the right people. Lucky for you I’m good at what I do, so I’ll get you placed.”
I try to control the smile that’s threatening to spread across my face. Something tells me Karen wouldn’t be impressed. “Thank you. I’ll work hard.”
“You better not make me regret this.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
“I expect you to work your ass off so we can leverage it to a full-time position, and I expect to make a sizable commission from this . . . misfortune.”
I ignore her words, happy to have this opportunity and not willing to mess it up before it begins. Regardless of whether she was coerced, she’s going to help me get my life started, and for that I’m grateful.
I’m ready.
A week later, I’m walking through the doors of the world-renowned Axis Agency. The space is phenomenal just as Karen promised. Facing the water, the huge loft space has a beautiful view of The Statue of Liberty.
I arrive early, eager to start, but surprisingly, I’m not the first one there. Standing in the middle of the pristine white loft space is Matthew Lawson, the owner. He looks different than the photos online. He appears to be shorter in person than his pictures suggest and has significantly less hair. Not that it matters what he looks like. From all my reading, he’s supposed to be a genius. He’s known for his cutting-edge ideas, brilliant delivery, and return on investment for his campaigns. He’s so famous they even talked about him in my lectures. He’s also supposed to be impossible to work for, not that it will be a problem for me as I’m a lowly temp. No way will I be placed anywhere near him.
He must hear my heels tap against the floor because he looks up as I enter. His pupils dilate and he runs his gaze from my feet up to my eyes. A chill runs up my spine, but it’s the wicked smirk that bothers me most. It’s as if he’s undressing me, and it feels like spiders are crawling up my body. Being anywhere near this man gives me the creeps. Not that it matters. I’m sure this is the first and last time I’ll see him.
“And what do we have here? You must be my fresh”—his words linger and bile forms—“assistant. I’m very excited to meet you. I’m Matthew Lawson. Here, at Axis, we’re a small, intimate company. You can call me Matt.” He winks, and the emphasis on the word intimate isn’t lost on me.
Shit, I’m supposed to be his assistant. As great an opportunity as this is, the way he watches me has me on edge. “Hi, M-Matt, I’m Bridget. I-I’m excited to be here, too,” I muster, but I’m so damn unhinged, I actually stutter.
“Come with me. I need to have you sign a few papers.”
Together we walk into his office. With him in front of me, I do everything I can to pull my skirt as far down as possible.
Out of breath from trekking up the stairs to my apartment, I pull out my phone and dial Olivia.
“How was your first day?” she asks before I can even say hi. I knew the moment I got home I had to call her as she’d be dying to know how my job went.
I groan at her question. “I’m never going back.”
“Bridge . . .”
“The place is goddamn awful. I walked out.”
“You quit? On your first day?” Her voice echoes in surprise through the phone.
“Turns out he’s a pig. I refuse to work for him.”
I don’t tell her the full story. I don’t tell her that as I was signing intake papers, he stepped up behind me and I could feel that he was hard through his pants. I’m certainly not going to tell her that every time we bumped into each other, his body brushed against mine in a sickening manner that made me feel unsafe. So I just tell her he’s a pig and hope she doesn’t question what I mean.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
I let out a sigh of relief. She’s not mad. After what she did for me, I’d hate for her to be upset with me.
“I’m not going back.”
“Bridget, I know he’s a dick. Unfortunately, a bunch of men in his position are like that. I wish there was something I can do.” She sighs. “I’d love to give him a piece of my mind—”
“I know, and I love you for it, but it’s fine. I just won’t go back.”
“I totally understand. I’d do the same thing, but Spencer and I pulled some serious strings to get you in with this agency. You have to at least call them and say you’re sorry and see if they’ll place you somewhere else.”
“I know, I know. Karen’s just scary.”
“Time to grow up, Bridge.”
“Fine, I’ll call. But after that, I’m going to open a big bottle of wine and drown my sorrows.”
