by Claire Adams
“It’s good news,” Caroline said, reaching over to snatch the phone out of my hand. She answered. “Hello, this is Caroline. Did you want to talk to Daisy? Hold on one sec.”
She held the phone out to me. Caroline could be kind of psychic sometimes—though not all the time; she had encouraged me to go to Amanda and tell her what Rosie had been doing, saying that everything was going to work out if I did, she just knew it. Reluctantly, I took the phone from her and put it up to my ear.
“Hello?” I said. “This is Daisy.”
“Daisy, it’s Ian Roubideaux again. Sorry for the bombardment of calls. Listen, I’d like to offer you the job if you’re still interested. If not, I understand.”
“Of course I’m still interested,” I said, and Caroline’s eyebrows shot up and she grinned, giving me a thumb’s up. “But . . . what happened? Did the other person not work out?”
“Something like that,” he said. I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “So, if you’d like to pick a time in the next couple of days to come in, that’d be great. I’ve been the one manning the office for the time being, so things are a bit chaotic. Which is where you come in. And I did like what you had to say about organization. I think you’ll be a good fit here.”
“Well . . . thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Is tomorrow okay? I can come in tomorrow.”
“You’re a go-getter, aren’t you?” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a compliment or not.
“Um . . . yes,” I said. “I can be. Is eight o’clock good?”
He coughed, or maybe he was trying not to laugh. “Eight? No. If you come down here at eight, you’ll be waiting around for a while. We don’t get things started in the office until nine, nine-thirty. Why don’t we say ten o’clock, just to be on the safe side.”
“Ten,” I repeated. “Sure. I’ll be there at ten.”
When I got off the phone, Caroline was looking at me, a big grin on her face. “Was I right?” she finally said. “That sounded good! That sounded like you’ve got a job!”
“You were right.” I nodded and looked at the phone, wanting to feel as excited as Caroline was. She held her wine glass up to me.
“Well, cheer up then, buttercup! You’ve got a job! That’s fanfuckingtastic!”
I forced a big smile, because she was a right—this had been a rather unexpected turn of events, and for once, it was good. I should be happy about it. I held up my own glass and we clinked them together.
“Cheers,” Caroline said. “I knew this would work out for you.”
I took a sip of my wine. I hoped she was right.
I was up early the next morning before the alarm even went off. Way earlier than I normally was, but I hadn’t really been able to sleep the night before. I was too nervous. Ian had changed his mind. But why? What had happened? I couldn’t get that thought out of my head, and all the possibilities that went along with it. I knew I just needed to focus on doing a good job and handling my responsibilities, but the way everything had gone done, I was already doubting myself.
I got up out of bed when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep. I kept the light off and went over to the window and peeked out. No Rav4, no person lurking in the doorway across the street. I exhaled and stretched, then went out to the kitchen to make coffee. I’d poured the water into the machine but then remembered I was out of coffee filters. I could go out now and get one, or I could just stop on my way into work. I decided I’d just get one on the way in; I didn’t want to leave the apartment now and then come back to get ready.
I decided to pick out my outfit. I didn’t want to wear anything inappropriate, though I really didn’t need to worry about that because I didn’t own anything that could be deemed as such. As I looked through my clothes, I couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things that Ian might like. He probably wasn’t at all interested in girls like me, though. He’d be interested in someone like Rosie, someone outgoing and really sexually experienced. At twenty-four, I was still a virgin. Not necessarily by choice. Well, now it was kind of was, and especially since this whole thing with Noah had happened. I’d had a boyfriend in high school, but we weren’t that serious; the most we’d done is make out a lot, and he put his hands up my shirt a few times, and we rubbed against each other, but it had never really gone further than that.
In college, I’d gotten involved with a guy named Emmett who was quiet and serious and seemed like a good match for me. We were both creative writing majors, and he was very sensitive about his work, and any distraction that might take him from his work, which I turned out to be. If he hadn’t broken up with me, we probably would have slept together. After that, I’d been on some dates, but that was it. Sometimes I wondered if I should just go out to a bar and get a little tipsy and sleep with the first guy I talked to, though that would probably end up being someone married or totally not my type.
I finally settled on a simple navy-blue A-line skirt and a gray short sleeve blouse. For shoes, I chose a pair of blue pumps with a kitten heel, which was actually my go-to choice because they were quite comfortable but also looked pretty dressed up.
After I washed my face, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed out my hair, which fell to the middle of my back. My hair was naturally blonde, but I’d let Amanda talk me into getting some lighter highlights when I first started working at the salon, and I liked how it turned out, so I kept up with it. Now, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do that, though I supposed I could go to a different salon.
I twisted my hair up and secured it with a tortoiseshell hair clip. I left the bathroom and slipped the shoes on, then looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I looked decent, I thought; like someone who knew what she was doing, who had confidence in herself. That’s one of the things Caroline was always telling me: Fake it till you make it. My stomach might’ve been so full of butterflies that I wasn’t even going to attempt to have anything for breakfast, but I didn’t have to let anyone else know that. So long as I could pretend that I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing, then no one else would know any different.
