The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  “Being homesick isn’t about maturity. It’s about where your heart longs to be.” Popping to her feet, she takes her sweater from me and puts it back on. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Heading toward my place again, I look around at all the apartment buildings in the area, curious where she lives. “What about you? Is your heart in the city?”

  “I’m open to change, but there’s no reason to right now.”

  My curiosity getting the better of me, I finally ask, “Where do you live?” She raises an eyebrow along with one side of her mouth but doesn’t say anything. I add, “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I’m just guessing it must be close, considering how fast you got to my building.”

  “I’m close enough.” I leave it at that, knowing I don’t have a right to more than she’s willing to give. “Does anybody call you Andy?”

  Annnnd that comes out of left field. Entertained by how her mind works, I reply, “No.”

  “Did they ever?”

  “Sure, when I was young and played baseball. Andy Christiansen sounded like a much cooler name to me at the time. My grandparents also called me that.”

  “When did it change?”

  Each step I take has me slowing while searching for a thoughtful response until I stop. I glance at her. “You know, I don’t remember. It wasn’t something that I chose. It just sort of happened.”

  Nodding, she takes in my answer for a long moment, and then she says, “Andrew’s a tricky name.”

  I laugh. It feels good to be kept on my toes. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  Without missing a beat, she walks quicker, matching the pace of her words. “Andrew is so grown up, but Andy is more like a kid’s name. Where do you fall in the scheme of things? And what do you feel about that?”

  “I guess I’m somewhere in between. And . . .” My name is currently the last of my concerns. Do I care? All I know is that I’m falling into bed alone. Where on earth did that thought come from? But right now, I’m not so lonely with her.

  She says, “And?”

  “And nothing.” She chuckles as I continue wondering how my name changed without me noticing.

  “If you could have any nickname, what would you choose?”

  “I thought nicknames were something other people gave you?”

  “I like Drew. I mean, oddly enough, I like the formal name, too. It’s a win-win. Andrew is reliable, the guy you’d trust with not only your money but also your life. So, I think you’re golden with either name you choose.”

  I’m drawn to the one she chose. “I like Drew.”

  “Next question,” she announces with more pep to her step.

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Why’d you want to be CEO?” A few people—my brother, an ex-girlfriend, and a disgruntled employee, to be precise—think I only like to talk about myself. That’s not accurate. I’m not a narcissist, but I am confident in who I am and what I have to offer. Although with Juni, the last thing I want to do is hear myself speak. I prefer to listen to her much more. “Why so many questions?”

  “You ask a lot as well,” she replies with a quick pop of the shoulders. “So I figured you were down with the get-to-know-you-stage of our friendship.”

  “I’m down with twenty questions, but all is fair—”

  “This isn’t love, and it’s definitely not war.”

  I revert to my comfort zone and do what I’m accused of. I ask, “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure, actually.” She hooks her arm with mine, and we continue walking.

  I could fill in the quiet air hanging around between us, but why? I like the sound of traffic and the bustling streets, when we talk and when neither feels the need. I like so much about her that she has me believing that eventually, I might like this city. Instead of doing anything else, I walk in the present with her on my arm.

  We stop in front of my building, not close enough to have Gil jumping up, but where there’s plenty of light drifting onto the street. I ask, “You’re not going to let me walk you home?”

  “No. How do I know if you’re a stalker or not?”

  Chuckling, I reply, “Easily, but if you can’t tell, you’re just going to have to take the risk to find out.”

  Stepping back, she crosses her arms and begins tapping her fingers. “Did you know there are only two plants in the entire office? And one’s an aloe, so officially, it doesn’t count since it’s a genus of flowering succulents.”

  Her mind fascinates me. Her knowledge of plants is a very obscure party trick, or she’s really into gardening. She probably has a garden covering her balcony or a fire escape jam-packed with plants. “Aloe doesn’t count as a plant?”

  “No, it definitely counts as a plant, but a succulent is—” She waves her hands, erasing the air. “Forget that. It doesn’t matter to the actual point I’m making.”

  “Okay, what’s your point?”

  “That the other one is a faux philodendron that was shoved on top of the refrigerator in the break room like that’s its natural habitat.” Leaning in and lowering her voice, she whispers, “I have a theory.”

  “Do tell,” I say, playing along.

  “I think someone actually discarded it.” I hear the offense in her voice when she covers her mouth, as if she can’t bear the thought of it. An unrecognizable emotion flashes through her expression as she looks at the night sky. “Probably that asshat Justin.” The conviction is gone, replaced by a quieter version of the woman I know.

  Remembering what Nick told me about Justin crossing a line with Juni, though, has me calling him an asshole under my breath. I don’t even know what happened, but I know I’m safe in the assumption. I could ask her, but is that a line I shouldn’t cross? Should I talk to HR or keep out of it as I’ve always done?

  With her continuing to stare up like she’s waiting for a sign from above, I’m starting to wonder if she’s purposely avoiding eye contact with me. I ask, “What happened with Justin?” I cross that line like it never existed.

  That draws her attention immediately. “We should probably leave work at the office.” I’m not granted a smile or a wink, no laughter, or even the sense of who Juni normally is with me.

