“I mean the kind that might be good for a rebound, sweetheart.”
My friends are all in the performing arts in one way or another, which pretty much answers its own question.
“It isn’t supposed to be that kind of a party.”
“It could be.”
“Can’t I just have fun with friends?” I say, hearing how defensive my voice is.
“That’s exactly what I’m aiming for, Honey,” Jerome says with a sardonic smile. “Don’t tell me your pretty ass doesn’t know any men who don’t swim the, uh, Bering Straight?”
I can’t even smile at the play on words because suddenly I’m at a loss to pinpoint how many straight men I actually know. All my “straight” acquaintances were through Francis, and that’s a non-starter.
Truth be told, Jesse who lives across the hall is the closest thing I can think of.
“There’s my neighbor, Jesse,” I say, hesitantly. Is he straight? My radar is pretty spot-on, and despite his stoic demeanor, I catch the way he sometimes looks at me. It’s the same way most heterosexual men do.
Definitely straight.
“Neighbor?” He echoes perking up. “Already Jerome is intrigued. Do tell.”
“He’s…” A smile comes to my lips as I consider Jesse. “He’s cute—no, fine.”
Jerome cranes his neck back to give me a look. “Look at you, already on the down low.”
“Excuse me?” I exclaim, snapping away from my mental portrait of Jesse’s face.
“Don’t ‘what’ me. I see that look in your eyes. What’s goin’ on over there at Norton Place?”
“Nothing,” I retort. “You’re the one who suggested someone straight. As much for yourself as me, I suspect.”
“You’re damn right, and thank you for entertaining that notion. You know I love you and The Girls, but I can only take so many tacos—even those secretly sporting a hot dog in the middle.”
I wrinkle my nose with distaste. “Should I remind you that I don’t think he swings that way?”
“Girl, so long as it swings Jerome is a happy girl!”
I laugh, feeling my mood lift even more.
“You know what? You’re right, screw Francis. Let him come crawling to me. I’m not the one in the wrong here. In the meantime, I’m allowed to flirt a little, if only to fluff my plumage,” I say, patting my short, wavy bob.
“Including with the man right across the hall from you.”
“That is one nut that is going to be tough to crack,” I say.
Jerome turns to me and places both of his hands on my shoulders. He’s half a head taller, especially when I’m not in heels, so he leans down to look me in the eye before speaking.
“Honey, don’t sell yourself short. Any man would be nuts not to crack for a girl like you. You just need to remind ya man of that fact.”
Chapter Six
Giuseppe
It’s finally the Monday that Emily is supposed to start at ABC.
I’ve finished showering and putting on one of my better suits and ties before throwing on my heavy coat.
I spent the hour before the sun came up in the gym as usual, going harder than normal on the rowing machine. I’m not sure if it’s Emily herself, or the thrill of winning her back that had me working so hard.
I probably won’t know for sure until I see her today.
Once upon a time, she represented everything I thought I wanted in a partner. Drive. Intelligence. Ambition.
Image.
And the timing is certainly perfect. Now that my career is on track, it’s time for me to seriously start thinking about—
That thought is interrupted by the flash of pink I catch in the hallway just as I open the door to exit my apartment.
“Hello, neighbor,” Honey says, lifting an empty cup. It’s that same large but dainty, floral china thing she always gets her morning coffee in. A flirtatious smile curls her lips. “Looks like we’re both going down at the same time this morning.”
A very involuntary surge of blood rushes through my arteries at that deliberately suggestive remark.
Thank God, I’m far too old and cynical for it to head toward my face, coloring it with embarrassment.
I’m not so sure the opposite direction it decides to flow is much better.
That damn robe with its damn feathers loosely tied over a barely-there slip underneath doesn’t help.
“Morning,” I mutter as I force the door closed.
“Monday’s are my day off. Hence the imbalance in our usual tête-à-tête,” she says as she matches my stride down the hall to the elevators. “Instead of two ships passing in the night, it seems we’re on the same wavelength.”
“Lucky me.” It comes out as more of a grumble than anything, which for some absurd reason elicits tinkling laughter from her.
Not an unpleasant sound, especially on a Monday morning.
“So, do you have any big plans for the holiday?”
I have no idea what holiday she’s referencing, but I do know opening the door by asking is a bad idea.
“No.”
“Oh?” She says, her eyes for some reason scanning me up and down. “Well, that is a surprise.”
“As it turns out, I don’t have a date either,” she says, a frown coming to her face.
Now, it’s my turn to be surprised. Honey Dewberry without a date (no matter what the occasion)?
I’m not dumb enough to look her up and down, wondering why. The last thing my blood flow needs is that bit of acceleration. She seems like the social type who’d be able to snag a date no matter what the occasion, though I’m still lost as to what holiday she’s referring to.
Honey’s frown disappears as quickly as it came and she brightens back up. “Other than work of course. Would you believe it’s one of my busiest nights of the year?”
I blink at that.
