by K. K. Allen
“My charity,” I say. “Together in Sports. The proceeds go into a fund for each school that joins the program and is used to pay for things like uniforms and travel for those who may not be able to afford it otherwise. Give everyone an opportunity to play.”
Sandra smiles warmly. “It’s wonderful. BelleCurve will stand behind you one hundred percent. Marketing will help us get the ball rolling on branding.” She pauses for a moment. “You said you needed a theme, so we’ll work on that too. If we need to get Chloe on board to help with the speeches, just let me know. You two worked well together before.” Her eyes light up. “What about production? Maybe that’s how we get the sponsors to really pay attention.”
This reminds me of a thought that came to me in Hawaii. “Could we document the entire event? I’d love to create PSAs for the local schools. We interview the kids, talk to them about their own experiences, their struggles, and how they’re going to work to overcome them. We can incorporate the sponsors throughout the messages somehow.”
Having heard enough, Sandra stands. “I’d say it’s time to go round you up a team.”
Several meetings later, we’ve effectively planted the bug. The marketing team has already started brainstorming ideas for the theme, and the director of corporate partnerships is ready to reach out to sponsors. Sandra wants to talk to the production crew next, but since they’ve been in a shoot all morning, she hasn’t been able to get ahold of Richland.
Sandra leads me to a familiar cubicle. “Look who came to visit.”
Chloe swivels her chair, and a huge smile quickly illuminates her face. “Hey!” She stands and throws her arms around me.
Returning her enthusiasm, I lean away from her and smile. “Nice to see you too, Chloe.”
She looks between Sandy and me curiously. “What are you doing here? Do we get to work together again?”
“Possibly,” Sandy cuts in. “You two can talk about it over lunch if you’re free.” She makes a cringe face. “I talked poor Zach into staying the rest of today, but I have a noon appointment I’m already late for.”
Chloe nods. “Of course, yes. Let me just shut down.”
As Chloe finishes up an email, Sandra does some tapping on her cell phone. “Great!” she announces. “Two o’clock is confirmed with Richland. Have fun at lunch.”
Sandra waves and rushes off for her next meeting while I hang back with Chloe. I fully intend on asking her about Monica at lunch.
Until— “Shit.”
“Whoa. Did you just cuss?” I’ve never heard so much as a damn from Chloe’s mouth.
She flips her hair to look at me. “I cuss sometimes when I royally screw up. Like now. I have a one o’clock appointment I need to prepare for.” She grabs her things and pulls on my elbow. “Come with me. I have an idea.”
Chloe drags me down the hall and through the corridor that leads to the production suite. “Where are we going?”
“Richland’s PA is free for lunch. You’ll eat with her.”
“The PA?” I stop in my tracks. “Chloe, this is weird. I’ll just go grab lunch and come back.”
Something about the smile that’s about to crack on her face makes me take a step back. “Wait. Richland doesn’t have a PA.”
Chloe is a horrible liar, so the moment the comment is out of my mouth, she blushes profusely. “Okay, confession: it’s Monica. I really do have a meeting to prepare for, but I figured you two could talk about … stuff.”
At the sound of Monica’s name, my heart does some palpitation nonsense, and I’m having trouble stringing a complete thought together. My mouth is safer shut.
“I’m sorry for trying to be sneaky, but it sounds like you two will be working together, so you might as well get the awkward part out of the way.”
I just stare at her for a second. How much does she know?
As if she read my mind, she says, “I know about the night of the event, and I’m a horrible friend for even saying that much.” She cringes mid-thought. “I just—well, she’s the new PA.” Chloe throws her arms up in embarrassment. “I suck at this.”
“Are you trying to tell me that she wants to see me?”
She sees my smirk and raises me a glare. Walking back in the direction we came, she points behind her without making eye contact. “You can find her right through those doors.”
“Chloe,” I call after her, making her stop and look at me. “If you know about that night, then what makes you think I want to see her again?”
I almost feel bad when her face crumbles into shards of shame. “I just figured…”
I back up to the door that separates me from the one who ran away and finally release a grin. “Thanks for the setup. I’ll take it from here.”
Just before noon, Richland and I wrap the first video shoot we’ve had since I’ve officially been on his team. It was fun—a short interview with a homeless man dressed up as a clown. Literally, he dresses as a clown daily. And his reason is actually a good one: people stare at him anyway, so at least now they aren’t staring at him, but a disguise. My heart ached for the man, but his smile was brighter than any I’ve seen in a long time.
Just in case he didn’t come with his costume on, we were prepared. But the red curly wig was left untouched, so I place it on my head along with the spongy nose, and I snap a selfie. Richland left for lunch a few minutes ago and I’m waiting for Chloe to get here so I can show her my new look. I can’t wait to scare the shit out of her.
When the door finally opens, I grin maniacally and wait for a reaction I’ll never get—because the figure that crosses the threshold is not Chloe. It’s not even Richland. It’s not anyone I’m expecting to see. What the—?
Zach’s face is filled with surprise at first, and then amusement as he realizes who’s behind the disguise. A full-on belly laugh erupts from him, complete with a stomach grab as he keels over.
