by Alice Ward
“I talked to this woman who works at Circle Records.”
Rory sighed. “I meant guys.”
The traffic light changed, and I floored it. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“You want me to have a boyfriend, settle down with one guy. Are Heather and London in on this as well? Scratch that. I know Heather is but is London?”
“What makes you think I’m not just trying to find someone for you to hook up with?”
“Because I don’t need any help in that area, and because I also know you… and Heather.”
“Aren’t you tired of not having a steady boyfriend? You know, it’s not that bad.”
“You know what else isn’t bad? Being a woman who can do whatever the fuck she pleases whenever she pleases. A hundred years ago women in America dreamed of the kind of life we have. Hell, just a few decades ago it was different. Married women in this country couldn’t even get a credit card under their own names till some time in the seventies.”
“There are a lot of men who will be okay with you doing your own thing,” Rory said, ignoring my feminist rant. “Men who love independent women.”
“Men who will be all right with me sleeping with other men?”
“Uh...”
“Did you call me just to talk about this? Was that whole thing about the gallerist being interested in you a farce?”
“No.” Her smile was audible even through the line. “I wanted to share my good news. My very real good news.”
“Good. I’m happy for you. Are we doing drinks tomorrow night?”
“Totally. I’ll start a group text. Love ya.”
“You too. Bye.”
The conversation ended just in time. I took the right turn onto my office’s street. The best thing about the high-rise I worked in was that it came with parking. After swiping my card and pulling into the garage, I did a quick check in the mirror.
When I first began working, when I got my first internship in high school, I started wearing suit skirts. I rocked them pretty hard for six or seven years, keeping up with the trends but also sticking to the most professional options. The year before, when one of my biggest dreams came to fruition, I started switching it up.
Opening my own business meant that, in some ways, I needed to try even harder. Now there were more people to impress, not just one boss. A plethora of clients expected me to prove myself to them on a regular basis. Though crazy, I lived on this. Thrived on this.
Being in charge made it easier to expand my fashion sense. I still thought about clients when I dressed, but I also took into account my individuality. I worked to own it when I woke up in the morning and opened my closet doors.
After checking my makeup, I ran my palms down the front of my dress. Black, with lace trim and long cap sleeves, it fit me like a second skin. Paired with the suede heels, and I was ready to kill. I grabbed my purse and hit the familiar path for the tenth floor.
My phone buzzed right as I stepped into the elevator. Stepping to the side to make room for a man in a suit and a woman in a frumpy dress, I pulled my cell out.
Sup tonight?
My nose instantly wrinkled. I hated the word “sup.” It wasn’t even actually a word.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard while I debated. The text was from Matt Stephens. A casual friend. We’d met at a Cubs game London dragged me to a couple years ago. He was a number of things, the best one being he was pretty dependable for a good time. He could chill with anyone, was always up for a party, but never lost control. He’d gotten both his bachelor’s and master’s in history and could talk a circle around most people. Our conversations were always intelligent and invigorating. He was also a good lay.
Six months ago, when we started getting physical, we both made it pretty clear that we didn’t need anything serious. The arrangement had worked well. We didn’t expect anything out of each other. We saw other people and got together when we felt like it. Nothing messy had ever happened.
I could hit him back, invite him over for a drink and a screw. That’s what he was after. We’d never gotten together alone without clothes being taken off, and that certainly wasn’t about to change.
The elevator stopped, and the two other people on it got off.
No. I have too much work to do.
There was the Jefferson account coming up next week. They were one of my biggest clients. In order to step up my game, out of office work would be involved. Tonight needed to be spent preparing. Tomorrow night drinks with the girls. Maybe I had time for another social night, but better safe than sorry.
Men came at the very end of my list.
Sorry, I told Matt. I’m busy. Rain check?
The elevator opened onto the tenth floor, and I stepped out and into my day.
Ten people were on Laurent Consulting’s payroll, every one of them irreplaceable. Though men came and went and clothes fell out of style, the people you surrounded yourself with at work were crucial. They could make or break you.
“Good morning, Miss Laurent.” Justin smiled at me from the front desk.
“It always is,” I beamed back, energy filling me already. I was in my element, back in my second home.
Some people find work stressful. I find it life giving. I’m a doer. Every single moment of every single day I need to feel like I’m getting something done, making some kind of mark on the world. Even when I was a little kid, it was that way. Instead of playing outside like other elementary school children, I spent my free hours in my bedroom rearranging the stuffed animals on my bed or attempting to read my cousin’s high school text books.
“Is Miranda in yet?” I asked as I walked past the front desk.
“She just arrived,” Justin said.
“Good,” I answered, not breaking my stride. “I want to go over her meeting with Picoult Industries. Send her into my office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The rest of the staff greeted me as I crossed the large main room and turned the corner toward my office. Laurent Consulting kept four main consultants on hand, myself included. If we needed more, we hired out. The last few months had been crazy in that department. We were up to our eyeballs in work.
