by A. J. Pine
She groaned and slammed the water off altogether, feeling bad for the pint of Häagen-Dazs waiting in the freezer that only had moments left to live before she devoured it without mercy.
May I kiss you and leave you aching between your legs, reminding you that there is better out there than the six-speed Turbo Elite?
“Why, yes, Will Evans,” she said aloud, wrapping herself in a towel. “It appears that you can.”
Halfway through her pint of pure, untampered with chocolate ice cream, Holly still couldn’t find anything to watch on TV that would distract her from the crazy that was this evening, so she tightened the belt on her robe, grabbed her phone, the remainder of her ice cream, and a spoon, of course, and headed out to her balcony.
Will had called her a star. He’d called her a star, kissed her, and then walked away because he knew that whatever was between them couldn’t go any further. And something was definitely between them. Holly could admit now as she sat in her small wooden chair, laying waste to the rest of her dairy savior, that she was not, in fact, lactose intolerant. She was Will Evans intolerant, and if this severe physical reaction was something she could control with an over-the-counter medication or sheer avoidance, she would. But there was no antidote for what was brewing between them—other than Holly’s foolproof way to run a relationship into the ground: let it continue past six months.
But Will Evans wouldn’t be in Chicago past the six-month marker. And he certainly didn’t want anything long-term with her. Not that she wasn’t great with kids—she had worked at a kids’ theater camp throughout her high school and college summers. But Holly had never seriously considered having children, not while she was still so focused on her career. And trying at a real relationship for the first time since high school with a guy who lived on another continent? Thanks, but no thanks.
She and Will were so, so, so wrong for each other, which was why her idea might work. Because it was so right.
Holly squirmed in her seat. She obviously needed to get Will Evans out of her system. And the way things usually panned out for her, it might take a little longer than one or two times. What she knew for sure was that regardless of how long it took, whether it was two weeks or two months or the whole rest of his stay, if they agreed up front to what they were getting into, they could walk away unscathed.
She dipped her spoon into the pint only to hit the cardboard bottom, her ice cream reservoir depleted. So she licked the spoon clean and then tapped it against her chin as the wheels began to turn.
The smart thing to do would be to just give it another go with Charlie. They still saw each other on a daily basis, and while he clearly was not in love with her—nor she with him—it would be easy for them to fall into some sort of pattern, especially since Charlie hadn’t been shy about letting her know he’d be up for another six months if she was. Charlie was comfortable. The sex was good. And he didn’t expect anything more from her than what she was willing to give.
Pushing things any further with Will could complicate their work. After all, making partner was Holly’s end game, so this show had to go off without a hitch. But she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, how it awakened a need in her she’d thought was long dormant. How could she see him day in and day out without being distracted? Maybe she didn’t want comfortable. Maybe she didn’t want good sex. Maybe she wanted electricity. Didn’t Will want it, too? Or else why kiss her at all?
Holly tapped open her horoscope app on her phone and backed up to the last one she’d read. Take advantage of new opportunities even if they present themselves as what you see as obstacles. Appreciate what you’re given, and allow time for joy. A six-month fling with Will Evans would absolutely be an opportunity as well as a possible obstacle. But not seeing this through was an obstacle as well, because the tension between them might never dissipate. Totally valid argument.
Holly did love her job. It was everything to her. But that second sentence niggled at her brain. Appreciate what you’re given, and allow time for joy. It had been a while since joy had come from anything other than work. And physical joy? Well, she could practically kiss that good-bye unless she solved the Rubik’s Cube puzzle of the showerhead setting.
She tapped the arrow to move the horoscope forward to tomorrow. Well, today, since it was past midnight now.
Gemini: Congratulations. All your worries of yesterday will work themselves out today as long as you don’t sit idly by. Wrongs will be righted, and Gemini will find happiness in taking action, in moving beyond stumbling blocks to get what she wants.
