New Year’s Steve

by Carter, M. E.

  “Yeah, that’s enough to make a person go blind.”

  “Exactly!” She’s so glad I agree. “Yes, thank you! I’m not going crazy!”

  God she’s adorable.

  How have we never met until now? It’s not like I’ve never been on this floor before. In fact, she’s just the department I was coming to see.

  “Where is Victoria?” I ask, glancing to the office space next to this one, knowing that is where my head of finance calls home. “I thought y’all were working today to finish the reconciliations.”

  She doesn’t question how I know about the accounting deadlines, or why I’m asking where her direct report is.

  “Yes, I thought we were all working today too, but alas, I am a lone wolf. Just me and these.”

  My ire rises that Victoria has left the heavy lifting to her team, but subsides a bit when I look down to see Cutie Accountant wiggling her toes, feet buried inside the most ridiculous, fluffy bunny slippers.

  “Don’t tell me you talk to those,” I say, stepping into her work space.

  “Fine, I won’t tell you I talk to them, even though I talk to them,” she teases. “Don’t judge me, I’m lonely. This is not a glamorous gig.”

  That makes me laugh.

  Accounting may be the least glamourous of all desk jobs but surprisingly, she makes it sexy, probably because of those bunnies on her feet.

  “So now what?” she asks. “I’m Felicity by the way.”

  When she puts out her hand by way of introduction, I freeze, rooted to the spot, unable to respond. At least, not like a normal human person.

  My mouth guppies open, jaw hanging slack. “Uh.”

  Felicity laughs. “And you are…. Tom from Maintenance? Brad? Hank?”

  I shake my head, shaking out of my stupor. “Hank? Who names their kid that anymore?” I stick my hand out. “My friends call me Harry.”

  Zero of my friends call me Harry. Last time they tried, they got punched in the arm, because that was in grade school and I hated that name.

  McGinnis. Harrison. Rookie. Shark.

  Pick one, those are the options.

  Harry makes my ass cheeks pucker, but there you go. I cannot tell her my name is Steve; she’ll get suspicious. Tonight was going to be the big reveal — our blind date has to be blind, so I’m going to have to lie lie lie and cross my fingers she won’t hate me later.

  Crap.

  Felicity doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who will hold a grudge, but I’ve been wrong about women before so I’ll just have to hope and pray.

  I like her.

  I really fucking like her.

  Excitement brews in my belly, the urge to declare myself so fucking irresistible, I want to explode with the news.

  “Harry? So, like — Prince Harry from Britain?”

  “Zero like Prince Harry from Britain.”

  Felicity sighs. “But he’s so romantic.” She tinkles out another giggle. “My girlfriend and I were in London for his wedding, isn’t that lame? We flew over and went to a pub in Windsor, and drank Prosecco during the ceremony and chanted and cheered when the crowd went wild.”

  Yeah, I did know that. She told me when we first matched — it was among her fun, random facts.

  I can’t remember mine; probably that I can swim two laps in a pool under water holding my breath.

  Weak. So, so weak.

  “So you’re a huge fan?”

  Felicity nods. “Mostly of the royal family, more so than anything.” She pauses, giving me a side eye. “You think that’s weird, don’t you?”

  I do, but it’s not my place to say what someone finds fascinating or not. I collect old coins, and most of my friends thinks that’s dumb, so who am I to judge.

  “So, uh. I should probably go grab a ladder, right?”

  “Oh! Yes, I’m so sorry to be yammering on! Time is money, and here I am wasting your time.” She smacks the heel of her palm up to her forehead. “When I start babbling just tell me to stop. I’m hungry but I’m going out to eat later and I haven’t wanted to snack so I can eat all the things tonight.”

  She is so adorable, standing there in her pencil skirt and white blouse with those cute little slippers.

  Keeping up this charade may kill me. But if ever there was a time for recon, now is my chance.

  5

  Felicity

  It’s not weird that the sight of a man hefting a ladder is turning me on, is it?

