See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1)

by Tiffany Costa

  A regular old Adonis. I imagined him at a bar with his pick of the litter.

  I bet he has tons of sex. My thoughts veered off and I tore my gaze from him to bring myself back to the here and now.

  “Maybe your mom should be here to set you up with her.” I teased, feeling out this new territory.

  “Never screw around with whoever feeds you,” he laughed into his coffee. “She taught me that.”

  “Smart woman.”

  I pulled out my laptop and started reading off my notes to him. He’d ordered my coffee scalding, the only way I could have it, and from the corner of my eye I saw he took the liberty of sprinkling the cinnamon on for me while I read.

  A few minutes later I folded the laptop and tucked it away. “And that’s it.” I cusped the Irish coffee mug, the contents still hot and aromatic. He’d gotten a chocolate scone, which I thought was interesting. Isaac had a sweet tooth, but I was learning that it was exclusively for chocolate.

  “Great. What’s on the agenda for today?” He leaned back to stretch his back, elbows behind his head. I did prefer him with glasses. The dark tortoiseshell matched his hair but contrasted the bright blue in his eyes. They were the fashionable old-style, oversized circular frames that softened his hard features.

  I caught myself talking in clipped sentences, mirroring his usual rhythm of speech. “Meeting at 10. That’s it. I’m outlining to start writing my part on Monday. Whatever you finish writing today I can look at over the weekend.” I liked this, I decided. This casual… friendliness?

  His crooked smile was making my ankle roll, working as an outlet for my excited energy. “I’ll try and have it done by four. That way you can be free from me on your days off.” I didn’t want to admit it, but I was excited to finally pass the cold work-only phase and finally be treated like everyone else in the office.

  Even Kieran found our steely attitude towards each other odd.

  “If you want to dictate today, the outline can wait.” I took a sip, giving him time to think about it.

  “I might have to, if you don’t mind.” He avoided my gaze. “I was having trouble keeping up with my thoughts on Wednesday and then, when I revised, I couldn’t remember what I was trying to say.”

  I smiled at him, trying to show that it didn’t bother me at all to help. “Just summon me. You know where I am.”

  My gaze wandered to his tattoo again. I knew what it was now because I had googled it. “Why’d you choose the Fibonacci symbol?” I asked, changing the subject, finally mustering the courage to ask.

  His brows furrowed in confusion, then he looked at his arm like it was a foreign object and his expression softened. “Oh, this.” He rested his forearm on the table, his fingers curled, relaxed. “I believe that life was created in this golden ratio to prove of a higher being’s existence, to remind us that everything is connected. And the compass rose underneath is to keep me going on the right path within the interconnected universe. I got it in college after taking this obscure spirituality and philosophy class.”

  “I would have never taken you as the philosophical type.” The lemony flavor of the scone was bright and sweet. I feared it wasn’t the only thing making me salivate.

  “I am very much the philosophical type. I like thinking that there’s something greater out there, a higher purpose, because it makes our work important.”

  “But it also begs the question how can a higher being allow such atrocities.”

  “People lose their way, I think. Also, evil is a part of life. You can’t deny that. And it ripples the same way, like a golden ratio of evil. One person’s evil deed affects so many more than the person they hurt.” A pause. He opened and closed his mouth, deciding not to give voice to thought.

  There was a lot behind that statement. More than he was willing to give away.

  He half grinned over a bite of his scone and asked, “And you? Any tattoos?”

  The question settled in the nervous, excited place deep in my chest. I shook my head, trying not to blush. “No.” I deflected and hid behind my mug. “Did it hurt? I imagine the skin on your inner wrist is pretty sensitive.”

  “Yes, but not as much as some of the others,” he winked at me, pulling his hand back to his side of the table, a mischievous smile sent a flame down my throat. It went suddenly dry and heat blossomed all over me. I tried to hide my blush with a hand over my mouth while I chewed, but even my arms were red and splotchy. My foot hit him under the table from its anxious bouncing, and instead of recoiling he stretched his leg closer to mine. I froze, trying to keep my composure. “You’re quite fidgety today. You alright?” His gaze searched mine from over the white rim of his cup. Under the table, he brushed his leg, still and steady, against my bare calf.

