by RJ Scott
Oh God.
I was lost.
When he moved back I wanted desperately to chase for the kiss, but I held myself still.
“Oops,” he took an unsteady step away from me.
“Oops?” I repeated, not quite certain I’d heard right. “Oops?” I asked again.
“I just needed to do that, and you were talking about one kiss.”
“Well you shouldn’t…needn’t… I don’t…I’m not confused… Don’t do it again.”
“I think you are. That was an awesome first kiss and—”
“One date, pretending and you think you know me?”
“Derek—”
“Fuck you,” I muttered, and sidestepped him. I slipped and slid back to the valet, handing him the chip and pushing my hands into my coat pockets. I heard Luke come up next to me, and his breathing sounded a little labored, but it was cold and his leg undoubtedly hurt, or something.
I will not feel guilty.
“Are we going to talk about that?” he asked. As if there was any possibility I would want to talk about any of what just happened.
“No,” I said, and prayed to the valet gods that the car would arrive quickly. It did. I got in. We drove to his apartment, which was apparently over a bar, of all places, and I dropped him off. I didn’t even look at the establishment, or the road, or him. I left as quickly as I could and I drove back to my place.
And God, one hand on my cock, two pulls, and I came over my hand so damn hard.
This is so not happening.
I’m not sexually attracted to my paid-for boyfriend.
Yeah right, and denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.
The next date was for company clients, upper management and me. That meant the Js, Moira, and me, with their associated dates. It was always held in the large meeting room on my floor of the old building that housed us, plus several other equally old established companies.
I wished it wasn’t. I wished it was held in a restaurant where I could feel less like an interloper and more like the boss of an entire firm.
Exactly five days had passed since that first date; breakfast with my parents the next morning alone, was an excruciating rehash of everything that they’d thought about that nice young man Marcus. My mom apologized for bringing up Paul, and Chloe, and anything she said that had been wrong.
That’s what she did; she embarrassed me and then she apologized, and tried to laugh it off.
I hated people laughing at me, as if I was a kid, as if it didn’t matter that words hurt. Breakfast was quiet, and I dreaded the next date with the fiery heat of a thousand burning suns.
Thankfully, Mom and Dad decided that the client party was going to be my first on my own. Which meant they wouldn’t be there, but which also meant I was alone in being the face of Henderson McCormack. They would be back for the staff party, but that wasn’t for another two weeks.
I wanted them to go home.
But I didn’t want them to go home.
Because if they went then I would be even more alone at the event tonight. Alone with Moira—the only one there who was actually ready to be the boss’s friend.
Hell, could I feel any more sorry for myself?
The snow was thick outside, in that perfect few days when it was snow and not slush. I could see the city skyline from here, sparkling white in the winter sunshine. New York at Christmas was a beautiful place, full of scarlet and green, and Santas, and singing on street corners.
Just the right day for a Christmas event.
The knock on my door pulled me out of my melancholy, and thoughts of that kiss, which never failed to get me excited and hard and all kinds of out of control.
“Come in.”
The door slammed open dramatically, and then shut just as loud, as Moira put all her strength in shutting it again.
“I’m going to kill someone,” she announced and turned the key in the lock. I saw the wildness in her eyes, and the flush on her cheeks, and wondered if that someone was me. I didn’t have anything to defend myself with, except maybe my desk lamp. Instead I froze.
“Who?” I was cautious as I asked. Wondering which way to dart if she came at me with a paper knife or something equally heinous.
“The Js, out there having another freaking meeting about snowmen. Do they not see we need to get this done in the next week? Otherwise we won’t get it ready in time for the Christmas Eve presentation to AbbaLister and they won’t be able to get the graphics into production in time for next Christmas’ campaign.”
She seemed as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating, and I recalled the small bottle of brandy that was left over from Dad’s days in this room. I picked up a clean glass, and poured her some.
Moira froze as if I was handing her a live snake at first, and then she took it and downed it in one, before sliding down the door and pulling up her knees.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
I crouched beside her, wondering if this was appropriate trying to get one of my staff drunk. Was this harassment? Nah, medicinal, my rational brain explained.
“What happened?”
“No one listens to me. They’re all so close to retiring and they vacillate between not giving a damn and then telling me they know best. I can’t keep this up.”
I knew that all three were retiring in the New Year, Julian first in February, right up to John in July, with Jim in the middle. I felt for her. Until they left, I wouldn’t feel this place was mine.
Scratch that. I’m not sure I’d ever feel this place was truly mine.
“Tell me you’re not really thinking of leaving.” If she couldn’t stay with them here then I would be losing a key member of the future I had planned for this place.
“I’m not really.” She hid her face in her hands. “I love it here.You have to tell me to go out there, suck it, and make it through until July.”
“Is that what you want me to say?”
“It’s what you have to say to me. I love my job, I don’t want to lose it.”
I sighed and petted her shoulder. “I wouldn’t let you leave; I’d choose you first over them. Okay?”
