Plus One

by Aleatha Romig

  As Kimbra allows my hands on her hips to choreograph this new dance and her eyes fill with heavy lust, I know the difference. I’m not fucking Kimbra. We’re making love.

  By the time we dry off and fall onto my soft sheets, we’re both exhausted.

  “I know this isn’t the smaller bed of your childhood room, but I don’t plan to let you get too far away.”

  “Hmm,” she agrees as she settles into my embrace, her back to my front.

  The scent of shampoo and hairspray fill my senses as I nuzzle against her soft hair.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, her voice soft just before her breathing evens and body goes limp.

  “Good night, Kimberly Ann,” I whisper, though I know she’s already sleeping. “What have you done to me?”

  I lie awake for a few moments with her question about Tessa bouncing through my head. For one of the first times I can remember, I’m where I want to be. I may have made poor decisions along the way, but if Tessa or the woman in the bathroom or anyone else led me to now, to Kimbra, I’d do it all again.

  AS THE CAR that arrived for Duncan at precisely seven this morning moves through Midtown traffic, he reaches for my hand. “I like riding to work together… and having breakfast with you… and waking up next to you.”

  The sweet ache in my core reminds me that we did more than wake. My gaze flies forward from Duncan to the back of Pierce’s head and returns to Duncan. “Duncan?”

  He shakes his head. “Get used to it, beautiful. Pierce, Jorge, they see all and know all.”

  “Jorge?” I think of the way he’ll look at me now. I’ll no longer be scary Kimbra, but… what? Mr. Willis’s latest…

  Duncan’s rambling talk doesn’t help my nerves.

  “Oh, yes,” he goes on. “He’ll figure out quickly enough that every time you’re summoned to my office, I turn the glass opaque.”

  “I-I can’t…”

  “But you know those sexy noises you make that I like so much?” Before I can answer, he goes on. “I should tell you that the glass isn’t soundproof.”

  I shake my head. “No. It isn’t happening. Not at work. No.”

  I remember the saying about protesting too much. Besides, the way Duncan’s eyes twinkle makes me want to reconsider my objection. I guess… if the glass is opaque…

  “Seriously,” he goes on, “I’ve looked at my schedule for today. As much as I’d love to bend you over my desk…”

  “Stop.” I need him to quit saying that or those thoughts will consume my mind all day long.

  “As much as I’d love that, I’m going to be swamped. I was uncharacteristically absent for a day and a half followed by a three-day weekend.”

  “Should I apologize for that?”

  “No,” he says. “But you could agree to a date tonight.”

  “A date?”

  Duncan lifts my hand as we near the office building. “Our first real date. What do you say, Miss Jones?” He lowers his lips to my knuckles. “Will you consider a date with me?”

  My heart flutters. “I’ll give it some serious consideration.”

  He leans closer so Pierce can’t hear. “And after the date, I was thinking I’d bring you back to my place—”

  “Oh, no!” I say, feigning shock. “I do not go back to someone’s house on the first date.”

  “Then that will require some thought.” He kisses my cheek. “And negotiation. I plan to be very persuasive.”

  “I have heard that about you.”

  “It’s one rumor that you should believe. Either way, I’m taking you out on a real date and we will end up back at my place.”

  I like the finality of his tone as well as the idea of negotiating. I’m most certain that no matter my qualms, I’ll end up back in his big penthouse, on his big bed, with his big…

  The car slows and I pull my thoughts away from the erotic as my nerves catch up to the reality that I’m walking into Buchanan and Willis with Mr. Willis. “I know we talked about this, but maybe Pierce could drive me around the block and we could pretend—”

  His finger touches my lips. “Miss Jones, we’ll keep it professional while at work, except when I have you alone in my office, but under no circumstances will there be pretending. We left that behind, remember?”

  Oh, I remember.

  The door opens and sunlight floods the scene as coworkers hurry past, seemingly oblivious to another black car with a driver. I tell myself it is commonplace on the streets of Midtown. Duncan takes my hand and helps me from the car.

