by Lily Kate
Now that’s a man who knows how to listen. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, Boxer hadn’t pulled out his phone once. For that matter, neither had I, and I can’t remember the last time I’d gone so long without checking for an email, a text, or a phone call.
Our dinner arrives finally, drawing me out of my daydreams. I try very hard to wait until Mr. Hot Shot’s off the phone, but his lips show no signs of stopping, so I give up on politeness and dig into my food.
Normally, I’d wait patiently. Usually, this sort of behavior doesn’t bother me. I get it—I’m a busy woman, and I often field work calls on dates. But tonight, it’s extra obnoxious, and I can’t figure out why.
So, I tuck into the tiny piece of lasagna that costs forty-two dollars and polish it off in just a few minutes. It’s amazing how much eating I can accomplish when I don’t have to make polite conversation or worry about what’s stuck between my teeth.
I’m already finished when Mr. Hot Shot puts his hand over his mouthpiece, pushes his salmon toward me, and hisses at me. “Can you tell them I asked for no butter on this? Disgusting. Idiots.”
Before I can respond, he’s back on the phone, this time standing up and pacing to the back of his chair. I survey the salmon which, frankly, smells so appetizing I debate eating it for him. I haven’t eaten since lunch today, and that was hours ago.
Instead, I offer him a tight smile and excuse myself to the restroom. This is my third time to the bathroom since we’ve arrived; I’ve been using it as an excuse to stretch my legs. My date doesn’t notice. This time, however, it’s not an escape. I need to make a phone call.
Leaning against a wall in the quiet, mood-lit hallway, I dial Boxer’s number. My heart speeds up as the phone rings through once, twice... finally, he picks up before I pass out from hyperventilation.
“Hello?” He answers with a low, throaty tone.
My heart is stuttering. I’m at a loss for words. What am I doing calling so late?
“Jocelyn, are you there?”
“Yeah—yes, it’s me,” I stammer, closing my eyes and wishing I could pound my head against the wall. “I’m sorry to call at this hour. Are you busy?”
“Uh, a little.”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening, but I just wanted to check in with you,” I tell him. Sadly enough, though, this is the best conversation I’ve had all night, and a part of me wants to hold onto it for a second longer. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he says. “Like I mentioned, I’m a little occupied—”
“I am so sorry!” I exclaim, the impact of his words hitting me. He’s on a date. He must be on a date. How did I not see this coming? “Please tell your date I apologize for the interruption. I’ll call tomorrow.”
To my surprise, he lets out a bark of laughter. “My date?”
“Daddy, who is it?” The small voice registers from a distance. “Can you finish Rapunzel?”
“My date is anxious to continue our bedtime story,” Boxer says, his voice kind this time. “But I’m sure she accepts your apology. Let me ask.”
I can’t help but grin like an idiot into the phone as I listen to Boxer’s exchange with his daughter. He’s not on a date. This fact makes me ridiculously happy, almost giddy.
“Jocelyn says hello,” he tells Charli. “And she says sorry for interrupting our date.”
“Huh,” Charli says. “Is she nice?”
“Very.”
“Is she pretty?”
Boxer coughs, and then puts a hand over the mouthpiece. His answer is muffled, but it’s something about us being business friends and that in business, looks don’t matter.
“But is she pretty?” Charli’s relentless.
“Yes,” he says finally. “Very beautiful.”
In the background, my heart’s pounding again, thumping like a bass drum, vibrations rumbling through my body. At the same time, my thumb is inching toward the hang up button, thinking it might be best to end the awkwardness for both of us now. It’s mortifying! What else can he say with me on the line—No, darling, she’s quite an ugly toad?
“Hey, I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have called at this hour, it’s just—”
“Why did you call?”
I swallow, realizing that none of the answers I’m considering are anywhere in the ballpark of appropriate. Because I wanted to hear your voice? I can’t stop thinking about you? Because I’m on a date with an asshole, and I wish it was you instead?