  “I’m an anxious person,” I replied coolly. But what I felt wasn’t anxiety anymore. A dull ache pulsed between my thighs, awakening a feeling I’d long forgotten. The way his eyes grazed my neck and chest while our legs touched under the table felt forbidden, and delicious, and secretly hot. I didn’t have time to think, I just felt. I wanted to close my eyes and focus on the bundle of nerves between my legs. I felt his attraction to me in that moment, and my attraction to him. To his touch. I might have been touch starved and reading him all wrong, but I swore I felt his hands all over me. I squeezed my thighs together, shifted in my seat, and took a breath to calm the fog in my head.

  “You? No! I would never have guessed,” he chuckled sarcastically and pulled his leg back to a respectable distance from mine.

  I changed the subject, flustered and confused. I practically felt the distance between us now, crackling and sparkling. “This scone is delicious.” He watched me lick my lips, hunger in his eyes.

  I covered my lips with a hand and we fell back into safer territory. The heat in his gaze softened. “What are we doing next week?” He asked.

  I rattled off our schedule robotically. While I glanced between my agenda and Isaac I noticed he looked distant and distracted.

  By me.

  His eyes were on my lips, my hands, his roving gaze slipping down to the pearls laying on my chest.

  Surely, I was imagining things.

  Then his gaze dragged mercilessly up my whole body when my foot bumped into his leg as I stepped out from under the table to stand. He looked down at my pumps, distracted by the movement, and went still as he watched me smooth my skirt and sling the heavy bag over my shoulder. I thought I caught a whisper of a smile before he looked away, licked the last drop of coffee from his lip, and followed my lead.

  We walked to the office together in silence. I actively avoided touching him, preferring to bump into strangers than cross that line with Isaac. Kieran’s voice was loud in my head. I don’t know how you work with him without being under him.

  Because he’s Isaac. That’s how. We didn’t do the friendly flirty thing they did. We didn’t touch on purpose. That wasn’t us.

  But that leg under the table had made my body react in traitorous ways.

  ≈

  Later that night I was in a mini-skirt and sky-high wedges with Kieran as my ever-present dance partner. I was on the hunt to find a man. I had spent the day dissecting every last heartbeat and pulse of my body’s reaction to Isaac’s smile and touch. I was dead set that I was ready to take someone home and find out what sex could be.

  Well, maybe we'd start a little slower than that.

  Not to be crude, but sometimes I heard Kieran and Jackson, and sex was never like that for me. Sex was quiet and secretive. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt an ache between my legs the way Isaac’s innocent leg against mine had. If I could feel that now that I was free from my past, then what else was there? What had I been missing all this time?

  A sweet-looking blonde had caught my eye. Kieran leaned into my ear, “You should just go talk to him.”

  “I think I’m ready.”

  “You won’t know until you try. Remember the plan. And if it doesn't work, I’ll gladly stand in for
him.”

  “Don’t go home with him unless you make out first,” I recited, pulling the hem of my dress down.

  “You are a tigress, so go forth and conquer!” She spanked my ass and sent me on my way.

  The bartender passed me another margarita and I thanked her. My admirer slid up next to me. “Hi, I’m David.”

  “Hi, my name’s Celeste,” I answered.

  Cool. Smooth. What now?

  “Let’s have sex. I want to see if I’m still broken,” just didn’t have the right ring to it.

  “How long have you been in London?” He asked, a nod to my accent.

  “I moved here for work about two months ago.”

  “Awesome. Where do you work?”

  “I work for an international human rights organization,” I replied, taking a sip of my drink.

  “That’s really cool. I work in architecture.”

  “Oh, nice.” I stared awkwardly down the bar. If I were a tigress in the wild, my bloodline would end with me.

