Translation: Total hipster. Although insanely good-looking, this guy would probably end up an NYC transplant in Portland within the next year. But I wasn’t ruling out seeing his gorgeous mug on one of my favorite Instagram accounts, Hot Dudes Reading.
Because who doesn’t love seeing man candy nose deep in a book?
My ogle time came to an end as I jumped off at my stop. Brooks Media headquarters was located on the prestigious Fifth Avenue, smack dab in the center of Midtown. This part of Manhattan was the central business district of the city—hell, even the country. Name a successful business, and it was probably located here. And lucky for me, my apartment in Chelsea was only a ten-to-fifteen-minute subway ride away.
Doesn’t explain why I’m running twenty minutes late.
Following the hustle and bustle of sidewalk traffic, I maneuvered past as many map-reading tourists as possible. Street vendors littered the sidewalks. A guy on a bike missed getting hit by mere inches, elegantly flipping the driver off over his shoulder.
It was a weekday in New York, and it was fucking beautiful.
I loved my city. I loved the ebb and flow of its many eccentricities. Heels click-clacked against concrete, headed for Fifth Avenue’s upscale boutiques. Loafers tip-tapped their way toward the Financial District. Taxis honked. Delivery trucks unloaded their goodies with clashing bangs and swift maneuvers. It was the New York song and dance. Everyone was on a mission to start their day. And nothing would stop them.
I strode into the Winthrop building, the spacious lobby greeting me with its gorgeous marble pillars and floor-to-ceiling windows. It was breathtaking. The office space was just as exquisite—wide hallways, natural stone floors, and the perfect amount of light coming in through large windows and skylights. Brooks Media had definitely shelled out some cash for this prime piece of real estate. By all accounts, it was stunning.
“Morning, Paul. Morning, Brian,” I greeted the front desk security guards.
“Well, hey there, pretty lady.” Paul smiled. “I see someone is still having issues with getting here bright and early.”
“Oh, shut it, Paul. Not all of us can look as good as you without a little work in the morning.” I grinned and batted my eyelashes.
Brian laughed. “She’s got your number, dude.”
“I wish she had my number,” Paul interjected. “C’mon, Georgia, let me take you out to dinner.”
“We’ve been going through the same conversation at least once a week for the past two years, Paul. My answer isn’t going to change,” I called over my shoulder as I made my way to the elevator.
“It will change!” he yelled. “One day, it will change!”
The elevator pinged and I stepped on, giving Paul a little wave before the doors shut.
He was an adorable guy: mid-forties, hard-working, and sweeter than honey. But I didn’t mix business with pleasure. And Paul from security wasn’t my kind of guy. One day, though, he’d meet the right kind of lady who’d wash his socks and make him beer-cheese dip for Monday Night Football. He needed a woman who was just as good in the kitchen as she was in the bedroom. I could sixty-nine with the best of ’em, but I was useless when it came to home-cooked meals. Talented chef would never be on my résumé. My oven was better used for storing shoes.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Fashionably late today, Georgie?” Dean winked, passing me in the hallway.
Shit. My late arrivals were starting to mimic the walk of shame. I seriously needed to get my shit together.
“I was only trying to impress you with my new A-line skirt,” I called over my shoulder, sashaying my hips a little. “Vintage. Vera Wang. How ’bout them apples, cupcake?” Should I have mentioned I found the skirt at a secondhand shop in SoHo? Designer digs were great, but I refused to pay designer prices.
“Someone is fierce this morning. Go on with your bad self, little diva,” he teased, snapping his fingers. Dean was one of my favorite people in the office: hilarious, flamboyantly gay, and smart as a whip. What more could a girl ask for?
He turned in my direction, stopping in his tracks. “Lunch today?”
I paused at the entry to my office. “I’d kill for a chicken salad sandwich from the deli across the street.”
Dean grinned. “No homicide needed. We’ll grab it to go.”
“Let’s eat there. My office, quarter till one?”
He blew me a kiss. “It’s a date, lover.”
Another day, another dollar, yadda yadda yadda. My mantra, even though I would have preferred staying wrapped up in my comforter and sleeping until noon. Some days, adulting was too much responsibility. Get up for work. Brush your hair. Pay bills. It was an endless list of too many things and not enough time. The struggle was real, my friends.
But rent in Chelsea wasn’t a Sunday picnic in Central Park. A two-bedroom space with an elevator and doorman was pricey. Bottom line, I had to adult. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
I settled into my day, checking emails and making follow-up calls to a few marketing prospects. The TapNext app had skyrocketed in success over the past year. I’d developed an ad campaign that had brought in several companies wanting to advertise within the windows of our app. And these scrollbar ads had become quite lucrative for the company. Businesses not only paid us a nice advertising fee, but they also agreed to some form of promotion for Brooks Media. We scratched their backs, and they gave us a full body massage. Although I was no use in the kitchen, I was very persuasive in a boardroom.
* * *
“Knock, knock,” Leslie announced her arrival. Her curvy frame swayed into my office, seemingly aloof to the fact I was in the middle of a conference call with Sure Romance.