“I know it sucks, but you already said you aren’t going to ask Mom and Dad for help, which means you have to get a job. You cannot burn bridges along the way. Take it from me. If you burn too many bridges and your options are limited, you might find yourself in a horrible situation.”
I know she’s referring to her own life, but her warning rings loud in my ear. Both my sisters have gotten themselves into trouble. And even though they’ve changed their ways, I still feel like I need to prove to myself and my parents that I’m not like them.
“You’re right, and I’ll take care of it. Listen, I’m starving and want to grab a bite.” I walk toward my fridge and pop it open, searching desperately for some inspiration on something to nosh on.
“Okay. Don’t drink too much.”
A giggle escapes. My sister knows me all too well.
“Yeah, yeah,” I respond in a mocking tone.
“Love you, Bridget.” Olivia chuckles.
“Love you, too.”
When I hang up, I grab a small container of ice cream from the freezer. I feel defeated by my day. Karen isn’t going to take this well. If I still have my life at the end of this, it’ll be a miracle, but Olivia is right. I need to grow up. With that settled, I pull out a spoon from the drawer and scoop into the mint chocolate chip container. It’s cold and refreshing and makes everything better . . .
Almost.
Halfway through my ice cream fest, my friend Brian texts me, asking me to meet him at some sick party being held at the hottest new lounge in the Meatpacking District. After having a day from hell, a drink is sure to lift my spirits. My options for the evening are limited. Drown myself in sweet confections or try to be social and forget. Brian’s cute, and with all the bullshit over the last day with Axis, and being sexually harassed, having a drink and flirting—hell, maybe even taking it further than flirting—sounds like the perfect distraction I need. But now as I stand here all alone and waiting, it’s the worst idea in the world.
With a lift of my hand, I bring the shot of tequila to my mouth and down it in one long gulp.
“Rough day?” the bartender asks.
“Rough life,” I respond, and he lifts his eyebrow for me to expand on that statement. “Basically, I had to walk out on my dream job because my boss was a chauvinistic pig. Staying there would have had trouble written all over it.”
“Damn, that sucks. But look at the bright side. At least you aren’t that guy.” He nods, motioning at the guy on the dance floor making a complete ass of himself. He’s gyrating around to his own rhythm, one that does not match the beat of the music.
I throw my head back on a laugh as the man breaks into the running man. “This is true. Things can always be worse.”
He smiles and pours me another shot. “On me.”
By the time I down it, he’s moved on to the next patron, so I take the time to look at my phone to see if maybe Brian texted. Nothing.
“Did he stand you up?” the bartender asks over his shoulder as he pours a pint of beer
.
“How do you know I’m waiting for a guy?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle and I can’t help but deflate at the prospect that everyone around me knows I’ve been stood up. Today has been a spirit crusher, and it just keeps getting worse. All I needed was one night. One freaking night to try to forget, but no.
“It’s his loss,” the bartender says with a small smile.
I smile back, my grin never reaching my eyes.
Standing to go, I look across the room and spot Brian. I scrunch my nose as I watch him kissing some hot blonde with a skirt that looks as if it could easily pass as underwear. Clearly, Brian’s all but forgotten about me. I really shouldn’t care, but I do. It’s just one more rejection I can’t handle. Not today. Without another word, I throw my credit card onto the bar. The bartender lifts it from the counter and heads over to the register to close out my tab. As I wait, my head turns around the space to search for the nearest exit. I need to get out of here before I break down.
As soon as I have the bill squared away, I head toward a side exit. I shiver when the burst of chilled air assaults me. My arms wrap around my body, clinging tightly, trying to stave off the tears. It’s no use. I swipe a stray teardrop from my cheek and hurry my steps, eager to get as far from this place as possible. I’m rounding the corner when I collide with a hard body.
“Whoa there,” a throaty, masculine voice curls around me. Hands grip my shoulders to steady me. “You came awful fast around that corner.” The man chuckles.
