by Haley Oliver
"Amanda." I brilliantly give voice to my singular thought.
Amanda halts and laces her hands in front of herself demurely. "Mr. Ridgemont."
"Have fun, kids!" Jane Fox knocks shoulders with Amanda and nearly sends her stumbling sideways on her heels. I reach out to catch her as the vivacious redhead disappears through the door and follows Gabe out into the night.
I look down. I'm not sure if it's a trick of the lobby light or a more liberal application of blush than I'm used to, but Amanda's cheeks are rosy. "I promise I walk better in these than first impressions let on," she says as she pulls away from me.
"If you walk as well as you sit and stand, then I'm already ready to call this night a success."
She makes a move, as if to punch my shoulder to punish me for teasing her, then stops short. I swear I see a flicker of fear in her eyes, though I can't imagine what she has to be afraid of. Did she think she was about to be overly familiar? Wait, are we at the point where I can give her a hard time? I'm not a teasing man, usually. Maybe Amanda brings it out of me—or maybe exchanging so many memos with Nicole this past week has loosened me up.
Amanda's complicit, anyway. She's the one running a daily marathon on the fifth floor, delivering our notes back and forth, and she never says a word. She must be more than passingly familiar with Nicole Preston by now.
In fact, I'm not sure why I never thought to ask her about it before. We walk out into the night. I wave my driver off, preferring to open the limousine door for her myself. Amanda's frozen in place, gawking, and I can't help smiling at her reaction. "Were you expecting a cab? Or to take the subway, maybe?"
"I can't believe I'm getting paid to do this," she mutters as she ducks inside. "I couldn't even afford a limo for prom. Not that I went to prom."
"Pity," I say as I join her inside. "That's what I hear. I didn't go either."
"You didn't go to prom?"
A helpless grin hitches up one half of my face, and I shake my head. "Why? Does that come as a surprise?"
"Absolutely a surprise!" she exclaims. "I'm still not sure you aren't pulling my leg!"
"I haven't always been 'Owen Ridgemont,'" I mention.
Amanda lifts an eyebrow. "You haven't?"
I can see the tease on her lips. Not that I'm looking at her lips. It's incredible how someone's eyes can say one thing and their mouth another. Maybe I'm just not used to tangling with women as quick witted or expressive as my secretary.
"Not in the way you know me," I reply.
"How do I know you?" She meets my eyes again, and for a moment, I forget what the question was.
"As your employer," I say finally. I don't think it's just my imagination that she looks disappointed by my response. In truth, perhaps I consider Amanda King a bit more than that, but I'm uncertain if that's something a man like me is meant to say out loud. I've never had this sort of relationship with someone before.
I am new to a lot of relationships I've found since coming out east to work for Sway.
"So. Miss Preston." I cross my arms and gaze at Amanda expectantly.
She blanches at the name, for whatever reason; then, pulling herself together, she points to herself. "Amanda King," she corrects me.
"Yes, I know, what I meant was, what can you tell me about the blonde down the hall?" I press.
"Well…she's beautiful," Amanda admits.
I crane forward, suddenly unable to contain my eagerness. "And? What else?"
"What else?" Amanda tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't really know her. And she doesn't sit with the other girls at lunch, so I haven't had much of a chance to speak to her, er, socially."
"Hm." I sit back and sigh. I don't know why I haven't thought to ask Amanda about Nicole before. Now I wonder if I intuited that they weren't conversational with each other. Then again, why not? As far as I'm aware, both women have warm personalities, and they even share a hint of the same mischievous humor.
Before long, we're standing together at the entrance to the gala. I don't push forward into the receiving room when I notice Amanda, standing beside me, appears hesitant. It never occurred to me that she might be nervous.
"Mr. Ridgemont—"
"Owen." I offer my arm along with my first name. "Please. I've been calling you Amanda since day one."
"Only because I insisted." She slips her hand through the loop of my arm. "It felt too strange to be called Miss King. Or Miss Queen, as you liked to say."
