FitzAssoc: I am one hundred percent serious. If you propositioned my boss sober, he’d take you up on that faster than you can say, “Long live the queen!”
I stop texting long enough to imagine him taking me up on that and Whew! I like what I see.
AiméeT: Can you get the information about where he left my van for me?
FitzAssoc: I could try, but what fun would that be?
AiméeT: Byron, please.
FitzAssoc: Fine. But you should know that when I got in to work this morning, there was a memo on my desk about you starting our employee appreciation lunch this Friday. The boss also said I’m to give you an advance of five hundred dollars for supplies, so you’ll have to pop up here to get your check.
Five hundred dollars?! I won’t be out of pocket for once. I do a little seated happy dance, then realize I really do have to go up there, which means I very well may see him. And worse, he may see me.
AiméeT: Any chance he’ll be out of the office today?
And every Friday forever?
FitzAssoc: Not that I know of. Now, I really need to go do my job. The boss is watching me and I’m pretty sure he’s on to the fact that I haven’t started the filing he left on my desk an hour ago.
AiméeT: Sounds awful. If I text you right before I come up, can you run to the elevator and hand me the check so I don’t have to get off?
FitzAssoc: Coward.
AiméeT: And proud of it. Will you?
FitzAssoc: As you wish.
AiméeT: Princess Bride reference?
FtizAssoc: Of course.
AiméeT: Why are you not straight? Seriously?
FitzAssoc: Life’s an ironic bitch sometimes. Now I really must get back to work.
AiméeT: xoxo
I put my phone down, feeling like I’ve just signed my own death warrant. First thing’s first though. I need to brush my teeth about six times to remove the fuzzy socks they’re wearing—a predictable result of my wild ways—and then I need a scalding hot shower.
Only then will I pick up my van.
Chapter Eighteen
Noel
I really have gone too far this time. Trying to convince her to proposition me again? That crossed the line. And talking up my sexual prowess? Pathetic. She can never find out it’s me. Never. I really do have to tell Byron, especially if she’s going to be here every week. I can’t risk her figuring out that she’s not texting him. If that happens, she’ll despise me forever, which is a possibility I can’t stomach. What a shite situation. I don’t want her to love me, but I can’t live in a world where she hates me either, as selfish as that sounds.
I’ve manipulated her. Treated her like all those other men. Lying to get what I want from her. This is the only time I’ve ever done something even remotely like this. I’ve always played it straight with the other women I’ve dated. It’s not my fault they didn’t believe the truth about my priorities. They all thought that at some point they’d end up at the top of the list.
What they didn’t understand was that I had the financial security of dozens of families resting firmly on my shoulders. It’s a burden I take with the utmost gravity. When you hire people, they make a promise to work hard for you, and you make a promise right back—that you’re going to make sure they’ll have a job to come to every day. And since I started my own firm nine years ago, I’ve lived up to that promise. I would never jeopardize the well-being of my employees for any reason, including my own happiness.
When I was younger and naïve, I thought I could juggle my responsibilities with a relationship, but I learned the hard way it couldn’t be done. And until now, I’ve stuck to my guns, allowing no one to get in the way of my goals.
But this time?
This time, I’ve broken all my own rules, and in a most despicable way. I’ve let myself down, but worse, I’ve lied to Aimée over and over again. I sigh, walking over to the window, wondering if she’s on her way here yet and what I should do when she arrives. Maybe I should just tell Byron she’s in a big rush and ask him to meet her at the elevator with the money. But knowing him, he’ll hop on with her and ride down so he can dig up some dirt about last night. He really was rather shocked by the state of my office when he came in this morning.
I turn and look at him through the glass wall. At least I didn’t lie about him not doing the filing. He’s been talking up the FedEx guy for the last twenty minutes. If he were anyone other than my twin, he’d have been fired so long ago. His phone rings and he gives the guy the “one sec” finger before answering. He turns and gestures to me urgently, mouthing, “Walter Junior!” I hurry to my desk just as my phone rings and pick it up. “Noel Fitzwilliam.”