  It’s then that I realize it’s not the emotion that’s unrecognizable. It’s her. “Talk to me.”

  Moving farther away, she keeps her arms crossed when she turns her back to me, her stiffened body language keeping me at bay. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to talk to me as your friend.”

  It takes a minute, but when she looks at me over her shoulder, her body eventually follows. “As my friend, you’ll keep this between us and not be CEO Andrew right now?”

  “I’m always CEO Andrew, but what you tell me in private stays between us.”

  “He didn’t say anything I can’t handle.” When her arms loosen and fall to her sides, her expression tempers. “Let’s not ruin the night. I felt like I was just getting to know the Ice Cream Drew,” she says with an emerging grin. “But there will always be a special place in my heart for bossy CEO Andrew.”

  I can get bossy if that’s what she’s into, but we’re supposed to be platonic. I run my hand over my hair, not sure what to say. Everything that comes to mind is inappropriate. Fuck. Who knew ice cream could lead to thoughts that veer toward the gutter?

  I probably did if I thought about it. “I’m not always the Boy Scout you think I am. Despite the tie I put on each morning, I’m a man with flaws. I’ve gotten in more than my fair share of trouble, but there came a time when I had to choose between instant gratification and long-term satisfaction.”

  Her expression is kind when she says, “I hate that you felt you had to be one or the other. You’re so much more than a prestigious title.” She starts backing away, but adds, “I can’t wait to watch you unravel.”

  What would be considered an insult coming from any other person is a compliment from her. “Hey, where are you going?
”

  “We have work in the morning. I don’t want to give my boss a bad impression.”

  Angling my head to watch her walk away, I rub my thumb over my lip, but then say, “You couldn’t if you tried, babe.”

  A giggle escapes her, and she says, “I’ll see you in the morning. Babe.”

  There’s so much more I want to tell her. That’s a sign to walk away before things turn from platonic to erotic. “Want me to walk you home?”

  With her back to me, she waves over her head. “Good night, Drew.”

  Drew. It’s hard to repress my smile. Why do I like hearing her say my name so much?

  I turn to Gil, who’s holding the door open, and sigh. Two guys standing alone, one just witnessing the other getting shot down. “We’re just friends.”

  He tips his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Christiansen.”

  I will.

  15

  Andrew

  Lying to ourselves is sometimes the best medicine.

  I thought it would feel like any other regular workday when I walked into the office this morning. But disappointment set in the moment I saw the empty reception desk.

  We’re just friends . . .

  Don’t think about Ice Cream Drew or her tongue licking the pink ice cream. Fuck, that’s going to be a hard memory to erase. It’s just too good to forget.

  So what if I enjoy seeing Juni Jacobs on a regular basis? That’s normal. Men and women can be friends. Look at Dalen and me.

  Just because I’ve had thoughts of having sex with Juni in my office doesn’t mean a thing. I shake my head and hurry to said office to hide out before she shows up.

  I’m so fucked.

  I need to clear my head. I’m at work, for fuck’s sake, and these kinds of thoughts could lead to me being fired. Can I be fired? Basically, Juni’s turned me into an asshole.

  Although she’s not entirely to blame. I can squarely place a lot of responsibility on that damn black skirt of hers. I wish I’d never seen it. I wouldn’t be losing my fucking mind if I hadn’t.

  I’m greeted by a few other early birds on my way down the hall. When I approach my door, I notice it’s already open. That’s odd. I distinctly remember locking it last night. Mary and the night janitor are the only two people with keys.

  I slowly push it open and look inside to find Juni standing in front of my desk wearing another skirt that highlights her curves and high fucking heels again.

  Nick is right. Juni is tempting me into an ethics code violation.

  Although it’s confusing to riddle through her different sides. I’m starting to get a fuller picture. She’s become two sides of the same person. There’s work Juni and then the one I hung out with last night.

  Not sure I can say much since she pegged me as Ice Cream Drew and CEO Andrew. I knock and then walk in. “May I help you?”

  She jumps, a gasp forced out as she holds her hand on her chest. “Oh my God, Andrew. Why are you sneaking around? You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking around,” I say, peering outside my office just in case anyone heard her. Our office is full of lookie-loos and listening-lindas. What office doesn’t love a little gossip?

  Fortunately, it’s still early enough that no one is in the area. “What are you doing in here?” I cover the distance to my desk in five steps and then settle into my chair. “And at work, you should call me Mr. Christiansen like everyone else.”

  “To your face.”

  Although I’ve been trying to avoid looking directly at her because I know my gaze will travel lower than her eyes, that comment has me locked on her. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Isn’t that what you like to say?” Her sass is in full swing, and I’m wondering what’s gotten into her.

  “Is something wrong, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “For future reference,” she starts, her fingertips whitening against the wood of my desk. “Good morning is a nice way to greet someone you’re seeing for the first time that day. Or good afternoon and evening depending on the hour.”

  I rock back in my chair, highly entertained by her, even if she forgot whose company this is. “Good morning, Ms. Jacobs.”