  A man I only just met, with torn jeans and a ratty baseball cap?

  That can’t be what he wears to work on a regular basis. I’m guessing he’s dressed down today since it’s a holiday and all, his boss Skeeter is gone and no one is here to reprimand him for the casual attire.

  Oh well — suits me just fine.

  I follow Harry into the elevator, skeptically eyeing the buttons all the way down, worried it wasn’t going to open when we reached the ground floor to get to the maintenance closet because the car is notorious for getting stuck at the most inopportune times.

  I can’t imagine being trapped in an elevator, on a holiday, with a total stranger.

  That is how Meg met Adam.

  Actually, they ‘met’ on the company’s in-house messaging system, but had gotten trapped during the company Christmas party on their way down to the lobby, which is as romantic of a story as I have ever heard.

  Still. I have no food, no blanket, and no time to get trapped.

  I hold my breath the entire trip down, ticking off the floors as we descend, ignoring the hot hunk of a man standing on the other side of the small confined space, fixated on the numbers illuminated above the sliding doors.

  Fifteen.

  Fourteen.

  Ten.

  Four.

  Lobby.

  Ding!

  “Were you just holding your breath?” Harry asks as we step out, the relief in me palpable, causing my shoulders to sag in respite.

  “Yes. Don’t you know how many people have gotten imprisoned in that thing?”

  Harry hesitates before answering. “Elevators aren’t my area of expertise; I’m assuming the lift company is usually called in to take care of it.”

  I huff. “They should do a better job. Someone’s getting stuck a few times a month. I have anxiety now, and carry granola bars in my bag and a bottle of water just in case.”

  Plus a little flashlight and back-up battery for my phone.

  No joke.

  A lady can never be too prepared…

  “I’ll make a note of that. Maybe give the property owner a call too. Sounds like something more needs to be done than constant maintenance.”

  Oh… a man who takes charge!

  Me like.

  I trail after Harry as he heads to the supply closet, doing my best not to glance down at his ass, and it occurs to me that there is zero reason I needed to be accompanying him on this venture.

  This is not my job! Why am I not at my desk working? It’s not as if I’m going to carry the ladder.

  My face flushes with embarrassment, but if he thinks it’s strange that I’m following him, he doesn’t let on — only hands me the key for the closet and asks me to open it while he bends and takes a drink from the drinking fountain affixed to the wall.

  This time I do take a peek at his ass.

  But only a quick one! I have a date tonight with someone else.

  Bad felicity, bad! You can’t date a man employed by your company — you cannot. Hard no.

  Plus: there is Steve.

  Steve, Steve, Steve.

  I push the door to the supply room open and the light automatically goes on, a dingy room filled with gray metal shelving, mop buckets and paper supplies. Brooms, squeegees. CAUTION, WET FLOOR! signs. Window spray and other miscellaneous things, the kind of quick things custodians can come grab in a pinch.

  Bet they have another room hidden somewhere else with extra desks, chairs, ceiling tiles, bodies…

  At least the last thing I’ll see when I d
ie is Harry’s handsome face. Or maybe not.

  It smells dusty, but there’s a ladder.

  Perfect.

  Harry eases past me to grab it, and I hold the door open for him, then lock up when he’s done.

  What a team we make. I’m so proud of us even though I’ve theoretically done nothing and needn’t be here.

  It’s work getting the ladder into the elevator and still have room. It’s too tall to stand up straight and barely fits sideways. Harry is forced to hold it the entire ride back up to my floor, but I don’t hate the sight of his flexing biceps and strong forearms.

  Um. Yeah.

  “Thank you so much for doing this — it’s going to make a huge difference.”

  “Not a problem. I had the time.”

  I nod. “As long as it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

  “None at all.” He smiles over at me, teeth straight and pearly, winking at me flirtatiously, and I wish I had something in my hands to occupy them instead of wanting to run them down the front of his soft, cotton tee shirt.

