by Mika Jolie
“Fuck,” I mutter, feeling wobbly as I get to my feet and make my way to the bathroom. Charlotte Sloan is everything I should avoid. A risk I can’t take.
9
Charlotte
The Sloan Marketing offices are plush, which is a double-edged sword for the full-time workers. On one hand, it’s a comfortable place to be spending eight hours a day. On the other, though, sometimes it verges on too comfortable.
Now is one of those times, as I slump in a leather chair in the employee lounge, staring down an untouched cup of coffee and fantasizing about Chinese takeout. It’s a battle to just keep my eyes open. I’m technically still on the clock, but most of the others have already left for the day, and my last night of sleep was…unrestful, to say the least.
Mom showed up at my place unannounced when I was already in pajamas, somehow just coherent enough to get a cab to my apartment and start going off about Dad again. It’s been like this since their divorce. Dad gets a new girlfriend or wife, I become Mom’s security blanket. Daughter becomes the mother. It’s emotionally draining. But she’s my mother, and once upon a time, she used to be good at it.
But hey, yay to small victories. I ended up spending several hours patting her on the back and struggling to convince her not to make an appointment with the plastic surgeon until after she had sobered up (not exactly my idea of a relaxing night in, in case you’re wondering). By the time I got her into an Uber and I went to bed, it was almost three AM, and I wasn’t about to be late for work again. Shit, maybe Jagger is starting to rub off on me. Or maybe I just don’t want to give him any more ammunition against me. Yeah, that’s probably it.
The worst part about being forced to spend time with someone you don’t like is that you will inevitably begin noticing things that you do like about them…which just makes it that much harder to keep hating them.
As the days have marched on, I’ve gotten used to Jagger’s presence. And, much to my dismay, I’ve even come to enjoy it for what it is. The strange thing is that he hasn’t really changed. He’s still the same stuffy, clean-cut guy who rarely loosens up, but during our time on the McGowan account, I’ve begun to notice things about him that I never did before. The way he runs his hands through his hair when he’s working on a problem, for instance. Or the way he leans toward messiness in his work style, in spite of his impeccable clothing. But I think the thing that has surprised me the most is his artistic side.
Given his graphic design background, I suppose I should have been expecting that, but it caught me off guard nonetheless. Someone as stiff and uptight as Jagger wouldn’t have struck me as the type to have a creative side. Yet the poster he made for the Halftime Trust auction was undeniably gorgeous—all bright colors and natural forms. This is coming from someone whose knowledge of fine art begins and ends with what I learned back in middle school.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Looking over Jagger’s work—not the copywriting, but the visual and design aspects of the project—I find myself wondering what he was like back in school. Would he have been a different person if he had gone into the liberal arts rather than advertising?
There’s so much I don’t know about him. A part of me is strangely curious about the side of his personality that he keeps buried.
Is that why I took Garrett up on his offer back at the auction, even though I had no intention of going on a date that weekend?
Hell, is that why I went to the auction in the first place?
Partly. I had known Jagger would be there, and in the aftermath of my conversation with Katharine and visiting my mom, I wanted to see him. As much as I convinced myself I went there for distraction, to blow off my frustration with my parents, the reality was I wanted to see Jagger.
No. No way. I’m not the kind of person to pine after guys or give them that much thought when they aren’t around. I wouldn’t have said yes to Garrett just to see Jagger’s reaction, would I?
Would I?
The suddenness of the thought is enough to jolt me back up in my seat. Shit. I glance around, feeling a little self-conscious, before reaching for my coffee mug and taking a hasty sip.
“You okay?”
I turn around in my seat to see Jagger standing in the doorway of the lounge. I don’t like the way he’s eyeing me, with a knowing smirk on his face that makes me think of a hard-boiled detective who’s just cracked the case. His gorgeous blue eyes meet mine for a moment, driving a rush of butterflies in my stomach, and for a moment I can feel my cheeks heating up.
Realizing he’s waiting for me to respond, I get to my feet, my reply sticking in my throat before I manage to choke out, “Yeah, fine. I, ah…” I twist a lock of hair around my finger. “I was just getting a coffee. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I know the feeling,” he says, shifting his gaze away from me. There’s a beat of awkward silence that isn’t helped by the fact that most of the others at the agency have gone home for the day, leaving us virtually alone in the office. Even Dad is gone, which is a rarity for him, but he mentioned something about taking Ashleigh to a Broadway show, so I guess he had other priorities.
“Well, it’s been three days since we last met,” he says, straightening up and putting his hands in his pockets, “shall we get back to it? The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish.”
“You’re right.” I move to follow him back to the office where we’ve been working for the past couple weeks. It feels like it’s getting smaller every day, and if I’d known it would mean being stuck with a hunky coworker in a space not much bigger than a broom closet, I might have thought twice about fighting for this promotion.
Jeez, what the hell is this? One of those grocery store paperbacks?
