The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  Looking around, I finally look toward the desk at the other end for clarification. Christiansen Wealth Management in brushed brass letters hangs on the wall. Just beneath sits Juni, whose eyes are locked on mine. She waves to me, and says, “Please hold, and I’ll transfer you.”

  As soon as she transfers the call, she covers the microphone with her hand and smiles. She says, “You said anything I want.” There’s a hint of smugness in her words.

  “I meant a few plants, not the Amazon jungle.”

  “You think it’s too much?” she asks, gesturing to the rainforest she’s created in a corner of the reception area.

  “It’s a lot of . . .” When I see her smile fall, I add, “of goodness,” turning it around. I am learning not to underestimate this spitfire in front of me. This can be handled on another day.

  Her smile returns, brightening my day but not successfully distracting me from that mess of leaves behind me. She says, “I’m so glad you like it. I was worried.”

  “No need,” I say, freaking out on the inside. “It’s like a casino in here pumping in the fresh oxygen.”

  “More oxygen increases productivity,” she sings the last word.

  I scan the room once more. “I’m sure it will.” Trying not to lose my composure, I decide it’s best if I leave while I’m ahead. “Have a good day.”

  “You too, Mr. Christiansen.”

  Stopping in the doorway, I see a plant on every desk in the office—little flowering plants, succulents, miniature versions of the ones in the lobby of my apartment building, and other familiar varieties. Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhale, and then reply, “Ms. Jacobs,” without turning back and continuing on my way.

  When I reach Mary’s desk, I say, “What are we going to do?”

  She starts laughing. “Well, you did give her free rein.” I value that I don’t have to explain to Mary what I’m upset about. She just comes along for the ride, taking my brain’s detours in stride.

  “I did, and I won’t take it back, but we have to do something about all those plants. I half expected an anaconda to slither out of there. That’s not the first impression I want clients to have upon their arrival.”

  Her laughter wanes but then picks up again. “I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s like a transformation gone wrong. I’m not sure what her vision was when she ordered all those plants, but her heart was in the right place. She gave me a peace lily. Isn’t it lovely?”

  Half-heartedly glancing at it, I reply, “Yeah, sure. You really think I should just let it go?”

  “Yes,” she replies, so certain it’s not a big deal. “So what if they think we’re all a bunch of plant lovers? We could be called worse things.” When her laughter picks up again, I shake my head and go inside my office. Leave it to Juni to turn my most loyal employee against me.

  Juniper Jacobs is good. She’s very good.

  Before I settle into my morning routine, I find myself standing next to my chair, staring at a sunny yellow pot with a plant sprouting out the top sitting on my console table.

  Not just any plant—a phallic-shaped cactus covered in sharp needles.

  Did she run out of the regular plants before she got to me?

  Bending sideways, I take in the sight before me. I’m pretty sure, judging by this cactus, Juni thinks I’m an asshole, or a dick more specifically, by the shape of it. Getting the only plant in the office that can stab you is not a good sign for our relationship.

  I drop my stuff on the desk and head for the door with the yellow pot in hand. But as soon as I open it, I find Juni standing there, ready to knock.

  “I was just coming to see you,” I say.

  “Jinx, you owe me a coffee.”

  I can’t even say my patience is worn thin because it’s nonexistent this morning. “You got me last time, but this time, I have to say something. That’s not how jinx works.” My tone is short, and when I see Mary watching our exchange, I whisper, “May I speak with you in private?”

  With a simple nod, we move into the office, and I close the door. Despite my irritation, she looks like a movie star ready for her close-up, and I’ve known a few, even dated one. Her hair flows over her shoulders in soft waves. Soft pinks highlight her cheeks and lips while black lashes bring out her eyes. The short-sleeved black sweater has a rounded neckline, and the pleated black skirt flares out.

  I triple-checked the dating policy yesterday. Dating her wouldn’t break any rules, but as Nick pointed out, there is an “expectation” of upper management, and you can’t get more upper than me. A friendship with Juni isn’t prohibited, but these thoughts I’ve been having would not go over well with our board members if they found out.

  They won’t find out.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  Breaking my train of thought that was fixated on her, she asks, “What is it, Mr. Christiansen.” She’s going to do that every time, isn’t she?

  I thought the formality of the name was a good way for us to remember the parts we play in each setting of our day. Apparently, I thought wrong. The way she’s taking her anger out on me has twisted, and it’s sounding dirty coming from her lips. So fucking hot.

  Forming a T with my free hand and the plant, I call a time-out. “Okay, okay. Point taken. We can drop the mister part. Ow—shit!”

  She moves quick, taking the plant from me and setting it down. Turning back, she says, “Let me see.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Taking my hand anyway, she analyzes my open palm as two tiny blood spots appear. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  “It’s no big deal. I don’t need tending to. I’ll survive.” Green. That’s the dominant color of her eyes in this light as she looks up at me under the aforementioned dark lashes. Even the diamond stud earrings she’s wearing can’t compete with the sparkle in her eyes.

  “I know you will, but I can clean the blood. That way, it won’t get on your contracts.” I hadn’t thought of that.