Once again, my mind races, wondering what “one of her busiest nights” entails. While I’m still debating the wisdom of inquiring about it, the elevator arrives and the moment has passed.
We don’t have the car to ourselves, and I decide ignorance is bliss.
As we ride down, I focus straight ahead, but I feel Honey’s eyes on me the whole time. In my periphery, I can see that it’s matched with a smile of amusement, as though she isn’t quite done with me for the morning. I have no idea what’s on her mind, but it’s damn well making it difficult to shift my focus to ABC the way I’m usually able to.
Or Emily.
I allow everyone, including Honey, off first, then follow.
“So I was wondering…” She begins as she once again matches my pace. “If you aren’t busy—”
“Miss Honey!”
We’re both caught off guard by Giorgy, the doorman with the heavy Russian accent. He has a grin plastered on his face as he waves Honey down.
“Good morning, Giorgy!” she sings.
“Good morning, Miss Honey. You have package!”
“A package?”
“Yes, yes, I go and get.”
“Imagine that,” Honey says, her cheery attention turning to me.
By the time I realize that I’m caught in the middle of this, he’s back, struggling to carry a large pink box. That’s enough to pique my interest and I take a more discerning look.
It’s an entire case of Veuve Clicquot Rosé.
On a Monday morning.
“Ah yes, my champagne! I plum forgot about it!” Honey chirps next to me, as though this is a perfectly expected delivery.
“I get cart for you to take up,” Georgiy says. “I would take up for you, but I cannot leave desk.”
“Of course,” Honey says with understanding. “I’ll just get my coffee first, and then come back down for it.”
“Nonsense,” I say before I can stop myself.
Dammit.
“There’s no point in making a trip just to bring the cart back down. I can carry the box for you. We live right across from each other.”
“O
h,” Honey says, for once speechless, no flirtatious remark on the heels of it. She stares wide-eyed as I bend slightly to lift the box from where Giorgy set it down on the counter.
“Is heavy,” he warns with a frown.
I grunt in agreement. There must be twelve bottles in here which is definitely no joke.
Still, I can certainly manage carrying it back up to Honey’s apartment without much exertion. I suppose it’s a good thing I go to the gym every morning.
“And thus Clark Kent becomes Superman.”
My eyes flash up to meet Honey’s and they get caught in her gaze. Like the thick, sweet liquid of her name, I find myself sinking into those dark brown irises that stare back at me so admiringly.
That rekindles the flow of blood through my system, this time singed with something fierce and hot.
Why are men such suckers for flattery, especially when doled out by women who look like Honey?
“Lead the way,” I urge, even though I no longer feel the weight of the box in my hands.
“Of course!” she says, perking up. She turns to thank Giorgy one last time before quickly heading back to the elevator.
I follow that silk and feather dream, feeling like an unsuspecting sailor being lured in by a siren. Fortunately an elevator arrives as soon as we get there and we enter, having the car to ourselves.
“Are you planning a party?” I ask mostly to avoid any segue into some awkwardly provocative banter.
“Now there’s a suggestion,” she says, giving me a daring smile. “It’s quite fortuitous, all the more so since you were the one to help me carry it up.”
I’m sure there’s some meaning there, but hell if I can figure it out.
“It’s a signal to the universe!” she announces.
Whatever that means.
I have a feeling I’ve inadvertently stepped in it.
In what? I’m not sure.
We arrive back on our floor and I once again accompany Honey down the hall.
“This is me,” she says with a teasing wink as we arrive at her apartment.
Very funny.
When she opens the door, the weight of the box in my hands is once again forgotten. It’s vastly overshadowed by my curiosity at what lies behind that door.
Despite living right across the hall, I’ve never gotten so much as a glance into Honey’s apartment.
My mind, not very imaginative beyond the realm of legalese, is now running wild with crazy ideas.
“Come on in,” she says with a grin as she opens the door. “I at least owe you one.”
If this box is any indication, I’ll take a pass. I don’t need champagne muddling my mind today of all days. Still, I can’t very well come all this way just to leave it at her front door.
What I see when I enter is surprising, in more ways than one.
I should have expected the pink.
Everything.
It’s all pink, from the rounded, plush sofa to the gauzy, floor-to-ceiling curtains in front of the generic roll-down shades that come standard with the apartment.
I feel like I’ve stepped into Marylin Monroe’s personal boudoir.
But the large bookcase overflowing with books is even more of a surprise. It sticks out mostly because it’s a sharp contrast with the frivolity that seems to be the theme of the rest of the apartment.
The spines I can read from here indicate serious dedication to reading on a variety of topics. Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. Gore Vidal’s Lincoln. Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man. Stephen King’s IT. Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which, sitting right next to several suggestive books by someone named Colette, and just above a white, leather-bound copy of the Holy Bible, certainly causes me to raise an eyebrow.
I never took my neighbor for a complete airhead, despite all the pink and her showy ways. Still, she’s obviously more intellectual than she lets on.
“This way, Jesse,” she says luring me in further toward the kitchen.
