‘I really need to meet you in person.’
She could’ve lived anywhere on earth, but she lived here, in the same city I did. I didn’t know what part of San Francisco she lived or worked in, but she’d mentioned enough local businesses and events to let me know she was inside the city or somewhere just over a bridge from here.
‘I thought we’d gone over this. Besides, you’d have to contact my boss, and she’d probably say no. Nothing personal. It’s company policy. Too much danger of one of the people thinking it’s not a work-related meeting, or of both people knowing it’s not a work-related meeting, if you know what I mean.’
Damn it. ‘Does that sort of thing happen frequently?’
‘Not a lot. Just a few times.’
‘Has it ever happened to you?’ Did I really just ask her that?
‘No.’
‘Would you’ Shit. What was I doing? ‘Sorry. Finger slip.’
‘What were you going to ask?’
Something I shouldn’t. ‘Forgot what we were discussing.’
‘Scroll up and reread our conversation.’
‘It wasn’t important.’ I pressed send and immediately started typing again. ‘Okay, it was.’
‘You’re a confusing man.’
I smiled. ‘Very true.’ My fingers tapped the keys rapidly, but not hard enough to make any words appear. Because I didn’t know what to write. Screw it. ‘I’d really like to meet you. No strings, no bosses. Maybe tomorrow?’
I waited a while for her to respond. Enough time to sit back in my chair and worry I’d crossed the line again.
‘Why?’
Good question. Simple answer—because I was an idiot. Harder answer—because I needed to know if what I was feeling was real or just an illusion, something brought about by a smart, charismatic woman who would have absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. This was all so foreign to me, but I couldn’t deny it was happening.
Why? Because if we met, maybe I would get an answer. I would know if our chemistry was only an effect of our anonymity or if it was something more. Because I had to know if what my brother had said was possible.
I picked up my phone and dialed her number before I could convince myself not to.
“Hello?” I don’t know why she sounded so different—she hadn’t changed, I had. My perceptions, at least.
“Sira?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was hesitant, which it probably should be. We’d only spoken a few times and the last time had ended with me admitting I was married. It made sense for her to be a little battle shy.
“I know there are lines, boundaries to a working relationship, and I’ve always stayed within them. Always. I want you to tell me if I ever step too far across them or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Because I would like our relationship to continue in whatever manner it can.”
“Wow,” she said after a moment. “You speak a lot faster than you type.”
I sat up in my chair. “I’m about to say something that could be grossly inappropriate. Therefore, I want to be absolutely sure before I start that, if you were to feel uncomfortable—in any way—you would tell me. At that point, I would immediately stop the discussion and promise to never mention it again.”
Her silence wasn’t encouraging, but I would wait, living with a mind full of turmoil and doubt, for as long as was necessary.
“Okay.”
I let out a breath. “You asked me why I wanted to meet you. And my answer is because I don’t type well enough, and I want to get to know you more than is possible with chat boxes and emails and phones.”
“You’re my client, Hayden.”
“I realize that, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t care.”
“You’re married.”
“I realize that too, and I do care about that.” Which was the reason I was currently feeling nauseous. Because of a contract built on nothing but respect—no love, no passion, just respect. “My marriage is complicated. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted to hide from you, but maybe I should have brought it up sooner, or at least before I started having feelings for you.” I heard a long sigh.
“What kind of feelings?”
“I’m not sure, which is why I want to meet.” My heart hadn’t pounded like this since my father was alive. Fear. This was outright fear because this was something I couldn’t control, couldn’t maneuver or affect. This was another person having control over me, her thoughts more important than my own.
“How many feelings for me?” she asked.
“I’m hesitant to put a number to them because I’m not sure how that would be done. But I’m comfortable with saying ‘some.’”
“‘Some’ isn’t good. Neither is ‘any’ or ‘one.’ Those aren’t good either.”
“I know, but knowing that doesn’t make them any less real. Or less confusing.” I released my grip on the arm of my chair, stretching my fingers just so I had something to focus on other than waiting for her response. It didn’t work—my fingers’ movement had no effect on my anxiety level. “If we met, just once, I’d be able to understand them better. Maybe they’d turn out to be nothing. But if we never meet, then I’ll never know. And I would really, really like to know.” To get past the wondering, hoping, fantasizing stage. Just end it without anyone getting hurt.
“What if they don’t turn out to be nothing? What then, Hayden? I’m not going to break up your marriage.”
“You don’t need to. It’s already irreparably broken. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be asking you for anything.”
“It’s still not good.”
“For what reason?” I kept my voice calm, even though it was a struggle. She hadn’t said no yet. She’d said a lot of other things, but not ‘no.’ What if there was a chance that she felt the same? That I wasn’t alone in this. That I wasn’t imagining it.
She cleared her throat. “I like my job and would enjoy keeping it.”
“So if we were to meet in a social environment, you would lose your job?”
“It depends.”
