by Alexis James
My heart begins to pound a nervous staccato as I begin to type.
Ms. Morris …
Dear Ms. Morris …
Hello Sabrina …
Ah fuck … How the hell am I supposed to draft an email to her when I can’t even get past the greeting? Christ, man, pull your shit together!
With a deep breath, I give it another try. My index fingers peck out the email:
Ms. Morris,
I need …
Damn! I need lots of things where she’s concerned, none of which are work related or appropriate at all. Well, definitely not appropriate since we don’t even know each other, and I lack the wherewithal to actually have a conversation with her.
Fuck … wherewithal … Really, Moran?
Deleting the email, I log out and rub my temples with my thumbs. Since I can’t manage to compose a simple email, I’m going to be forced to actually go to her office tomorrow morning and speak with her in person. Forced, my ass. Sure, I could probably give it to one of the other gals in that department, but since Cruz basically told me to go directly to her, that’s what I have to do.
Ha! Who the hell are you fooling, man? You don’t take orders from your brother.
My phone rings loudly. The moment I extract it from my pocket I wish I’d ignored it. I’m too tired to put on the Romeo show, too unsettled by the brief run-in at the elevator to give one shit about what another woman has to say to me tonight. Sure, I could do what I do best: throw out a few charming words, meet up for dinner or drinks, then go to her place or mine and work off some of this frustration. How sad is it that the idea of meaningless sex with a more than adventurous woman gives me pause? What the ever-loving hell is happening to me?
Before the call rolls to voicemail, I swipe my finger across the screen and drawl, “Well hey there, beautiful. I was just thinking about you.” Yeah, I’m full of crap, but right now I couldn’t care less. Right now I need something to get my mind off of all this shit rolling around in my head and to get my thoughts far, far away from Sabrina. I’m not sure what it’s going to take to convince myself that she’s way, way, way out of my league. Hell, you’d think all the brush-offs and businesslike attitude over the past few years would be reason enough to let it all go. It’s not.
Chances are Ms. Morris will go down as the one who got away. I wish I could explain why just the idea of that unnerves me; most likely this is nothing more than a damn crush, just like the one Missy Evers had on me that entire summer a long, long time ago. Hell, if I’m truthful with myself my fixation with her could be nothing more than a challenge. Once (okay, if) that need is quenched, the idea of her and me might drift away like all my other relationships have, never to be thought of again.
So I suppose it comes back to me, what I want and what I’m hoping to accomplish with all this unnecessary romancing. If the real prize is Sabrina, why the hell am I wasting time on all the others? Sure, I’m learning a lot about women in general, but am I doing anything to benefit my situation should she ever decide to take a look at me? Is romancing all these women doing anything to help me get with her? Hell to the no. Am I doing all this just to get laid? Hardly. These days there are no shortages of easy women looking for unemotional one-night stands. It worked for Marco for a very long time, so why not me? Why isn’t noncommittal sex working for me anymore when it has for years and years?
If this is a crush, it’s been a long-standing one. And the more time goes by, the less enamored I am by my conquests and the more obsessed I seem to be with Sabrina. What happens next? I ask myself as the woman on the phone chatters nonstop about nothing. Do I continue as I have been, bringing strangers home to meet my family, knowing full well no one will pass? Or do I suck it up and make a solid, good effort to get to know the only person who unnerves me with one simple look?
The answer is on the tip of my tongue just as I end the call. Even though I’ve made plans to meet up with another woman later, I know without a doubt this will be the last. Just the thought, makes me smile.
Fuck Romeo. Fuck all the sweet talk and charm. This Montague is done.
I’m late. Damn! Of all the mornings to be running behind, at least an hour by my own internal clock. I had to fight traffic to get here, got stuck behind a slow-moving cement truck, and now I’m finally standing in my office, nervous as hell for what I’m about to do.
Why the hell am I nervous? I’m a grown man for Christ’s sake and this is certainly not my first time in the saddle. But for all my confidence in my normal, everyday life, I’m like a freaking teenager when I think about having a conversation with her. It’s dumb, I know it is, yet I have to consider that she’ll always see me as the dirt-covered construction guy and not the president of the entire commercial construction department.
Needing something to keep my hands busy while I chat up the intoxicating HR manager, I fill one of the dozen or so travel mugs I keep on hand with the thick, black brew that’s in the break room then head toward the stairs. The HR department is located one floor up from mine and if memory serves me right, her office should be fairly close to the stairwell. I’ve only been here a few times and that was long before Sabrina was promoted and replaced Liza Anders, the manager Cruz fired when she tried to come between him and Mia.
Liza … that chick was scary. Tall and blond like Sabrina. Driven and professional … like Sabrina. The similarities stopped there. Liza was a predator; when Cruz wouldn’t return her affection, she flipped the fuck out and spread a bunch of lies about things the two of them had supposedly done together. I guess in all the years she worked for my brother, she never realized the power he holds in this town. Last I heard she was slinging coffee in some diner.
Sabrina was promoted within days of Liza’s firing, a spot she more than earned after cleaning up Liza’s messes time and time again. The entire department has never been more productive or effective. And the efficient Miss Morris has never been more untouchable.