See? Even her horoscope app thought she should take action. If this wasn’t giving destiny a nudge, she didn’t know what was. For a minute Holly considered calling Brynn and talking this through with her, but as much as Brynn teased about her apparent attraction to Will—stupid stargazing face—once Holly told her sister about Will’s whole being-a-dad situation, she knew Brynn would go all logical on her, tell her this wasn’t a good idea.
What if you got attached? she’d ask. Holly wouldn’t. What if he got attached? Will wouldn’t, either. He couldn’t. Holly was here. His daughter was there. He wouldn’t say yes to Holly if he had any potential real feelings for her, right? This was all just attraction and sexual tension they needed to get out of their systems, let it run its course and then be on their merry way. Well, it looked like she’d survive without sisterly advice this time.
Holly leaned back and peered up at the sky, finding Ursa Minor staring back at her, though not as bright as it was last week. If she squinted the right way, she could make out Castor and Pollux just above, and she smiled up at the Gemini twins.
“You’re onto something, guys,” she said quietly.
Hopefully Will would think so, too.
Chapter Ten
Will scrubbed a hand over his jaw and scratched his neck. He’d shaved under his chin. That, at least, was allowed. Sophie’s rules.
I still want you to look smart in your suits, Daddy, she’d said when he’d asked permission to maintain the beard without getting rid of it. God, he loved that sweet voice of hers, hated that he’d missed a weekend of her curled in his lap, reading Madeline to him.
Will you take me to Paris, Daddy, like Madeline?
That was the promise he’d made her—well, the second one. The first was that he’d come home as many weekends as he could while away, only shaving just before he returned to the States. The second was a trip to Paris. He still had to convince Sophie’s mum to let him steal her away for a week once he was back for good. But he knew Tara and Phillip would enjoy some alone time. He could use that angle. And once he proved to her that he was back for good, that he was finally putting family first, then he’d bring up the idea of sharing custody.
He took advantage of the lift’s solitude and snapped a photo of himself with his phone. Will had decided to come in a little later this morning, hoping to avoid any awkward one-on-one time with Holly, even though she had been on his mind all weekend. He was a right prick for doing what he’d done Friday night. But since the morning he met her, she’d burrowed under his skin. Holly Chandler was maddening. She didn’t back down from him when he was a prick. She was good at her job. No, she was brilliant. She didn’t need him to pull off this show, yet they worked so well as a team. But it wasn’t just what Holly could do for his client. It was what she did to him. She made Will smile when happiness was thousands of miles away. She made him think these next five and a half months could be bearable if walking into Trousseau every weekday morning meant he’d see her. And the sight of her in jeans and a T-shirt drinking a pint in a pub, well it damn near floored him. She was a whirlwind in the office, alight with a frenetic energy that energized him as well. But Friday night’s Holly, after they’d sealed the deal with Marisa—she was a sort of Holly unplugged. A glimpse into a side of her she didn’t unveil when they were working. For a tiny pocket of time that evening, he’d let himself imagine what it would be like to have someone like that in his life. But
that Holly was a fantasy. The woman he worked with, the one who knew her partnership at Trousseau rode on this show being a success, that was the real Holly. A woman with the freedom to put her career first.
And he’d nearly fucked it all up by kissing her. Holly’s job was important to her, and he’d put that in jeopardy the second he said, “May I kiss you?” Perhaps he was the bastard Tara claimed he was when she’d finally had enough and had left before Sophie was even born. He hadn’t put her first, so he’d lost them both. What was he thinking being so selfish with Holly? He certainly wasn’t putting her best interest first, and wanting anything from her at all—enjoying himself while he was away from his daughter—that wasn’t putting Sophie first, either.
Will tapped the icon on the photo of himself that allowed him to send the picture, and then he typed in Tara’s name. She’d agreed to him texting Sophie on her phone as often as he liked.
