Simply Irresistible
A Totally Sweet Love Story
By Jennifer L. Allen
Simply Irresistible
Copyright © 2019 Jennifer L. Allen
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published: Jennifer L. Allen 2019
[email protected]
Editor: Aimee Lukas
Cover Design: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
Dedication
To the dreamers…
may all your dreams come true.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Tyler
Epilogue
Tyler’s 90s Mixed Tape
Melanie’s 80s Mixed Tape
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Connect With Me
Also by Jennifer L. Allen
1
Tyler
“So I told her, ‘Let me go get you a cape, then you can be super angry.’” I paused for added dramatic effect. “She slapped me.”
“You’re so charming,” Hannah said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Oh! That’s why you had that black eye!”
“No, that was from when I fell up the stairs on my way home from the bar. You’re giving Nicole way too much credit.”
“Tyler,” Hannah sighed, and I waited for it. I waited for that inevitable moment in the lives of all single people when a coupled-up friend, relative, coworker, or complete stranger told you how unfortunate it was that you’re still single, and how insane you must be that you couldn’t make a relationship work. You know what I mean.
I tuned my sister out, having heard this spiel before, and took in the sights and sounds around me. Central Park was bustling at lunch time, as usual. Businessmen and women in their power suits speed walked down the dirt path on their way to some place important, parents held their children’s hands as they made their way from one museum to another, and tourists with actual fanny packs snapped pictures left and right. Hannah and I were taking up prime real estate on a bench while we ate the turkey on wheat sandwiches. She painstakingly made our lunch (insert eyeroll) this morning after kissing her gazillionaire husband goodbye in their Park Avenue apartment. My older sister hit the jackpot, quite literally, back in the fifth grade when she met and fell in love with her now husband, Preston. Yes, they met and fell in love when they were ten. It was sickening...twenty years with just one person by age 30. Blech. I’ll pass.
I looked across the expanse of green grass dotted with people and picnic blankets. There were some sunbathers scattered here and there, and I tried not to let my gaze linger too long on one particularly skimpy red and white polka dot bikini about thirty feet to my left. Summer in New York City, I mused to myself. Always something to look at…appreciate.
“Are you even listening to me?” Hannah asked, bringing me back to the present.
“No,” I answered truthfully. She narrowed her eyes at me, and I swore I saw steam come out of her ears. Here we go.
“I just don’t get it, Tyler. You’re an attractive guy; you should have a steady girlfriend by now.”
“It’s not my fault all the women in Manhattan are crazy.”
She rolled her eyes. “All the women in Manhattan are not crazy.”
“Explain Marilyn to me then.”
“I never said she wasn’t crazy.”
Marilyn was a waitress at a beer garden I used to frequent with some friends back in college. I dated her for about two weeks, and she was a wildcat. Things with Marilyn were hot. Then one Friday night, instead of going to the beer garden, my buddies decided to go to a pub in midtown, and she blew up my phone. I had eighty-seven missed calls, thirty-five voicemails, and two hundred and forty-six text messages. That all happened over the course of three hours. Needless to say, I broke up with her.
“Rose?” I asked, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Rose wasn’t crazy.”
“She wasn’t?” I looked up at the cloudless sky, trying to remember why I broke up with Rose.
“No, she dumped you when you told her you knew you liked her because you missed her even when you weren’t horny.”
I laughed. That was absolutely correct, I remembered it clearly. I had liked Rose for more than just sex.
“It’s not funny, Tyler. Rose really liked you, and she was nice. Don’t you see that you’re the problem in these relationships.”
I glared at my sister, the most recent bite of food turning to sand in my mouth. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. But I feel like you’re self-sabotaging.”
“Why do I even have to be in a relationship?” I asked, giving up on the rest of my sandwich and tossing the remains back into the brown paper bag she’d packed everything in. The turn our conversation had taken made me lose my appetite.
“Because, you need to have a person, Tyler.”
“You’re my person,” I said. And I realized how pathetic those words were the moment they left my lips.
Hannah gave me a sad smile. It was the same sad smile I’d seen on her face every time I reminded her that she was the only family I had left in the world since our parents’ deaths ten years ago. “I’ll always be here for you. You know that. But you need someone who is more than me. You need real intimacy in your life.”
“And on that note,” I said, looking at my watch, “I have to get back to work.” I did have to return to work before my asshole boss had a conniption fit, but I mostly needed to leave that conversation.
Hannah sighed again, this time a sigh of defeat, and started cleaning up. I helped, then dropped the bag of trash into a nearby garbage can, sneaking one last peek at the polka dot bikini before returning to my sister. I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for lunch.”