  Stop it, Felicity. You are not going to date the maintenance man! You’d want to bang in the broom closet and would never get anything done!

  Besides, he’s been nothing but professional; even if you were single — which you technically are — a hottie like this isn’t going to ask out the woman from accounting.

  I imagine he has a date every night of the week.

  He’s not on any dating apps, that’s for sure. I would have seen him, so maybe he’s in a relationship. Or married.

  I lower my gaze to his left hand; to the fourth finger.

  No wedding band. No tan line. No indent.

  How convenient.

  Maybe he just doesn’t wear it, some guys don’t. Especially if he’s like, sawing things and fixing stuff — wouldn’t that get in his way?

  That’s doctors and nurses and machinists, you moron. They’re the ones who can’t wear rings.

  We make it back to my office and in short time, Harry has the ladder set up beneath my bum light, switch flipped to the off position so he doesn’t electrocute himself, and halfway up the rungs he climbs.

  When his arms go above his head and the hem of his tee shirt hikes up, bearing a sliver of stomach, I try and turn the other way.

  Try to focus on the snow falling outside my window, the frozen pond, the, um.

  The… um…

  Belly button.

  Shit, no!

  Not that!

  Steve, Steve, Steve.

  Harry glances down at me. “Can you take this when I have it unscrewed?”

  “Screwed. Got it.” Shit. “I mean, yeah — okay.”

  Oh my god, get your mind out the gutter. You still have tons of work left and a date to get ready for. You do not have time to have flirty thoughts about the maintenance dude.

  He hands me the faulty bulb, and I hand him the new up.

  Watch as he inserts in, jiggling it to make sure it’s secure.

  “How does it look?” he asks before stepping down.

  “Great,” I say, staring at his butt.

  He doesn’t see me, of course — his eyes are planted on the light, giving it one last test before climbing down and flipping the switch on the wall to power it on.

  The room lights up like the Fourth of July, bright and steady.

  “Yay!” I clap, unable to stop myself. He has no idea what a relief it is that the lights aren’t dancing and short-circuiting, and I can go back to work without the visor shielding my face from the strobes.

  “Thank you!”

  “No problem.” His smile creates a weird flutter inside my chest. “Anything else?”

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  With a tip of the cap, Harry packs up the ladder, and is gone.

  * * *

  For the first time in weeks, I’m cranking out work with no distractions. It feels good. The reports are compiling, the bunnies are wiggling, and there are no migraine inducing flickers above my head.

  Harry is a life saver. I should get his actual number so I can text him directly next time this happens. That would seem too forward, though, wouldn’t it? He might think I’m hitting on him when I’m not. There is absolutely no attraction there.

  None.

  Nope.

  Nothing at all.

  Okay fine, there is some attraction.

  A teensy, weensy bit.

  You can’t blame a girl for having eyes and Harry is hot in a blue-collar, not afraid to get his hands dirty, probably the best kind of maniac in the sack kind of way.

  No, Felicity. No.

  No, no, no.

  I will not begin lusting over Harry. I have a date with Steve tonight.

  Steve, Steve, Steve.

  But Harry…

  Harry, whose low baritone of a voice is what Hallmark movies are made of. With a broad chest and dimple in his chin, and a five o’clock shadow. Deep, easy laugh.

  Thinks I’m funny. Didn’t care that I was babbling about the British Royal family like a whacko.

  Harry, who is tall and funny and smells like a dream. Okay, he smells like cooked meat, but I think he’d probably just had lunch. It’s not his fault if onions have an adverse effect on him.

  My hormones can overlook it.

  Althoughhhh… Steve could very well be a catfish or serial killer while Harry is obviously real and has been vetted by HR.

  STOP, Felicity. Give Steve a chance before jumping ship and jumping Harry.

  And before you do either of those things, finish this report.

  You are here to work, not work on finding a boyfriend!