She looked at me with surprise, and then stood and smoothed down her suit.
“Thank you, Derek,” she murmured. She unlocked the door and left, and I was still crouching on the floor. This was an old building and down there I could get an up close and personal look at the uneven floors, the crooked walls, the general oldness of the room I was in. Dad had always spoken about wanting to move the entire company to new offices one day, but he’d never done it, not while Grandad was alive and not when I came in as an intern.
And the last conversation we’d had about an office move? I’d spent the entire meeting talking about the authenticity and history of our surroundings, just because Dad thought moving offices to somewhere bright and shiny would be a good idea.
Was Luke right? Was I contrary? Arguing just for the sake of it because I wanted to be the one who was right?
I stood and crossed to the window, staring out at the snowy city again. Maybe Luke was right, maybe I argued against my dad just because I felt I had to make my own mark. I didn’t like being told what to do, but I was failing here, stuck in the old ways that had chafed my dad, and that were now starting to irritate me.
The old building. The old ways. The old staff.
Things had to change.
But I wouldn’t be telling Luke he’d been, maybe, a little bit right.
Luke
“I’m not feeling very Christmassy,” I said, as my sister straightened my tie. She’d come up from the bar especially to hassle me over this date I’d announced I was going on.
I’d moved back to the loft after the stairs to my fifth floor apartment with no elevator made me cry, and when losing my job meant deciding that renting my own place was a waste. Anyway, living over the bar in my own set of rooms separate from my mom was, at least, a start in keeping that independence we’d all been desperate to get
as we grew up.
Mom and Sara had looked after me when I’d first come home, broken and hurting. They’d held me when I cried, told me to get my shit together when I hadn't showered or shaved.
They’d seen me through everything, and I loved them.
“You’ll be fine.” She poked at my belly. “I love that tie.”
I made some growly non-committal sound; the tie had been a joke birthday gift from the boys last Christmas, before the accident, before everything had gone to shit, but wearing it tonight didn’t bring back bad memories, it just felt right. They’d said the green of it brought out my eyes, and I smacked them all. A lot.
I still had night terrors, and every one of my former colleagues was in them. But they were lessening, and my daylight hours were packed full of positive, motivating thoughts.
I can do this thing called life.
“Who is this guy you’re seeing again?”
“I told you, his name is Derek, and he works in advertising.”
Sara faked a wide, exaggerated yawn. “Can’t you find another adrenaline junkie like yourself?”
That hurt a little. Yeah, I used to do everything I could to push the limits, but now that wasn’t me. She realized what she said and opened her mouth to talk, but I didn’t want to hear a sorry for reminding me of what I couldn’t do anymore. So I interrupted.
“Who says he doesn’t free dive off the Empire State Building in his spare time? Huh? You just don’t know.”
One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted and she didn’t have to say anything at all.
“Okay, okay, I admit he’s a little stuffy.” I thought about Derek, and the way he held himself, the fact that he appeared to think everyone was out to interfere in his life. “But I think we could be friends, and that’s important.”
She patted my face. “Look at my baby brother all grown up.”
I was about to curse, when my niece, Lizzie, ran into the room, swung herself up onto the bed and into my arms.
“Daddy says no s’mores on the weekend, Uncle Luke. That’s not fair, right, you’d let us?”
She knew I was a pushover, five years old and she could use her big eyes and easy tears to get around me at any time. She and her brother Zach knew exactly how to play their Uncle Luke.
“We’ll do some next time you come over to mine.” I caught Sara’s headshake. Uncles were supposed to mess with their niece’s and nephew’s diet; it was in the Uncle handbook, I was sure.
I helped her back down after squeezing her close, wondering if the two-thousand dollar suit was the best thing to be hugging my sticky niece in. Whatever, that was why they made baby wipes.
A vision of Derek fainting with shock popped into my mind, and I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
“You sound happy,” Sara handed me the final part of this, the tailored jacket.
“I’m always happy,” I exaggerated, and she hugged me just as close as Lizzie had.
“Love you.” She stepped back, “Now, go un-stuff the stuffy ad man.”
“Love you too.” I backed away before she wanted to do anything else too mushy, or go into details about how I should un-stuff Derek. Believe me, she’d done it before.
I let us all out, and Sara and the kids walked the short distance to their car, waving as they disappeared from sight. I stood just inside the lobby, and waited for my ride, Derek confirmed he’d be there at seven, and true to his word he was punctual.
By the time I was at the car I’d steeled myself for some kind of lecture on the inappropriateness of the kiss in the park, and how I should keep my fucking hands to myself.
Instead he was quiet. He nodded hello and that was it.
“Doing okay?” I asked, because I wanted some kind of acknowledgment.
“Fine. You?”
“Good.”
This is going so well.
We drove around the back of an older building, into one of three spaces, and right in front of a sign that said CEO. Must’ve been nice to be able to work in the city and get a parking space included. When Derek turned off the engine he sat with his hands fixed at ten and two on the wheel.
“So we need to talk,” he began.