“Noel, it’s Walter, the younger, better version.”
Doing my best to sound casual, I say, “Walter, how are you?”
“Never better. Listen, I got your message about meeting for lunch. I have to say I feel like the prettiest girl at the prom. You architects are a hungry bunch.”
I ball up my free fist, then do my best to let the offending comment slide off my back. I let out a friendly chuckle that makes me hate myself. “Well, it’s a hell of an amazing opportunity you boys are offering. You can’t blame us for wanting in on it, right?”
“Makes me glad I’m me and not you,” he says with an almost girly giggle that causes me to want to reach through the phone with two fingers and poke him in the eyes.
“Right. Sure,” I say. “So, I’m assuming you gave some thought to our proposal. As I said in the meeting, it’s our starting point, but we want to work with your team to give you exactly what you’re looking for. In the end, you have a vision for this city, and we’re here to help you make that a reality.”
“Yeah, I remember your spiel,” Walter answers. “Actually, it’s almost word-for-word what the other guys said.” There’s that giggle again. Grrr …
“Any architect worth his salt knows it’s all about pleasing the client,” I say, doing my best not to sound defensive. Or insulted. Or annoyed.
“I’m pretty sure all the ladies of the night have that same motto.” He snort-laughs, then says, “Sorry, man. I don’t mean to offend. I’m just playing with you.”
“Right,” I grind out. “No problem.”
“Glad you’ve got a sense of humor. I don’t work with people who can’t take a joke. I’ll let you in on a little secret. We’re leaning toward you, but we’re pretty much going to need a complete overhaul of your design by the end of next month if we’re going to sign off on it.”
I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting to let that sink in. A complete overhaul before they sign. That’s pretty much worst-case scenario. Well, other than a no right out of the gate.
He continues with, “Anyway, I know you’re anxious to get some face-time with me, and my squash game just fell through. Do you play?”
No, I do not play squash. “Only a couple of times in uni.”
“Excellent, that means I can squash you like a bug.” Egad, this man is annoying. “Meet me at the Albany Club on 53rd at one p.m. We can work up a sweat and talk deets.”
He hangs up before I have a chance to say no. Not that I would. Sitting back in my chair, I let out a long, frustrated sigh. I guess I have to go buy some trainers and shorts. Oh, and a racquet. But first I need to figure out what to do about Aimée.
Chapter Nineteen
Aimée
I spend so much time getting ready to go downtown and pick up my van you’d think I was preparing for the Miss America pageant. There’s showering, exfoliating, double leg shaving, moisturizing, hair drying, hair curling, and makeup—all before trying to figure out what to wear. Cute spring dress with a fluttery hem.
On the off chance that I actual see Noel, I need to make sure I look and smell so good that he kicks himself all over hell and back for turning me down last night. Meanwhile, I’ll act all light and happy and totally oblivious that anything is up. That’ll show him who
’s boss. Me, I’m the boss.
By the time I’m walking into the lobby, I’ve actually talked myself into wanting to see him. Or rather, I’ve decided he needs to see me. When the elevator opens, I step out and spot Byron. I’m about to run over to him and throw myself into his arms and thank him for being such a great friend, but Noel walks out of his office and blocks me.
He mutters something to Byron, who, in turn, walks in the opposite direction. Drat. I remind myself to smile. Smile like someone’s giving me a thousand bucks for every visible tooth.
When Noel reaches me, he furrows his brow and asks, “How are you feeling?”
“Never better!” I practically shout at him. “Seriously, really good! Thank you so much for breakfast!” OMG, stop yelling at him, already.
“I always find a full-English does the trick after a night of too much fun.” He winks at me and my insides spasm like I’ve just shuffled through shag carpeting while wearing wool socks before grabbing the refrigerator handle. What are the chances Byron is right and I can talk Noel into making up for last night’s lack of physical intimacy just by showing up here sober?
