by Cassie Cross
The idiot rent-a-cop just stands there looking panicked.
“Get her a towel,” I say, annoyed.
“I don’t have one,” he replies, sliding his jacket off his shoulders. “Just this.” He reaches out and plants the jacket right on Alexa’s chest, pressing his palm in between her breasts.
I know he’s just an inept kid, but he’s putting his hands all over her without her permission. I reach out and grab his wrist. “Get your fu-”
“Take your hands off my tits, please,” Alexa says, pressing the jacket against her chest as I pull the kid’s hand away. She blots at the stain as best she can, but it’s not really helping.
“I’m sorry, I-”
She shakes her head, and hands the jacket back. “Where’s the elevator?”
“Over there,” he says bashfully, pointing to the right side of the lobby.
“Thanks,” she replies, then looks at me. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”
She walks with a quick clip to the elevator, then presses the button.
“I can take you home to change. My car’s out back,” I offer.
She shakes her head. “I already spilled coffee on my shirt once this morning, and nearly got here late because I stopped to get a new one. I guess I’m just meant to take this meeting with dark roast all over me.”
The elevator dings, and we step inside. Alexa tells the attendant who we’re here to see, and he presses the button for the penthouse. Neither one of us talks as we go up. I’m not sure what to say anyway, especially not with an audience.
When the doors open, Alice Buchanan is standing with her hands on her hips, annoyed.
“One minute late,” she says, looking at her watch before she eyes the stain on Alexa’s shirt. “Time that was certainly not spent making yourself presentable.”
Alexa gives her a kind smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Buchanan,” she says brightly. “I might be clumsy with my coffee, but I’m amazing when it comes to party planning. Want to see what I’ve worked up for your daughter’s sweet sixteenth?”
Alice narrows her eyes, then takes a step back. “Come in,” she says reluctantly.
Alexa and I follow her inside.
3
Alexa
When I get back to my apartment, Marin is sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table. She’s reading the New York Times Business section with a bottle of water balanced on her knee.
“Read the newspaper online like a decent millennial,” I say as I drop my bag on the floor. “If you get ink smudges on my couch, I will kill you.”
Her curly blonde hair fans across the overstuffed pillows she’s propped on, and she turns her head in my direction. “You’ll forgive the ink smudges when you see the stack of celebratory chocolate chip cookies I put on the kitchen counter.”
“You baked?”
She scoffs. “I passed by Captain Cookie on my way over.”
“How did you know we’d need celebratory cookies?” I ask, because her level of faith in me is ridiculous, and I could’ve easily bombed this one. I nearly did.
“Because you’re you and you’re amazing under pressure,” she tells me. “I didn’t pass this off on you because I hate Alice Buchanan, I passed it off because she makes me nervous, and I didn’t think I’d hold up under that…look. You? No problem.”
Well, that’s a confidence booster I could’ve used earlier this morning.
Marin turns around and gets a glimpse of me for the first time since I walked through the door.
“Oh,” she says, taking in the dried-up coffee stain smattered across my boobs. A few worry lines crinkle the skin between her brows. “We do need celebratory cookies, don’t we?”
“Yes,” I reply as I head into the kitchen and grab a cookie. “We got the job. She hired security on her own though, so my brilliant idea of asking Hunter to give us a discount is shot to hell. That took away a huge chunk from our budget, but I think we can get the party done right with some financial creativity on our part.”
“Damn,” Marin replies under her breath, shaking her head. Then she focuses right on my shirt again. “Explain the stain, then. Did you go to the meeting like that?”
I glare at her, but there isn’t much heat behind it as I plop down next to her on the couch.
“I spilled coffee on myself on my way to the meeting, stopped at Target and got a new shirt, then spilled coffee on it again. Well, technically I didn’t, the doorman was a little clumsy-”
She tosses a throw pillow at me, laughing. “I can’t believe you went and got another coffee after you’d already spilled one on yourself. Tempt fate much?”
I tuck the pillow under my arm and take a bite of my cookie. “I, uh…I technically didn’t buy another coffee, I stole someone else’s.”
Marin’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Ew.”
“The guy Hunter put on this party was there. It was his, uh…Jesse.”
Marin thinks on that for a moment, then her eyes get wide. “Jesse? This is something Jesse?”
“Can we not talk about one of the more embarrassing moments of my adult life, please?” Sometimes, during sleepless nights, my traitor brain likes to conjure up that moment in time and replay it over and over again in excruciating detail. The way my heart thudded in my chest when I put myself out there, the idiotic hope that kept butterflies slamming against my stomach until Jesse gave me that kind smile and said, “I’m sorry, Alexa. I—”
Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl into a hole.
“I’m sorry. Was it weird having to work with him? Want me to tag in? I could—”
“No,” I sigh. “It’s fine. He was nice, and it wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been. It’s gonna be okay.”
“If you’d said something, I would’ve gone instead,” she says, looking upset that she unwittingly let me get sucked into a whirlwind of past embarrassment.