  “How about a coffee?” he asks as we enter the foyer. “I was going to buy one for myself and I figured how about mine, plus-one?”

  My cheeks rise. “Thank you, Mr. Willis. I promise not to spill it on you.”

  “Deal.”

  Nearly fifteen minutes later, Duncan gives me a sexy smile as we silently leave the crowded elevator and turn our separate directions. As I step to my desk, the scene where only five days ago Mr. Duncan Willis came to escort me away, I have new, bigger concerns.

  “Kimbra,” my manager says, stepping up behind me, “there’s a meeting in my office in five. I need you there.”

  I take a deep breath, scanning my desk as my computer comes to life. Immediately my gaze goes to my accumulated emails. Usually when I take time off, I check in to the office. Maybe it was because I was with the boss or maybe because he occupied my every thought—it doesn’t matter. The fact remains that while we were gone, the HR business of Buchanan and Willis was not on my mind. As a consequence, I now have nearly three hundred emails staring me in the face, at least half with the urgent symbol beside them.

  “Okay,” I reply. “I’ll be there.”

  The coffee from the downstairs shop is still warm as I grab my laptop and the covered cup and make my way to Eric’s office.

  I’ve always liked and respected Eric Jettson. He’s a balding, middle-aged man with a dry sense of humor. He’s straight to the point and perfect for his job as the manager in charge of our department. As I think back, I realize that he was the first person I met at Buchanan and Willis, the one who hired me.

  I step inside his office, surprised to see not only Eric, but also the other two HR specialists sitting at a small conference table. “Did something happen?” I ask as I set my laptop and coffee on the table and settle into my seat.

  “I emailed you Saturday night.” Eric turns to the table. “Has everyone had a chance to review the accusation?”

  My chest tightens. In the almost three years I’ve been with this company, I’ve never attended a meeting unprepared. I look up and make eye contact with Mr. Jettson. “Eric, I was out of town at my cousin’s wedding. I’m not up to date.”

  He hands me a printed copy of an email. My stomach twists with the similarities in the accusations. The stark difference is that the instance described on the page doesn’t include one of the owners of our company nor did I witness it.

  I don’t know if the woman is the same one who was with Duncan. I never saw her face and he’s never told me her name. That doesn’t mean I don’t know her. She’s the same woman who I saw with Timothy at the New Year’s Eve party. However, Timothy works in another department and they weren’t at work. The man accusing Carla of sexual advances also works in accounting—the same department as her—and is figuratively under her in classification and responsibilities. She’s his manager, his supervisor. His claims can’t be ignored.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “First…”

  The meeting and day fly by in a whirlwind of fires as I race around with my extinguisher. In all my time at Buchanan and Willis, it is the first time I imagine myself as a hamster on a wheel. I am running at top speed and yet I’m barely catching up. Though I wasn’t directly involved in the solution of this morning’s emergency meeting, I understood why Eric called it. Accusations like that can’t be ignored. It is important that the entire department is aware of what is happening.

  By
nearly five o’clock, all I’ve managed in the way of food is several cups of coffee and a protein bar from my drawer.

  They really aren’t bad, but by the end, the chewing is difficult.

  “Kimbra?”

  I turn to Eric’s voice. “Yes?”

  “Is everything all right? It’s not like you to come to a meeting unprepared.”

  I bite my tongue. “It isn’t like me. As I said, I was out of state.”

  He tilts his head. “Is there anything else? Anything that I should know?”

  “Like what? I’m nearly caught up. You and Mr. Buchanan took care of the employee we discussed in the meeting. I sat with Lee while he spoke to Maxwell. We filled you in. What else do you want to know?” I don’t mean to be defensive, but his question seems odd.

  “I wanted to ask you something… I know this place is full of rumors, but they aren’t usually about you.”

  “Rumors? About me?”

  Eric leans back against my desk and crosses his arms. “I heard something today after the confrontations.”

  “What and from whom?”

  “I heard that maybe you should have recused yourself from the situation this morning.”

  “Maxwell’s claims? Why wouldn’t I do my job?”