“Would you mind if I used your bathroom before I go get my van?” My plan is to invade his inner sanctum then BAM! pounce like a panther.
Noel walks me in the opposite direction of his office and says, “There’s a ladies’ room right here.”
Oh. I give him a semi-smile—four and a half front teeth showing tops, no bottoms, and definitely no molars. I don’t really have to go to the bathroom, but I can’t tell him that, so I turn around and walk in.
Oh hurray, Cindy’s standing at the sink, washing her claws. “Hi, Cindy,” I say, feeling the need to say something. The woman did let me wear her pants, after all.
She eyes me in the mirror like I’m a cockroach in her soup. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
Ah, so we’re going to play this game, are we? “Aimée Tompkins,” I tell her. “The caterer from last Friday’s lunch. You lent me your pants.”
“Right.” She sounds SO enthused. “I’m actually surprised they fit you,” she says while looking me up and down, still in the mirror.
Not even having the courtesy to turn and look at me in person is really ticking me off. So much so, I say, “They were actually big. I had to wear two aprons so that people wouldn’t see how they hung on me.” I’m filing this little scene away for further enjoyment.
Cindy rears back like I slapped her, but I ignore her and go wait in a stall until she leaves. Don’t mess with me, Cindy of the torturous pants. I will slay you!
After I hear the door close—Slam! I come out, reapply my lipstick, and fluff my hair in the mirror. I look good. You know how after a night of too much alcohol your face can puff up a little? I’ve decided it’s a flattering look on me. It probably takes off a couple years. Add the bee-stung lips, I gotta confess, I’m hard-pressed not to lean into the mirror and kiss myself.
Noel is waiting for me when I come out. “If you’re ready, I can take you to the garage to get your van,” he says.
“You’re going to go with me? What a gentleman!” I’m yelling again.
He leads me to the elevator while I turn around looking for Byron. I see him walk back to his desk and when our eyes connect, I wink at him and give him a big thumbs up. He smiles distractedly like he doesn’t even know me. Oh, I get it, we’re going to be professional in front of other people. That makes sense.
Noel holds the elevator door for me before getting on himself. He stands so close I can smell the spices in his aftershave. Yummmmmmmmm. People get on and off, so I don’t even try to carry on a conversation with him, I just lean in and inhale his essence. When we’re nearing the eighth floor, he looks down at me and we just stare at each other. I smile and bat my eyelashes, but he doesn’t return my flirty gaze. There’s a tiny vertical line between his eyebrows that makes me wonder if he’s worried about something.
When we get off at the lobby, Noel says, “Should we walk? It’s a lovely day and I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs, if you’re up for it.”
Oh, I’m up for it all right. “Sounds great. I love walking. And being outside. And walking outside,” I ramble on while he holds open the door for me. “I really appreciate you coming with me, but I know how busy you are so if you don’t have time …” Come anyway because I think I’m falling in love with you and I really want you to ask me out again or kiss me or both.
“I’m happy to take you,” he says as we fall into step with each other on the wide sidewalk.
The sun shines down, warming my skin and making me feel more alive than I have in a very long time. Maybe ever. “This is my favorite time in the city—it’s pretty and fresh and everything feels new. I bet London is nice in the spring too.”
“I’m afraid it’s rather rainy and dull,” he answers as he sidesteps a man waiting in line at a hot dog cart.
“Oh, well, it’s better that you moved here then,” I answer, wondering if it’s too soon to ask if he plans on staying. Definitely too soon. We haven’t even kissed yet.
“Aimée, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
If I didn’t have the pelvic floor that I do, I might have peed myself. He’s going to tell me that he wants to take me on a real date and all that might entail. I can barely contain my excitement.
“The thing is,” he says, sounding way too serious for the good news he’s about to impart. “I like you very much.”
“I like you very much too,” I tell him, wondering why he doesn’t sound more enthusiastic.
“Yes, well, in my case, the number of people I like could fit on a Post-It note. Actually, one of those Post-It tabs used to indicate where to sign a document.”