“Uh, Georgia, like, there’s birthday cards you need to sign for people in the office,” she continued, tossing the greeting cards onto my desk. They spilled over my laptop, stopping my busy fingers from making much-needed progress on the current contract I was discussing.
I held up a finger, pointing to the Bluetooth in my ear.
“Georgia? Hellooooo, Georgia?” she repeated, tapping the toe of her stiletto in six quick, impatient movements.
Leslie was a horrible nightmare of ditzy responses, poor time management skills, and cleavage-revealing tops. And she was new to the company. But for fuck’s sake, how hard was it to see that I was currently in the middle of something?
“I’m so sorry, can you hold on for just a second?” I politely asked Martin, Sure Romance’s Director of Marketing.
“You know what, Georgia? I’ve got about three minutes to get to another meeting. How about you make the changes in the contract and send them over to legal? Let’s shoot for another call on Friday to review everything and find a middle ground we can both be happy with.”
Goddammit. This, my friends, was a perfect example of how to lose valuable footing in a business deal.
“Sure thing, Martin. And since Mr. Brooks wants to be on that call Friday, let’s plan on it being a video chat.” My boss knew nothing about that call. But this was me calling Martin’s bluff. My persuasion skills were top notch, but there was a reason Kline Brooks was President and CEO of his own company. The man could talk an Eskimo into buying ice.
“Oh, okay.” Martin cleared his throat. “In the meantime, I’ll try to get legal to review everything over the next twenty-four hours. The sooner we can sign off on this deal, the better.”
Translation: I’d like to avoid a video chat with your boss.
“Perfect. I look forward to hearing from you.” I ended the call and used all of my strength to plaster a neutral smile on my face as I looked up at Leslie.
“So, like I was saying, you need to sign these,” she repeated, still clueless.
God, I didn’t even care if I had resting bitch face. Hell, I wanted to active bitch face this chick so bad. She’d been with the company for a hot minute, and I was already done with her.
“Okay, Leslie. Just give me a second and I’ll sign them so you can go about yo
ur day,” I responded through a fake smile. I wanted to berate her. I wanted to let her know just how much her interruption could have screwed up an important business deal. But it would’ve been useless. My words would have gone straight through the giant hole in her head.
I gripped my pen, scribbling half-assed sayings about celebrating and happy birthday and have a great day. Five cards later, I handed them back to Leslie and sent her ditzy ass on her way.
* * *
I was twenty emails deep before another interruption peeked in my door.
Kline Brooks. He was the kind of man women fantasized about. A quintessential billionaire bad boy—styled, short dark hair, muscles for days, and a panty-dropping smile.
Except—he wasn’t.
His smiles were genuine and his orders gently delivered. He kept to himself, from what I could tell, and didn’t appear to sleep around. Despite his crazy good looks and net worth, I’d yet to see him land an “NYC playboy” spot on Page Six. I’d never seen him execute a salacious glimpse at a single employee—male or female. He was a mystery, hidden under all of that quiet direction with absolutely no chance of being uncovered.
As an employee, he wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he knew I had a vagina. He treated me as an equal and seemed to truly value my opinion on all things business and marketing. His eyes never strayed to my tits. His mouth never flashed a devilish grin.
And I stood strong in my beliefs that business and pleasure may as well have been oil and water. Kline was business, plain and simple.
Plus, he wasn’t at all what I was looking for.
And yes, I can practically see the word billionaire flashing in front of your money-hungry eyes and feel the judgment rolling off of you in thick, disdain-filled clouds.
But this isn’t actually about him. Not really, anyway.
Despite my inexperience with relationships, I knew myself enough to know I liked a straight shooter—both in conversation and the pun that intends. And I wasn’t willing to settle—even if it was on a big, comfy pile of money.
Christ, there had to be a middle ground between soft talkers like Kline and dick pic bandits like BAD_Ruck. Didn’t there?
“Good morning, Georgia,” he greeted with that professional yet handsome smile of his. “Just wanted to check in and see how the Sure Romance deal was doing.”
“Even though I had to threaten Martin with your presence on a video chat, I think we’ll walk out of the deal with a million more than we anticipated.”
“Nice work. Keep me abreast on the progress and let me know if you need backup.”
My mind went straight to the word abreast. I knew my boss wasn’t referring to my breasts, or breasts in general, but I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering there.
I doubted Kline Brooks had ever thought about my breasts.
That would have been weird, right?
There was no way he saw me that way. And of course, I didn’t think about him like that either. But it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. Well, not my eyes, but other women’s eyes. I was sure he was easy on their eyes. My eyes knew not to look at him.
I wouldn’t deny my eyes were thankful he didn’t have a weird comb-over or nose hairs or crusty lips. But Kline Brooks was business, not pleasure. He wouldn’t touch me, and I sure as hell wouldn’t touch him.
“Georgia?” he asked, pulling me from my rambling inner monologue.
Shit.