I slowly pull off the nose, then the wig, and stare back and the guy that’s owned my thoughts and dreams for the last six months.
Damn. He looks better than I remember. Dressed in fitted jeans and a blue button-down, average attire for an above average man, he numbs all coherent thoughts.
What is he doing here? And where has he been?
His naturally creamy skin is a golden bronze. His hair, freshly trimmed. A careful shave in just the right places give him that rugged charm look that always drove me crazy.
Who am I kidding? It still does.
I can smell him from here—that crisp, woodsy scent mixed with his citrus shampoo—and I’m flooded with memories of that night. Now here he is, in the flesh, doing unfair things to my heart.
“Hi, Cakes.”
Cakes. I wish I could say it’s been months since I’ve thought of that nickname, but I would be lying. I’ve spent too much time imagining that deep, raspy voice seducing me with his words.
And now I’m thinking of his lips on mine, dragging across my sensitive skin. His hands roaming…
Shit. “Hi, Zach.”
The production room always feels sweltering after a shoot, and I’m still feeling the effects from the blistering lights. And being in the same room with Zach again certainly doesn’t help. Setting the clown attire on the chair beside me, I reach for my water and guzzle it down. The distraction is useless, especially when I dribble some down my chin. Smooth, Monica.
His smile dims as if he’s disappointed in my reaction. Not that I’m giving him much of a reaction at all. My tone was even when I spoke his name. My expression, blank. Which is funny, because I feel anything but blank. A freaking parade is stomping through my chest, a celebration at the mere sight of him.
That confirms it. Six months is far too long to go without a Zachary Ryan sighting.
“It seems we have a predicament,” he says, shoving his hands in his front pockets. “Sandy pawned me off on Chloe, and Chloe mysteriously had something better to do than entertain this guy right here.” Zach points to
himself. “So I’ve been sent to you. The new PA. You get to take me to lunch.”
Did he just…
“I get to take you to lunch? Because no one else wants to go with you?”
I probably should think through my responses before speaking. I don’t want to be rude. He’s done nothing to deserve my cold shoulder, but seeing him again does crazy things to me.
“I guess that’s what happened.” Even Zach’s nervous laughter is charming. So annoying.
I look around, quickly coming up with a list of chores that will keep me busy throughout lunch and up until the end of today and beyond if needed.
“I’ve actually got work to do.” I swallow the lie. It tastes disgusting in my mouth, which is why I try to avoid lying always. But this is a special circumstance.
His expression dims, and I’m reminded of the way I left him in that parking lot. Same expression, once again twisting my insides in knots.
He backs away. “Cool. I’ll just run out and grab something. Or maybe I can track down Meredith.” He turns away.
That stings a little—not that he means for it to. He has no idea I’m aware of his rumored fling with his publicist.
Why am I acting like such a bitch? He’s not asking me out; it’s just a lunch thing. A work lunch thing. Nothing like the last meal we shared together.
Unfortunately.
“Wait,” I call out.
He turns and raises an eyebrow. When I don’t say a word, he sighs. “Monica?”
There’s a tightening of my heart when I hear him speak my name instead of his nickname for me. It sounds all wrong. He gives up again and turns toward the door. That’s when I finally move. Rushing forward, I meet him at the door. We’re so close now, I could reach out and touch him, but I don’t. “I can take a short break.”
“Great,” he says evenly. “I’ll drive.”
“We can walk.” Getting in his Jeep again is a bad idea. The sexual tension between us the last time we rode in that vehicle was almost too much to resist.
Three blocks later I push through the door to Belle de Jour before he can open it for me. “We’ll just grab something from here and take it back to the office.” He follows me past the main restaurant entrance and to the back of the takeout line. The place is classy enough that even if someone recognized him, they won’t make a scene.
“Sandy said somewhere nice.”
“Oh, this place is nice. We just aren’t eating here.” I grin at him, feeling giddy from the familiarity of our sparring.
He puffs out his chest. “It’s not my fault everyone had other plans today.”
“We’ve established that I’m the fallback.”
“You had your chance to be first pick.”
I swivel my head to shoot him a glare. “Seriously? It’s been six months.”
His face twists as if I have no right to be upset at him for bringing that up. “Yeah. Six months ago you rejected me, and now you’re treating me like shit. How does that work?”
It’s like his words just body slammed me an inch from the end zone. A reminder that whatever issues I have with my past are hurting someone else, and he’s not letting me off the hook. But hurting him was never my intention.
“I’m not treating you like shit, I’m just…”
He nods. “Treating me like shit.”
Facing forward, I feel my cheeks heat.
“You should really warn people before you show up at their place of work. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“Says Fuzzy the Clown.” Zachary chuckles at his own joke.
I’m simultaneously amused and annoyed that he’s not taking me seriously. I elbow him in the chest.
“Ow!” he exclaims. “You realize my entire body is insured, right? I could sue you just for touching me unkindly.”
I shift my pressed lips to one side. “So now touching is an issue for you?”
His expression matches mine while he leans in closer. “No, Cakes. Touching is perfectly fine.” His eyes move to my lips and I suck in a sharp breath. “Light strokes, scratching, a nibble here and there. Just no bruising or drawing blood, ’kay?” He winks before pulling back. “Besides, I was at BelleCurve to see Sandy today.”