“On…?” I understood her hesitancy but wished it wasn’t there. I was putting myself on the line, admitting to something that shouldn’t be, and all I wanted was for her to be honest, as well. Whatever the answer.
“If you were to make a complaint...”
“No matter what happens, I’ll never complain about you.”
“Even if you don’t, I wouldn’t be able to work with you anymore.”
“What if I hired you full-time and kept my mouth shut?”
“Then you’d be a liar,” she snapped. “And I’d be a whore.”
I flinched back in my chair. “Whoa! That’s not at all what I meant. Not even a tiny bit. All I’m trying to do is find a solution. I’m not asking for more than a meeting.” Right now. After a moment, I asked, “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“What if we’d met somewhere else, in one of those chat rooms or something and you didn’t work for me? Would you agree to meet me for dinner?”
“In this scenario, are you married?”
“Barely.” In this scenario or not. “We’ve both admitted that it’s over, but it’s still not public record. Would you say yes to dinner?”
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper, like a secret she didn’t want to share or admit to. So I knew neither of us was speaking hypothetically anymore.
I sighed, feeling unbelievably selfish, and unbelievably happy, and unbelievably guilty all at the same time.
“I never want to hurt you or create any problems for you.”
“Too late.”
“Have I hurt you?”
“No, but you’ve created a lot of problems.”
“Ah, well then, I—”
“Because I want to meet you, too. And that’s not good.”
I couldn’t have disagreed more. It was very good. All I had to do now was find a way to make the hypotheti
cal into something real.
“I’d like to meet you, talk to you in person. That’s all. I have zero intention of doing anything else. We would just be two people who get along, getting along face-to-face. Is that possible?”
“No.”
I sighed. I was so used to getting my way, being able to logically argue my point until the other person had no choice but to agree. This wasn’t business, though. This was more personal, more… me. That’s what made it so different and so frightening.
“How would meeting me be any worse than autocorrect and typos?”
“To err is human, Hayden,” she said wistfully.
So is to love.
12
Andi
“Are we there yet?” I asked Emilia about two minutes into our jog. By ‘jog,’ I mean twenty feet of traditional jogging followed by thirty feet of dragging my feet while we power-walked. And by ‘power-walk,’ I mean walk slowly with bent elbows and fisted hands.
“Not even close. So you gonna tell me what happened or what?”
“Nothing, why?” Oh, shit. Rob must have told her about being blackmailed and that I was supposed to get him out of it. I still hadn’t decided what to do. Every time Hayden sent me something about Inspex, I felt like I needed to throw up. What information could I possibly give Rob that wouldn’t do massive damage to Hayden’s project?
Or maybe Emilia had spoken to Hayden, and he’d told her he was feeling uncomfortable or that he needed to switch to a more professional assistant, a smart one. Totally logical, because right now, I didn’t qualify.
“Well, something happened, because up until two seconds ago, your smile was huge. And don’t blame the sunlight again.”
Oh. I blew out a breath, even heavier than the last few. I hated keeping things from her, but I knew how badly she would freak out if I told her about the conversation I’d had with her husband. Plus, that wasn’t what I’d been smiling about. “Runner’s high just wore off.”
“We’ve gone about five hundred feet.” True, but early in the morning in Golden Gate Park, weaving in and out and around all the other runners tripled the actual distance traveled.
I stalled until I knew she wasn’t going to let me out of it. “Someone messaged me.” And I shouldn’t be thinking about it or re-reading it in my mind obsessively.
“Are you sexting with someone? I can’t get Rob to do that with me. He claims it’s something about getting a hard-on at work, but what’s the point of having your own firm if you can’t get a hard-on whenever you want, right?” Her smile was tight from the effort we were putting into our twice-a-week torture run.
“I agree with Rob. Not because of the hard-on thing, but because I know how easy it is for other people to find that stuff online.” I thought of Hayden’s last message—‘Just looked up how much I pay you an hour. To save money and time, from now on, I’m going to leave all the vowels out of my texts. Thx :)’ Then the next: ‘Btw yr gttng mr mny nw.’ It had taken me a minute to try all the possible vowel combinations. Once I’d figured it out, I thanked him for the raise.
“This one was a regular message,” I said. “But it was…cute.”
“What the hell? Cute? Andi Clark used the word ‘cute.’ Definite sign of the apocalypse.”
“I seriously hope you’re wrong. No way could we outrun a zombie yet.” I wiped my hands over my face—hiding and trying to wipe off any sign of happiness that might be on there. “Ugh. I’m stupid-smiling about someone I have no right to stupid-smile over.”
“Why not?”
“I have a confession.”
“Say two Hail Marys and call me in the morning.”
“I’d rather have two Bloody Marys and call you in the morning.” I slowed down and stepped off the path so we wouldn’t get trampled by other runners—not that I’d really consider us runners, of course. But we were trying.
She followed me, taking her water bottle out of the clip at her waist. “Confess quickly, before my heart rate goes back to sitting-on-the-couch level.”