  “There’s a small plastic kit in the bottom left drawer of the console.”

  Moving around me, her skirt balloons over her legs as she kneels. “Found it.” She returns to where she left me standing with the kit already open. Setting it aside, she rips the foil packet of the alcohol swab. “I was having fun with the cactus.” Although she was smiling when we started this conversation, it’s now faded. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She dabs not just the two spots where needles got the better of me but my entire palm, taking her time. “It’s a joke gone bad.”

  “I’m going to live.”

  Dragging the swab slowly across my palm with care, she says, “You have a long lifeline.”

  “My mom’s always been happy about that.”

  “And you’re not?” she asks, a smile playing on her lips while holding my hand like it’s precious cargo.

  Standing this close to her as she cares for me, I find my breath deepening. While she gazes at my hand, I stare at her. She raises her chin to look up at me, and whispers, “Drew?”

  She’s too close—the floral scent of her perfume is delicate like her, those lips pale pink and so damn kissable, but it’s her proximity, the feel of her pressing her body just shy of mine that has me pulling my hand away and returning to my desk. “I think . . .”

  I don’t know what to think, but the thoughts I do have are fucking with my brain. Juni confuses me. We say we’re one thing, but I’m starting to feel very different about her, and that makes me question everything.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I have a Fortune 500 company to run. My employees—my family—depend on me to be focused. Deep breath.

  While she stares at me with what looks like shock, I try to get myself under control. She can’t call me Drew in the office. I have to draw the line. Surely, she understands that.

  I point at the phone as if that’s an excuse, and say, “I need to prepare for my meeting.”

  A light knock is followed by
Mary entering. “Sorry for interrupting.” It’s a welcome disruption to the crazed thoughts I’ve been having. “Are you ready to go over your schedule for today?”

  Juni nods as if she’s somehow inconsequential in this situation. If she only knew, to me, she’s the opposite. I’m realizing now that I’m invested in a relationship, whether it ever grows beyond friends, more than I should, considering our positions.

  “Thank you for the plant, Ms. Jacobs.”

  I see Mary’s attention shift to the plant on the desk. Hiding her smile behind her hand, she’s at least respectful enough not to laugh out loud.

  Juni says, “You’re welcome, but I realized I put the wrong plant in your office.” She hurries out and then returns quickly. The clay pot is green, and the leafy vine overflows on the side. “It’s a pothos ivy. They bring wealth and fortune.”

  When she sets it on the edge of my desk, Mary says, “That was so thoughtful, Juni.”

  Swiping the cactus by the pot, she adds, “It’s nothing, really.” But I feel the heat of her gaze. There’s no fire or anger, not sadness or sympathy. There’s nothing at all, making it impossible to read her genuine emotions. And I hate it. Hate when she hides herself away from me.

  But, thank God, I catch the connection we still share hanging by a thread in an exchanged glance just before she reaches the door. “Thank you, Ms. Jacobs.”

  19

  Andrew

  After being out of the office for most of the morning, I return to my desk before noon to find my mom’s list for me printed and lying on my desk. “Mary?”

  She pokes her head in. “Yes?”

  Holding it up, I ask, “Where did this come from?”

  “Your brother. Nick stopped by about an hour ago. He said your mom made him do it.”

  Grumbling under my breath, I sit down and stare at the list I’ve read over a million times. It’s stuck to my fridge, haunting me every night when I’m home. Glancing up, I say, “Thank you. That’s all.”

  She went to the effort to put it front and center, so I’ll give her the courtesy of another quick review. Only to humor her, though.

  Lie in the grass in the nearest park at 9:17 AM on a sunny weekday.

  Eradicate negative vibes from the apartment on the sixth Thursday after arrival.

  Perform in front of an audience. (Work doesn’t count, Andrew)

  Read Shakespeare on the steps of the New York Public Library just after midnight.

  I drag my pen across the first one, glad I accomplished one.

  Number two: I check the calendar. That’s coming up in two weeks. I note that in my appointment software—voodoo the spirits out of the apartment.

  Number three: Running a meeting doesn’t count, but what will? Does she want me to run naked through Central Park or perform at Madison Square Garden? More thought needs to be put into that one.

  Number four: This is easy. Juni likes off-the-wall activities. Maybe I should get her to tag along. I doubt she’d even think it was weird.

  And, of course, the ridiculously hilarious number five makes me roll my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything more outlandish than that.

  This list is still a thorn in my side. With the original at home, I didn’t need the reminder. I wad this one up and aim for the wastebasket. “He aims. He shoots. He—ah, fuck.” Yep, that’s about right. After bouncing off the side of the bin, it rolls a few inches in front of my desk.

  I’ll deal with it later.

  Five minutes after Mary and most of the office have cleared out, there’s a soft knock on the door. Juni swings it open, and says, “Heard the big meeting got postponed?”

  It’s hard to keep my eyes on hers when I want to run my gaze down her body and take her in. I manage, but it’s a struggle. That’s not something I’ve ever had trouble with prior, especially when it came to the office. “The clients moved it to Monday. They had to fly out of town.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “It gives me more time to prepare.”