I left early so I could stop and get coffee. My hand was on the car door handle, about to pull up when I heard my name. I froze.
“Daisy—Daisy, it’s me; hold up!”
I was parallel parked, so it wasn’t like I could just jump in the car and drive away. But it was broad daylight out, and there were people walking by on their way to work, and cars and taxis, so it wasn’t like I was alone. I gritted my teeth and turned just as Noah crossed the street and hurried over.
“Noah,” I said. “Um. What are you doing here? I’m on my way to work.”
“You are?” He sounded surprised. It was already quite warm, but he was wearing a blue sweatshirt, zipped all the way up. “I thought you weren’t working there anymore?”
“How do you know that?”
He gave me a sheepish look. “Well . . . I might have called there looking for you. You haven’t been answering my calls! Or responding to my texts! Have you been getting them?”
I’d blocked him, so, no, I hadn’t. “I’ve . . . I’ve been having phone issues,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just tell him to fuck off? Why was there still some part of me that was worried about hurting his feelings?
“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “Yeah. Phones can be a real pain in the ass when they don’t want to work, can’t they? It’s all fine and dandy when they ARE working, but when they’re not, boy . . .” He was talking too fast, like he thought if he stopped then I would use that as an excuse to get in my car and leave.
“Listen, Noah,” I said. “I’ve really got to get going. I don’t want to be late, and . . . I’ve just got to go. I don’t really know why you’re here right now, anyway.”
“I was just in the neighborhood,” he said, a defensive note in his voice. “Just taking a walk. Tha
t’s allowed, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” And I felt a sliver of doubt creep in—had I been imagining all this stuff? Was he really just out taking a walk, and we’d happened to run into each other? That sort of thing happened all the time. “I wasn’t trying to say that you couldn’t go out and take a walk. I just . . . I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t think we should hang out. I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea if you keep calling me.”
It came out in a jumbled rush, but I felt better once I’d said it. That hadn’t been so bad, had it? I’d always had a hard time sticking up for myself.
“But why not?” Noah asked, a perplexed look on his face. “Didn’t you have a good time? I did. I had a really great time. I had a better time with you than I ever had with anyone else. I mean that. And you know what else is funny? I knew that it was going to be like that. I knew from the first time I saw you—going into spin class, remember?—I knew that we were going to have this really amazing connection. A genuine connection. Not the superficial sort of crap that some people think passes for a relationship. And getting that smoothie with you, that just proved to me that I’d been right.” He beamed. It was as if he was reliving the happiest moment of his entire life. And then I realized: he was. Or at least, in his mind, he was, despite the fact that the entire time had been totally awkward.
But then another thought occurred to me: What if that really was the best time he’d ever had on a date? I was no dating expert, for sure, but even I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. If it was, who would bother to go out on dates in the first place?
“And look,” he said, nodding at my shoes. I looked down at my feet.
“What?”
He pinched the front of his sweatshirt. “We’re matching! Those shoes of yours are the exact same color as my sweatshirt. I’ve never met anyone who’s had shoes that same color, and this is my favorite sweatshirt, so it’s something I’d notice.”
I smiled weakly. “Gee, that’s really something.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I’ve really got to get going,” I said.
“Where’s your new job?”
I pretended I didn’t hear him and got into my car. He went around and stood on the sidewalk, directing me as I tried to navigate my way out; the person behind me had parked way too close. I tried to ignore Noah in the side view mirror, but it was impossible because I needed to look in the mirror to make sure that I wasn’t going to clip the car. The thing was, I’d never been good at parallel parking, and I ended up watching his hand signals to help me get out of the spot.
“Thanks,” I said, putting the window down a little bit. I knew it would be better not to even acknowledge him, but he had helped me, and my good manners wouldn’t allow me to leave without saying something.
He grinned. “Don’t even mention it! Glad I could be here to help. I’ll call you!” he yelled as I drove off. Only when he was a tiny speck in my rearview mirror did I let out a sigh of relief.
But my relief was short-lived because then I stopped to get coffee. I went back and forth over whether or not I should get Ian a coffee, too. On one hand, he probably had already gotten himself one (or three, he seemed like the type who probably consumed many caffeinated beverages), or he had a coffee maker there or something. I tried to recall if I had seen one when I’d been on the interview, but I’d been too nervous to really take in any of my surroundings. And if I didn’t bring coffee, and he hadn’t had one, it would look rude. I stood there in line, the cashier staring at me, waiting for my reply to his question of: “Is that all?” as the line behind me grew longer. So I got a second one, even though the second I had the hot cup in my hand, I knew that he’d already have a coffee of his own.
But whatever. I could save the second coffee to drink later (although if I did I’d be super jittery—one big cup like this was about all I could handle). Or I could just dump it down the drain, which would be wasteful, but . . .
