The Difference Between Us

by Rachel Higginson

  Laughing at her disproportionate reaction to a few simple emails, I threw her a bone. “He’s at least not as horrible as I thought he was. He’s… nice.”

  “And hot,” she added.

  “So hot,” I agreed, finally giving into the gushing that had been building since I read his email. “How is it even fair that he’s that hot?”

  “It’s because he’s also nice. Looks are one thing, but when they’re good people too, that’s like a whole other level of hot.”

  “And funny,” I added without thinking about it. “He’s surprisingly funny. And thoughtful in an unexpected way. And he sends me things, Vera. Like pastries and lunch. I don’t know what to think about him.”

  Her smile softened and her expression warmed. “It sounds like you guys work really well together.”

  I ignored her innuendo. “I’m just realizing that maybe I don’t hate him as much as I thought I did.”

  She nudged me with her elbow. “I remember those days. I was so young, so naïve, so… in denial.”

  We laughed together because she really had been in denial about Killian. “This isn’t the same thing,” I told her. “You and Killian had all that chemistry right off the bat. Plus, you have so much in common it just makes sense for you guys to be in love. Ezra and I are… completely different. We have nothing in common except this work project. I’m just happy I can walk down the aisle with him at your wedding without wanting to stab him.”

  “I’m happy for that too,” she said sincerely. Vann turned around with our shakes and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “If we drink this fast enough, we’ll still have time to swing through McDonald’s before you have to be at work.”

  “This is why I love you.” Well, giving up her code of chef ethics to sneak in a breakfast burrito was just one of the reasons I loved her. Laughing over chalky protein shakes that lied about tasting like chocolate and peanut butter was another. And knowing I could trust her to keep me grounded when it came to Ezra was also topping the list lately.

  She was the biggest cheerleader for my happiness and in her current blissful state of mind, of course she would see potential where there wasn’t anything. Now if only I could remember that too. And stop looking forward to my first work phone call of the morning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: March 31, 2017 16:46:29 EST

  Subject: Tonight

  Molly,

  I have some thoughts on what you’ve sent me. I want to go over them with you. Bring your laptop to Killian and Vera’s dinner thing.

  ~Ezra

  I stared at Ezra’s command. Then I looked at the clock. Exactly one minute ago, I had been excited for Friday night and the opportunity to leave work behind for a solid two days. I didn’t want a lot in life, but the possibility of a free weekend was non-negotiable.

  And now Ezra had managed to ruin the most exciting thing about my weekend. Vera and Killian had invited a small group of people to their house for supper tonight. I hadn’t known Ezra was one of them though. After spending more than a month working for him, I was pretty sure the only thing the man did was work. Which was fine. He was free to spend his life however he wanted. If he wanted to miss out on friends and family and weekends and the plethora of wonders Netflix had to offer, that was up to him.

  Only now he wanted to make me work that much too.

  I glared at Ezra’s email. “No,” I told the computer. Then I tapped out a quick reply.

  To: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  From mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  Date: March 31, 2017 16:54:12 EST

  Subject: Re: Tonight

  No.

  MM.

  With only six minutes until freedom five, I started to gather my things and the work I actually did need to glance at over the weekend. It just didn’t need to happen tonight. Or without wine. But with two major projects in hand, there just weren’t enough hours during the work week to get it all done.

  Ezra replied back before I shut down my laptop. Although, to be fair, I had left it open just in case he got right back to me.

  What do you mean no?

  ~Ezra

  I found myself smiling at the short email. I pictured him groomed, tailored and completely baffled.

  I mean NO, Ezra. Killian and Vera are slaving away to make us one of the most perfect meals we’ll ever eat. We’re not going to ruin it by working all night. Plus, don’t you want to relax a little? This is one of those rare moments you could have some fun. You’re currently at risk of becoming a curmudgeon.

  MM.

  This time I didn’t wait for Ezra to answer me. I threw my laptop in my messenger bag and all but ran from the building. I had gotten really good at slinking around the office unseen, blending into walls and hiding behind corners. Also, I was getting better at finding excuses not to meet Junior in his office whenever he had a good idea about the Black Soul account.

  Henry was running out of patience for my ducking and dodging, but it turned out that Ezra was good for something. Especially with so much of Mother Tucker’s support behind Ezra’s account. I often used EFB Enterprise’s project as an excuse to get out of menial Black Soul tasks.

  To be fair, there were some setbacks with this plan. Like it was doing the opposite for my career that I wanted it too. I was supposed to be schmoozing Junior with my sweet social media skills, convincing him I needed more lead designer projects and building the reputation that would sustain the career I wanted.

  Unfortunately, he was more interested in staring at my chest and accidentally bumping into me. He could care less about my portfolio or what I could offer the company he was set to inherit. I’d gone from highly optimistic that Black Soul was the project that would set me up for lifelong success to the dismal realization that I was just eye candy for Henry to ogle while he was forced to work.

  I was less disappointed with that realization than I expected to be. Not that I loved being mentally undressed all day long by one of the skeeziest people I had ever met, but maybe the expectations I’d put on myself to climb this company ladder and make a name for myself had been somewhat contrived. Maybe. Possibly… Consider me still undecided.