“What for?”
“A project.” His eyes narrow. “You’re the new PA, huh? What happened to going back to school?”
“I’m still undecided, but I’ve been looking at my options. I’m starting at the Art Institute this summer. And my old job was no longer meeting my expectations, so Sandra promoted me.”
He laughs throatily. “You got canned. She already told me.”
My head jerks to face him. Are Sandra and Zach really that close? That piece of information should have been none of his business.
“She was pissed, so she was teaching me a lesson. For about fifteen seconds I honestly thought I was out of a job. She noticed how much time I was spending with Richland in the production suite and knew he needed the help. It worked out for everyone.”
“I guess so. Looks like we’ll be working together,” he says.
“What are you talking about?”
He raises his chin, motioning for me to move forward in line. We order, and when he tries to pay I move his hand aside, the simple touch searing my skin with his heat. I yank my hand away and reach for my company credit card.
“This is on BelleCurve.”
He doesn’t argue.
We get our food and start walking toward the office. I glance at Zachary, still waiting for an answer to my question.
“What do you mean we’ll be working together?” I ask again.
His eyes examine mine for a second. “I’m hosting an event. A football camp with a leadership theme.” He shrugs, and I get the impression he’s afraid I won’t like his idea. “I want to repurpose my speech from Heroes and Legends. Create something meaningful for the kids that I can identify with and raise money for kids who can’t afford to play sports.”
“How does the production team fit into this?”
“I didn’t know you were with the production team when Sandy and I started talking,” he says with all seriousness. “I want to document the event and see how we can spin PSAs out of it. We have a meeting with Richland today to see what his thoughts are.”
The excitement in Zach’s tone hits my heart with a pang. It’s so easy to be crazy about this guy. He’s always passionate. Always thoughtful. Always looking for ways to help others. Why does he have to be so damn perfect?
“That’s a great idea,” I offer.
“You think so?”
I nudge him. “Yes! Those kids are lucky to have someone like you as a role model. You have a touching story. One that’s relatable. The feedback we got after Heroes and Legends was phenomenal, partially thanks to you.”
He smiles, pleased, and nudges me back. “So you’ll be okay working with me? I know you have a crush on me and all. It could get awkward.”
“Sounds like I’ll have to find a way to manage my attraction for you, bleeding heart and all.”
His cringe smothers his smile. “So graphic.”
When we arrive back at BelleCurve, I lead Zach through the private hallway that empties into the production suite and head to my office.
“This okay?” I ask him, taking a seat behind my desk.
He smiles. “Fine with me.” My eyes focus on the door he’s closing behind him. I open my mouth to tell him to leave it open, but he shakes his head, reading my mind. “I like to eat in private.”
He’s full of it.
My mouth remains shut. We tear into the bags, unwrap our sandwiches, and eat silently for the next few minutes until I realize he’s watching me. My mouth specifically. I swipe at it with the back of my hand, suddenly self-conscious that I’m getting food everywhere. Missing breakfast is not good, but it’s been happening more and more lately with this new flex schedule Richland is allowing me as I scope out the Art Institute and
attend meetings with their academic advisors.
I reach for a napkin to wipe my hand and then my mouth again while I swallow my next bite.
“What’s this?” he asks, reaching for one of the frames facing away from him on my desk.
I go to grab it, but he’s faster. His eyes move from my face to the picture, and then back to me again.
When I got my own office, I searched unpacked boxes in my closet for photos and décor to decorate my new space. The photos I chose are a lie. Forced smiles. Broken dreams. That’s all they represent. But they’re also sentimental, a reminder of the life and people I left behind.
He’s holding a picture of me when I was fourteen, standing proudly beside Maggie after her first bigtime runway event. My mother is perched behind us, beaming brightly at the camera.
Everyone thought we were the most adorable family, both before and after my father left. My mother, sister, and I stuck together, though my mother was more into attention and fame than anything else. Modeling came before everything, which was something I admired as a child but eventually grew to resent. There was simply no other option.
She managed my sister, who was a hot commodity in Texas by age sixteen. It helped that my mom’s former model days gave her an in with the right talent scouts, but even so, my sister was born to be on a stage. Acting is her life’s passion, but modeling is what got her foot in the door.
“Wow, you girls look a lot alike.”
“My sister and mom.” I slip the frame from his hands, but he just grabs the other one, which was taken four years later. My mom had some photos taken of me for a graduation memento, and as weird as it is that I have a picture of myself on my desk, I like it. I can’t remember ever feeling so beautiful.
“Holy smokes, Cakes. Even as a teen you’re hot.” His eyes dash up to mine. “Wait. No. That sounded pervy. You’re much better looking today.”
Laughing, I try to grab the frame from him, but he pulls it back. “You could have totally modeled.”
My body heats under his stare. How does he still have this effect on me? It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, but I feel like it was just yesterday. “I have nothing against modeling, and it was great for my sister. But moving here on my own was the first step in figuring out my own path instead of living life the way I’ve been told to live it.”