For some reason, I find myself preferring her usual “neighbor” to “Jesse,” especially in her voice, which makes it sound somewhat titillating.
I set the case on the counter that looks out into the open area.
“My hero,” she sighs, actually batting her eyelashes.
On anyone else it would seem like a cheap affectation.
On her it’s…disorienting.
She lifts up the empty coffee cup and laughs. “I forgot to get my coffee.”
“The morning is still young,” I say, wondering how to disentangle myself as quickly as possible.
“Young enough to get me into trouble,” she replies, arching one eyebrow.
I stare at her for one brief moment before laughing.
“So he has a sense of humor after all,” Honey says, one side of her mouth ticking up into a coy smile.
“I can appreciate a woman with a quick wit,” I confess.
No lie there.
She’s…something else. Certainly not what I expected.
Then again, I’ve never said more than five words to her since our first introduction.
“In which case you should see me once the morning has gone officially through puberty.”
Another one that makes me laugh, this time with less restraint. It eases some of the resistance I’ve built up as a wall between us.
Suddenly, I’m not sure what to think of her anymore.
“And he likes it dirty,” she says, smiling with encouragement at my reaction.
“Only when the morning is old enough to make it a martini.”
We stare at each other with slightly widened eyes before both of us laugh.
I’m just as surprised at the wisecrack as she is.
I don’t do banter, at least not the flirtatious kind. I can definitely spar with the slickest of assholes. My neck of New Jersey may not have produced a lot of other summa cum laudes but we knew how to give our words a good bite.
“I suppose you never grow out of defying your Catholic upbringing,” I say with a wry smile.
“It seems we both have a devilish sense of humor,” she says assessing me with a conspiratorial grin.
This is…refreshing.
I’m so used to censoring myself in polite society, tethered by the knowledge that one social misstep could unravel everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish. Being with a woman who is so uncensored and, more importantly, allows me to be just as uncensored, lowers my guard to a level I haven’t set it in a long time.
Honey’s eyes fall to the box of champagne then flash up to me with mischief coloring them. “Care to lubricate that sense of humor with a wicked splash of champagne?”
I stupidly find myself considering the idea before coming to my senses.
Now, I understand how Adam could have been so easily swayed by Eve.
Original sin indeed.
That de-lapses the part of my Catholicism that has control of my guilt. Unleashed, it comes storming out the gate with the force of a rabid dog, reminding me of everything I’d be putting at risk. Work. Making partner. Keeping up my image.
Emily.
I cough and stand up straighter.
“I absolutely should not.” My indignation makes it sound ridiculous.
I knew coming up here was going to be trouble.
Honey laughs in that tinkling way of hers, probably doing more damage to my brain cells than any glass of champagne would.
“Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to be bad for the both of us.”
“I should really get going.”
“Oh no you don’t!” she exclaims, startling me into paralysis. “Not until you agree to attend the party I’m throwing tonight. I have to repay your heroically chivalrous act somehow.”
A party?
On a Monday?
“I’ll probably have to work late.” Close enough to the truth at least. Just as I’m often first in at ABC, I’m usually last to leave.
“Well, it’s a good thing it’s go
ing to run late. Just pop in whenever.” Her eyes scan the suit I chose because it looks best on me. “The dress code is certainly in your favor.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I’ve never before entertained the idea of going to one of the parties I hear wafting through her door on occasion. I’m certainly not about to do so on a Monday night.
“Do I at least get a last name? Something to put on the impromptu invitation?”
“Castiglione,” I say curtly out after a long pause.
“How absolutely divine!” She says it with such wonder, my immediate instinct is to assume she’s teasing. “What an absolutely fantastic last name.”
The flash of anger I felt quickly fades as I realize the compliment is genuine.
“At any rate, thanks for handling the heavy lifting.” She waves a hand at the large pink box of champagne.
“Not a problem.”
I’m surprised when she leans in, placing her hands on my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek. The skin there prickles with heat underneath the feel of her lips.
“The door is always open for you, neighbor,” she whispers before pulling away.
My hand itches to come up and touch the spot that still simmers with heat. I curl it into a fist, forcing it into my thigh instead.
“I have to go.”
I turn and leave, feeling my irritation set in once again.
The woman has a way of teasing every one of your senses, making them all light up at once. I don’t just feel her lips on my cheek, I smell that floral sent following me into the hall, I taste how dry my mouth is, making me swallow hard, that vision of her in her robe is practically imprinted on my eyes, that tinkling laughter echoes in my ears.
No, I definitely won’t be stepping foot into that honey trap of a party tonight.
Chapter Seven
Giuseppe
The rest of the morning flies by without incident once I’m in the office.
It’s a rare morning that I don’t run into Todd and Co., since we work on the same floor.
This was blessedly one of those mornings.
I’m so heavily focused on re-reading a particularly dense contract that I helped put together, I don’t even notice when someone walks into my office. At least not until she’s practically at my desk.
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