“I just wanted to check on you. Personally,” I say. “I know it’s a busy time what with Duke retiring, and I know you’ll be bombarded by requests. Just wanted to stay top of mind.”
“Oh. Of course.”
It’s embarrassing, the way I can’t seem to speak like a normal person around him. Normally, I have no problem doing deals worth millions—with male or female clients. Yet here I am mumbling because the man does funny things to my hormones.
“Anyway, Cinderella shouldn’t be kept waiting,” I say. “Goodnight.”
“Rapunzel.”
“What?”
“We’re reading Rapunzel.”
“Right.”
“What if I call you tomorrow?” he says. “If you have specific questions we can talk then.”
“Perfect.”
“Hello?” The thin, high-pitched voice of a young girl interrupts. “Jocelyn? It’s me. Charli.”
“Hello, Charli.”
“Goodnight,” she says. “We’re busy.”
I laugh as Boxer apologizes into the phone. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” he says. “Goodnight.”
I bid the pair goodnight, my stomach fluttering at the image of the two of them tucked into bed together, a storybook on their lap. Never in a million years would I have believed that image would be more appealing than my current situation.
However, as I drag myself back out to the dining room, I find my date more heated than ever, his conversation taking a turn for the violent as he slams his coffee cup down on the table.
I sigh, and continue my march toward the front door. I’m still hungry, and the dessert menu looked decadent, but it’s going to have to wait. Even seven layer chocolate cake isn’t enough to convince me to stay.
Our waiter catches me on my way to the door. “Are you looking for something, ma’am?”
“Actually...” I turn, an idea popping into my head. “Can I get an order of the chocolate cake to go? Put it on our bill.”
“Of course,” he says. “Right away.”
When my order arrives a few minutes later, my date is sitting in his chair, ordering another glass of whiskey and not even realizing he’s alone.
I hug my dessert and my purse to my chest and climb into a waiting cab. Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all, I think. I spoke with Boxer and scored award-winning chocolate cake.
Things could be worse.
Chapter 9
Jocelyn
“So?” Lindsay drapes herself over my desk in the most dramatic fashion. “Was he dreamy?”
“Who?” I look up from the papers on my desk. “Oh, Mr. Hot Shot?”
“Uh oh.” Her starry-eyed grin turns into a look of mild annoyance. “Another loser, really?”
“I don’t even remember his first name. Know why?”
She gives a sympathetic cluck.
“The phone was glued to his ear. Super Glued.”
“I’m sorry, boss.”
“The waiter didn’t even flinch when I asked for the chocolate cake to go. He gave me an extra slice.”
“Yikes.”
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you more annoyed?” Lindsay’s eyebrows cinch together, suspicious. “You were humming this morning. I haven’t heard that since—well, since the day Billy Reider signed with you.”
“Oh...”
“Boxer?”
“What?”
“Did he sign with you?” she asks excitedly. “I know how badly you want that deal.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, not at all.” I let out a sigh of relief, thinking she’d read my thoughts. “He’s... undecided.”
“Aw, man.”
I straighten my papers. “But we had a nice little chat last night, and I think we have an understanding. He’s going to call today.”
“That’s great!” Lindsay perks right back up. “I’ll be on the lookout for his call and send it straight through.”
“Yes, please do that.” Even as she stands to leave, I find myself hoping the call comes through to my cell phone. He has the number, and I want him to be comfortable using it. “Patch it through even if I’m in a meeting.”
“You got it.” Lindsay pauses at the door and turns to face me. “Are you still working on that endorsement deal? The one for the undies? He’d be perfect for it.”
“Yes, which reminds me. Can you call around to some dentists? They’ll probably want to see if they can get that chipped tooth fixed first.”
“I’m on it,” she says, jotting down a reminder in the notebook at hand. “Oh, one more question. You’re not interested in a second date with Mr. Hot Shot, are you? He called this morning to ask.”
“He did?”
“Well, technically his secretary.”