"Don't remind me." I grimace at the thought, and I feel her hand squeeze my bicep companionably. It would appear that all is long forgiven on that front…and Amanda's quiet laugh as we enter the function assures me that her nerves have settled a bit.
I guide us through the crowd to the bar. "A bay breeze, please," Amanda orders the moment the bartender's turns to her.
I glance down at her approvingly as the bartender starts to whip together her drink…with a bit more flourish than I've seen him exercise on previous drinks. I wonder if he's showing off for my lovely date.
Not that I can blame him. As soon as we've collected our drinks, I steer Amanda into the crowd, in the general direction of Brian and Miriam Branson, our hosts for the evening. It takes almost no time at all to find ourselves welcomed into a gaggle of attendees, and I'm certain I have Amanda to thank. She is eye catching, to say the least, and her smile is winning without even knowing the rules of the game. She's as fresh as her bay breeze, and it seems that everyone wants a sip.
"You know, I've never actually been to a Broadway show," Amanda mentions an hour later to the listening group. She takes another sip of her drink, either ignorant to—or purposefully ignoring—the astonished looks she gets from the gathering.
I hide a smile. Humble beginnings, indeed. Amanda isn't at all fazed rubbing elbows with these people. She's nothing like I was, in that respect, when I first started to run in these circles. I was nervous as a cornered church mouse, always wondering what the point was in having a perfectly tailored suit when my own skin didn't seem to fit me. Amanda's a natural. I want to tell her how well she's doing, but there's no hope of getting her alone now that she has a riveted audience. Strange that I almost find myself a little jealous.
"You know, my son is actually performing in Shakespeare at the Park near the Sway International building," Miriam offers up suddenly.
Amanda brightens, she's the most radiant thing in the room this evening. "Oh, I know that park. They're doing Hamlet this month, aren't they?"
"You should go." Miriam shoots me a cunning look, then produces two tickets from her clutch as if she's performing a magic trick. Amanda quickly puts up her hands to refuse the offer, but Miriam, possibly anticipating how her generosity would be received by my companion, presses them against the front of my suit. "The both of you. Complimentary tickets on me. Trust me, if I have to sit through one more soliloquy, there's going to be a massacre on the green."
"I'd say that's in the spirit of Hamlet," Amanda says, and the assembled suits laugh appreciatively at her joke. "Thank you so much, Miriam. We'll definitely check it out."
"We definitely don't have to check it out," she amends later as soon as we're alone.
"Why not?" I draw the tickets out of my pocket and study them in the strobing light as we drive back through the city together. "Don't you think it sounds like fun?"
"I mean…" She plucks at her dress, then smooths it back down in her lap and sighs. "Of course, I think it would be fun. But Miriam clearly thought we were dating."
"That was sort of the point of inviting you out with me this evening."
"But we're not together together," she protests. She leans forward in her seat to try and snatch the tickets from me, and I hold them out of reach. She laughs. "Seriously, we were given those under false pretense!"
"It's not a false pretense if we go together," I point out.
Amanda settles back into her seat. Her look of shock is quickly replaced by an expression more indescribable. She glances out the wi
ndow. I take pity on her and lean over, handing her one of the tickets. "Only if you want to," I say. "I've been meaning to spend more time at the park."
"Actually outside of your office? Say it isn't so." Amanda grins and finally accepts the ticket. "All right, Mr. Ridge—Owen. I'll go with you, if only to make sure you don't get lost out there in the big, wide city."
"I appreciate it," I say gruffly. Amanda laughs again, and I feel warm to hear it. "We'll introduce ourselves to Miriam's son while we're there, and word will get back to her that we actually took her up on her generous offer."
"You always have an angle," Amanda says. "I can't decide if it's admirable or totally exasperating."
"We'll enjoy ourselves," I reply.
"As your escort, I'll make sure of it," she grins.