  “Kimbra, do you have a history with Carla Toney?”

  My teeth clench. “Nothing that will affect my ability to be fair-minded.”

  “I hope that’s true. Someone said something about an axe to grind.”

  “Was it her?”

  “No. It’s just that if there’s a history that I should know about—”

  “Have I ever not done my job?”

  Eric’s hands raise in the universal sign of surrender. “I was just asking. Maybe it’s something else that seems different. You mentioned something about your roommate last week. Is everything all right?”

  I let out a breath as out of the corner of my eye I see Duncan approaching my cubicle. My lip disappears between my teeth as I struggle to keep my eyes on Eric and not drool at the way Duncan’s sexy grin gazes my way. Even after a full day of work, he’s still sex on a stick. I can’t decide if I like his work suit or jeans better. Before I can contemplate my answer, knowing that without either is my number-one choice, I remember to speak. “Um. Eric, thank you. Shana hasn’t moved yet. Her flight was delayed by the hurricane.”

  My manager nods toward my computer as if it contains a radar screen to show me the weather. “Yeah, apparently, the airlines are all backed up. It’s coming up the coast. I’m surprised you didn’t have any issues with your flights.”

  “Good evening,” Duncan says before I get the chance to respond. He gazes my way before greeting Eric with a hearty handshake.

  “Mr. Willis?” Eric asks as his Adam’s apple bobs. “Is there any problem?”

  Duncan shakes his head. “No, Eric. No problem. Miss Jones? Is there a problem?”

  “My long weekend put me terribly behind.”

  “Yes, holidays can do that. However, the clock has struck five. I believe it’s time to leave.”

  I look toward Eric. “I think you handled the situation appropriately this morning. The facts were clear-cut. I support your decision. My personal feelings didn’t have any bearing.”

  “Nice work,” Duncan says to Eric. “A thumbs-up from Miss Jones for appropriate behavior is not an easy accomplishment.”

  Shit! What is he doing?

  Eric glances between the two of us as his smile thins. “Is there more that I’m missing?”

  “Only that it’s after five and time to go.”

  “Good night, Eric.”

  “DUNCAN?” I WHISPER as I open my drawer and reach for my purse. “That isn’t the way to keep it professional. You realize…” I lift my head higher, peeking over the partition and scanning the room and other cubicles. “…that tomorrow others will—”

  Duncan reaches for my hand. “Miss Jones, you’ll accompany me out of this office and this building right this instant or tomorrow the other people in this department, as well as our security staff, will be talking about what I’m about to do to you. I’ve been thinking about you and my desk all day.” His green eyes sparkle as he eyes my messy desk. “I may have to clear everything to the floor, but yours would work as well as mine.”

  I take a deep breath as my insides pinch. As much as I want to be concerned about Eric, I can’t seem to think about anyone but the incredibly handsome man looking at me as if I’m his dinner. “Fine. Where are we going?”

  His lustful tone of two seconds ago is replaced with excitement. “A surprise for our first date.”

  “You know, Shana and I have this system about first dates.”

  “Do tell?”

  “If it’s a disaster, we send the other a text with our secret word. The other one then calls with a fake emergency and it’s our out.”

  Duncan shakes his head as we wait for the elevator. “My ego will be so hurt if Shana has a legitimate problem tonight.”

  My smile grows. “Before Indiana, she told me that I’d already had my first date with you, at the bar at Gaston’s.”

  He shakes his head. “I enjoyed that night, talking with you, cracking your veneer, but, beautiful, tonight is a date. Tonight you get the royal Duncan Willis treatment.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  When Pierce finally stops the car, I gaze out the window. We’re in front of the same building where I met Shana over two weeks ago. “Gaston’s?” I ask.

  Duncan nods. “I may have talked to Shana. I heard the same story about our talk at the bar. I want you to have that real first date.”

  As another piece of my heart falls into his hands, I remember the question I asked myself, if Duncan would be more hands-on if we were real. “You spoke to Shana?”

  “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes. I thought Jorge did all your bidding.”

  “He helps, but some things need the personal touch.”