“Oh, well...” I hate that I hesitate. Even as I remember Mr. Hot Shot’s horrible manners, I can’t help but think ahead to when I’m eighty. I’m not particularly thrilled about feeding a cat by myself. As much as I hate dating, I never wanted to end up alone. Wouldn’t having Mr. Hot Shot be better than nothing? I sigh and look to Lindsay. “What do you think?”
“Hell no!” she says. “You deserve better. But it sounds like you’re open to a date?”
“No, it’s best if I stay focused on work.”
“Let me set you up with someone I approve of.”
“No, Lindsay, really. I’m busy, and—”
“I have access to your calendar, boss. You’re not busy Friday night.”
“I am. It’s Lean Cuisine night.”
“That is every night,” she says. “Don’t make plans. You’re going out on Friday.”
Lindsay shuts the door behind her, and I’m tempted to dial her desk and order her not to do any such thing. But when I look to my cell phone, the second number—just under Lindsay’s—is Boxer’s. That’s sad. I need to meet more people.
Maybe a decent date, a connection with a genuine man, is just what I need. It doesn’t have to be complicated, and it doesn’t have to end in marriage. Who knows? Maybe I’ll have my first real fling. It’s been far too long since I’ve been touched by a man, brought to bed and made to feel like a woman. Maybe, if I can find someone who’ll fit the bill, it’ll help get my mind off Boxer.
Instead of dialing Lindsay, I check my texts and find a message there from Andy Rumpert.
May the best man win.
Instantly, I forget all about feeling like a woman. Andy Rumpert is not stealing the year’s biggest score from my roster. My blood burns hot, and I keep thumbing through my phone until I find the number for Boxer’s current agent.
I dial Duke, make small talk with him for a few minutes, and then beg him for an hour of his time. “You name the place,” I say, once he’s agreed. “I’m buying lunch.”
Chapter 10
Boxer
For the first time in a long while, I’ve got another female on my brain as I watch Charli bounce toward school, turning every three feet to wave back at me. And I’m not sure if I like it.
I can’t help but remember Jocelyn’s voice from last night—a bit strangled, almost shy. Normally, I don’t answer business calls when I’m reading Rapunzel, but something had pulled me to answer the phone. Even worse? I’m glad I did.
Even better? I’m supposed to call her today.
Best of all? She told me to call her, so I’m not left looking like the pathetic idiot who can’t keep his mind off the one woman he’s not supposed to touch.
Charli’s curls swish around her pink cheeks as she blows one final kiss before pushing through the front doors. Teachers are there, guiding her inside, but it’s this same routine every day. It takes us twelve minutes to say goodbye. Even her teachers have stopped trying to rush the process.
Once she’s tucked inside, I pull away from the curb and head onto the freeway. I have no place to be right now, which is a good thing because I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day. I only wish I knew why.
The phone rings over my Bluetooth, and it rings again. And again. And again.
My car slows to a stop in Los Angeles morning traffic, and I curse under my breath as Jocelyn’s voicemail kicks on. I didn’t plan for this, dammit. Do I leave a message? Is that too much? Why the hell am I overthinking this like a teenager?
“Hey, Jocelyn, just returning your call from last night,” I say on impulse. “Um... I should have some time today if you want to chat. Business. Uh—call me back.”
I hang up and let loose a stream of curses that’d burn Charli’s ears right from her head. I’ve had to tone down my language with a daughter at home, but in this moment, my old creative expletives come back in full force.
“Good talk,” I tell the empty car. “Real nice, Boxer.”
Chapter 11
Jocelyn
My chest constricts as my phone buzzes. It’s my cell phone. Boxer is calling my cell.
Try as I might, it’s hard not to read too much into it. Boxer has my office number, he’s called it before. Yet he chose to call my cell.
“Miss Jones?” A voice says my name before I can answer Boxer’s call.
My heart is beating a million miles an hour with every fiber of my being wanting to answer the phone. Instead, I look up at Duke, wipe my palms against my standard black dress, and reach out to shake his hand. “Duke. Thank you so much for meeting me here. On short notice, too.”