* * *
Door 4A opens and there she is, again quite different than the Amanda I see behind her desk every weekday at Sway. Her hair is swept up into a carefree twist, and she's dressed in jeans and a cream-colored cable knit sweater with a loopy scarf around her neck. She's carrying a blanket draped over her arm.
"You look great," I say before I think twice.
"Is that your idea of casual?" she asks, her facial expression amused.
I look down over my dress pants, button-down shirt, and sports coat. "What's wrong with this? I didn't wear a tie."
"Kind of stuffy for a day in the park, don't you think?"
I look myself over again. "Maybe I should lose the jacket?"
She nods and gives me one of her enchanting smiles of approval. "Do you own anything casual?" she teases as she closes the door behind her and bounces down the stairs.
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. At least walking down is easier than climbing up. "How do you manage these stairs every day?"
"One at a time," she hollers up to me from several steps below. It is refreshing to see her this way rather than the formal relationship we have in the office. I am already enjoying myself. Why wouldn't I? Amada is quite witty when she's relaxed, and I'm fast considering her a friend.
I walk to my rental and open the passenger door. Amanda stares at the open door.
"What? Get in."
"Wouldn't you like to walk? We don't have a lot more of these days before the weather turns on us. It's not that far."
Is she serious? She meets my eyes, holding her ground. It's a literal standoff.
"Fine." I take off my jacket and lay it over the seat before locking the car. She tries to hide a satisfied smirk, but I catch it. "You didn't win," I grumble.
"Okay, if you say so," she twitters. "But, I kind of did."
"Smart Alec."
We walk down the avenue together, talking about anything except work. I learn she grew up not too far from the city. Her parents live in a quaint little town upstate, and she tries to get there to visit as often as she can. I like that family is important to her.
Once we arrive, we find ourselves a grassy spot, and Amanda gets to work spreading out the blanket while I head over to the snow cone vendor. I haven't had snow cones since I was a boy.
When I return, Amanda has slid her feet out of her sneakers and is sinking her toes into the grass and earth at the edge of the blanket. "Come on, join me."
"I am not taking off my shoes."
"Ohhh," she nods slowly. "Crooked toes?"
I grin. "Not in the slightest."
"No, no, it's okay if your toes aren't straight. No one's perfect," she continues.
I bark a laugh at her absurdity. "Amanda, my toes are normal." It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm feeling overdressed and ill prepared for Shakespeare in the Park. Amanda has her hair down and is wearing amazingly attractive casual attire. She's the one who thought to bring the blanket, and I'm mentally kicking myself for not properly prepping for the afternoon. Apparently, she's done this sort of thing before.
"Mmmhmm, you know, in shoeless populations, they don't have crooked toes."
That's it. Holding my snow cone in one hand, I untie my shoes with the other and manage to pull them off, tossing them to the side and adding my designer socks to them. I wiggle my straight toes in the chill of the grass. "Are you happy now?"
A smile of satisfaction spreads across her face. "Are you?"
I have to admit, relaxing on a blanket and munching on a cherry snow cone with the cool grass and natural earth beneath the soles of my feet feels pretty good. I see her shoulders shake as she giggles beside me. "Not winning, Amanda."
She shakes her head. "Wasn't trying to."
Amanda is much different outside the office. Or maybe I'm the one who's different. As we wait for the show to begin, we share a comfortable silence, so comfortable that neither of us feels compelled to fill the quiet with empty conversation.
At one point, I notice her staring across the lawn, engrossed in something. "Do you know those people?"
"Nope. Just people watching."
"People watching?"
"Don’t tell me you've never people watched?" Amanda exclaims. "Seriously?"
"Of course, I watch people," I say defensively.
"Watching people is not the same as people watching," she says confidently.
"Tell me how you do it," I say.
Her eyes sparkle.
"All right, look. I'll show you." Amanda nips another bite out of her snow cone, then uses it to point to a couple seated several blankets down from us on the hill. "You see those two?"
