Ready to Fall (A Second Chance Bad Boy Next Door Romance)

by Anne Connor

  Move fast or get left behind. I still have that lesson to learn.

  “This is your desk. I’ll show you where the kitchen is. There’s fresh coffee all day, and you’re going to need it. You drink coffee, right? Come with me.”

  Natasha is the second personal assistant to the editor I’ll be working for. There’s a full bio of every employee of the paper, from the Editor-In-Chief to the assistants.

  She’s just out of college and wants to be a novelist. She works at the paper part-time, taking care of Mr. Bradshaw’s personal affairs along with his first personal assistant, and does a number of human resources-related tasks, like on-boarding new hires.

  Stacks of folders and papers are piled high on every surface, every cubicle and office humming with people trying to get the scoop, making calls and trying to get ahead of the competition.

  It’s one of the last papers in the city that actually has a large print circulation, and they are trying to position themselves to hold onto that for as long as possible. They believe it will give them an edge over the rest of the papers in the city.

  The Editor-In-Chief is an old-fashioned guy, and he’s been the editor for 20 years. He wants to capture the heart of the city, and believes that having a physical paper to read on your commute to work every day is part of that. At the same time, however, he’s turned the paper into a leader in online content.

  Unfortunately, part of that transition has involved more gossip-oriented content and less of a focus on hard news and feature stories. I guess this is just a fact of life for the extant daily newspapers in the city.

  “Coffee? Yes, I drink coffee. I love coffee.”

  “Good. Because you’re going to need it with the kind of schedule Mr. Bradshaw keeps. Now, you’re just going to be nine-to-five, at least to start off with, but it’s going to be a busy day. The day will go by fast. Blink, and you’ll miss something.”

  “Got it. I can handle it.”

  “We know you can handle it. Mr. Bradshaw has complete confidence in you. Now, let’s go back to your desk and I can give you your first assignment.”

  She beams at me with the kind of pride a mom shows her child when they come home with a straight-A report card.

  She turns on my computer as I sit down. I’m not in a cubicle - not yet, anyway. I’m seated outside Mr. Bradshaw’s office at a long table with the other editorial assistants.

  “Now. The first thing we need you to do is summarize some clips from our paper files. You’re going to go down this list and see what needs to be pulled from the archives, and you’re going to enter a summary of each story here.” She indicates a blank text field in on the screen with her perfectly manicured finger.

  “There are fields for by-line, date, and headline. And usually, you can summarize the article by just typing in the first sentence of the story. This task is a little bit boring, but you’ll be able to see what kinds of stories we’ve published in the past. It’s not that difficult. And it might even be a little bit fun, if you’re lucky enough to get papers that have sexier and more interesting articles in them.”

  “Okay. Got it. I can do this.”

  “For sure.” She beams at me. “Plus, you’ll just need to do whatever Mr. Bradshaw asks of you. He is a really nice guy. And you won’t have to do any personal kind of stuff. He’s already got two assistants for that. You’ll just do stuff like make copies, maybe grab a coffee for him. I think you’ll like him a lot. And if you have any questions at all, I sit right over there.” She nods her head toward a desk outside the boss’s office.

  “Great. Wow! Thank you so much!”

  “Don’t mention it. Just settle in, get into this assignment, and enjoy yourself. Bradshaw might bark a lot of orders at you all at once, but you’ll be able to do it without a problem. I know it.”

  It’s so nice for someone to have so much faith in me, implicitly, based on my credentials and background. Based on me. On what I can offer.

  I’m not really used to that.

  It’s around lunchtime the next time I look up from my computer. I spent all morning summarizing and indexing articles for digitization like Natasha showed me. And she was right - everyone’s so nice, including the boss.

  At around 12:30, my phone vibrates from inside my desk drawer. I’d tucked it away and promised myself I wouldn’t look at it until lunch, because I don’t want to look like a slacker on my first day. I mean, I don’t want to look like a slacker on any day, but I want to look especially good on the first day.

  It’s Jess, of course, checking in on me. Even though she’s a little bit more advanced than me in the job department, having already established herself as a working woman, she supported my desire to hold out for the job I really wanted, even if it delayed me moving out of my parents’ house.

  Well, how is it?

  I text her back and tell her everything I did that morning.

  I don’t mean the job. I mean your new love affair with Drew. Kidding, I meant the job.

  I didn’t exactly try to seek out articles about real estate, but maybe I did spend a little bit of extra time reading them once I did find them. And I didn’t exactly have Drew in my thoughts all morning, even though he had kept me up all night by refusing to get out of my mind.

  But I did think about him from time to time.

  I wonder how long he’ll be at the building, and how the hell he landed there in the first place.

  I know I’ll be stuck with him for the next couple of weeks, at least, and part of me is excited at the idea of him being near. But of course, part of me is also afraid I might do something that will lead to me getting hurt.

  “Okay, people.”

  My boss pokes his head out of his office and everyone around me gets up and makes their way over.

  I look to Natasha for help, and she waves her hand at me to let me know that I’m included in “people.”