With a heavy sigh, I yank the stairwell door open and step out into the hallway. This floor is a bustle of activity with phones ringing, people moving swiftly about, and muted conversations in each and every cubicle. One of the payroll chicks I recognize throws me a wave, but otherwise I might as well be invisible. I’m grateful that Sabrina’s office is on this end of the floor, saving me from all the “what the hell is he doing up here?” looks.
Stepping up to her office, I see that the door is wide open, though the blinds that cover the windows looking out to the cubicles are shut tight. Her silky blond head is bent over the large oak desk, and I indulge myself for a brief moment and just … look.
I wish I knew what it was that makes her so damn appealing to me. Sure, she’s a beauty, but there are thousands of women in Miami who are beautiful—and a good lot of them have spent time in my bed. I suppose it could be that cool mask she wears, almost as if she’s oblivious to everyone around her. Makes me question what weighs so heavily on her mind that she feels like she has to tune everyone else out.
Dude, enough already.
Rapping lightly on the door, she lifts her gaze to mine and sits upright in her chair. “Good morning, Mr. Moran. Was there something you needed?”
Why does her question seem to settle directly between my legs? God, I’m such a pig.
I gesture to the empty chair in front of her desk. “May I?”
“Of course.” Rising, she moves toward the door and closes it firmly then, on her sensible heels, walks swiftly to her desk and resumes her seat. “What can I do for you?”
Have dinner with me. Have a drink with me. Have a conversation with me. “Uh, two of my guys quit.” Jesus Christ … I sound like fucking imbecile. Again.
Pulling open a drawer, she extracts a few pieces of paper and her pen then gives me that same no-nonsense empty look that she gives everyone else. “All right. Tell me what qualifications you need from them, and I’ll line up some interviews.”
I rattle off my usual requirements for guys in the field and give her
some information about the job we’re currently working on. She listens intently, asking a few questions and ticking off boxes on the form in front of her. While she takes notes, I look her over, admiring the slim lines of her shoulders and the almost effortless way she carries herself—not overly confidant, but plenty sure of herself. She’s good at what she does, otherwise my brother never would have promoted her. Does make me wonder what her back story is, where she comes from, if she’s involved with anyone. Up until now I’ve refused to consider that as an option, but thankfully a quick glance at her ring-less left hand gives me some hope.
I’m a damn fool. There’s no way in Hell a woman like her isn’t taken. Chances are she’s had a long-time boyfriend, a fiancé perhaps; though if the guy can’t even spring for a diamond, she should boot his ass. Just sayin’.
“Mr. Moran, will …”
“Call me Roman,” I interrupt.
Her eyes widen in shock and for the first time in all the years I’ve watched her from afar, she actually looks rattled. “Um, I’d rather not.”
Interesting, I think as I take a sip of my coffee, speaking only when the cup is settled on the edge of her desk. “And why is that?”
Her cheeks bloom with color, and she quickly looks down at her desk. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Really? But don’t the people around here call you by your first name?”
“Well, um, yes. But that’s different.” Small white teeth nibble on her lower lip.
“No it’s not.” I’m probably being a dick of epic proportions, but I couldn’t care less. Finally, after all this time of weird hellos at the elevator and the very, very rare stilted and awkward conversation, I have her guard down. “Just try it.”
She looks conflicted, eyes darting wildly around the room. But the moment passes quickly and as it does I watch her shoulders pull back and chin lift in slight defiance. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s a bit ticked off as she folds her small hands on top of the papers and forces her eyes to mine, all business. “Fine. Roman … will there be anything else?” Just hearing my name cross her pretty lips is enough to send my imagination running wild. Her voice is soft, airy, yet brimming with undefined confidence, the words ghosting from her mouth, sending chills running up and down my arms.
Smiling at her, I stand to my full height and lean on the edge of the desk. “No, thank you … Sabrina.” I’m rewarded with another bright flush of her cheeks before she looks away and pretends like I’m not even in the room. “Have a nice day.”
“Thank you. You as well.” And we’re back in business, I think as I grab my cup and move toward the door.
When I hear her sigh with relief, I can’t resist giving myself an internal high five as I reach for the doorknob. I like the idea that I’ve rattled her somehow.
“I look forward to hearing from you soon.” I shoot her one of my token Moran grins, showing off my dimples that I’ve been told are irresistible. “About the interviews, I mean.”
“Oh yes, of course,” she says softly, and if I didn’t know better I’d think she was actually looking at me for the very first time. Really, really looking, if you know what I mean. Eyes drifting over my face, slowly down my torso, all the way to the steel-toed boots on my feet. When she finally drags her gaze up back to my eyes, her entire face is red and those sky-blue eyes have darkened to weathered denim.
Damn. If this is what it looks like when she’s turned on, I want more. Lots and lots more. “Sabrina, would you …”
She cuts me off and reaches for the phone, her face once again a perfect mask of nothingness. “Thank you, Mr. Moran. Please leave the door open on your way out.”
