Plus One

by Aleatha Romig

  When I finally tear my gaze from his, I notice the woman behind him, Jennifer Miller. She is a recent Buchanan and Willis hire who currently works in marketing. Being in human resources at Buchanan and Willis, as I have been since I came to New York, there isn’t an employee at our New York office who I don’t know by name and face. There also isn’t a name from our satellite offices I don’t know.

  Though my mind is filled with the warmth of his touch, I immediately make the assumption that Miss Miller’s agenda for this evening includes doing whatever she can to climb the corporate ladder. Rumor has it that no one tells Mr. Willis no. Then again, I’m not sure why anyone would.

  “Mr. Willis. Ms. Miller,” I say with a nod, freeing my arm and filling the silence.

  Jennifer appears as uneasy as I feel. She’s right in thinking that HR just caught her out with the boss—though that will be a thought for me to ponder at a later time because right now I’m too overwhelmed by the jolt from Mr. Willis’s skin against mine.

  “Have a nice dinner, Miss Jones.”

  “And you, too.”

  I hug my napkin to my chest as I ease back into my chair.

  After they’re gone, Shana leans forward. “Was that… that’s the Duncan Willis you’ve told me about?”

  I shrug nonchalantly. “I may have mentioned him a time or two.”

  SHANA LOOKS AT me with that knowing grin as I reach for my glass of water. The clear liquid sloshes within the crystal as I do my best to steady my nerves, hoping not to add dousing the linen tablecloth to part of my dinner hijinks.

  The encounter wouldn’t have been so bad had it been anyone else.

  Instead, I’m speechless, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that in the poshest restaurant in Midtown, I was on my knees in front of Duncan Willis. He isn’t only smart—he’s half the brains behind Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals—but he’s also wealthy as sin and undeniably sex on a stick. He was recently named one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors. The way he wears his tailored suits on his over six-foot frame should be illegal. With jet-black hair and stunning green eyes, he can melt panties with just a smirk.

  No doubt as I squirm in my seat, mine are currently nothing but hot wax.

  I press my legs together and add kneeling in front of Duncan Willis to my list of things not to think about right now.

  “No, honey,” Shana says, “you’ve mentioned him more than a few times, but now I see why. He’s hot with a capital H.”

  I eyeball the water in the tall glass. It’s ripple-free, indicating that my nerves have settled, or at least I appear steadier than I feel. My panties… well, that is a problem for another time. “He is,” I agree. “No doubt, Jennifer is on her way up the corporate ladder.”

  “Well, duh. If he’s the ladder, why aren’t you climbing? Instead, you dated that loser Timothy Cole. I think you need to give company dating another go. After all, you’ve been there for nearly three years.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “I’d bet the view from the top—on top of him—would be mighty fine.”

  I giggle, trying not to imagine what that would be like. “That’s not really my thing, and besides, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  “He knew your name.”

  “The only time he talks to me is when he wants me to do some menial task: book a hotel or check on an invoice. His requests never involve anything in my actual job description.” I shrug. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I tell him no.”

  Shana tilts her head to the side, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “If I recall the rumors you’ve told me, there aren’t many people who tell him no. I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay,” I confess as I nibble my lower lip. “I admit. There’s been more than a few times that I’ve imagined him asking me to do other things—things that go against company policy.”

  “They only go against the policy when you’re in the office,” Shana clarifies.

  My cheeks warm as erotic images infiltrate my thoughts.

  “Look at how pink your cheeks are,” she says. “Who knew there was a sex kitten under all your prim and proper business attire?”

  After the waitress fills our wine glasses and takes our orders, I speak. “Enough about Duncan Willis. Tell me what we’re celebrating and how you can afford this restaurant…” I turn toward the window. “…and a table with a view.”

  Shana practically bounces in her chair. “I got a promotion.”

  “You did?” I raise my wine glass. “Congratulations. To you.”

  As the two glasses clink and just before she takes a sip, Shana’s smile dims.