I shook my head as I walked into the building, trying to clear my mind of these ridiculous, pinballing thoughts. I just needed to focus on doing a good job, and showing Ian that he hadn’t made a mistake in giving me a chance. I still couldn’t be sure why he had changed his mind, but I wasn’t going to question it. And I certainly didn’t want to make him question it.
So I walked into the office, clutching the two cups of coffee, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. You can handle this, I told myself. This is nothing that you haven’t done before.
He was standing right there, though, leaning against someone’s desk, talking to a guy I didn’t recognize. He looked gorgeous, was my first thought, which made me blush. The last thing I needed was to get some stupid crush on my new boss, just because he happened to be the best-looking man I could ever remember seeing. Not that it mattered if I liked him anyway; guys like him didn’t go for girls like me.
“They’ll be there this weekend,” the guy was saying to Ian, “so we’ll have to make sure we’ve got a few extra guys on.”
Ian nodded, his gaze flickering over to me. “Billionaire tech guy from Dubai; of course we’re going to have a lot of tourists on that one; I don’t care how quiet Seamus wants to try to keep it. Thanks, Dan.”
Ian clapped him on the shoulder, and Dan turned to leave, walking past me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Dan, this is Annie’s replacement,” Ian said.
Dan turned so he walking backward down the hall. “Nice to meet you, Annie’s replacement,” he said. “Good luck keeping this one in line.”
“Ha ha, funny sonofabitch,” Ian said. He folded his arms across his chest. “Good morning, Daisy. I see you come bearing gifts. Or you’ve got an insatiable caffeine habit.”
“I . . . I got you coffee,” I said, thrusting the cup out to him. Right as I did so, I saw Jonathan turn the same corner that Dan had just disappeared around and walk toward us, a smile on his face. I let go of the coffee cup, thinking that Ian had a grasp on it, but he must not have because once I let go, the cup fell, the lid came off, and coffee exploded everywhere, a little bit getting onto me, but mostly onto Ian.
“What the fuck?!” he shouted, jumping back. “That shit’s hot!”
“Whoa,” Jonathan said, rushing over. “What happened? Everyone okay?”
“Oh my god,” I said. I looked around for a place to put my own coffee cup and set it down on the desk, next to an unwieldy stack of papers. “I’m so sorry. I thought you had it. I’m so, so sorry!”
He had a grimace on his face, and for a second, I thought he was going to tell me that I was fired. But instead, he looked at Jonathan, and he started to hobble off. “I’ve got to change these pants,” he said. “And probably go get treated for second-degree burns while I’m at it. She’s all yours, Jay. Show her the ropes.” He shot a look in my direction. “That’s quite the way to make a first impression.”
“I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry.” That’s the only thing I could seem to say. I felt mortified; I knew that my face was probably beet red and my voice sounded shaky. I wanted to say something else, but Ian was already walking off, presumably toward the bathroom. I looked at Jonathan. “He’s so mad at me, isn’t he?” I said.
Jonathan had an affable smile on his face. He didn’t look too concerned. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Ian’s tough.”
“I know, but that coffee was so hot and . . .” I looked at the desk where my cup was still sitting. I hadn’t brought one for Jonathan. “I’m sorry—I didn’t bring one for you, too.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I already had some this morning. Really, don’t worry about Ian. He’s been through way worse. He’ll get over it. Come on, let’s get started.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Ian had just stalked off in. I hoped Jonathan was right—that he really was fine and he’d get over it—but even if that was the case, I knew I wasn’t going to get any gold star in the first im
pressions category.
Chapter Three
Ian
For fuck’s sake.
I went back into my office and shut the door. Maybe more like slammed the door. Nothing like starting the morning with a scalding beverage spilled all over your pants, though I guess it was better that it wasn’t down my pants. Most of the coffee had splattered below the knee, and I’d been wearing jeans, so they’d done a fairly good job protecting my legs. But still. I didn’t drink the sorry excuse for coffee from Starbucks, but I thought I’d play nice and at least take the cup from her, and then dump it down the drain later. Worst, she’d put half-and-half in it, probably sugar too, which she’d probably done for hers as well, meaning she herself didn’t even like coffee—she liked coffee-flavored beverages.
There was a big floor-to-ceiling window to the right of my office door, which had blinds that I didn’t bother to pull as I took my jeans off. Let her have a nice long look at my ass; that was just the sort of thing that would make a girl like her squirm even more than she already was. Especially because she’d think I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I kept a spare change of clothes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I pulled out a pair of olive green canvas trousers and put those on. I changed my socks and left my sneakers on the window sill to dry. The only other footwear I had here were my Timberland boots, so I put those on.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up my left pant leg and looked at my calf. The skin was a little red, but there was no blistering, no real burns. I couldn’t help but think about the time my stepfather, Pete, tried to knock a pot of boiling water onto me. I was eleven, twelve, maybe, boiling water to make spaghetti because Mom was working and Pete couldn’t be bothered to actually make any meal that didn’t involve a microwave. When Mom was around, he mostly ignored me, but when she was out, he had free rein to treat me however he wanted.