“I should’ve told you right away, but I wasn’t sure what it meant or if it meant anything.”
“Yikes, Andi is wearing her serious face today. What’s up?”
We rested while I considered how to tell her about Hayden. “I think I screwed up again.”
Emilia’s body tightened. “In what way?” I couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. She had every reason to be. When I screwed up, I screwed up big. And she always felt obligated to find a solution. It wasn’t what I wanted, and I’d told Emilia countless times not to do it, but it always happened anyway. Which might be one of the reasons why I waited so long to tell her anything. But this one could affect her business, so I had to come clean. At least partially. Kind of like when you take a shower but don’t wash your hair—that kind of coming clean.
“A line may have been crossed with one of my clients.”
“What kind of line?” she asked after a long sigh. Probably more from needing oxygen after our attempted run than from frustration with me, but I wouldn’t put money on it.
“Nothing physical, but we get along a bit too well. Professionally speaking.”
“Well, is it harmless workplace-type flirting, men-and-women-can’t-ever-be-friends kind of thing, or something more serious?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know about his side, but on mine, it’s like flirting-with-intent.”
“And he flirts back?”
“Yeah, but probably without intent. Or at least not the same intent.” Although in our last actual conversation, he’d pretty much put it out there—he had ‘some’ feelings for me. But he didn’t specify that they were romantic, so I’d convinced myself they were more curious than anything else. Like how I wondered what having a penis would be like—I didn’t actually want to have one because there were way too many downsides, but I was still curious and would want to play with it a little. Ugh. Bad example.
“Which client are we talking about?”
“I don’t want to tell you. Not until I’ve figured it out.”
“How long is that going to take? Because patience isn’t my thing.”
“I’ve noticed. But I don’t want to get him in trouble, and you need the challenge.”
“I drank a kale and avocado smoothie for breakfast this morning—there’s no greater challenge than that.” She nodded toward the path and, after I grudgingly agreed, we started running again. “Just tell me if it’s the sex toy salesman.”
“It’s not the sex toy salesman. Happy?”
“Not as happy as you’d be if it was the sex toy salesman, but whatever.” She laughed. “Okay, before I take the mystery man off your book, you should ask him if whatever you’re thinking is reciprocated.”
I stopped again, but not because I was trying to get out of the run. “Ask him? That’s the worst idea ever.” Especially because I’d be thinking about playing with his penis.
“Not outright, but not like we’re in junior high either. We’re adults, and adults can deal with this stuff honestly yet tactfully.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me to continue. “Look, you need as many clients as possible. So unless you’re absolutely sure one or both of you can’t handle it, then you should figure out how to deal with it. Then the question becomes: If he’s not romantically interested in you, can you keep your hands on your keyboard and out of your pants?” She laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Em!”
“Yes, it is. Because I’ve never seen you like this before, and it’s making my day.”
I smacked her shoulder.
“Come on, this is you, Andi. You’re smart and a great person. You’d never do anything horribly inappropriate. But since I don’t know him, if you find out for sure that he’s flirting-with-intent back, then I’ll assign him to another VA. But I don’t want to if it’s all in your head.”
Was it? Was it all in my head? Maybe. Possibly. Probably. Even if it weren’t, nothing would happen other than me feeling a little uncomfortable while I
worked with him. If we could continue working together.
“Second confession,” I said. “He wants to meet. He knows we’re not allowed unless he goes through you. But he didn’t ask you—he asked me. So that implies it’s social, right?”
She glanced at me quickly before refocusing on the path ahead. “Well, the good news is that just because a guy wants to see a woman socially, she isn’t actually required to say yes. We won that right a couple years ago. If he hasn’t realized that and takes it badly, then I’ll take him off your book and everyone else’s. We don’t need those kinds of clients.”
“He’s not like that. I don’t think he would take it badly. He’d probably do the opposite—apologize and be all noble and stuff. That’s the problem…or one of them.”
I couldn’t even refer to our jog as power-walking anymore. It was more like slow-motion walking. Until Emilia figured it out and yanked my arm to make me speed up.
“I changed my mind. He sounds awesome, and you just stupid-smiled about him. So right after you fill Sara in on whatever work you’ve been doing for him, I’ll take him off your book and put him on hers. And then you’ll be free to go and get him.”
“I can’t do that! Because of the third thing, which is actually the thing I should’ve started with because it’s the biggest, most important, and the reason I’m a horrible person for even thinking about him in that way.” I paused, concentrating on taking in the air I’d missed during my rant. Plus, admitting you’re a terrible person and admitting why you’re a terrible person are two entirely different things—one takes a lot more courage than the other. “He’s married.”
“Wait.” She stopped running and looked at me with wide eyes. “Have we been talking about Hayden Bennett this whole time?”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her off the path before she got us run over. “Maybe.”
“It is! Oh man, can you imagine Hayden Bennett selling sex toys?”
Virtually Impossible (Once and Forever #2) Page 9