  The weather had shifted now that we’d made it to the end of March. I could smell spring in the air, feel it in the fragrant breeze, although there was still a chill, and the temperature always dropped when it started to get dark. But the days were gradually getting longer. It felt so good to leave work at five o’clock and walk out into early twilight instead of black night. The sun was warming and brightening and the trees had started blooming.

  My phone buzzed in my purse. I reached for it, struggling to pull it free while also carrying an empty coffee thermos and my office parking pass.

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: March 31, 2017 17:11:38 EST

  Subject: Re: Re: Tonight

  We’ll ride together. We can talk website on the way. I’ll pick you up at 6:45.

  Ezra

  P.S. Curmudgeon? I thought you had more moxie than that, Molly the Maverick.

  Something fluttered low in my belly, making me decidedly hot and also cold and also queasy. I slid onto the driver’s seat of my two-year-old Volkswagen Jetta that I had named Joan—Joan Jetta—and allowed myself one, brief, necessary smile. Depositing my things on the passenger’s seat, I tapped the screen of my phone with nails that needed a manicure badly and decided my next move. I had moxie. I had moxie in spades.

  To: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  From: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  Date: March 31, 2017 17:18:06 EST

  Subject: Re: Re: Tonight

  I’m a professional, Mr. Baptiste. It’s not my style to insult clients. Or accept rides from them to dinner parties.

  MM.

  There. That settled it. That would put an end to this email string and his rid
iculous notion of working tonight.

  I pulled out of the parking garage and headed home slowly, smashed between the rest of downtown traffic anxious to get to their Friday night plans. My phone buzzed in my cup holder, but I waited three entire stoplights before I let myself check it.

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: March 31, 2017 17:29:27 EST

  Subject: Re: Re: Tonight

  Excellent. Since you, the consummate professional, don’t want to insult me, the curmudgeon client, I’m happy to hear you’ll accept my offer to drive you this evening during our mobile meeting. I’ll pick you up at 6:45, Miss Maverick. Bring your notes.

  Ezra

  P.S. This is fun. Does that count?

  I blinked at my phone trying to distinguish between the bubbly feeling in my belly and the irritated tension settling on the back of my neck. Of all the high-handed, bossy bosses, Ezra Baptiste was the worst.

  The. Worst.

  Which was why I ignored the email totally. And why I practically ran inside my apartment building and then smashed my floor button convinced that I could make the elevator move faster. It was why I threw all my things on the kitchen counter in a messy pile and stripped on the way to the bathroom so I could take the world’s fastest shower. It was also the reason I picked out a subtly slutty outfit—my most flattering skinny jeans that made my butt look banging, my favorite and only pair of Jimmy Choo heels, and a cream, long-sleeved, wrap blouse that tied at the nape of my neck and was mostly backless. I would have to get creative with the bra situation but it was worth it.

  I had just finished applying my last layer of lip gloss when my phone buzzed. A text this time. From a number I didn’t have programmed into my phone yet, although we’d shared texts for work for the last two weeks so I had it memorized.

  If you buzz me in, I’ll be a gentleman and come get you.

  The clock read 6:39. He was early. And sexy as hell chivalrous. And confusing because I knew he was up to something, but I didn’t know what.

  I stared at the phone for another minute, deciding what to do with him. There was a lot I had thought about doing with him. Quitting the EFB Enterprises account just to teach him a lesson, or driving myself tonight just to spite him, or throwing myself at him and sucking his face like the sex-starved hermit I was were just a few ideas I’d tossed around.

  In the end, I chickened out completely and didn’t even text him back. I grabbed my purse, locked up my apartment and managed to get downstairs all on my own.

  He was standing next to the lobby door when I stepped off the elevator. There was a narrow hallway that led to glass doors so I could see his profile perfectly as he stared at the buzzer waiting for me to let him inside.

  I bit my cheek to keep from smiling, blushing, or reacting in any way. He’d dressed subtly sexy too. But I doubted he’d done it on purpose. His jeans were casual and strange after seeing him so often in suits and tailored pants. He wore a heather gray sweater that clung to firm, corded muscles. And he’d styled his hair in a more casual way than usual. Or maybe he hadn’t styled it at all and that was the problem. The stupid, delicious, irresistible problem.

  The ends still looked damp from a shower and it was disheveled in a way that made me want to run my fingers through it.

  My movement must have caught his attention because he turned to face me fully and my heart kicked once, twice… three times. A patient smile broke free, and his eyes squinted with disapproval.

  “I’m an independent woman,” I told him before he could say anything. “Which means I know how to take an elevator all the way to the ground floor without help.”

  “Yet, you still can’t remember to wear a coat,” he said pointedly.

  I looked up at him, annoyed with how much taller he was than me. It made me feel too small, too delicate. Too vulnerable. “You’re not wearing one either.”

  His head dipped and he hummed his agreement. “You’re a bad influence.”