“You said you’re buying, didn’t you?” His voice is gruff. “I told you I’m only here for the food.”
“Great. Me too.”
He raises an eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “You don’t look like you eat all that much.”
I catch a glimpse of myself in the window, but it’s the same thing I see every day. Blonde hair tied back, button down black dress, high heels—tights if it’s chilly outside, bare legs if not. It’s a bare leg day today because, frankly, nylons make me itch.
The dress is always knee-length, no longer and no shorter, with just enough of a neckline to let me breathe. Small diamond studs are the only jewelry I wear besides the occasional watch or bracelet, and more often than not I keep my hair tied in a sleek bun. It’s just easier this way.
“Table for two,” I say, once Duke and I have made our way inside. “I tried to make a reservation, but they don’t take them.”
Duke grunts. “That’s because it’s Dougie’s.”
“How’d you ever hear about this place?” Duke has the same taste in restaurant decor as Boxer. Much like Gabe’s ice cream shack, this place is a dump. Crooked sign dangling across the door, sticky floors beneath our feet. “It’s... unique.”
“I’ve been coming here for years. Boxer and I meet here.”
The host, a guy in a stained shirt smelling of meat and grease, leads us to a corner table overlooking a back alley and a dumpster. The air, heavy with cooking odors, smells surprisingly delicious.
I had offered to take Duke to Moonshadow—a celeb-heavy bar overlooking the ocean in Malibu—a place meant to impress. Or Sugarfish, the best sushi in town. Or Nobu, a combination of sushi and Malibu. But no, Duke choose a hole in the wall that even rats had abandoned for greener pastures.
“Nice place, huh?” Duke gestures toward peeling walls, a grimy floor that, upon closer inspection, has actually been washed clean. It’s not as dirty as it first seemed, it’s just ancient. “Not much on the eyes, but wait until you try the food.”
“I can’t wait,” I lie, wondering if I’ve stashed Pepto-Bismol in my purse. I suspect one bite of meat from this place will have me hugging the t
oilet in ways I haven’t hugged it since college.
Then, my stomach growls.
“Glad you brought your appetite,” Duke says with a smile. “I respect a woman with an appetite.”
“That’s me,” I grimace. I debate having Lindsay cancel the rest of my afternoon meetings so I can be at home to digest this meal in peace. “Bottomless pit.”
“Let’s get the business crap out of the way. When the food arrives, sorry, lady, but I’m going to eat in silence.”
“I’m going to cut to the chase,” I say. “I want Boxer.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says, eyeing me over two sweating glasses of water. “He’s a great client.”
“I imagine so, and I asked you here to go over a few questions.”
“Well, I figured. I’m not an idiot.” Duke’s got hair coming from his nose, his ears, the top of his t-shirt—everywhere except his head, which is bald. “You want my advice about how to rope Boxer onto your team?”
“Yes.”
There’s something about this man that almost reminds me of Boxer. An older, less attractive Boxer—maybe his great-grandfather once removed. There’s a playfulness in Duke’s eyes, an understated taste in accessories and food.
Duke’s got money, that much is clear. He’s got status and a bit of fame, at least in our industry, but he flies under the radar. Just like Landon Boxer.
“Well, I have a big nugget of advice for you,” Duke says, pausing mid-thought to put an order in with the same server who acted as the host. He orders for me, too, without asking. “Listen, Miss Jones.”
I nod and inch my chair forward.
“Give up now, doll.” Duke crosses his arms and offers a polite smile. “You and Boxer aren’t a good match.”
“Excuse me?” His words surprise me, and I struggle for patience as I process them. “With all due respect, I’m not quitting. I didn’t ask you here so that you could tell me to give up.”
“What’d you ask me here for, then?”
“Your advice.”
“I’m advising you to let it go. Let him go.”
“Let’s say I bite. Why are we not a good match?”