  “Good morning to you, Mr. Christiansen.” My name leaves her lips like a dirty word she can’t wait to spit. She presents two cups of coffee on the corner of my desk.

  “Are we having coffee together?”

  “Did you confuse me for Jen?”

  Chuckling lightly, I like the fire she’s burning inside this morning. You know what would be good to cool her down? Deep. Pink. Cream. “Is it hot in here?” I ask, tugging at my collar.

  “No. It’s seventy-one degrees. Just how you like it.”

  “How do you know that? I didn’t even know that.”

  She smirks and sits at the edge of the chair in front of me. “Melissa gave me a manual.”

  “I could use a copy.”

  “Couldn’t we all. Anyway, I brought you coffee to try. The brand served in the break room has a terrible aftertaste, and I also have noticed that a lot of employees are venturing to buy coffee in the lobby, or even more of a time waste—down the street—between two and four PM.” She shakes her head. “Now, don’t get me wrong. Getting out into the sunshine is a good thing. Sometimes we need a break. A little dose of serotonin goes a long way for a productive workday. But that takes them away from the office for about twenty-five minutes. Then they chat as they head back to their desks, which brings it in around forty minutes. According to the manual, a break outside of lunch should only take fifteen to twenty minutes max.” She picks up the cups and sets them in front of me with a big smile as an accompaniment. “A or B?”

  I’m still a little stuck on the serotonin benefits, and noticed break times my staff were taking. Laurie was impressed with Juni for a valid reason.

  Just as I pick up A to try, she adds, “Be honest if you like it or not. This is just the beginning in the search for the perfect coffee, but I think I found a great contender in the Blue Ridge brand.”

  Seeing her proud of her efforts as she waits for me to pick my favorite has me wanting her approval. I don’t know which one is the Blue Ridge brand. I taste the B cup. Now I’m thinking about her tits. Fuck.

  I think she’s bigger than a B, full C maybe. “B.” I clear my throat and busy myself with business cards on my desk. I’m such an asshole.

  Her hands fly together, clasping in front of her. “Really?”

  “Really,” I reply, keeping my eyes in front of me as I shuffle through six cards for window cleaners that Mary left on my desk yesterday. Why am I involved in that decision? Doesn’t the building handle that?

  Juni’s still standing in front of me, silent as a mouse. When I dare to look up, she says, “I think the Blue Ridge is a nice upgrade, but not as smooth as I think we deserve. If we can keep employees in the office versus leaving, we can add more minutes of productivity into the day, thus potentially increasing the bottom line.”

  Studying the B cup in my hand, my gaze goes to her when she stands. “Wow, and here I just wanted a better-tasting coffee.”

  “That too.” She taps my desk and then turns, walking to the door. “Also, Blue Ridge costs 12.48% less than our current brand. I love a good deal.”

  I thought the skirt would be a problem. I never saw her rattling off figures as the next weapon she’d use to distract me. She plays unfairly.

  Thinking she was about to leave, I say, “Before you go—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere just yet.” She turns and paces back, but then she detours to the couch, sitting down. “I’ve been thinking.” Stealing a moment to herself, she glances out the window. Pretty sure I need to expect the unexpected with her after she works through her train of thought.

  I click the main TV on but am quick to mute it. Stressing that someone might see us, I ask, “About?” hoping to move this along before more people arrive in the office.

  “How this is going to
work.”

  I turn on the other two screens that hang beside the TV, preparing to watch the market. “We already know how this is going to work.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re going to fulfill your job duties, and I’m going to do mine. See? It was already settled the day we were hired. Unless you want to go above and beyond. That’s always welcome at CWM.”

  “That sounds naughty. I’m going to need more details on that.”

  I can’t say she’s wrong, but we are at work, and I’m still wondering if we can push our private lives aside during business hours. “No. This is inappropriate on so many levels.”

  Leaning back on the couch, she crosses her legs as if she wants to spend some quality time together. “Also, for the record, when you’re not grumpy, like just now, I feel like you’ve become smart-assy since we became friends.”

  “You might be right, or maybe we’re just at a level to drop our pants.” What? Shit. I cringe inside. Did I really just say that?

  Her head jerks back on her neck. “Drop our pants? What does that mean?”

  “Pretenses.” Do I really have to explain this? Play it off.

  “If it means pretenses, then why don’t you just say drop all pretenses?”

  Good question. “I don’t know. It’s a phrase that’s out there, so I use it.”

  “Maybe it’s used in a locker room where guys are dropping their pants, but not anywhere else.”

  We’re getting bogged down in the nonsense. I also can’t believe I slipped up like that. Fuck. She throws me off my game. “Let’s move on from this conversation and pretend it never happened.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  “You should probably go to your desk.”

  She stands, maneuvering in this skirt better than the last time. Saluting me, she says, “Yes, sir, Mr. Christiansen.”

  Right before she reaches the door, Mary enters. Her eyes pivot between the two of us suspiciously. “Good morning, Juni. Andrew.”

  I’m hit with an evil eye from Juni just before she tamps it down. She takes a breath and then grits, “Good morning,” between tight lips.