I don’t say a word. What’s there to say? If I speak, I might break. A whimper escapes my mouth instead.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He removes his grasp, leaving me vacant and unsteady without it.
The man bends down so we’re eye to eye. My breath hitches and butterflies take flight. Even in the dark I can tell this man is attractive. No, that’s not the right word. He’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, and here I am having a meltdown in his arms. Fabulous fucking day.
“Can you hear me?” He is pulling me out of my inner ramblings. I search his eyes, unable to discern what color they are, but they’re large and expressive. Right now, he’s clearly concerned, and that thought has me coming to my senses and backing away.
Wet rivulets cascade down my face and I try to swipe them away. “I’m fine.”
“Did someone hurt you?” he asks, his friendly tone taking a possessive cut, that’s rough around the edges. Almost scary. I would not want to cross this man.
He doesn’t know a thing about me, but he’s acting like he’s ready to go toe to toe with whoever has me in this state. My head cocks to the side, and I take him in, my curiosity piqued. He’s breathtaking. Tall and lean, easily six foot three. He runs his fingers through his unruly brown locks, and suddenly, I imagine my own hands brushing through them. My face warms to what I believe is a crimson blush.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to run into you,” I offer, trying desperately to resurrect my current state. He probably thinks I’m a crazy person. I run into him and then I don’t speak for what feels like an hour while he assesses my state of unrest. It’s humiliating. Especially given how well-put-together he is. Dressed from head to toe in what looks to be a fine Italian suit pressed to perfection and fitting his body like a glove. My mouth stands agape, and it’s not until he chuckles at my perusal that I’m brought back to Earth.
Pull yourself together.
“I’m fine. I’ve just had a really bad night,” I offer as a lame attempt to move the conversation forward.
“Me too. Is there a guy back there I need to have a word with?” the stranger offers, smirking as my eyes widen.
“No. I mean, yes, but no. It wouldn’t be worth speaking to him. His tongue is lodged down some busty blonde’s throat. It’s fine, though. I wasn’t really into him anyway. I just had a bad day and was looking forward to some decent conversation, drinks, and a night to forget, ya know? It’s my fault for caring. I shouldn’t.” My recount of the night explodes from my mouth in a waterfall of word vomit. When I’m uncomfortable, I ramble. It’s always been a nervous tic.
“Anyway, I should’ve stayed home and worked on my apology to this temp agency I’m currently working with. I up and left a high-profile client today because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and now Karen’s going to kill me, but that’s my problem, not yours, and anyway . . .”
His eyes are wide.
“Slow down. Who put their hands on you?”
I stare, dumbstruck. One simple phrase from a stranger and I’m completely paralyzed in place. Nobody in my life has ever shown that much concern, and this is a total stranger. “I . . . It . . . It was just this guy I was working for. Nothing happened. I left.” My head hangs in shame.
“Hey . . .” He tilts my chin upward so I’m staring directly into his caring eyes. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about someone else’s actions. He clearly upset you, which means you had every right to walk out. Don’t let this Karen woman make you feel like you did something wrong.”
This man has me glued to this spot, completely off-kilter. He listened to every word I spewed. Has anyone ever done that before? Not for a long time . . . Not since all the shit hit the fan with my family when I was back in high school. Ever since my senior year, everything has been about my father having an affair on my mom. Or about my best friend, Lynn, actually being the product of said affair. Just as life finally calmed down, and maybe I’d be noticed and appreciated for my own merits, everything was about Olivia and her partying and drug use. It’s been so long since I’ve not been compared to my sisters and their flaws and someone paid attention to just me; I can’t stifle the need to bask in it.
“Okay,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
“You’re cold.” He rubs his hands up and down my shoulders. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
His arm comes around my shoulder, pulling me into him. The scent of peppermint and wintergreen assault my senses in a wonderful euphoria. I sigh. It doesn’t go unnoticed based on the light chuckle coming from the stranger. I snuggle into him without thinking and almost immediately come out of the fog he’s had me in.