“Sorry.” I shook the awkward thoughts out of my head. “I will definitely keep you updated on the Sure Romance contract, Mr. Brooks. I’m planning on signatures being finalized by the end of this week.”
“Good to hear.” He rapped his knuckles twice against the doorframe in that way only a man can pull off. “Thank you.”
And with that, through the glass walls of my office, I watched as Kline Brooks strode down the hall with purpose. I knew that look well. Either someone was ready for lunch or they were about two minutes late for a meeting.
Before I could resume the task of responding to the morning’s emails, Dean walked into my office, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “Got a minute, sweet cheeks?”
“Of course.” I shut my laptop, giving him my full attention.
He plopped his Prada-wearing ass in the leather seat across from my desk. Dean kept grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat as he slid a Hallmark card across my laptop.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s creepy, dude.”
“So, Tits McGee put this card on my desk,” he sing-songed. “Of course, this was after she practically shoved her cleavage in my face.” The wide smile turned to irritation. “That girl has about the worst gaydar I’ve ever seen.”
“Aw, poor Dean. So attractive that single women are throwing themselves at him,” I teased.
“Well, you’re about to be thanking poor Dean here in a minute.” He nodded toward the card. “Go ahead and read it, sassy pants. I think you might want to make some changes.”
Huh? I glanced at the front, reading the sentiment. It was, by all accounts, a sympathy card. Someone in the office must have had a death in the family. I opened it and read through everyone’s thoughtful responses.
I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mary. -Patty
You’re in my thoughts and prayers. -Meryl
Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. -Gary
My coworkers were really sweet. That much was apparent.
Lots of love and prayers being sent your way through this difficult time. -Laura
HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! Have a great day celebrating! -Georgia
Oh, fuck.
I read it again just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
My Ren & Stimpy reference wasn’t all that funny when written in the center of someone’s CONDOLENCE CARD.
“Fucking Leslie,” I spat. “She threw a bunch of cards on my desk and said they were birthday cards.”
Dean proceeded to lose his shit, his cackling laughs echoing inside my office.
I glared at him. “It’s not that funny.”
“Oh, hell yes it is. You referenced Ren & Stimpy on a sympathy card,” he wheezed.
Seriously, fuck you, Leslie. Fuck you, hard.
I was convinced I could blame her for everything wrong in my life.
Lost my keys? Goddammit, Leslie!
Missed the subway? Fuck you very much, Leslie.
Another awful dick pic sent to my phone? You’re such an asshole, Leslie.
I sighed. “I’m not even sure how to fix this.”
“White out?” he suggested, still laughing like a lunatic.
“Please.” I waved my hand at him. “Continue to giggle your ass off at my expense.”
“This was literally the highlight of my day. When I read it, I about fell out of my chair from laughing so hard. Pretty sure everyone in the office heard me. Even Meryl was giving me the stink eye.”
“Glad to know I’m brightening someone’s workday.”
He smirked, standing up and snatching the card out of my incompetent hands. “Let’s just throw this card out. I’ll have Meryl send flowers to Mary’s house from everyone in the office.”
I let out a breath of relief. “I’m in full support of this plan. I’ll even chip in fifty bucks.”
“Perfect.”
“Hey, you’re throwing that card out, right?” I asked before he made his way out of my office doors.
He only responded with a shrug and a few more cackles.
Dean was such a bitch. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d have definitely disowned his designer-tag-wearing ass.
As his laughter faded, the annoying crescendo that signaled a text on my phone built.
I grabbed it quickly, knowing if I didn’t read it now, I wouldn’t remember it until the end of the day.
Cassie: I just watched the police arrest two guys
for fucking right up against a wall on Broadway.
Not sure how to respond, I said the only thing that came to mind.
Me: Well, it is the Theater District.
I exited my messages, and before I locked the screen, I noticed the little red notification on my TapNext app. A message from BAD_Ruck from this morning made promises of sexual normalcy despite his indiscretions. A truce was in order.
TAPRoseNEXT (12:14PM): Awkward apology accepted.
His response came two minutes later.
BAD_Ruck (12:16PM): Thank God. Though, to be fair, your profile name really does nothing to discourage bad behavior.
Chapter Four
Kline
TAPRoseNEXT (12:19PM): Ugh. Don’t remind me. I owe it mostly to a bottle of wine and an ill-advising roommate.
I chuckled to myself and then glanced at my watch, compelled to double-check the time even though the display on my phone told it to me just fine.
A pastrami and corned beef on rye from the deli on the corner was calling my name, yelling louder with each passing minute, but every single action of the day seemed to move as if it were coated in molasses.
“What are you laughing at?” Thatch asked from the screen in front of me.
I’d nearly forgotten I was on a video call with him.
“Your ugly mug,” I countered, pointedly electing not to tell him I was having any further conversation with TAPRoseNEXT.
“This face? No way. This is my moneymaker, son.”
“You sound like the biggest douche on the planet right now. Can we work, please? I’d like to eat lunch sometime this century.”
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