  After our congratulatory swallow, I ask, “What, what’s wrong?”

  “Kimbra, I’ve been practicing this all afternoon. I don’t know how to say it.”

  “Say what? Is it about your promotion? You know I’m thrilled for you. On to bigger and better things. Make your dreams come true.”

  “That’s the thing. It is a dream, one I didn’t even know I could accomplish.”

  “Isn’t that what dreams are all about?” I ask.

  “It’s not that simple. The promotion is in London.”

  It’s my smile’s turn to fade. “London… as in England?” I knew she didn’t mean Kentucky, but still, I’m shocked beyond making sense of geographical locations.

  “Yes. It’s a great opportunity. The position opened unexpectedly and they need me to fill it right away.” She reaches out and covers my hand. “Saks is going to help me with my move, get me a place in London, and even give me money to fulfill my rent obligation with our apartment. I promise, I’m not leaving you high and dry.”

  I feign a smile. “I never thought you would. They must really want you over there.”

  Her grin returns full force, bringing light back to her blue eyes. “They do. They want me to oversee the Junior line. Oversee the whole line. It’s going to be amazing.”

  I respond, saying all the right things, all the things a friend would say. “I understand. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Of course, I’m glad you took the job.” I say all of that, but inside I’m imagining my life without my best friend. I’m imagining coming home to an empty apartment. “I’m just going to miss you,” I confess as we finish our meal.

  “Honey, we’ll talk. We’ll Skype and text. It’s London, not the middle of nowhere. And you can visit. I’ve been dying to show you some of the places I love to go when I’m over there buying. Now we’ll have time.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say enthusiastically.

  “Hey, when you first got to the table you looked a little frazzled.”

  For the first time since seeing Duncan Willis and learning that my best friend is moving, I remember my mom’s call. “When do you need to leave?”

  “In two weeks. What does this have to do with the frazzle?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. Just before coming in, my mom called. The entire way up in the elevator I was planning some massive injury for Timothy.”

  Shana’s eyes opened wide. “What did he do? You haven’t given a shit about him since New Year’s. I mean, I’m not against him having some horrific accident, you know, falling off the observation deck of the Empire State Building or something, but what does that have to do with your mom.”

  “My cousin’s wedding.”

  Shana’s nose scrunched. “Scarlett?”

  I nodded. “Before the invitations came, I told my mom to RSVP for me and—”

  “Plus-one?”

  “Yes. For Timothy and me. I totally forgot about it. I need to confirm when the wedding is. I know! If it’s before you leave, you could be my plus-one.”

  “And I totally would,” she says, “if I wasn’t leaving. I know! We could dance together and get your family talking.”

  Laughter rumbles from my chest. “I’m going to miss you.”

  With our dinner done, Shana says, “Come with me now. I’m meeting a few friends from work for a drink down the street.”

  I de
cline, being a tad overwhelmed with Shana’s news and my upcoming phone call with my mother. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night. You have fun celebrating with them. I’ll see you at home.”

  Shana and I make it to the elevator when I turn and notice the bar attached to the patio, now covered in see-through plastic windows. The view is still stunning and I imagine that in the summer, without the plastic, it’s even better. The bar is relatively empty.

  “I think I’m going to get another glass of water before heading home. Clear head for the subway, you know?”

  Shana gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good girl. Probably by the end of the night I’ll need an Uber.” And with that, the elevator doors begin to close. She waves her fingers as she disappears.

  The bartender only nods at my order of iced water, no doubt thinking I’m a big spender. It isn’t a money thing. It’s the three glasses of wine that I drank with dinner.

  Since I don’t own a car, riding the subway is the best way to get home from Midtown, and as I said to Shana, I prefer to do that with a clear head. When I first moved here, the two of us made a few trips on the subway that we probably shouldn’t have. We were lucky. There is safety in numbers. Tonight, I’m on my own.

  As I will be once she’s gone.