  I shuffle into this office with the other employees on his team, and we all sit around a small table in the corner. Everyone turns their chairs to face him at his desk, where he’s perched on the corner with a legal pad and pen in his hands.

  Mr. Bradshaw is in his mid-50s and has the kind of look that brings to mind Albert Einstein meets Hugh Laurie. Absent-minded looking, with disheveled hair. If he continues to be as nice as his reputation and Natasha indicated to me, I know I’m going to love working for him.

  “Thank you all for being here. I just wanted to check in for a minute on this gorgeous day.” He lets a hand drift to his floor-to-ceiling window, at the grey sky and puffy white clouds rolling by.

  The group lets out a little collective chuckle.

  “Laugh. Laugh it up. But I’m not kidding around. Every new day gives us an opportunity, doesn’t it? So it doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing or you’re up to your eyeballs in...I don’t know what...old newspapers.”

  Everyone laughs again.

  “Let me ask everyone to welcome our new editorial assistant, Molly, if you haven’t already met her. She is going to be a fine addition to our team.”

  The group smiles and waves at me and everyone mumbles an individual hello.

  “Now. If anyone has an idea for a story, let me know. Anything. Even celebrity gossip. We aren’t above the gossip page. Isn’t that what news is, anyway? Something everyone is talking about? We elevate it by digging into the facts, of course, but all news starts as a kernel of something.”

  Damn. I realize I have a hot tip. Seeing Clarissa with some guy the other day would certainly count as celebrity gossip, and I haven’t seen any other media outlet report on it yet.

  No. I’d keep it to myself. I can’t imagine that Drew would want it to get out. And besides, maybe I misunderstood the whole thing.

  “Nothing? Okay, get back to work, then. Welcome, again, Molly.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw. I’m very happy to be working here.”

  Molly

  I have a cold compress on my forehead and a glass of white wine on my coff
ee table, and a NASA astrophysicist is on TV talking about black holes.

  It’s finally Monday night, and I had a very busy first day at my job.

  Natasha was right. Mr. Bradshaw is the nicest guy. Certainly the nicest boss I’ve ever had.

  He’s also very theatrical. Between the meeting he held in his office before lunch and his constant barking to get so-and-so on the phone, and his random shouting to ask how to spell random words, he approaches every action like it is a matter of great importance.

  And for him, it is. I’m sure I’ll grow into having that attitude eventually.

  But for now, I’m just exhausted and want to put my feet up and relax.

  I’m about to turn the TV off when I hear a knock at the door. I recognize the knock. It’s like when you can hear someone’s footsteps coming and you know who it is, from the weight and force they use in each step.

  I know that knock to be Drew’s. My heart beats just a little bit quicker when I hear it.

  I’m already in my pajamas and practically in bed. The cold compress is helping my eyes feel less strained after a day of staring at a computer screen in my contact lenses, and it’s blocking out the sunlight in the apartment.

  Even though it’s already past 7:00, it’s still light outside. I wonder if I forgot to pay my rent this month. Today’s the 4th, but there’s a 5-day grace period, not that I need it. I know I paid my rent on time, so I don’t know why Drew could be wrapping at my door this evening.

  “Hello? You in there?” his deep voice booms from the hallway.

  “Yeah! Coming!”

  I throw the compress on the table and make my way over the to door. I check my appearance quickly in the mirror. I look tired and a little bit grey. But Drew’s sort of acting in place of my landlord now, and I figure that I have an obligation to open the door.

  “Hello.”

  Drew has his hand on the doorframe and is leaning forward slightly. He’s wearing an old white tank top and jeans, and his scent is divine. It’s like a fresh glass of water on a scorching hot day, mixed with a high-end, masculine cologne with notes of tobacco and lavender.

  “Hi,” I respond, tucking my hair behind my ears and shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I don’t usually stand at a girl’s doorway for this long. Coming or going.”

  I move aside.

  “How rude of me. So, are you here to collect the rent? The check is in the mail. I promise,” I say, putting a hand over my heart.

  “You seem like the kind of girl who would pay your rent on time. But don’t worry. I won’t tell Rich if you need to pay a little late this month. Maybe you and I could even work out some kind of arrangement,” he says as he strides into my apartment.

  “I’m perfectly capable of paying my rent,” I say, walking over to the coffee table where I have my glass of wine and a half-empty bottle. This guy has some nerve, but he’s too hot to kick out right away.

  “You want a glass?”

  “No. I’m okay. I’m at work right now, you know. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

  “How silly of me.”

  I put the bottle down on the counter and gulp down the last sip of what remains in my glass. It’s probably a good thing that he doesn’t want any wine. Another glass and I might not be able to help jumping his bones.

  “You wear glasses,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest and stroking his chin.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I don’t usually see many girls in glasses. I mean, if they stay over, sometimes they’ll have their glasses on in the morning. Sometimes I think of seeing a girl in her glasses, a girl who doesn’t usually wear them, as an intimate thing.”

  My cheeks get red at the idea of Drew counting me among the one night stands he’s had.