Love you, Soph, he typed under the attached photo as the lift came to a halt. Will was ready to step out when he glanced at the lit-up number above the door. It was five, not ten. No worries, he thought. Just another straggler grabbing a coffee and heading in late. So he stepped back against the wall and waited for the doors to part. When they did, the first thing he noticed were the red peep-toe booties, the heel at least four inches.
Holly might have been petite, but in shoes like that, her legs went on for miles, and his eyes traveled up their length covered in sheer, black stockings speckled with tiny polka dots—polka dots that made him think of those freckles on her nose.
Will cleared his throat, hoping it would clear his head, but when he saw that the stockings disappeared into a pair of fitted black shorts—oh good God, it was one of those short suits, bloody sexy as hell—he half considered bolting out the doors as she stepped in.
“Guess we’re both running a bit late this morning, huh?” Holly asked with a pleasant, red-lipped smile. Her hair fell over her left shoulder in a loose plait, the soft look framing her vibrant features. “Purposefully, maybe?” She shrugged. “Actually drank my latte in the cafeteria.”
She shrugged?
But that wasn’t the fiery, take-no-shite Holly who stormed into his office or called him out on something as simple as being dismissed. Not that he’d meant to dismiss her.
Why wasn’t she yelling at him? Why wasn’t she giving him hell for not bringing up Sophie before he’d tried to kiss her? No. She was taking the piss, making him squirm. That must be it. Holly knew fashion. There was no doubt about that. But walking into work today looking like that, with…with those shoes. His first words to her echoed in his head. I’d have gone for the red.
He was ever the bastard, and she was most definitely taking the piss. He deserved it.
“Holly,” he said once the doors closed, giving them a possible five stories of privacy before they’d have to get on with their day. “I never should have—”
She waved him off as if he was apologizing for knocking her bag off her shoulder, not for falling into his old habit of thinking of himself before anyone else.
“I have a meeting with the runway designer at ten thirty,” she said. “And then I was thinking of a lunch meeting.”
His brows furrowed.
“A lunch meeting?”
Holly nodded. “Yes. You liked Jamie’s bar, right? Kingston Ale House? Well, they have a fabulous beer garden, and it’s only in the seventies today. I thought we’d hop in a taxi, enjoy the sunshine, and have a meeting.”
She bit her lower lip, only for a second, but it was enough to crack the facade, for Will to see she was nervous—and also bloody adorable. Christ, he had to stop looking at her like this. A lunch meeting would do them good. They could relax, clear the air, and set new parameters from this day forth. Their relationship would be nothing but professional. It had to be, because she was already driving him mad. He could take the first part of the morning to regroup, make a few phone calls to potential sponsors for the fashion show, and then—lunch. He could keep it together for lunch.
“Lunch sounds lovely,” he said, and Holly’s shoulders relaxed. He was glad to know she was just as nervous about seeing him today as he was to see her. And even better that she wanted to get things back on track, with her as the show’s director, him as the publicist, and that would be that.
“Good,” Holly said. “That settles it. Oh, and make sure your afternoon is clear, too.” The lift stopped at the tenth floor, and the doors opened into Trousseau’s lobby, so they both stepped out.
“My afternoon?” Will was lost again.
Holly nodded, all confidence back in her stance, and Will had to force himself not to let his eyes dip to those legs again.
“Yes. I told Andrea I’m going to show you a few window displays on Michigan Avenue to give you an idea of what I’m aiming at for the show. Since the show will be Ms. Chan’s spring line, I thought it couldn’t hurt to check out what draws the Chicago fashionista’s eye.”
She had already taken a step toward her side of the office while he was poised in the direction of his.
“Yes. Of course. I had a phone call scheduled, but I think I can ring them tomorrow.”
Lunch he could handle. But an afternoon walking the streets of the city with Holly? It sounded wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.
Her lips dipped into a small frown as he watched her give him the once-over.
“What?” He glanced down the line of his body. “Did I spill coffee on my tie? What is it?”
Her concern quickly changed to a giggle as she shook her head.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I didn’t plan this very well. I always have a change of clothes at my desk, just in case, but I don’t think you’ll be comfortable walking for hours in a three-piece suit and wingtips.”