Uh oh, here it comes. I calculated what one date with the family was worth, one date out of five, would that be a fifth of what he said he was going to pay? That would at least reimburse the construction team who’d finished the kitchen. I could find the rest somehow.
“Okay,” I swallowed the knot of disappointment in my throat.
“The men in here, they are clients of ours, they bring in large revenue and some of them have been with us since my grandfather started this company in fifty-one. They’re somewhat old-fashioned.”
Did Derek hear himself using words like somewhat?
“Okay,” I agreed, “sober, quiet, respectful.”
He looked at me as if I’d grown horns or something, as if he couldn’t believe a companion-for-hire could get the rules the first time they were explained.
It didn’t get any better when he marched ahead to a large door with a discreet brass plate and the names of three companies. Given Henderson McCormack was the biggest name on there I assumed they had most of the building, but other than that there was no evidence of a reception area, just a series of small rooms. The place was a warren of dark walls, and old paintings carefully lit with small lights. I also noticed the sprinkler system, the alarms, and the judicious use of signs pointing to exits. Everything was in order but these old buildings, the ones that hadn't been gutted and started over were some of the worst places to empty in a fire. Tiny rooms, locked closets, small spaces, everything was so complicated. Most of the buildings like this one had been bought up by hotel chains and the insides rebuilt.
I guess Derek’s company was based here for a reason, and hell, it must be worth one hell of a lot of money; this was prime real estate.
“This way,” Derek led me up a flight of stairs and then another. I saw the elevator, one of the old-fashioned types with gates that pulled across, but evidently Derek was all about the exercise. He only appeared to remember I was there when we reached the third floor.
“Shit,” he muttered, then more loudly, “your leg. I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t my leg that was causing problems, it was my chest, tight and my breathing a little strained.
“You should have stopped me,” he admonished. I wasn’t going to point out that he didn’t tell me what floor his office was on, but it wasn’t my job to call him out on that. “Anyway, we’re here now. Do you need some water or something?”
Well, I guess that was kind of him, but I shook my head, and focused on my breathing
He led me into a larger room at the end of a corridor. The view was amazing. Through gaps in high rises I could see the lights of the city through the snow, and I could have stood there all night.
“This is your office then?”
“Yes. Mine. It was my dad’s, and my grandfather’s before that.”
“Nice.”
“I won’t be long, we have a little while before the clients arrive and I just need to check a…”
He stopped talking and I turned to see him bent over a notebook, scribbling something that was nothing more than spider scrawl on the paper. There were easels to one side of the room, a huge pink snowman, a yellow one the same, and then some other random sketches. There was nothing about either color snowman that made me think that they were good ideas. The yellow one looked like a dog had just urinated in the snow. I couldn’t help a soft laugh at the fact that this image was clearly the result of brilliant minds finding a way to sell a product.
And all they’d come up with was a pee stain in the snow. Either that or some awful thing in violent, bright pink.
“What?”
I jumped a foot in the air; Derek right by my ear.
“Jesus,” I said, and feared for my breathing again. “Warn a guy.”
He wasn’t listening, he was looking at the art and there was such
a deep frown on his face that I imagined it might’ve left permanent grooves.
“You laughed at them,” he observed.
“Sorry, it’s just; I don’t know what you’re trying to sell.” I waved at the sketches.
“White chocolate covered raisins,” Derek explained.
I caught sight of more sketches behind the Pepto-Bismol Pink one and tugged them out, avoiding Derek’s hand as he tried to stop me.
“Now these are good.” I wasn’t lying, the snowman was white, as it should’ve been, wearing a bright pink scarf and hat, with blush on his cheeks, and a carrot nose, and he was holding a board, with gloved hands peeking around the board. “I’m no expert, but they’re cute.”
“That was just me messing about.”
“You’re seriously talented, those cats you drew at the restaurant, my niece, Lizzie, loved them.”
“You took the book?”
“You didn’t seem to want it.”
Awkward. He looked flustered and then waved back at the drawings. “I’m not happy with the concepts we have so far.”
“The pink and yellow ones? Nah, they’d give any kid nightmares. But this little guy you drew is so sweet, he looks cheeky, like maybe he would steal your white chocolate covered raisins if you weren’t looking.”
Derek leaned in and he was so close I could feel his breath against my cheek. I turned a little, so close to his lips, and abruptly considered kissing him again. But the thought withered and died when Derek asked me again about the drawings.
“You really like them?”
All I could hear was self-doubt in Derek’s words, and I felt compassion for him.
“I do.”
“It’s not my job to design,” Derek said, thoughtfully. “It’s my job to assess designs and make decisions. Maybe I’ll work up a concept and pass it to Moira. She’s one of our account leaders, you’ll meet her tonight, and she could pretend it was hers.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you take credit for the designs?”
“As I said, it’s my job—”
I jumped in before he gave me some of that angst about what and wasn’t his role in the company. “To assess designs, yeah, but what if what you can create is better than what one of your staff can do?”