I grin at a woman pushing a stroller as I walk past, imagining myself saying, He likes me, and he doesn’t like anyone else. Also, where’d you get that stroller, because I may need one in a couple years. “So I’ve been admitted into a pretty exclusive club, then.”
“Very,” he says with a sigh. “You are warm and bright and smart and really, really fun. And I find myself thinking about you a lot more than I probably should.”
“That’s okay. Think away,” I answer, wondering if he’s finally about to stop walking, spin me to him and plant one on me right here on Wall Street.
“But …” No buts! Nononononononono!!! I somehow manage not to yell that, but it’s a close one. “It wouldn’t be fair to you if I were to try to turn this into … more. I’m not in a position to get involved with anyone right now.”
I’m not going to lie. That hurt like a bee sting to the eyeball. “Oh, right, okay. I mean sure, I totally understand. I’m your caterer.” I blink so quickly, I’m not watching where I’m going anymore. This results in me tripping on a corner of broken concrete, lunging forward before catching myself, falling forward again, and finally plunging to my knees where I use a metal garbage can to catch my face. By my teeth.
Oh god, the PAIN! The pain is so, so bad. My mouth fills with blood and when Noel hauls me onto my feet and turns me to him, he gasps. “Oh, my god! Your poor mouth.”
“Is it bad?” I lisp, spitting blood all over my pretty sundress (and Noel’s shirt).
He winces and nods. “Your front tooth is … well it’s missing the bottom half.”
I reach up and touch my teeth, only to realize that the right one is now extremely short and jagged. And I have no money to get it fixed so I’m going to end up looking like some sort of hillbilly. Aimée, the hillbilly caterer from Rochester. I should remake my business cards.
The man of my dreams is staring at me, likely shocked and disgusted by the very sight. It’s the perfect cherry on the sundae after being told he’s not that into me. The pain of all of it together knocks my last thread of composure loose and I burst into tears.
For the record, I’m not a delicate crier. No, sir. I go straight from watering eyes to great heaving sobs. As soon as I feel the snot run down
my nose, I come completely unglued.
The look on Noel’s face is one of amazement with a healthy dose of underlying horror. Clearly, he’s not used to highly emotional women. “Oh, Aimée,” he croons pulling me into his arms. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I don’t know whether he’s referencing the missing tooth, the blood dripping down my knees, or my broken heart. But I don’t have the strength to convincingly lie to him. Yet, I still try. “Yup!” I squeak as I pull away. “Totally fine. You shouldn’t feel sorry for me. I mean, I get it. I threw myself at you and you weren’t interested. It’s fine. I’m your caterer and that’s all I’ll ever be and that’s okay. Fine, actually. Being your caterer is good. I need money more than I need a boyfriend.” I wonder if he’ll pick up on how many times I’m reminding him I’m his caterer. I really do need the money.
I dare to glance up at him and he looks alarmed by my display. I sniff the snot back into my head and dig into my purse to pull out some old tissues, hoping they’re not used. I slap two directly onto my bloody knees and let them hang there in hopes of stopping the flow of blood, then I hold a bunch up to my mouth. I must look so, so bad right now. But what does it matter?
Noel is not interested in me. Big sigh followed by a hiccup or two.
“Aimée,” Noel says again. “We should get you to a dentist immediately.”
“No, not we. You have to work. I’ll take myself.”
“Are you sure? What if they have to give you laughing gas or something? You’ll need someone to get you home.”
“Well, it certainly won’t be you. That would be something a boyfriend would do. Not someone you work for on a casual basis every Friday indefinitely,” I say, my words muffled by the tissue. “Besides you’re too busy. And I’m not being passive-aggressive. You really are.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I do have a rather pressing meeting, but maybe I could rearrange my schedule or get Byron to go with you?”
“I’m fine, seriously. Just show me to my van.”
Noel pauses for a second before saying, “If that’s what you want.”
Text Me On Tuesday: All is Fair in Love and Texting ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 1) Page 10