Just thinking about it made my hands pulse with frenetic energy. My fingers twitched as I opened the door to my office; my digits were eager to get to work.
The morning sun washed my private space with a golden hue. Everything sat immaculate, just as I’d left it on Saturday. I let out a sigh and hung up my jacket.
Just as I settled into my chair, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I commanded.
The door creaked open and Stephanie, our blonde college intern, poked her head in. “Good morning,” she said timidly, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses.
“Good morning,” I replied, booting up my computer. “Do I have any messages?”
“Oh, y-yes!” she stuttered, then scurried over to place my morning Americano on the edge of my desk.
I sipped the piping hot coffee while listening to her read the messages from her clipboard. “Mr. Lambert called to remind you of your meeting with him this morning.”
I rolled my eyes at that one. Niall Lambert. A regular client. He was hot as sin, but his personality, unfortunately, took away any real charm. Once that man opened his mouth, it was all downhill.
“Seth Allman called asking you to, uh, dinner.”
My head snapped up. “Wait. What? Who?”
Stephanie blinked through her hipster glasses. “Seth, uh… Allman?”
I groaned. How did he get my number? Or even find out my name?
As annoying as he had been, his grit and determination had to be admired. I shot him down hard, and yet he still went through the trouble of finding out who I was and how to find me. There was something undeniably sexy about that.
“Would you like his number?” Stephanie asked.
“No, thanks,” I nearly snapped. I sucked in a breath and debated for another m
oment. “Actually, yes, give it to me.”
I ducked my head as my cheeks heated. Seth was below the caliber of men I usually dated, thanks to his pretentious attitude. I would be stooping pretty low to go out with him, and that wasn’t something to be proud of.
Not that Stephanie knew what was going on.
I had no real plans to call Seth back. His attitude at the bar had left as much of an impression as the glow in his deep blue eyes.
Stephanie scribbled on a post-it and then stuck it to the corner of my desk. I eyed the nefarious numbers, their very presence tempting.
I could screw him and then make him leave. We wouldn’t even have to talk.
That would show him, maybe put him in his place. I’d be doing him a favor.
“That’s all for now,” I told Stephanie, turning back to my computer and forcing my eyes away from the taunting post-it.
CHAPTER THREE
Piano music wafted through the hotel’s bar, sliding across the tiny stage and wrapping around our cocktail table.
“I don’t know why she likes this place,” Heather said under her breath.
“It’s nice,” Rory argued.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It feels kind of old timey, you know? Like it’s the twenties.”
“It is,” Heather agreed, playing with one of her dangling earrings. “But London usually hates these kinds of places.”
“True,” I agreed again. An evening at the ball park spent guzzling beer from a plastic cup was more London’s style.
Rory nodded toward the door. “Here she comes.”
I turned in my seat. London threaded through the tables, smoothing her skirt as she walked. Her chestnut brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and she had on more eye makeup than she usually wore, though it looked great. She waved at us, but her eyes darted in the direction of the bar, where the buff blond bartender stirred a cocktail.
I laughed and turned back to Heather. “I think I know why she likes it here so much.”
“Hey, guys!” London chirped loudly as she took a seat.
“Hey,” Rory said. “You know that blond bartender over there?”
London nodded with wide eyes. “Yeah?”
“He came over and asked if you were coming. He wanted to know what you’re up to later.”
London’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “And he wants to know what you prefer, missionary or doggy.”
“Stop!” Heather chastised. “This is mean.”
“You bitch,” London snapped, though she couldn’t stop her smile. She reached across the table and grabbed Rory’s beer and took a drink. “That’s reparations for getting my hopes up.”
“Well, at least now we know why you like this place so much.”
“Do you think I have a chance?”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Definitely. Now let’s just laugh like we’re having the best time of our lives. Cross your legs and flip your hair. He’ll come over here eventually. Then you can order some kind of cocktail that has the word sex in it.”
“And ask him to go heavy on the cock,” Rory added.
Heather and I burst into laughter, though she blushed and glanced around to see if any of the nearby people in suits were listening.
London bit her lip and smiled. “Good. Now, what were you guys talking about before?”
I sipped my Manhattan. “How famous Rory is going to be.”
Rory shrugged in mock modesty. “Here’s hoping.”
“We were about to talk about Quinn’s new guy,” Heather said.
I put my hand up. “Ugh. There is no new guy.”
“That soldier boy—”
“Is not an option. Trust me.”
Rory laughed.
“What?” I demanded with a glare.
“It’s just that… well, judging from what I know about him and what you told me, I think I know why you’re so put off by him.”
“Yeah, because he’s an ass.” I sat up straighter and caught the eye of the cocktail waitress then pointed at London.
The waitress hurried over.
“A gin martini, please,” London told the woman.
“Extra cock,” Rory teased.
The waitress nodded in confusion and left.
Rory clutched the edge of the table and leaned over it to look me straight in the eyes. “You’re Type A, Quinn, okay? And that’s putting it in the mildest sense.”
