by Linnea May
I shake my head again, casting the thoughts about her away to focus on the remaining stains on my wet shirt. They are still visible and won't go away without a round in the washing machine. Great. A quick glance to my wristwatch tells me that I'm short on time. The opening reception will start any moment now, and I have to be there. I fucking have to be there to shake hands and conduct small talk with a bunch of pre-selected associates who I am to meet this weekend. All of their names are written down on a list I’ve tucked away in my breast pocket. I need to meet them, introduce myself, and make sure they stick around for my presentation tomorrow. And I have to do all of that with a big, fat, fucking stain on my shirt.
I sigh as I put my suit jacket back on. At least it is clean enough to be presentable. I prefer to leave my jacket unbuttoned, a habit that contributed to the disastrous outcome from the encounter with the girl. Tonight I may have to break this habit, even though I know it will fuck with my head. It won't fuck with it as badly as running around with a visible stain on my chest, though. I button up the jacket, and the familiar and unwanted feeling of being trapped descends upon me. I've worn tailored suits for the majority of my adult life, but I have never grown accustomed to it. Suit jackets are not meant to encase muscular arms and shoulders, in my opinion. Despite being tailored to my measurements, they always feel too tight, too confining. I hate the feeling of being trapped and restricted in my movements.
But it can't be helped.
I check myself in the mirror one last time, making sure that the stain is not too visible when I move my arms. Then it’s show time, time for me to face one of the most important evenings of my young career.
Chapter 3
Lena
"These damn big city yuppies, I'm telling ya!" my colleague Aileen curses as she crawls around on the floor next to me, scooping up the remains of some of the best sandwiches I've ever made in my life.
My heart breaks as we gather up the last few crumbs and toss them in the trash bag with the rest. Not all of the sandwiches fell out of their box onto the floor, but those still remaining in the box are too messed up to serve to anyone.
"There are still some boxes in the car," Aileen soothes, trying to comfort me. "We're good. We still have some left."
"Yeah, but not enough!" I protest, my words coming out in a higher volume than intended. "These were like... half of everything we have!"
I'm choking back another threatening wave of tears, and biting at my lower lip to keep from speaking. I've always been one to weep easily, and I hate it. Aileen wouldn't react this way. She's cooler than me, stronger than me. She wouldn't get upset about the lost food, but do exactly what she's doing right now.
Cursing and threatening the asshole who's responsible for this.
"We're going to find him," she says in a conspiratorial tone. "He must be one of the convention attendees. It'll be easy to find and confront him."
I cast her an empty look. "And then what?"
Aileen huffs. "Then we'll make him pay for this! We lost part of our product, which means that idiot cost us money! He has to pay for this!"
I shrug, lowering my eyes as I begin scrubbing the floor with the cleaning supplies Aileen brought when she came to my rescue. We've only known each other about a year, but she is still the closest thing I have to a best friend. Because she is my only friend. She followed her husband when he moved to the small town that has been my home for the past seven years. He's the only doctor we have in town, and she only started working at our diner because she needed something to do. Unlike me, she doesn't need the money because her husband earns more than enough for the both of them. She just needed a purpose, a place to spend her time while her husband works his long shifts.
Maybe she needed the company, too. I never would have said that I was lonely until I met her. Until I realized how different life could be. Aileen is just five years older than me, but she seems to have life figured out. She always appears confident, very different from me. But unlike me, she's not alone. She found her place, next to her husband. The two of them have moved around a lot, due to his profession. They've been together since high school, and she has followed him every step of the way. The moved here from Boston, a decision that still confuses me. How could anyone move from a city like Boston to this God forsaken village?
"You live here, too," she said, when I asked her about it. "It can't be that bad, right?"
I didn't know what to tell her. I wanted to say that it wasn't my choice to come here, and that it wasn't my choice to stay. But the last part would be a lie.
"That should do it," Aileen announces, interrupting my stream of thoughts.
My eyes follow her motion as she gestures toward the floor around us, drawing a big circle as our gaze wanders, searching for any remaining evidence of my unfortunate encounter. I have to say, we did a good job. The floor looks cleaner than it did before my mishap.
"Yeah, it should," I agree, getting back up on my feet next to her. "Thank you so much."
Our eyes meet and she casts me an empathetic smile. Despite our small age difference, there's always something maternal about the way she regards me, and I don't mind it at all.
"Of course, sweety," she says. "We're in this together."
She places a comforting hand on my shoulder and beckons me to follow her.
"Let's go. We've got some work to do," she says. "And we need to look for that idiot, to make sure you get reimbursed for the trouble he caused."
"It was really my fault," I add for consideration as we make our way across the hallway, our arms full of the boxes of ruined food and cleaning supplies. "I ran into him and-"
"But only because he was being so rude!" Aileen cuts me off. "Don't always blame yourself for everything, Lena."
I cast her a look from the side. "I'm not! I'm just saying... he might not be very understanding, because I caused the situation."
"None of this would have happened if he hadn't ignored you."
"Yes, but I shouldn't have sprinted like that."