I could stay, hang out, make up some shit to talk about until she throws me out, but she’s already sort of done that with her last statement. I’m well aware that there’s no way in Hell I’m getting anywhere with this woman by pushing her. And lord knows I’ve been patient so far. Years to be exact. I suppose it’s self-indulgent to learn that she finds me just as easy on the eyes as so many other women do, but something in the way she looked at me when we were talking tells me there’s more to this than admiration for a pretty face. Could it be that after all this time she might actually want to get to know me?
With a final glance her way, I pull the door open, step out into the hallway, and head toward the stairwell. This … attraction … affection … whatever I feel for her blossoms fully in my chest as I trot quickly down the stairs and to my office. I’m fully aware it could be a whole lot of nothing, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy about what transpired. At least she finally looked at me like I’m a real man rather than looking through me like she’s done since I first laid eyes on her.
Marco is seated in my office, thumbing through one of the Car & Driver magazines I keep on hand. I stroll in, whistling a happy tune, and settle in my chair, propping my feet up on the desk. “Hey, man, this is a nice surprise. Why ya slumming around here?”
Marco shoots me a quizzical look and tosses the magazine aside. “What the fuck is up with you? Since when do you whistle?”
Shrugging, I palm my still-warm coffee cup and reply, “Just a good day, that’s all.”
One dark brow shoots up. “Good day? Nice try. You must have gotten laid last night.”
I did, but that’s beside the point. “Was there something you needed? I need to get to the site.”
He glances at his large and very expensive watch. “You should have been on site hours ago.”
“What are you my boss? I had shit to do.”
“Whatever, man.” He gets to his feet. “So Amita wants to invite you to dinner this weekend. You free?”
“No idea, but I can swing dinner. Your place or hers?” I smirk at him and watch his face transform in anger. The dual residence thing has been a major issue for him. He wants Amita to move in, but she insists that she keep her own place for now. I find the entire thing very humorous. My once playboy older brother is so completely in love he can’t stand to be separated from her at all. Who knew?
“Mine, asshole.”
“Sounds good. Shoot me a text with the details.”
“Will do. See ya.”
As much as I love Mia and Amita, I’m still not used to the changes I’ve seen in both of my brothers since they are no longer single and available. They both wear this satisfied, content look, which I assume has a whole lot to do with the love thing that keeps evading me. Who would have thought after all the years those two spent trolling around while I romanced my way through half of Miami that I’d be the one waiting in the wings with no one permanent by my side. What’s ironic is that I’m the only one of us that happily accepts the idea of a relationship, of love. My sisters, both younger, are almost just as jaded as my older brothers used to be. So what the hell happened to me? Why am I the poor sap destined to always want something I’ll never have?
That pesky voice in my head reminds me that I’m still young and there are still many ladies out there just waiting to be charmed. Too bad the one I want is so damn determined to pretend I don’t exist. Maybe there’s no actual pretending there. Maybe to her I truly don’t exist at all.
The remainder of the day is crazy, like usual. I spend the bulk of my hours on the job site overseeing some of the new changes. Even though I’ve been doing this my entire life, I still get a thrill every time I pull up to one of our high rises and see our family name splashed across the protective fencing. It’s a rush like none other, this tangible evidence of our hard work on display for the entire city to see. And even though I no longer wield a hammer on a daily basis, I have no hesitation to jump right in if needed; the proof is in my mud covered boots and crappy, torn jeans.
By the time I pull into the parking garage, it’s almost eight. I’m worn out, beyond famished, and if I didn’t have to drop off some things for Lou, I’d head straight home. Since I know he’s still here, because he’s always here this late, it’s hard to cut and run on the guy. After shooting Darvel a head nod, I mov
e toward the elevator. Right on cue, the doors open wide.
Tired blue eyes meet mine as she steps out, murmuring, “Have a good night.”
After years of this same greeting, and having witnessed her slow thaw earlier this morning, I’m not about to do what I’ve always done: act like an idiot and mumble myself into invisibility once again.
“You look tired.”
She stops walking and turns to face me. “It’s been a long day.”
“Late night for you tonight.” I’m careful to keep a good distance between us. As the elevator doors start to close behind me, I make no effort to climb aboard or halt its process.
Sabrina shrugs and pulls her arms across her chest. “I had a few last minute resumes to review.”
Guilt washes over me. “There’s no rush in finding replacement workers. We’re doing okay without them.” Hey, dumbass, maybe you should have mentioned that this morning. “I’m sorry you felt like you needed to stay late for me … for that, I mean.”
A slow smile lights her face. “No apology necessary. It’s my pleasure.” Her cheeks bloom with color. “Um … it’s my job.”
Damn, she’s beautiful when she’s flustered. Especially with those tired eyes and pink, pouty lips. Now that we’ve somehow moved past the last few years of awkwardness, I must say that it’s hot as hell to have her looking directly at me and exchanging more than a handful of words.
“Can I buy you dinner?” The words are out before I can take them back. By the look on her face, I can tell this was the last thing she expected.
Taking a step back, she shakes her head and looks away. “No thank you.”
I slowly move closer to her. “Why not? Are you married? Have a boyfriend?”
The gasp should be my first clue that her entire demeanor has changed. The hard, angry look on her face should be the other. “This is not an appropriate conversation, Mr. Moran. At all.”