  “Do you want to dance?” He slipped a hand to the small of my back. I tossed back the rest of my margarita and turned into his arms. He took my hand and led me into the crowd.

  “Were you watching me?” I said into his ear, enjoying the feel of the smooth skin of his neck.

  He pulled my body to his, tucked my hair behind my ear, and said, “It’s hard to notice anyone else in here.” His voice was raspy, lustful. And sweet. That was a nice thing to say.

  Right?

  I should like it. I ground my hips into his and he ran his hands down my body.

  I chased the feeling of arousal from the cafe. I laughed at his banter and threw my sarcastic wit at him. I could feel his lust for me, see it in the way his eyes stared at my bare chest while he gently squeezed my waist. He took his chance and closed the gap between our lips.

  I ran a hand up his chest.

  Nothing.

  I ground my hips into his growing erection.

  Nada.

  He grabbed my hand and led me to a dark hallway. He pushed me against the wall, the exposed brick rough against my exposed back. He slipped his tongue into my mouth. There was nothing. I thought more about the way the bricks felt against my back than the way his lips felt against mine. He was sexy, and a good kisser, and fit, and my type. There was no reason for my body to be cold and unyielding.

  I kissed him harder, earning his hands gripping my ass.

  Zilch. Not a crumb of chemistry now that we were in the thick of petting and grinding into each other. He moaned my name, and I felt the burning sting of tears well within me.

  “I’m sorry,” I pushed his face away. His face was twisted in confusion. “You’re great. I’m having a great time. But I can’t,” I lied. Shamefully. Stupidly. Cowardly.

  “It’s not you. You’re a really good kisser and super attractive. I just,” I covered my face, embarrassed.

  “Hey, it’s okay. We can slow down. Are you crying?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked. I was mortified, and frustrated. And I felt really fucking guilty. A tiny piece of me felt a pang of fear, also. Anthony always got so angry if I wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t know how this stranger would react. I was frightened.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, it's me. I have a lot of baggage and I’m not ready for this. I thought I was.”

  David backed away and battled against his better judgment while I fumbled for my phone. “Alright. Well, I hope you sort it all out. I'm really sorry. You seemed really into it. Sorry.”

  “My fault. Just go, please.” He didn’t need a second more of encouragement. I texted Kieran through burry eyes.

  “What happened?” She asked, materializing almost instantly. She brushed tears from my cheeks.

  “We were making out and I literally felt nothing. And he was like, so hot, but then I just was scared he’d be mad at me. He wasn’t but he was weird about it. And I was a little scared he’d get violent or call me a tease. Or, I don’t know, be mad at me for luring him into a dark corner and then telling him I have baggage.”

  “Woah, woah, calm down. You sound like Isaac. I can hardly follow you.”

  “Don’t remind me! He’s rubbing off on me and it’s so annoying. I even write my notes out like him now. And. And. And. And. It’s his favorite word no one can tell me otherwise.”

  “What are you talking about? What happened with blondie?”

  “I was having a good time with him on the dance floor. It was fun. I thought something might wake up down there if we were alone. So, I let him take me into the hallway and we were making out. I should have felt something. But I didn’t.”

  Kieran sighed and pulled me into her arms. “No, you shouldn’t, Celeste. If you don’t have chemistry, you just don’t.”

  “How do I even know if I have chemistry with someone, then?”

  “Quite literally, your pussy throbs. That’s how.” She laughed and shook her head.

  “I don’t think I’ve felt that in years.”

  Liar.

  The feel of Isaac’s intentional touch under the table raged through my alcohol-soaked memory.

  “Your ex was like all of the red flags in one package. I’m so glad you didn’t marry him.”

  “Me too.”

  “You’ll feel it eventually, darling,” Kieran kissed my forehead, “It’s still early, yet.”

  “I’m going home.” I declared, weary and exhausted. I didn't let Kieran come with me when I hailed a cab and left. I was thankful for that because I cried into my pillow until my cheeks were raw.