“I didn’t find out until this morning, when it was too late. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked you to take my place anyway. You know that’s not my style.”
She looks like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“It’s fine,” I say, reaching over and patting her hand. “It honed my business skills. If I can stay on point and get us a job wearing a coffee-stained shirt while having to work with an ex-crush, all while dealing with arguably the world’s most curt and rude woman? Nothing can stop me.”
That makes Marin laugh. “She’s pretty terrible, isn’t she?”
My eyes widen. “Oh yeah.”
“What’d she say about the shirt?”
I look down at the stain, thinking I might not bother washing it after all. Maybe I’ll keep it as-is, as a badge of honor or something. “She said that even though I ruined it, she really liked the cut and fit. She wanted to know where I got it.”
“She wouldn’t be caught dead at Target.”
“I told her I bought it at the Red Circle Boutique.”
Marin laughs so hard her water bottle falls off her knee.
“I figured it was a pity compliment and she’d never go looking to get one like it anyway.”
“Good call. It does look great on you.”
“Thanks,” I sigh. “But not if I eat ten more of those cookies, and I really want to do that right now.”
“Why don’t you bring our sketches over?” she says, tucking her legs underneath her. “We might as well start working on the budget now.”
Ugh, the budget. I’ve been trying not to think about how I’m going to make this party as amazing as I’d originally planned with nearly half the money I’d planned to do it with.
I spread out my portfolio on the coffee table, and Marin reaches for a fabric sample. “We have some dupes of this that’s not as high-quality, but that doesn’t matter so much to teenagers. They’re gonna be dancing and spiking the punch and screwing around anyway.”
Good point. With a long-suffering sigh, I grab my tablet and delete the top five venues we’d chosen, leaving a list of less
-desirable candidates.
“Hey,” Marin says with a smile. “We’ll make it work.”
I nod. We’re gonna have to.
4
Jesse
Sweat drips down my brow, stinging my eyes, but I keep up my rhythm. Blow after blow, left-right-left. My knuckles throb and ache, but I can’t stop.
“What’d that punching bag do to you?”
Hunter’s looking at me from where he stands on the other end of the mat, right below the Principal Security Services that’s painted across the cinderblock gym wall behind him. It’s a great reminder that as pissed off as I am, he is my boss, and this is his building, and I need to keep my attitude in check if I want to have a job in the morning.
Ever since he busted me down to teen birthday party duty, there’s this anger in me that I just can’t shake. I imagine the Everlast logo is his face and get a few more swings in.
“You still pissed?” Hunter asks, crossing his arms over his chest, raising his brow as if he’s daring me to say yes.
I take a deep breath, trying to let go of my irritation. “Nope,” I say easily, then steady the bag.
“How’d the meeting go?”
“It went fine.” I slide my hands out of my gloves. “It’s a low-key, nothing job. That’s why you put me on it, isn’t it?” Judging by the smirk on Hunter’s face, I’m not doing a great job at sounding aloof. Oh well.
“It’s the kind of job you need to be on right now, until you deal with your shit,” he challenges.
He never mentions that night two months ago when my “shit” was on stunning display for him to see. I don’t like thinking about it, but it follows me around. I can’t shake it, and he’s probably right. I have no business being in the field until I learn how to deal with the baggage that comes along with this job. I’m not going to quit, but I’m not sure what to do next.
Hunter seems to think that sidelining me into less dangerous jobs is the way to go, but the only thing that’s accomplished so far is pissing me off.
“My personal life isn’t any of your business,” I tell him. “Putting me on a job with your girlfriend’s best friend isn’t going to change that.”
He steps onto the mat and starts stretching his arms, like he’s prepping to spar with me. As if that’s a good idea. At all.
“I put you on that job because you’re the best fit for it right now. And even though your personal life isn’t my business, your well-being is. Until you prove to me that you can handle this job and everything that comes along with it, I’m not putting you back out there.”
“How do I prove that to you?” I ask. I’m genuinely at a loss. I’m good at my job—amazing, really. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to prove here.
“Stop being a hermit,” he replies. “It’s not healthy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re one to talk. You weren’t any better than me before you met Haley.”
“That should tell you that I know what I’m talking about here. Find someone you can talk to about your day. Jesse, I’m not telling you to go out and get a girlfriend. Just find a friend you can confide in. It’s amazing how much that can help clear out…” he says, tapping on his forehead, “everything that’s going on in here.”
Easier said than done.
5
Alexa
The day after our meeting with Alice Buchanan, I sit at my desk in the corner of my apartment, take a deep breath, and dial Jesse’s number. He doesn’t pick up, which is kind of a relief. I’m trying to work with him like an adult, but the embarrassment runs deep. If we could handle the duration of this project through voicemails and not having to see each other face-to-face, that would be amazing.