  My mouth dried out and for one senseless second, I imagined leaning forward, closing the distance between us and kissing him.

  That would be crazy, right? He was bossy. And irritating. And my client now. Maybe the Black Soul project hadn’t panned out like I’d wanted it to, but EFB Enterprises could. And with a client like Ezra Baptiste in my portfolio, I could avoid working with Henry Tucker ever again and grab creative director spots instead.

  Clearly, I was losing sight of what was important. My mom’s warnings clanged through my head. Don’t mess this up, I scolded myself. Focus.

  I patted my purse and took a step back. “I have my notes,” I told him. “So if you want to go over them in the car, I guess we can.”

  He straightened, pulling back like he’d been trapped in the same spell surrounding us as me. Even though I knew that wasn’t right. Ezra Baptiste didn’t kiss girls like me. As in normal, common, boring girls. Ezra Baptiste, CEO of EFB Enterprises dated exotic women named Lilou, Bianca, and Sarita. They were as wild and passionate and dysfunctional as you could imagine. And when they left him, he named high-end restaurants after them that garnered Michelin stars and boasted James Beard winners for executive chefs.

  He was a wealthy, successful CEO with wine cellars worth more than my entire apartment and everything in it.

  I was a twenty-something graphics designer considering buying a cat or two for companionship.

  This man was not thinking about kissing me. I probably had something in my teeth.

  I ran my tongue over them just to be safe and started toward his car in case he decided to say something about it and accidentally murder me with embarrassment.

  “Thank you for indulging me,” he said to my back. “I’ve liked all of your mockups so far. I think the sooner the changes to the website go live the better.”

  “Because your restaurants are struggling?” I asked only half kidding.

  He stepped in front of me and opened the door to his car that he’d parked illegally in front of the building. “Not struggling, but they could always make more money. You should never turn down an opportunity for more money, Molly.”

  He was teasing me, but I wondered if he really believed what he said. “It’s hard to make more money when you’re booked solid months out. I think you’ve hit the limit on your money-making capacity.”

  I slid onto the passenger’s seat and he shut the door without answering. While he walked around the car, I flipped the visor down and checked out my teeth quickly. Nothing there. Whew.

  When he was seated next to me, he paused with his hand hovering over the push button ignition. “Lilou is booked out thanks to Killian. Well, Wyatt now. But Killian was the one that originally built the reputation. Sarita does all right, although she has room to grow. But she’s also my newest venture. Bianca could drown us all.”

  “Did Vera say you have a bad chef?”

  “Had a bad chef,” Ezra clarified while he pulled out on the main roads. “And he wasn’t bad in that he couldn’t cook. He was bad in that he terrorized his staff and the diners. He was a hazard that I gave too much leniency for much too long. Now Bianca is without a leader and none of the current staff are brave enough to step up. It has to be an outside hire, but I can’t find anyone with the right caliber that is also willing to resuscitate a damaged reputation.”

  “You can’t find a chef that wants to take over Bianca? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I offered her to Vera. Did you know that? She turned me down. Every chef I’ve taken her to has turned me down. Excluding Vera, most of the chefs I’ve met would rather walk into a sure thing than gamble a flailing liability. They don’t want to tarnish their reputations and I’m not willing to bet on someone straight out of school. I need experience and wisdom. I need someone with grit.” He turned his head, meeting my gaze for a brief, sincere second before he turned back to the road. “It’s much harder to find someone like that than you’d think.”

  I didn’t k
now what to say or how to respond. So I blurted the first thing that popped into my head. “I can’t believe Vera turned you down. She’s wanted something like Bianca forever.”

  “Yeah, well that was before she met Killian. Her dream changed. I don’t fault her for it. Actually, I respect the hell out of her. Any woman that can tame Killian deserves sainthood or something. At the very least, her own restaurant.”

  “She tames him and he pushes her to get outside of her box and face her fears. They’re so perfect for each other it’s kind of nauseating.”

  His mouth kicked up on one side. “I didn’t peg you for a cynic, Molly.”

  “Well, a growing number of bad blind dates will do that to you. True love is for the very few and the very, very lucky.”

  He glanced at me out of the side of his eye. I thought he was going to call me on my true love dig, but instead he asked, “Why do you keep agreeing to blind dates if so many of them have been bad?”

  Good question. Why did I keep saying yes? “Hope, I guess. Maybe I’m a cynic, but not by choice. I’m holding out for that one blind date that isn’t so bad. Or a guy that’s also a man.” I felt like slapping my hand over my mouth. I couldn’t believe I just said that! Or that I kept talking, apparently unable to shut up before I made a fool of myself. “I’m just tired of boys that don’t know what they’re looking for in a woman or in life. And I’m really tired of late night dick pics after just a couple dates. For real, it’s like your entire species doesn’t understand that not everyone is as obsessed with your penis as you are.”

  “Hey, now! Not all of us enjoy taking genital selfies.” Ezra looked truly offended.

  “Apologies then. Maybe there are a few of you out there with some self-restraint.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “So Molly Maverick’s dating criteria include men of a certain age with steady jobs and no dick pics?”