“So? What’s your point? There’s nothing wrong with that.”“I’m not saying there is. I was just about to get to my point...”
“You’re hard on men,” Heather said, jumping in.
I clicked my tongue. “Oh my God, I am not.”
London cocked her head. “I think Rory is saying more than that. She’s suggesting that you and Army Boy are too similar.”
Rory pointed at her in excitement. “Exactly! She didn’t like it when he started talking shop with her.”
I lifted my palms in frustration. “Because he doesn’t know what he’s talking about! He doesn’t know anything about the industry! He’s in the reserve. How on earth can you call that ‘talking shop?’”
“You don’t know what he did before that. Am I right? Or did you actually get that far in your conversation?”
“Ugh. Fine. Whatever. You can spin whatever theory you want to about it, but you’re not right.”
“Actually, I think she’s right,” Heather said.
“Me too,” London nodded. “You were like this with Dan… and Javon… And they were both great guys.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rory murmured. “But they were both too much like you.”
“Dan is afraid of nature,” I pointed out, jabbing a finger at her. “He wouldn’t even go to the park.”
“Other than that, you guys are extremely alike.”
“Okay, fine. So, this Seth guy might be too much like me. That means we wouldn’t get along. You just made a case for that. Dan and I didn’t work out, and neither did Javon. Opposites attract.”
Rory checked something on her phone. “And sometimes fail. And those relationships didn’t last longer than a month each time because you didn’t want them to.”
“Dan was afraid of grass,” I stubbornly persisted.
“And you’re afraid of commitment.”
“Um, excuse me. I’m actually not in need of it. There’s a big difference. And if boyfriends are so great, where’s yours?”
“I’m working on it,” she smiled coyly.
The waitress popped in and set London’s drink in front of her. “This is on the bartender,” she smiled, then left.
London’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. Is he looking at me right now?”
The man in question glanced over and then went back to work taking a couple’s order.
Rory and Heather did their best to bite back laughter.
“Oh, yeah,” Rory said. “And he wants you to know the extra cock is in the back storage room. Meet him there in five.”
“Whatever.” London grinned.
“Seriously. He’s saying all of this with his eyes. Heather, back me up.”
Heather giggled. “Yeah, he wants to Netflix and chill.”
They burst into laughter, but I didn’t join them. I stared at the candle in the middle of the table. Were my friends right?
As off-putting as Seth had been, maybe I’d been equally unfair.
The post-it with his number on it burned a hole in my bag, searing through the leather and about lighting my thighs on fire.
CHAPTER FOUR
I gazed out the window over my kitchen sink at the pool lights glowing beneath the water. They danced about as the water rippled in the breeze, tempting me to join them.
I had work to do, but for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to open my computer. I always had work to do. Things never stopped in my profession, and I liked to be ahead of the game. The big project for Stafford Scientific loomed close,
and one of the consultants was expecting a baby, so needed time off soon. But I couldn’t even wrap my head around going into my home office and sitting down at the desk. Or going to the gym. Or making a run to the grocery store.
I just kept standing there and staring out the window.
Starlet’s nails clipped against the linoleum as she headed for her water bowl in the corner.
A vision of Seth’s blue eyes filled the kitchen window and stared back at me.
“Ugh,” I spat. Usually, when I couldn’t get a man off my mind, it was because of some worthwhile attribute, like his abs or his skills in bed. Eyes weren’t something I noticed. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about Seth’s.
When was the last time I’d been so fixated on a man’s peepers?
Sophomore year at NYU. That had to be it. Whit Burke. We dated for six months, and then he broke up with me because he “wasn’t ready for a girlfriend.” I was crushed at first, but then quickly realized that I needed to focus on school and my career.
I’d been in love with Whit. That was for sure. Flash forward and here I was, in Whit’s shoes, “not ready” for a boyfriend. Or, more specifically, not interested in one.
I had to remember that last part.
I couldn’t be in love with Seth. Or even in like with him. I didn’t even know him.
And I couldn’t be crushing on him. Not after only one — annoying — interaction.
I huffed and pushed myself off the counter. I had to do something. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I pulled up Matt’s text from the day before. He’d been down to meet up last night, so maybe the offer still stood. My fingers hesitated over the keypad.
I couldn’t do it.
He was a pleasant person to be around, someone with a nice smile and a good pack of abs. Yet tonight he seemed incredibly unappealing.
Worst of all, each time I thought of him I ended up imagining Seth instead.
Damn it.
The bright yellow post-it stared up at me from my purse and begged me not to call Matt. There’s more out there, it said. It pressed me to pick it up and dial the number written across its face.
“Geez,” I sighed, snatching up the paper. “Fine.”
So, Seth was cocky and spoke out of place. Who cared? As for my obsession with his eyes, a taste of his body would likely take care of that. If we didn’t connect in bed, all right then. It might be good. If not, I could send him on his way and move on with my life.