"Yes?"
"They're on a date," she explains.
I raise an eyebrow to let her know how obvious I find her narration.
"But it's not just any date. And they didn't meet just any old way," Amanda says. "They're on a first date. He's from here. She's a journalist, new to the city, looking for her breakthrough story. He saw her interviewing the snow cone vendor and it was love at first sight. The thing is, she saw him first. She pretended to interview the vendor to grab his attention. It worked."
I turn to take in the couple again. I notice for the first time that the woman appears to have a camera case sitting on the blanket beside her. The man is definitely a New York City native, wearing hipster glasses and fashionable streetwear.
"I like the way you look at the world, Amanda."
She flushes and takes a quick bite of her snow cone. "Ow!" she exclaims and raises her hand to her forehead. I'm already half up, hands hovering, wondering if she's been stung by a bee and if I'll be required to come to the rescue.
"What is it?" I demand. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I mean, yes. Brain freeze." She cradles her head, then turns inward to look at me, both laughing and cringing at once. "You should see your face, Owen. You look like you're ready to dive off a bridge to rescue your secretary."
"She'd be worth it," I say as I sit back, relieved. "Someone's gotta answer the phone."
Chapter Nine
Amanda
I'm going to do it. Today. I'm going to come clean and tell Owen the truth about the memos.
And it's very likely he's going to fire me in the process.
But I can't live with the guilt anymore. I can't reflect on the man I've been spending so much time with these past weeks without my heart clenching. I've woven a tangled web, and the only one knowingly entangled in it is me.
Well, no more. Today's the day. The best I can hope for is that Owen won't complain to the temp agency and blackball me from ever finding work again, on either coast. Not that it wouldn't serve me right. How can any future employer trust me after what I've done?
How can Owen?
Jane apprehends me in the lobby on my way to the elevators. "Amanda!" She catches my arm, laughing, making my entire morning worse than it already is. It's not just Owen I stand to lose. I've made so many great friends in my short time here, and I'm going to have to say goodbye to them now. "Amanda, there you are!"
"We're both an hour early!" I laugh and manage to summon a genuine smile. "What's up, Jane?"
"Girls' night's what's up," she says, in all serio
usness. "I'll text you the details. But I really need you to come, okay? No last-minute shifts at the shelter or dropping me if Owen asks you on another date."
"He has never asked me on a date," I say quickly. "And he never will. I can promise you that." Not after today. Not after I come forward with my confession.
"See? It's that cute naïveté of yours that all previous girls' nights have been missing!" Jane taps me on the top of the head gently and laughs again. I mutter below my breath, but no stormy words of mine can cut through this redhead's blinding sunshine. "Keep your schedule free," she reminds me over her shoulder as she struts off. I shake my head in disbelief, then turn to head up to the fifth floor.
Believe me, Jane, my schedule is about to be very, very free.
Owen isn't in the office yet when I arrive at my desk. I strip off my coat, tuck my purse beneath the desk, and settle down into my chair to wait. I had intended to keep it all on me for when he makes his inevitable decision to throw me out, but maybe this is better after all.
I decide to start organizing my desk. Whoever is going to take over after me, I want them to take full advantage of the systems I've put in place to make sense of Owen Ridgemont's chaos. Will he pay the next girl to accompany him to events as well? The thought freezes me in the middle of a drawer shuffle, and a terrible ache settles over my heart. It's not just the thought of Nicole that depresses me. It's the thought of any woman coming into his life and enjoying the intimacy of his friendship. His warm laugh that he keeps hidden so well. His teasing, playful demeanor that he only reveals in small doses but that I've been fortunate to witness. His kindness and generosity.
I have no right to this man or to his heart. I know this. I've known this since the beginning. And still I find myself helplessly drawn in.
I've flown too close to the sun, and now like Icarus, I'm about to pay what feels like an impossible price. I can't think of a worse punishment than never seeing Owen again. I can't think…