  I push my glasses back up my nose and continue cross-referencing numbers, making quick work as I go. It’s amazing what a little distraction free lighting can do for my productivity. Too bad the heaters seemed to have kicked off again.

  Leaning over, I put all my brainpower into this report as I pull to get the bottom drawer of my desk open.

  I yank. I jiggle it.

  I heave.

  The damn thing is always stuck!

  “Ugh,” I grunt as it finally gives way, scowling into it. “Are you in cahoots with the tampon machine in the restroom? I swear it sticks just like this. Isn’t that a medical hazard or something? I should probably call Skeeter again.”

  I grab the blanket I have stored for days like today and wrap the zebra print around my shoulders. My office is the perfect temperature during the summer months, but around this time of year, it’s like the heater stops working.

  Sufficiently bundled, I take a quick sip of my milk.

  “Ahh.” Delicious.

  Yep. Still ice cold. It’s going to be a long winter if this office is such an ice box it keeps beverages cool, but oh well. I got the most pressing issue fixed today. I call that a win.

  “Knock knock.”

  Speaking of winning…

  It’s Harry, sticking his handsome, smiling face inside my office.

  “Hello there stranger.”

  Oh god. Did I just say that, in a ridiculous flirty voice? Seriously, do I never interact with people or is it only the hot ones I’m attracted to that I struggle with?

  Why can’t I be hip?

  If he notices that I’m awkward, he ignores it and stands there grinning down at me, leaning against the door jam in that way men do when they want to be relaxed and sexy at the same time. All he’s missing is a plaid flannel shirt, rolled up to his elbows and a tan from working outside.

  But relaxed and sexy? He’s definitely both.

  “How’s the new lightbulb working for you?”

  Fantastically. “I will admit, it’s a lot easier to get this end of the year reporting done when there isn’t a constant flashing reflecting off my screen.”

  “Good. It’s New Year’s Eve.” The dimple appears in his chin. “I’m sure you have big plans you don’t want to miss.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him and our gazes lock. Is he… fishing for information about me? Should I tell him I�
��m unattached and single? Steve doesn’t count, we haven’t even met, yet.

  Still, guilt prickles at my stomach until the truth spills out. “As a matter of fact, I do have plans. All the more reason I appreciate you helping me out. I’m sure you have big plans for the evening as well.”

  Alright. Most of the truth spills out.

  Harry nods. “I do. Been looking forward to tonight for a few weeks now.”

  An odd pang of jealousy hits me out of nowhere. There is no doubt in my mind this super attractive man has a date, probably with someone as equally attractive, because that’s what pretty people do. Ugh. Who is he spending tonight with?

  Is she beautiful?

  Is she his one and only? Are they in love?

  These are thoughts I shouldn’t be having; there’s not a single reason to have them. I am going on a date with Steve. I’m interested in Steve. So why do I feel like there’s a weird and strong connection to Harry?

  “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you need to be on your way, to change and stuff.” I give his jeans and scrappy, sweat stained outfit a once over.

  Not that I’d toss him out of bed, but the man needs a shower.

  Instead of leaving, he cocks his head and studies me in return.

  “Why are you bundled up like you’re in a snowstorm?”

  The question catches me off guard.

  For a maintenance man who probably has a list of things to get done before his hot date, he sure is taking an interest in my well-being.

  “I don’t think the heating unit blows hard enough to reach all the way in here. It gets cold in the winter months.” I shiver. “That’s how the bunnies ended up here.”

  I wiggle my feet in his direction and his lips quirk to one side. Pushing off the wall, he makes his way over to my desk and looks up, standing so close to me I can smell him, hands on his hips.

  He smells like fried food and musk with a slight tinge of sweat. It’s oddly, not an offensive odor. Kind of makes me want to climb him like a tree and see exactly how rough those hands can be.

  Down girl. Remember New Year’s Steve?

  But Harry is so nice. And hot. But mostly nice.

  And he’s here, in my office, whereas Steve… is still just an idea of my perfect man.