  “I like a personal touch.” I think about Gaston’s. “How did you get the reservation?”

  He winks. “Anything for you.”

  Just before the door to the car opens, I look down at my pale green dress. I’m happy with his answer, it’s just my dress. Just once I’d like to know I’m going to this restaurant and be prepared.

  Duncan leans in and kisses me. “Stop. You’re beautiful.”

  “It’s just that…”

  “No.”

  The sidewalk is alive with people rushing from here to there. Duncan scoots out first and offers me his hand. “No more professionalism, Miss Jones. If I don’t have your hand in mine, I need to be touching you in some way. Prepare to be manhandled—by one man—for the rest of the night.”

  “Is that part of the Duncan Willis royal treatment?”

  “Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”

  My smile widens and the twisting in my tummy increases as my blood rushes to my core. I lift my hand to his. Once we’re alone on the private elevator, I lean close and whisper. “I don’t think I’m supposed to enjoy the prospect of manhandling as much on a first date. My mother would call it inappropriate.”

  Duncan laughs, stalking toward me, moving me with each step until my back is against the mirrored wall of the elevator. “Maybe…” He grazes the side of my breast. “But I’d wager that your grandma would approve.”

  He pins me with his trim body as his caress becomes more intense. My giggle disappears, swallowed by his kisses. As my eyes close and our tongues unite, I make a mental note to ride more elevators with Duncan Willis.

  When we reach the top, he backs away. His hand reaches for mine and squeezes. “I think I have that first-date issue covered.”

  Before I can get my bearings from the way his intoxicating kiss sent me off-kilter or ask what he means, the doors open and in a few steps, we’re greeted by the young hostess.

  Just like before, the spectacular restaurant shimmers. From the ceiling to the candles upo
n the tables, sparks reflect in a show of light. Through the wall of windows, Manhattan adds to the grandeur coming to life as the pink and purple sun meets the horizon.

  With each step through the crowd, I’m keenly aware of female heads turning and watching as Duncan walks by. This is new to me. At least my family didn’t ogle. It’s the same way Shana looked at him the night he stopped at our table. The gazes fixed on him contain both awe and lust. I want to be upset, to stick out my tongue and tell each drooling woman that Duncan Willis is mine. However, I don’t, because of him. He’s the one who stops me. Not literally. Instead, it’s his attention to only me. As if, with his hand possessively in the small of my back, he doesn’t even notice the sea of lust-filled eyes.

  When we reach our table near the tall windows, there is a long-stemmed rose lying upon the plate of the place setting where the hostess pulls back the chair. With a quick scan from side to side, I look for roses at other tables, but see none.

  “Your seat, madam,” the hostess says.

  Before I can question why I have the flower, Duncan lifts the rose and stares my direction with a knowing smirk. Once the hostess places my napkin in my lap and is gone, Duncan hands me the flower as his green gaze drinks me in.

  “For our first date.”

  I reach for the rose, staring not at it, but at the eyes intently watching my every move. I can’t explain it. Somehow each flower since we’ve returned to New York feels different than the others, like these are real and honest. Tears threaten at the back of my eyes.

  “Thank you. This is… not pretend?”

  His expression morphs from happy to stern. “I never want to hear you use that word again.”

  I nod.

  “Kimbra, I don’t know what you’ve done to me, what spending this last weekend with you has done, but whatever it is, it’s not pretend. Honestly, it’s not even fantasy. I could never have created fantasies that would live up to the real you.” He leans across the table, his volume and tone softening so that only I can hear. Though his voice is merely a whisper, the timbre reverberates deep to my core. “Beautiful, you’ve been my wet dream for so long that I’m struggling with the reality that you’re more than that. You’re more than I made you up to be. It’s true that I want to fuck you…” His eyes glisten with lust. “…over and over. But that’s not all. I also want to be with you every day and say inappropriate things so that your cheeks turn red. I’m obsessed with the way you blush. I want today plus-one, and one more, and more until… I don’t know. You are my reality. Pretend is now out of our vocabulary.”