"You wouldn't have to, if he had waited to hold the door for you in the first place."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe," Aileen disagrees, stopping mid-pace and turning around to me. She's a lot taller than me, but so frighteningly slim that I was worried about her health when we first met. Her strawberry blonde hair stands in stark contrast to my dark brown waves, and while we share the same pale complexion, she never paints her lips red like I do. While we don't share their personality traits, I couldn't help but think of us as Snow White and Rose Red, a reference that escapes most people's understanding over here. The fairytale of those two little girls is a lot more famous in the old country. Nevertheless, Aileen felt flattered by the comparison.
"Stop beating yourself up about this," she says, locking me down with her green eyes. "That's exactly what these guys do. They fuck things up and make others feel bad about it. Men like him thrive on putting others down. Don't make it so easy for him."
She stops for a moment, gasping for air before she continues her rant.
"All those big names, the Waldorfs, the Kochs, the Conners," she lists. "They’re used to bully people like us. It’s normal to them."
"Conner?" I ask. "Isn’t their firm represented at this convention? Are they a big deal?"
"I’d say so!" Aileen exclaims. "Rich as fuck and still expanding. Their systems dominate half the country."
"Huh," I say, arching my eyebrows in a way that Aileen interprets at admiration.
"I bet they’re still asshole, just like the rest," she adds. "And whoever that guy was, he certainly deserves that title, too."
I sigh in agreement. She's right. Even if sprinting to catch up with him wasn't the smartest idea on my part, his behavior doesn't exactly merit praise either, especially the way he yelled at me. His reaction to our encounter just showed how much of an asshole he must be.
An attractive asshole, yes. Insanely handsome, tall, strong…
But still an asshole.
; I can't let him get away with it that easily.
We make our way to the main hall of the venue, Aileen striding with her naturally confident gait alongside me. Her strong demeanor rubs off on me through association, and I edge my chin up an inch so I’m holding my head up just as high as she is.
Chapter 4
Jason
"The weather forecast predicts snow tonight."
Mr. Gideon scans over our little group, the expression on his face indicating he believed he had just shared a brilliant insight with us. He's a short, round man with a thick waist and very little hair left on his undersized head, which seemed too small for the rest of his round frame. He's my father's age, but he appears much older.
"That's putting it mildly," his associate Danny comments. "They’re calling for a full-blown blizzard."
Mr. Gideon nods in agreement. "So I've heard. Supposed to be the storm of all storms."
I'm standing between the two of them, my eyes flipping back and forth between them as if I was watching a tennis match. The weather. I can’t believe we’re talking about the fucking weather. Mr. Gideon is one of my father’s long-term associates, one he's conducted business with since he was my age. I'm sure they wouldn't be talking about the damned weather if my father was here.
"How are you getting back to New York?" Danny asks.
"Plane," I say, affixing a fake smile. "Tomorrow evening."
"Oh," Mr. Gideon exclaims. "That's going to be tough. It sounds like that's when the blizzard is supposed to be at its peak."
"Yes," Danny agrees. "I'm staying over an extra day. Wanted to give them some time to clear the roads."
Mr. Gideon nods again and turns to him. "You live close by?"
"Not far; it’s just a two-hour drive."
"Well, that's a lot closer than New York, for sure."
Mr. Gideon looks at me then, smiling like a docile grandfather.
"I have things to do," I tell them. "I need to get back. I'm sure it'll be fine. They always go overboard on these forecasts."
They both nod politely, but don't seem convinced.
As the two men continue their mindless chatter about the weather, my gaze drifts, scanning the hall glancing among those in attendance to see if there's anyone else I should be speaking to. Mr. Gideon was one of the first names on my list, but I think I've spent enough time making small talk with him for the night. I found out that he's sticking around for my presentation about our new IT security segment tomorrow, and that's all I needed from him tonight.
It dawns on me that the venue seems cold and sterile, with little to no decor. It looks more like one of those gigantic convention halls that need to be filled with massive displays and exhibits to look the least bit welcoming. Tonight there's none of that, only a crowd of dark suits and the occasional blotch of color added by a female attendee. Guests are milling around circular bar tables, sipping champagne and snacking on finger food. Waiters and hostess girls are meandering through the crowd carrying silver trays, collecting empty glasses and offering food and drinks to anyone who makes eye contact with them.
I've seen her doing her rounds a few times now. She never stopped by our table, but she's been in the vicinity. I don't know if that was by coincidence or if she's avoiding me. Not once did I catch her looking in my direction, but every time I see her, I regret what happened earlier because it was wrong on so many levels. It was wrong because it didn't reflect who I am. I'm not an arrogant asshole, and never before have I lost it like that because of something as stupid as a stain on my shirt. I hate what this pressure is doing to me. I hate that it makes me act like the kind of man I despise. It makes me weak, and I hate being weak.
And she's just so God damn pretty. Petite, lithe frame, slim hips. There's no cleavage bursting from her tidy uniform, but her chest is firm and pert. Her fair skin reminds me of porcelain, and it creates a vivid contrast against the shiny, thick, dark brown locks framing her oval face. But it's her eyes that captivate me. Their ice blue color cuts through me with unsettling intensity. It's like looking into the blazing sun – I don't think I could stand looking directly into them for too long without being blinded.