  A long sigh escapes my lips as I think about her promotion.

  I am happy for her. I am. It’s me. Just like my RSVP for Scarlett’s wedding, I’m plus zero… alone.

  After the bartender places the water in front of me, I take a long pull of the straw, allowing the fresh water to clear my head. It helps to give me focus. But then, as I believe I’m ready to leave, I turn and see him walking toward me.

  Duncan Willis.

  I blink my eyes, trying to erase the mirage. Am I imagining him? Maybe it’s the wine that’s making my imagination come to life.

  I tilt my head and take in his exquisite form. Perhaps it’s my subconscious way to deal with the impending loneliness. Whatever it is, I like it. I like that in my hallucination, he’s coming toward me alone. I wonder if I can relive this vivid image again at home, in my bedroom…

  My eyes flutter as I mentally change the surroundings.

  It’s my room and Duncan Willis is moving toward me with determined steps. My breathing stutters. His unbuttoned jacket hangs perfectly from his wide shoulders while his forward motion causes it to gape, revealing his fitted shirt covering… Before I can imagine what is under that shirt, his eyes zero in on me as if I am his target.

  My body heats at the thought.

  Duncan is the arrow and I’m the bull’s-eye.

  I shake my head and turn away, seriously concerned that I’m delusional. Giggling at myself, I take another sip of my water.

  “Miss Jones.”

  Shit!

  The water forgets its downward trajectory as I cough and nearly spit.

  Fuck!

  He isn’t in my imagination. I was actually fantasizing over and ogling the real him—my real boss.

  Before I can respond, Mr. Willis gestures toward the empty barstool beside me. “May I?”

  My head bobs before my lips move. “Y-yes.”

  “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to say something before we return to the office tomorrow.”

  His casual, deep voice reverberates to my soul, mixing with the swoosh of my coursing blood. His closeness fills my senses with the spicy scent of his cologne and gives birth to a swarm of butterflies in my tummy.

  Duncan Willis is sitting beside me.

  I try to ignore my juvenile reaction and concentrate on his words. As I do, I come up with the reason I’m acting like I’m sixteen instead of twenty-five. It’s because wine, lust, the fear of loneliness, and Duncan Willis all work together to create a dangerous and somewhat embarrassing concoction.

  “Ms. Miller, Jennifer,” he begins.

  I lift my hand. “Mr. Willis. You’re one of the owners of Buchanan and Willis. The company doesn’t have a policy against fraternization outside the office.”

  “I wanted you to know that tonight wasn’t about that, about fraternization. I had dinner reservations. My date canceled. Jennifer had a marketing proposal. It was late. I’d heard good things about Gaston’s and well, I didn’t want to let the reservations go unused. I figured two birds, one stone. You know?”

  “You don’t need to tell me any of that.”

  His cheeks rise as his smile grows. “I didn’t. I wanted to. You’re HR. I didn’t want you to think less of Jennifer. She’s a valuable employee.”

  He does know my title.

  I look beyond his broad shoulder. “Is she waiting for you?”

  “No. After the dinner and proposal, she went home… to her fiancé,” he adds.

  A twinge of guilt pierces through the childish butterflies, maybe even a hint of shame for assuming the worst of Jennifer and her willingness to climb the corporate ladder.

  “Sir,” the bartender asks, appearing before us, “may I get you a drink?”

  Mr. Willis turns toward me. “Are you staying?”

  “I’m just getting my head clear before heading home.”

  “Highland Park, neat,” Mr. Willis says.

  “Yes, sir. Coming right up.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the masculine scent that has settled around us in an intoxicating cloud. The longer I’m near it, the more I wonder if its aroma could be more intoxicating than the wine. Clearing my head in his proximity isn’t easy.

  “Scotch man?” I ask.

  “Yes. You know your scotch.”

  I shrug. “Not really.”

  He grins, nodding toward my glass. “I see you take your water on the rocks. Or do you really like vodka?”