On second thought…
Struggling to control the heat that I suddenly feel pooling between my legs, I remain stiff as I sit down across from Jagger and take another swig of my coffee.
We settle into our work in silence, both quietly resenting that we’re being forced to stay late, but neither of us willing to be the first to throw in the towel. I don’t think I’ve worked this hard since my dad hired me, and I’m willing to bet Jagger hasn’t, either.
We’ve been working our asses off ever since being assigned the McGowan account, each desperate to prove that we’re worthy of the promotion. We’re probably coming off as a couple of pretentious douchebags, but I can’t help it. It’s not even just about the promotion anymore.
Somewhere along the line, it became just as important for me to prove myself to Jagger, to show him that I’m more than just a spoiled daddy’s girl who lucked her way into a successful career. Why I suddenly care what he thinks isn’t a question I want to answer right now.
“A date?” he asks, and I nearly spit out my coffee in surprise, my cheeks flushing as I glance up at him.
Is he asking me out? some frantic part of me wonders. Another, deeper part thinks maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
I struggle to maintain my composure as I set down my mug and fold my hands in my lap. “Pardon?”
“A date,” Jagger repeats, raising his eyebrows at my sudden discomfort. “I was just wondering why you were so tired.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward and he adds, “I didn’t think you were capable of being this zonked at work.”
“Yeah, well…you thought wrong,” I tell him. “You want to know the last time I got a full eight hours of sleep? It was back in 2009.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
I laugh. “Fine. I don’t have a problem sleeping. As a matter of fact, there’s nothing I love better than staying in bed all day on a Saturday.”
He tilts his chin and stares at me for a beat. “Yeah?” It sounds like a question, as if he’s picturing me naked in bed.
My nipples harden under the fabric of my dress. It’s odd how our way of interacting has evolved over the past couple weeks. What once verged on a shouting match every time we conversed has evolved into a sort of game, the kind of witty ex
change that you might find in a regency novel instead of a New York marketing firm. To everyone around us, we probably look like we’re still bickering like five-year-olds, but I’ve started to have a little fun with it. Besides, it’s fun watching his blue eyes flash when I take a particularly bothersome jab.
“Yes,” I confirm. “Surprised?”
“A little.” He shakes his head, grinning as if he can’t believe he’s having this conversation. Finally, he meets my eyes. “So, no date, then?”
I swallow and then shake my head.
“Where’s the hockey player?”
“I don’t date, Jagger. I fuck men.”
“What are you running from?”
The truth is that I haven’t hooked up with anyone since Garrett. The sex was subpar. He’s the type of guy who thinks a big dick and bad reputation are enough to get a girl off, but it ended up proving enough of a distraction from my run-in with Jagger that night.
Not that I was imagining Jagger’s face instead of Garrett’s while we were fooling around or anything.
Okay, maybe he crossed my mind a few times. I can’t control where my mind ventures off to during sex.
Either way, Garrett hasn’t reached out since, and I haven’t put in much effort either. We were both after a one-night stand, and we got it. There’s no use pursuing something that will only turn out to be a waste of time, anyway. Not to mention that…
I stop my thought process before it goes down that slippery path. No, I’m not going to think about the possibility of Jagger and me. We all know how this song and dance goes. Everything’s great at the beginning until it’s not.
Sitting back in my chair, I warn him, “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Crane.”
We stare at each other for a while in silence, his stinging blue eyes scrutinizing me, as if he’s pushing me to admit my deepest, darkest secret, until he finally says, “Okay.”
That’s it. Just okay. The nonchalance of his response throws me off my axis, and it takes a moment for me to realize he’s moving on to our project. I suppose I can push if I want, but tonight’s not the night. I’ve had a long day and we have a lot of work ahead of us.
We spend the next hour continuing to fine-tune our strategy, and I watch with barely-disguised curiosity as he whips up a couple of sample graphics right then and there using nothing more than the Photoshop program on his laptop. Part of me is screaming to do something useful, but there’s something mesmerizing about the way he works, and I can’t help but watch as he pulls an image seemingly out of thin air.
Before I even know it, Jagger’s glancing at the clock. “Damn,” he says, stretching his arms out. “It’s already almost eight.”
“Seriously?” I check my watch and pinch the bridge of my nose. “God, I completely lost track of time.”
“We should probably head out for the day,” he suggests, raking a hand through his blond hair.
“Do my ears deceive me?” I tease. “Is the great Jagger Crane leaving the office already?”
He snorts. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life outside this company.”
“Is that so?” I don’t know why I keep needling him like this at every opportunity. Normally surly silence would do just fine, but I’m getting a kick out of giving him a hard time. Almost as much of a kick as he’s no doubt getting out of teasing me. “I’d be curious to know what you mean by that.”
“Art, for one thing.” He shuts his laptop. “Although in terms of practicality, there’s also the whole dinner issue. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”
“Shit, I take it back.” I pause for dramatic measure. “You definitely don’t have a life outside this building.”