“Of course,” she said, pulling me in for one of her patented big sister hugs. Growing up, they always made me feel better. This one had that
same effect today. “I love you, little brother.”
“Love you, too, Han.” I gave her a quick wave before I took off through the park, knowing if I was even half a second late, I’d be filleted. I ran straight through Columbus Circle towards West 57th where the headquarters for the magazine were located. I made it into the elevator with four minutes to spare, having barely broken a sweat. Those morning runs were really paying off.
I was so impressed with myself that I didn’t even realize I had company in the elevator until I caught a flash of pink out of the corner of my eye. I looked over and met the eyes of my elevator companion.
It was her.
I’d seen this woman before. She worked in the building—obviously—I thought for Leading Lady, the sister magazine of You’re the Man. I’d seen her get off on that floor before; it was right below mine. She was cute, with big greenish-brown eyes and thick, jet black hair that framed her round face and fell just past her shoulders. Her dark hair and olive skin tone were a sharp contrast to her pale pink skirt suit that perfectly matched her plump lips. She was also tall, which was refreshing for a guy like me who was six-foot-five. In her heels, she was only an inch or so shorter than me.
I gave her a nod of acknowledgement, not wanting to startle her by speaking. She seemed shy, almost painfully so, sticking hard to the opposite corner of the large elevator. I wished she’d make eye contact. I would have liked to see her eyes again. I’d never seen a shade of green like that before. I wanted to study her eyes.
The bell on the elevator dinged and my mystery woman stepped out of the car without so much as a parting glance. I would have been offended if I wasn’t certain that it was just the shyness. The doors closed and the elevator rose one more level to my floor. I closed my eyes, straightened my tie and suit jacket, and then exited when the doors opened.
Mystery woman already forgotten.
It was back to hell.
2
Melanie
I must have turned twelve different shades of red on that elevator. I felt his stare like a caress, and it only made my skin heat more. Gah! Why did I have to be so socially awkward?
I bumped into the mail cart, muttering an apology as I hurried through the city of cubicles, back towards my suite. Brianna Heatherly, the Editor in Chief of Leading Lady magazine, was my boss. She was the only person on this floor with their own suite. She was also a wonderful woman and an even better editor, but she was firm, and if I was late returning from lunch, she’d treat me the same way she treated every other staffer here...with an iron fist.
I will not be late.
I slipped in the door, dropped my bottom in my chair, swung my legs under the desk, and shook the mouse, waking up my computer. I plugged in my username and password and the computer screen changed to show my busy desktop screen just as Brianna pushed open the French doors to her office.
“Melanie,” she said as she stepped through the doorway in a pair of pressed black slacks and a red flowy top that I was sure was handpicked for her by some designer. Her blond hair was cut in a severe bob, barely moving as her icy blue eyes locked on mine. “I need you to cancel my afternoon. Please reschedule everything you can for some point later this week.” She turned around before I could acknowledge her request/demand, then stopped. “Actually, see if you can get Bradley back on the schedule as soon as possible.” Bradley was a representative from Jason Red, the new “it” designer who had a huge spread in an upcoming issue.
“Anything else, Brianna?”
She peeked over her shoulder, her eyes moving over me. “You look cute today,” she said with a barely perceptible smile, then disappeared behind closed doors again.
I smiled and got to work sending off emails and texts to the assistants of the people on Brianna’s schedule for this afternoon. To make my job easier, when I’d started working for Brianna four years ago, I reached out to the assistants of her business associates. In many organizations, it was the assistants who did most of the work. Sure, the execs made the deals and decisions, but the assistants were the ones who made the appointments to discuss the deals. The assistants greased the wheels. So one week, while Brianna was in Milan for a fashion show, I called every single assistant and introduced myself. A handful of them hung up on me, angry with me for wasting their time, but the majority of them appreciated the effort. Being Brianna’s assistant held some clout, after all. I never did forget the ones who hung up on me, and every now and then I have some fun with that. Brianna was widely known around the fashion industry and everyone wanted to be on her good side, and therefore…my good side. Over the years, I developed acquaintanceships with some of the assistants and we learned each other’s preferred forms of communications. Like I knew for a fact that Billie, assistant to this fabulous makeup artist, would rather me send her a text than call unless it was a dire emergency. Brianna needing to reschedule her three o’clock was not an emergency. And Jonathan, personal assistant to supermodel Leigha Morelli, preferred email because he has some anal-retentive filing system. By the time I was finished shooting off messages to the others, Jonathan had already replied that the same time tomorrow, which Brianna was also available for, worked for Leigha. I adjusted Brianna’s digital schedule to reflect the change. Perfect.