Nevertheless, it's all I want to do. I want to talk to her, to apologize for my asinine behavior. I want her to see me in a different light.
To tell the truth, there's a lot more I want to do to a girl like her, but this is neither the time nor the place to be fantasizing about such things. I need to focus. I need to remember what I'm here for. I'm not here to fuck up some small town beauty, but to represent my family's company.
Yet, when I see her walking at the other end of the hall toward the buffet with an empty tray in her hand, I stop fighting the urge to follow her. I politely excuse myself from the dull Mr. Gideon and his eager associate and make my way through the hall, nodding and smiling as I pass by a few familiar faces that I should be stopping to talk to rather than going after her.
I ignore the doubts worrying my mind and carry on, closing in on her as she puts her tray down at the buffet. She's exchanging words with one of her colleagues when I come to a halt next to her. The girl she's talking to, a tall blonde, notices me before she does. Her eyes widen in that same, intimidated way that I've seen on so many faces before. I know the effect I have on women, which is why it bothers me even more when I fuck it up like I did.
"Excuse me," I interrupt, raising my voice, watching as the clumsy brunette turns to look at me.
There it is. Icy blue eyes, ruby red lips – and a frown. She doesn't look at me the same way her friend does. There's no adoration, no intimidation, no yearning. No, she looks at me as if I was the ugliest person on the planet.
And her words stab me like a hot knife.
"It’s you."
Chapter 5
Lena
I love the way his eyebrows crinkle in reaction to my words. I don't know how he expected me to respond when he came up to me, but this certainly doesn't seem to be it.
“It’s him!” I hiss at Aileen, who is standing next to me.
"I see," she says in what almost sounds like a growl. "I hear you owe us some money," she snaps.
The man’s face contorts with confusion. "Excuse me?"
"My colleague dropped half of our catering food because of you!" Aileen accuses him. She's exaggerating, but I don't correct her because it would hurt our cause. We might as well make it sound worse than it actually was. Maybe it will make him feel guilty enough to pay us.
His eyes flit back and forth between Aileen and me, as if he's having trouble understanding what the hell is going on. Eventually, his gaze rests on me.
"I actually came over here to apologize to you. I'm sorry that happened," he says, sounding a lot different than he did earlier. Almost kind and friendly. "It was rude of me to yell at you like that, and I shouldn't have just left you there without helping you."
"Damn straight," Aileen hisses. I turn around to beckon her to calm down. After all, he's still a client, in a sense. If he complains about us because we bitched at him, it will hurt us far more than having a few ruined sandwiches. This venue might not want to hire us for one of their events again, and God knows we couldn't afford to lose its business.
"But I'm not paying you any money," the guy adds, causing me to turn back to him.
"Excuse me?" I finally raise my voice at him. "It was your fault! If you had been a gentleman and held the door open for me, we'd never have ended up in that-"
"You ruined my shirt," he interrupts me, unbuttoning his suit jacket in one swift motion to reveal the white shirt beneath. He obviously tried to get the stains out because there are still a few large wet spots on the shirt… the shirt that clings to what appears to be a muscular chest.
I shake my head to clear it. Why am I thinking about his chest? Heat is traveling to my cheeks, the flush betraying my cool demeanor. Why must I have such a pale complexion?
Why the hell must he be so damned attractive? Why couldn't I run into some average Joe who I wou
ldn’t give a second thought to? Why did I have to run into someone like this guy and ruin his shirt? He looks... surreal, like one of the characters from one of my books. I read and fantasize about men like him, tall men in form-fitting suits, with a body to die for and a dominating hand to guide me. Men who know what they want and how to get it.
My eyes linger on his wet shirt and the outline of the sinewy muscles sculpting his chest. I can't look away. He looks just like one of those characters. Like he could be...
"Your shirt is fine!" Aileen protests, her shrill voice tearing me away from my enticing thoughts.
Fuck, I didn't know women could get blue balls, too. It's been too long since I've been with a man, since I've felt another person's skin on mine. Too long since I've been rocked just the right way...
"Our food, on the other hand, is gone," Aileen continues. "We can't serve those sandwiches to anyone. How do you think this reflects on us? We're only serving half of what was ordered!"
I lift my head and am met by his dark gaze. Our eyes lock, and before I know it, I’m shrugging apologetically, tilting my head to the side and jerking the corners of my mouth up just a bit. He notices my gesture, but Aileen doesn't.
Thank God.
"Well, if your sandwiches are that valuable, I suggest you take better care of them," he responds to her continuing outburst, but now he’s smiling at me. "Instead of sprinting down the hall like a maniac."
I frown at him. "Like I said, it was just-"
"I don't want to hear it again," he cuts me off. "You're not going to blame this mishap on me."
He straightens up and turns to Aileen. "And I'm not paying for it."
Aileen scoffs angrily, as he turns and stalks away from us.
"Asshole!" she yells after him, and I hurry to raise my hands in an appeasing motion.
"Aileen, please!" I hiss. "What if he reports us?"
She glares at his back, her eyes burning with wild fury as she bites her lips.