  How could I have been so blind? So naive? So inexperienced?

  I was going to marry Anthony and I couldn’t for the life of me recall the last time my pussy throbbed around him. Didn’t even think twice about why it didn’t. He’d been so damaging to me that I expected this blonde stranger to lash out at me after rejecting him. I expected to be manipulated into sex, pressured until I gave in. I expected him to be angry at me and have me anyway with my begrudging consent. I expected him to do exactly what Anthony did for years.

  I… hadn’t even known it was wrong—that it wasn’t love.

  Sex with Anthony made me feel like an object. A pleasure tool that he used and cuddled after. Missionary. Quiet. Quick. And I was going to promise myself to him for life!

  Why?

  Kieran had asked me that once and at the time I was terrified of the answer. Ignored the roiling feelings at the pit on my stomach. Banished it to the darkness, keeping myself in the dark as company.

  Now the answer lurched from me as I sobbed into my pillow, the truth surfacing and clawing at my insides. It consumed me and destroyed everything in its path towards the light.

  I don’t even know who I am. I muffled my cries with my fist.

  Outside of my work, I didn’t know. I just became what he wanted… what my mother wanted. The fantasy of marrying, popping out a few kids, and being a stay-at-home mom until they started school. Whose fantasy was that? Not mine. I was expected to do that. To be that version of Celeste, and somehow, I had convinced myself that it was what I wanted. A pretty little wife for his pretty little life. An apron at my waist and devotion in my eyes.

  In return for what? Security?

  I laughed out loud.

  Predictability?

  My laughter turned sour.

  I turned my face up into the darkness of my London flat. The flow of tears slowed to a trickle and I thought I didn’t want that at all. I wanted more. I hugged a pillow to my chest.

  Love. I had wanted so desperately to love and be loved in return. But the love he taught me—well it wasn’t love at all. It was selfish and self-serving.

  A thought bubbled up sheepishly to the forefront of my mind. What if sex really was like the movies?

  What would I do with the knowledge that Isaac had made me feel things? Lots of things. With one momentary, friendly, concerned leg against mine.

  I had until Monday to figure it out.

/>   Was I stupid for wishing Isaac was laying tortured in his bed across town thinking about that fucking touch?

  Fucking idiotic.

  CHAPTER 13

  Celeste

  I avoided him. At all costs, I avoided Isaac Thompson like the plague he was on my nerves. I spent the entire week holed up in my office and turned down three invitations to go out to coffee, to which Isaac stopped asking. There was no touching. I wouldn’t let him get close enough. Sure we talked, but I kept it work only.

  Because if I let him look at me too long, I could feel his gaze in places I still was sorting out.

  Friday morning marked ten straight days that I had to suffer through Payton’s arrogance and Isaac’s inability to pick up on Payton’s obvious hatred of me. I was getting sick of his smug arrogance and delighted in the fact that, out of the three of us, Isaac knew the most useful crap, I knew the second most useful crap, and Payton knew the least amount of useful crap of us all.

  I was halfway through my sandwich when my cell phone rang out across my desk. I wiped my hands on a napkin and reached for it.

  Isaac?

  I swallowed what had transformed into a dry mound down my throat and picked up.

  “How well can you keep a secret?” He was half-whispering, a faint echo reverberating around him. Where was he? My heart sank, was he in trouble? Did it have to do with his “source?” I didn’t doubt for a second that he would go to nearly any length for information.

  “I still haven't told anyone my friend in elementary school was the one who shat so much she flooded the bathroom?” My voice inclined.

  “That’ll do. I need you to go to my flat and fetch me a new suit and pants.”

  My brain short-circuited. “No! What? Why?”

  “Someone stole my gym bag out of my locker. I must have left it open and now I’m standing here bloody naked with a towel around my waist. And I can’t call Payton because this whole thing would be live-tweeted before I could even say ‘please.’”