“I’m the one suggesting we call it a night,” he protests.
An idea comes to me then, and I hold up a hand to stop him. “Okay, okay. Here’s an idea. How about we order some dinner here, work for another hour, and then call it quits? I want to at least have those buyer personas ready for tomorrow.”
I’m kidding myself if I think any of this work needs to get done by tomorrow morning, but maybe I just want to get ahead for once. Or maybe I just like the idea of another hour across from Jagger.
He considers for a moment. “That’s doable.”
“Great.” I pull out my phone and open the Door Dash app. “What’s your pleasure?”
His blue eyes sweep over me for a beat, so fast I can’t decide if I imagined it.
“I’m flexible,” he answers, voice gravelly.
Yeah, he totally just thought about going there with me.
We end up ordering from a Chinese place a few blocks north of the office building, and it doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. I put my feet up on the desk as I chow down, my eyes flickering occasionally up to my coworker in the hopes that he’ll be too focused on his food to notice me staring.
What’s going on in his head?
More importantly, why do I suddenly care so much?
The silence slowly becomes unbearable, and at last I speak up. “So,” I say, then take a sip of my water. “What’s your story?”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “My story?”
I shrug. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe I’m just trying to scope out the competition.”
“I’d better watch my back then,” he says, smirking, and watches me for a long moment. before adding, “I graduated college, did an internship in Boston at Montgomery Corporation. I worked for one other company before joining Sloan, and in my spare time I do some freelance work here and there.”
“Jeez, Jagger, what is this, a job interview?” I laugh. “Come on. What’s your story? Where are you from? What do you do? Aside from being a stick in the mud, that is.”
“Okay, okay.” He pauses, maybe deciding if he should open up to me. “I’m from Philadelphia. At least, originally,” he finally says. “I moved around a lot as a kid.” There’s another beat of silence. He appears on the verge of saying something else, telling me a little more about himself, then seems to think better of it.
“So where did you go for school?” I ask, hoping to get a little more out of him.
“Boston University. I studied fine art for my undergrad.”
I nod, smiling a little. Nothing I don’t know. “You have an MFA in Graphic Design from Vermont College of Fine Arts, right?”
He nods.
“How did you like living there?” God, getting information out of him feels like pulling teeth.
“Vermont is great. I lived there for a few years.”
This is new information at least. “What made you move to New York?”
Once again I can feel him mulling over my question. Or his own response. Finally he says, “To start my own graphic design company.”
“Really?” My eyes widen a little. “You wanted to be the head of your own company?”
“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I want to work in advertising for the rest of my life. I’ve always been more interested in art than business.”
“Art and business go hand in hand. Otherwise, you won’t be able to pay the bills.”
A smile touches his lips. “I’m aware of that.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Go for it,” he says, stirring his noodles.
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but—”
“Come on, Charlotte. Just say it.”
“Okay, okay. I was just wondering why you want this position if it’s not really what you’re interested in. I mean, I don’t see how working on the digital strategy team is going to get you any closer to your dream.”
“Hmm.” A small dent forms between his brows. “It’s one of those pipe dreams, and at this point I feel like I’m too far along in marketing to jump into graphic design.” He smirks at me. “So I guess you’re stuck fighting with me.”
“Damn,” I joke, “and here I was thinking I was about to talk
you out of this whole thing.”
“And what fun would that be?” Jagger shoots back, making me laugh. “So,” he says, setting his takeout box aside, “now it’s your turn. Why do you want the job? Actually, why did you want to work here in the first place? And don’t say it’s because your dad owns the company.”
“Oh?” I grin at him. “I thought that was the whole reason I was here.” Seeing the incredulity on his face, I shake my head, sighing. “Look, I get it’s probably easy to look at me and see a princess whose dad has given her a golden ticket into his company. But everything I’ve accomplished has been on my own merits.”
He eyes me curiously. “Dad doesn’t make it easy on you, huh?”
“Not one bit. If anything I have to work twice as hard as anyone else to get to the same place, just to prove that I deserve to be here.”
“I…” He hesitates. “I never thought of it like that.” He clears his throat. “So then what about your social life? Is that why you’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple days?”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
Do I want to go into this with Jagger right now?
If you had asked me a couple weeks ago, I would have told you were crazy, but now… I don’t know if it’s the fact that we’re here by ourselves, or, in spite of all our differences, we’ve grown closer together, but I feel like I can trust him with this. Call me crazy or whatever. “That’s a long story,” I tell him. “You sure you want to hear it?”
He crosses his arms. “I asked, didn’t I?”
“The truth is,” I tell him slowly, “I watched my mom’s marriage fall apart when I was young. Dad left her for a girl who was barely out of college…and then tossed her out as soon as she got too old for him. Mom was completely broken, and I don’t think she ever really got over it. If you think I’ve got a partying problem, you haven’t seen her. And that’s why I don’t ever want a relationship,” I add. “Because I don’t ever want to give a man enough power to destroy me.”