  “Always looking on the bright side.” Why do I detect a note of sarcasm? I’m not a negative person . . . a little irritable when I’m at the office, but I have a lot on my plate. I let the comment slide. She says, “Rumor has it you rarely eat lunch.”

  Lowering my gaze to the contract in front of me, I reply, “You heard correct, but how do people know that, much less talk about it?”

  “Watercooler small talk and the manual.”

  “Ah, the manual.” That’s right. This mysterious manual.

  “Also, I’m taking advantage of the sign posted outside your door.”

  Not following, I ask, “Which sign is that?”

  “That you have an open-door policy. I don’t exactly have anything specific to discuss, but I think it’s good for you to spend time with the commoners like me.” Holding up a bag, she wiggles it in the air. “Anyway, I brought you lunch. Two birds with one stone.”

  I set my pen down and look up. “I don’t consider anyone who works for this company a commoner, as you call it. Every person here is talented in their field. And you didn’t have to bring me lunch.”

  “I know, but I did it anyway. Do you like tuna?”

  “It’s fine in a sandwich.”

  “Fine?” she hums, leaving the door wide open. “What an odd answer to a fish question. Most people are less neutral on the topic.”

  And just like that, the old Juni is back. “Even though you didn’t ask, I hate it.” When she sits, she pulls two sandwiches from a deli bag that look a lot like tuna. “Don’t worry, it’s chicken salad. I wouldn’t stink up your office with fish.”

  “Juni, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I just don’t have time today.”

  “I know you’re busy.” She stands. “I can go. Taylor invited me to eat with him in the break room.” Speaking softer, she adds, “He just broke up with his girlfriend and could use a friend.”

  “He needs to get his own. You’re mine.” No one moves a muscle—not her, not me. I don’t even think either of us is breathing. Fuck. Dragging my gaze up one millimeter at a time, I finally reach Juni’s eyes. “I didn’t mean—”

  She whispers, “I know.”

  The awkwardness still surrounds us. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Our words are stilted as discomfort takes hold of me. I grab the sandwich and say, “I love chicken salad.”

  Her lips lift into a genuine smile. “Me too.”

  Gesturing to the chair, I ask, “Will you have lunch with me?”

  A gentle nod is followed by her sitting down again. Before she takes a bite, she notices the ball of paper on the floor just shy of the wastebasket. Reaching down, she picks it up. “You missed.”

  “I seem to do that a lot lately.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think you’re doing well.” Tantalizing pink fills the apples of her cheeks, making me want to reschedule the rest of my meetings and dedicate my time to discovering what exactly causes her to blush.

  I tap my pen to a pad several times. “At least one person doesn’t think I’m failing.”

  Her eyes leave mine in a flash, and she takes a staggered breath before slowly exhaling.

  It’s not a big reaction, but it’s seen in the slight adjustments, her happiness disappearing in the undertow of thoughts she keeps locked inside. I ask, “Is everything all right?”

  She looks up, and a long pause keeps our eyes connected. For a moment, I think I might be able to read her thoughts, or maybe it’s her heart that I’m tuned into. But then she says, “Yes,” breaking the spell. She holds the paper in front of her. “May I?”

  “It’s nonsense. Just something frustrating I have to deal with.”

  Unwrapping the paper, she then flattens it on top of her thigh. “So says you.” Her voice calming as she begins to read. I just took a bite when her gaze lifts to mine again, and she asks, “What is this?”

  I swallow the food down, my stomach begging for more o
f the delicious sandwich. A little embarrassed, a lot feeling the need to justify, I set the sandwich down. “I’m just going to preface this by telling you that not only will this sound crazy but it’s utterly ridiculous.”

  A grin tickles her lips. “I’m prepared. Now tell me everything.”

  “My mom made me pinky promise.”

  “You pinky promise with your mom?”

  I’m not sure how to respond. Bashful takes the lead for how I’m feeling. At this rate, I’m probably turning pink. “I do.”

  As if the sun embodied her, her whole expression lights up. “That has to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, Drew.” It’s foreign, the twist I sense in my chest every time she calls me that name. I just feel different, exposed in a good way, like she’s taken a shovel and discovered a buried treasure. She says, “I love that you’re so close to your mom. Says a lot about the bond you have with her.”

  “She’s pretty great.” Eyeing the crumpled paper, I add, “Unless she makes me do embarrassing things.”

  “Is that what this is? A list of ways to humiliate you?” I can hear the teasing in her tone.

  Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. “She doesn’t want to humiliate me. She’s created a list of ways for me to step out of my comfort zone. I was given the assignment before I moved to New York.”

  Curiosity keeps her eyes on mine as if this is the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she knows if I have my way, I’ll work twenty-four seven.”

  “Your mother knows you well.” She reads over the list again, pausing on the last one. Pointing at it, she asks, “Number five?”

  “We’re not discussing number five.”

  Her hands go up in surrender, and she giggles. “Fair enough. For now.”