His lips curved in a grin. He had a secret stash, too, his weekend bag, just in case he needed to jet home in an emergency or if there was an opportunity to fly home early to surprise Sophie. His bag had been there, packed and ready to go last Wednesday when Andrea broke the news he’d have to stay in Chicago for the weekend. The memory of that set his mind straight, and although he knew he’d need a lot more than a simple reminder to keep his thoughts on home rather than here, it was a start.
“I’ll be fine,” was all he said. She didn’t need a long, drawn-out explanation. “Meet here around noon.”
“Noon it is, Mr. Evans.” And there was a tease in the lilt of her voice. But then her face grew serious for a second as she said, “And Will?” Her hand fidgeted with the zipper of the small red bag slung across her torso.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry you missed the weekend with your daughter.” There was genuine sadness in her voice, and his breath caught at the sound of it. Without waiting for a response, Holly spun on her heel and headed toward her desk.
A throat cleared to his right, startling Will from the stupor Holly had just put him in. When he spun toward the sound, he was greeted by Jackie, the front desk assistant, and her toothy grin.
“Good morning, Jackie,” Will said, straightening his already straight tie before heading toward his office.
“Good morning, Mr. Evans,” she said, parroting Holly teasing him with use of his surname.
She said nothing else, and he didn’t let the assuming tone bother him, whatever it was she was thinking. Because nothing was going on between him and Holly Chandler.
Nothing other than a kiss and the image of her stepping into that lift burned into his brain—along with the memory of Holly unplugged, the one who loved the stars as much as Sophie did, who could relax and enjoy a pitcher of stout at a neighborhood pub. The one he’d love to know better if she lived a little closer and maybe worked a little less.
No, nothing was going on between them. Nothing at all. Will just had to keep repeating that to himself. Hopefully by lunch he’d believe it.
Chapter Eleven
Holly hid behind her menu, wishing Kingston Ale House was fancy enough for da
ily specials, a reason for her to have to study the text more carefully. But the food menu only changed if something wasn’t selling. All Jamie cared about were his brews. Still, Holly kept reading, just in case she wasn’t sure if there really was parmesan cheese on the truffle fries—or if the cheese fondue for the hot pretzels was a beer fondue. Of course it was.
Holly practically lived here. She knew the menu by heart, and having her meeting with Will here was supposed to lessen the anxiety. But every time she peeked over the top, she saw him genuinely studying the beer list, eyebrows raised as he moved a palm back and forth across his jaw. Add to that the short-sleeved navy henley and dark-wash jeans he just happened to have in his office, and well, Holly’s mouth went dry.
“Business or pleasure?” a familiar voice asked, and Holly looked up to see Jeremy Denning, her friend Annie’s brother and Jamie’s assistant manager—and apparently also a sometime server. He stood poised in a Kingston Ale House tee and jeans, either squinting from the sun or smirking directly at Holly. She guessed it was the latter.
“Excuse me?” Holly asked, immediately regretting giving him the opening to repeat the question.
“Just making small talk with the customers,” he said, and Will set his drink menu down to give Jeremy the once-over. “Middle of the day on a Monday,” he continued. “Figured either it’s a business lunch or you kids are calling in sick to enjoy the weather.”
And then he had the nerve to freaking wink at her.
Ugh. Jeremy wasn’t even working Friday night, which meant Brynn had already blabbed to Annie about Holly’s stargazing face, and Annie must have filled her brother in. Jamie was the only one who stayed out of the rumor mill. He had his beer, and he had Brynn. Nothing else mattered. But jeez, start a game of telephone with Brynn, Annie, and Jeremy, and the message reached the end of the party line in seconds flat. If there was one thing Holly hated, it was gossip.
Okay, that was a lie. Holly loved gossip, but if she was the subject of said gossip, then she turned her hypocritical nose up at it in a heartbeat.