  “Only water. You know, living dangerously? With your recent order, I suspect that clearing your head isn’t on your agenda?”

  Mr. Willis laughs. “I’m not driving.”

  “Neither am I, but you know how the subways can be.”

  His eyes widened. “What? You’re not taking the subway at this hour by yourself. Where is your friend, the one with you at dinner?”

  “I am taking the subway,” I say, determined. “It’s how I get home—really how I get anywhere. And she’s my roommate, or soon I can say that she used to be.”

  My fingers run over the smooth rim of my glass as I pour out my lonely story to my boss, to the man who before tonight, I’d never said anything to that wasn’t business related. As time goes by, I tell him about Shana, how we met, and how she’s been the perfect roommate. I even divulge that when I applied for the job with Buchanan and Willis, I’d never been to New York. I just wanted to see more of the world.

  I blame my long-winded response on the wine and his magical cologne. I’m not thinking straight, yet as I talk, so does he. He asks questions like he’s really listening to my words and my dreams. With each phrase or statement, his deep voice sends shockwaves to my core, but more than that, to my heart.

  His glass is almost empty, and most of my ice is melted.

  I stand and reach for my purse. “I’m sorry I’ve bored you with all that. The truth is that I’m happy for Shana. I am. This promotion is her dream.”

  Mr. Willis reaches toward me, touching my arm. The same energy from earlier, that connection at the table, zaps through me, stopping my retreat. “What is your dream?” he asks.

  For the first time since learning of Shana’s promotion, I remember why I came to New York. “This may sound funny,” I say, “or like I’m buttering up the boss, but I’m living it.” I gesture about the bar and toward the plastic barriers. The lights of Manhattan glow and twinkle beyond the transparent barrier. “This is it. What I always dreamed of doing.”

  “Please don’t take the subway,” Mr. Willis pleads. “I have a driver waiting for my text.”

  “That’s not necessary. The subway is part of my dream.”

  Mr. Willis shakes his head. “Miss Jones, I admire you.”

  “Me? Why?”
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br />   “I admire people who know what they want and take it, even when an easier solution is right in front of them.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Sometimes… the easy way doesn’t have the same destination.”

  “You’re saying that to fulfill a dream, you have to work hard, not take the easy road?”

  “I think I’m saying, easiest isn’t always best. Thank you, Mr. Willis, for taking the time to listen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I DON’T SEE Mr. Willis the next day or at all the rest of the week. I even avoid talking to my mother. We shared a few quick texts. She told me the wedding is rapidly approaching. It’s this coming Saturday. And even though she’s asked more than once for Timothy’s tux size, I haven’t yet had the courage to tell her about his dramatic fall from the Empire State Building observation deck. Although the story makes me chuckle, I’m concerned that she’ll be able to fact-check me on that one. I give more thought to the taxi story.

  It’s a little scary how much detail I’ve added in my head.

  All in all, getting hit by a moving vehicle in Manhattan is more believable than plummeting to your death from a busy tourist landmark. My parents have been to New York twice to visit, but with that limited experience, they aren’t aware that traffic is more often at a standstill than it is whizzing around city curbs.

  The truth is that I wouldn’t mind if Timothy actually had an accident. With all the talk of him at Scarlett’s wedding, I can’t help but recall New Year’s Eve, searching for him at the party, opening that door, and finding him with Carla from accounting. When that memory comes to life, it really isn’t that hard to envision him maimed or at the very least, missing a few key body parts.

  As I emerge from the subway tunnel onto the bustling street, my phone’s chirp fills my ears via my Bluetooth. A quick glance at my watch and I know it’s my mom. Taking a deep breath, I decide it’s time to bite the bullet. In my defense, for the last week I haven’t only been avoiding my mom’s calls; I’ve been helping Shana pack and get ready for her move. It may be a defense mechanism, but I figure if I keep denying that I have to tell my mom the truth, I’ll come up with a fail-safe plan.