  “I can’t believe you let me see you in your glasses so soon. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

  He takes a few steps toward me, green eyes flashing with mischief and his honey-sweet lips looking like soft clouds of flesh. Warm spreads through my stomach and between my legs.

  I can barely breathe with him standing over me. I take a few steps back, until my back is against my kitchen counter.

  “What...what kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “I thought I already knew. After you brutally rejected me on Friday, I thought you weren’t the kind of girl who would let a stranger into her apartment. But since you’ve invited me in, now I know that you probably want me to carry you into the bedroom right now. Hold your hands down at your sides as you part your knees for me. As I slide my tongue between your legs. That what you want, baby?”

  I suddenly feel myself panting as he puts his hands against the wall on either side of me, locking me in. I duck under one of his arms and run to my room.

  “We can go to a bar!” I blurt out, shutting the door behind me. I’m not sure why I say it, but I need to get out of the apartment. Even if he has to go with me.

  “You’re asking me out? Isn’t that a little bit presumptuous? And after I’ve seen you in your glasses?” he says from outside, in the hallway.

  “I mean, if you don’t want to drink on the job, if we go out to a bar, you wouldn’t technically be at work.”

  “I can’t argue with that logic. I like the way you think.”

  Molly

  I’m scurrying around my bedroom, trying to find something I can actually leave the apartment in.

  “Hurry up, hun. I thought you wanted to go out. Change your mind?”

  “Um, no! I just need to get some real shoes. And I’m not your hun!”

  He’s already treating me nicer than my old boyfriend did. But it’s not like Drew Anderson is my boyfriend.

  This isn’t even a date, no matter what he’s doing to my body.

  Just a quick drink between two neighbors.

  “Am I going to have to call the PTA and tell them we’re running late? You know our little Timmy doesn’t like it when we look like the slacker parents. He’s such a good boy. So responsible, unlike his mother.”

  I smile to myself as I scurry around my room for something to change into as I keep reminding myself it’s not a date. A date would usually be planned out in advance. A date is not when one neighbor knocks unexpectedly on another neighbor’s door and someone suggests getting a drink as a diversion to avoid jumping into bed.

  I find a simple black sundress with thin straps in my closet, and after taking my PJs off, slip it on over my head. I add a pair of flat black sandals and a swipe of lip gloss and hurry out of my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  “Thanks for putting yourself together for once.”

  I feel a smile pull at the corners of my lips as I brush past Drew to open the door to the hallway.

  “Do you ever wear anything other than a suit or this get-up you have on now? You look like a real Brooklynite in that tank top.”

  “Thanks. I got it at the Wiseguy Emporium.”

  We leave the apartment and I check and double-check the three locks on the door.

  “Are you always this careful? So cautious? I’m here to protect you. I’ll fight off any bad guys. You don’t need to make sure every lock is dead-bolted shut.”

  He’s right. Maybe I am overly-cautious. But there’s nothing wrong with simply locking your front door, is there?

  We make our way down the stairs, and I lead him. Even though I can’t see his face, I can feel that he’s smiling.

  “Okay,” I say, finally pushing the door to the street open. “Where do you want to go?”

  “This is your neighborhood. You lead the way. You know, I don’t usually let the woman take control, but the way you asked me out was so assertive. It’s kind of hot to be with a woman who says what she wants.”

  “What? I didn’t. All I said was that we should have a drink. If I recall correctly, you were the one who originally wanted to buy me a drink.”

  Oh, no. What am I doing? In my mad dash to
get myself out of the apartment and away from the possibility of letting Drew Anderson push me onto my bed and rip my clothes off me, I had unwittingly asked him out? So it is a date?

  But I can’t help it. It’s like I’m being tugged at by a string he has connected to some piece of me, on the inside. Some part of my heart. I try to cut the string and let him go, but I can’t.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since the night in the bar, and I couldn’t believe it when he landed in my building.

  “Okay,” he says, “then let me buy you that drink. You lead the way.”

  We walk to my favorite watering hole on the block, the kind of place I’m certain Drew never frequents. It’s more of a pub, and is often patronized by guys who are from the neighborhood, whose fathers and grandfathers are from the neighborhood, whose uncles know the bartenders and the owner and the girls who work the front of the house.

  “So, this is your neighborhood, huh? Tell me, Molly, how did you end up in Brooklyn?”

  “I didn’t end up here. I was born here, actually.”

  Okay, so maybe I don't have any of that world-famous Brooklyn attitude Jess has, but I’m still from here.

  “I thought you were born here. I thought I detected a little bit of an accent.”

  “Yeah. Brooklyn native, through and through.”

  The truth is, I always try to hide my accent. I want to fit in at the block parties and barbecues on the side streets of my neighborhood, but I also want to make it in the bigger world, the one beyond the open fire hydrants in the summer and the stop-signs tagged with graffiti.

  “What is it you really want, Molly?”

  “I mean, I want to move up at the paper where I’m working right now. It was a busy first day. But I think I can do it. Just a good-old can-do attitude, and I can make it work. You know?”

  “No.”

  Drew Anderson laughs and opens the door of the bar, putting his hand on the small of my back to guide me in and sending a warm, slow shock through my body.