After his greeting plays—god his voice is so sexy—I ask him to get back to me with a time we can get together to go over my short list of venues. It’s so important—to my business and to Mrs. Buchanan—that this party go as seamlessly as possible that I’m anxious to get everything nailed down, especially since we’re working on a rush. Plus, Mrs. Buchanan specifically told me she wanted Jesse’s approval on the venue before I booked, so I can’t move forward with anything until I know exactly where this party is going to be.
It takes him a day and a half and twelve unreturned messages to finally pick up his phone, and when he does, I’m livid. Somehow I manage to be incredibly polite to him, even though I want to rip his gorgeous head off.
We agree to meet at a coffee shop a block away from the venue that’s first on my list. I figure we’ll get a drink and take a walk to size up the places. I’ll be civil and he’ll be charming, and we’ll agree on a place that makes everyone happy.
That’s how it’s supposed to work, at least.
What really happens is that I spend the entire morning finishing up some table toppers for Hayley’s wedding, and by the time I show up at the cafe, I’m frantic, disheveled, and covered in glue. I manage to make it before Jesse does, though, so I consider that a win.
Because I look like I basically escaped from crafting hell, of course Jesse shows up wearing a button-down, a blazer, and jeans that look like they were custom made for him, wow. I shake my head, realizing that I need to stop noticing all of his…Jesse-ness because he’s made it quite clear that nothing’s ever gonna happen between us.
I smile at him, back straight in my seat as I carefully fan out the specs for each venue on the table in front of me.
“Hey,” he says breezily, looking around. Like he wants to look at anyone but me. Be anywhere but here.
The feeling is mutual, but at least I have the decency to hide it.
“You want some coffee?” he asks.
“No, thank you.” I really would like some coffee, but I’m not interested in anything that coffee would entail, like sitting here chatting and taking my time. I want to get this over with and get the hell out of here. I want to go back to my life and not think about him until I have to.
“I’m just gonna…” he says, pointing at the register. Great.
I nod and give him what I hope is a very polite smile. He walks over to the barista and looks at the menu while I look at his ass. He has such a nice ass. Why does he have to have such a nice ass? Ugh.
The barista hands him his coffee, and he makes his way back over to me.
“So,” he says, then takes a sip. “What did you want to talk about?”
I bite back a sigh of annoyance. He’s acting like we didn’t discuss this on the phone already. “The venues,” I reply, pushing the papers toward him.
“These them?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He gives each paper a once-over. “No,” he says to the first one, then flips it over. “There’s no way to secure the perimeter there.” He looks at the next one. “Same here.” The third, “This is no good, either.”
A painful knot rises in my throat, and I do my best to swallow my tears. These are the best places we could afford. Anything else is either out of my price range or too awful to consider. As-is, it’s gonna be tough to get one of these places on short notice.
“Don’t you have anything else?”
“No,” I say, my voice wavering. “These are the best that are in my price range. I can’t afford anything else because half my budget is being taken up by security.”
“That’s not my problem,” he replies. “Look, I’ve got a lot riding on this job. There can’t be any holes in security. It has to be perfect. For that I need the perfect building. These won’t cut it.”
“You think I don’t have a lot riding on this job?” I try and fail to control the rapidly growing hysteria that’s making my heart pummel against my ribs. “My business is still getting off the ground…everything depends on this. You have to work with me here.”
“I can’t work with this,” he says calmly, folding his arms across his chest. “Find something better.”
I don’t want to make a scene in this cafe because I’d really like to be able to show my face in here again. It takes everything i
n me not to yell, but I manage. “Is there a reason you’re being such an asshole?”
I had my qualms about working with him, but I’m an adult and a professional, and I figured that we could get this done with minimal awkwardness. But I wasn’t counting on him being a completely immovable force when it came to something so simple as booking a venue. I need this to work out, but in order for that to happen, he has to give a little.
“I’m not being an asshole,” he replies defensively. “I’m just looking out for the well-being of my client. Of our client.”
“There’s looking out for someone’s well-being, and then there’s being an asshole about it, Jesse. You didn’t offer to work with me on finding a suitable place or offer any compromises. You just…shut me down. I don’t know if you’re having a bad day or if this has something to do with me. I’ve done everything I can to make this as not awkward as possible, but you’re not making it very easy on me.”
The appointment reminder beeps on my phone, and I pull it out of my purse. I forgot I was supposed to meet up with Hayley to do some more stuff for the wedding, and even though I need to get this venue booked yesterday, maybe taking a breather is for the best.
I gather up my papers and blink back the frustrated tears in my eyes. “Just…just forget it,” I say, shoving the spec sheets back into my bag. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Alexa,” he says quietly and actually manages to look sorry.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell him. Then I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk out the door.
“These are gorgeous,” Hayley says as she looks at the centerpieces I made for the wedding. “Just what I wanted.”
“Rustic chic,” I say with a hint of teasing, given the back and forth we’d had about theme when I first offered to design the wedding for her as a gift.
She gives me a wry smile. “You know, I think you might be successful at this party planning thing after all.”