I stop in my tracks and whip around until I’m facing him. “Wait. Where are you taking me? I don’t know you.” It sounds ridiculously stranger-danger, but not so much after getting sexually assaulted by Mr. Lawson. I might as well wear a Me Too neon shirt. This stranger might be nice and handsome, but wasn’t Jeffery Dahmer the same way?
His hands come up in surrender. “I’m just trying to help. You were upset, and it seems like you could use some company. I thought we could go get a drink.” He shuffles on his feet.
I groan. “I’m sorry. I’m acting erratically. It’s just been one hell of a day.”
“Like I said, I get it. My day has been one for the books too.” He drags his straight teeth along his lower lip and fire shoots to my core. It’s so sexy I can hardly contain a whimper. This man is like nothing I’ve ever seen. “I think we could both use a drink.”
“Just one,” I say, convincing myself more than him.
“We’ll see.” He winks cockily, and I’m a goner. “So, Miss . . . ?” His invitation hangs in the air, waiting for me to pluck it, press it into my chest and RSVP the hell out of it.
“Bridget. Just Bridget.” Not a good time to give him my last name. Again. Stranger-danger.
“Bridget.” He tries the name out, smiling. “Let’s go.”
“Are you going to tell me yours?” I protest.
“Maybe.”
I laugh. He does, too. It feels good, and for the first time today, I don’t feel like a truck ran me over. “Grant.”
Even his name is sexy.
“All right, Grant. Lead the way.”
He could tell me we’re headed to hell, and I’d go without a fuss at this point. It’s stupid and irresponsible, but I couldn’t care less. I don’t have to be perfect tonight. I don’t have to compare myself to anyone. No one knows me h
ere. He doesn’t know me. I can be whatever I want to be, even if that means having an impromptu drink with a complete stranger.
We don’t walk far before we approach a tall brick building. A door I didn’t even see opens and a tall, smartly-dressed man steps out.
“Sir. Welcome. Your table is ready for you.”
“Gerald.” He tips his head down, and apparently that’s his version of thank you. “I’ll have a plus-one this evening.”
“Of course, sir.”
The gentleman named Gerald moves aside, ushering us through the door. A dimly-lit lounge greets us. There are private booths surrounded by white satin drapes and tables littered throughout the room. The place is moderately full with several of the tables still open.
“Right this way,” Gerald calls. He leads us to one of the more private sections with white drapes obscuring our view of the other patrons. With the night I’ve had, privacy is welcome. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“What will it be?” Grant asks.
“A shot of tequila,” my inner college girl blurts out.
“Gerald, two shots of Don Julio 1942.” Grant surprises me, not batting a sexy eyelash.
“Sir.” Gerald nods before walking off. I turn around to Grant with a smile that hurts my cheeks. “Don Julio? Who are you trying to impress?”
“You,” he says simply, his eyes meeting mine, nonchalant and challenging. My heart is in my throat, my pulse hammering against my neck. This. Man. Then he continues, “You’re upset. You need something worth drinking.” Cyanide sounds like a good idea. But of course, I keep my snark to myself. Miss 3rd place, remember?
“I’m fine, really. I just needed to get out of there.”
Our shots arrive in record time. Grant raises his glass to me. “To bad days and better nights.” His voice turns husky on the word nights, and it makes my stomach warm with innuendo.
“I’ll drink to that.”
We clink glasses and tip them back. The liquid is smooth going down my throat, slowly melting away all the tension that was still harboring in my shoulders. As I’m lowering my glass to the table, my eyes catch Grant’s. Feeling unnerved, my gaze drifts, and I watch as his throat gulps down the liquid. The motion is so sexy I find myself swallowing in response. The room heats, and I can’t shake the awkwardness at having this beautiful man sitting across from me. I literally ran into him, while crying over a guy I had no real interest in.