As I waited for the rest of the replies to roll in, my mind drifted back to the guy in the elevator. Oh boy, was he delicious. I’d seen him in the elevator enough to know he must work somewhere in the building. Whenever I saw him, I didn’t see which floor he got off at, so I guessed he worked on one of the upper levels. But where? I tapped a few keys on my computer and pulled up the building’s directory. Parks Publishing, Inc., the parent company of Leading Lady magazine, had several subsidiaries throughout the building, including You’re the Man, Move Your Body, and Baby Stuff. It was probably the most awfully named collection of magazines, but the owner, Preston Parks, was a billionaire, so I didn’t think he cared what I thought of the names of his magazines because they obviously worked. You’re the Man was one floor up, beyond that was a marketing firm, an ad agency, and a law firm. He was dressed for any one of those in his light gray suit, which he filled out nicely, too. He was taller than me, which was a plus, with lean muscles—his suit jacket snugly fit around his chest, shoulders and biceps, the fabric stretched ever so much. Mmm. His face was nice to look at, too. His short, light brown hair was done in that purposefully messy way guys always got away with. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at me, his full lips transforming into a smirk just before he’d nodded at me. I blushed just remembering it. Why do I have to be so awkward? It had been a decent opportunity to chat up a new guy—a new gorgeous guy—and I screwed it up.
My dating life had suffered since moving to Manhattan after college. It was never all that active to begin with but being a tiny speck in the ocean of a city that was New York did absolutely nothing to help me come out of my shell. If I was shy before, I didn’t know what I was considered now. At work, I was cool and confident. When I was sitting behind my desk, I knew what was expected of me. When I went out into the world...anything could happen. It was both wonderful and terrifying all at once. I just kept my head low and did what I had to do. So yes, it made it very difficult to meet new people.
Speaking of people...my phone pinged with a new text message, and this time it was from my best friend, Meredith.
Meredith: What’s happening, City Girl?
Melanie: Just another day. How about you?
Meredith: Same old.
Melanie: Well, this is riveting but…
Meredith: I might have gotten engaged this weekend.
Was she kidding me right now??
Melanie: And you’re texting me?!?!
Meredith: Well, I know that you’re at work!
Melanie: And how about the moment after you said yes??
Seriously, didn’t she understand the first rule of girls’ club? Well...maybe it wasn’t the first rule. Okay, maybe there wasn’t a rule at all, but still. I couldn’t believ
e she waited a full day to tell me, and then she told me via text message.
Meredith: We were sort of up to other things then.
Melanie: You’re gross.
Meredith: It’s only gross because you’ve been single forever.
Ouch.
Meredith: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.
Melanie: Yes, you did.
Meredith: Any prospects?
I thought about telling Meredith about the guy in the elevator. Then I remembered that I couldn’t even make eye contact with him, and there was nothing really to tell. I heard Brianna stirring in her office.
Melanie: No. Look, I’ve got to get back to work, but expect a Facetime call when I get home from work!
Meredith: Roger dodger.
I tucked my phone back into my desk drawer right as Brianna stuck her head out of her office. “Any word from Bradley?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow morning at eleven.” I’d just received an email back from his assistant confirming the change.
“Perfect. You are an angel, Melanie.”
She disappeared again, and I reclined in my chair, looking up at the fluorescent lights above my desk. This wasn’t my dream job, but it was a foot in the door of the fashion world, and I was damn good at it.
At that moment...that was enough for me.
3
Tyler
“I really don’t think it’s that difficult of a concept to understand, Scott. When she calls, tell her I’m in a meeting.”
Reason four-hundred-thirty-eight why I hated my boss…he called me by my last name. I wasn’t sure if it was because he called everyone by their last name—because he did that, too—or if it was because he was just a dick.
Reason seventeen why I hated my boss—I learned this one early on—he was a cheating pig and didn’t deserve his sweet wife, who he was asking me to lie to for the thousandth time while he went out with some girl half his age. Roger Hoffstadt was in his mid-forties, balding, with a beer belly and a peaked in high school vibe. You’re the Man didn’t use female models very often, and when they did, Roger had nothing to do with it, so why this girl and the others before her wasted their time with him, I’d never understand. He wouldn’t and couldn’t get them in the industry the way they wanted.
Simply Irresistible: A Totally Sweet Love Story Page 1
