“Alexander?” he questions.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” His eyes skim over me before he adds, “Darce-ette? Darce-arina?”
A bubble of laughter rises in my throat, and I work hard to hold it in. It’s the nerves and the absurdity of the situation. Me, here with Alex, post-kiss. “You sound ridiculous,” I scoff. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
He shrugs. “Darcy’s got to be short for something, right? If it’s not those first two, maybe it’s Darc-ence?”
I bite my lips together to stop the giggle bubble from popping out. It’s getting harder to contain. “My name is Darcy.” I press the button again.
“Come on. Darce-end. You’ve got to admit that’s a little bit funny.”
I give him a condescending look. “Go flirt with Juliet. I’m sure she appreciates your humor a lot more than I ever will.”
“Oh, I see.”
I whip my head to look at him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. It makes sense, that’s all.” He turns his attention to the elevator door.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Oh, I think it does.”
“Alex, you don’t know me, so don’t go assuming things about me. Got it?” Even though he’s completely right. Seeing him flirt with Juliet did something to me, something I’m not ready to admit.
I tap my foot some more. Where the heck is this freaking elevator?
“Sure,” he replies with a shrug. “But, for what it’s worth, that thing that happened between us before was, well, I liked it.”
I glare at him. “Well, that’s good because it’s not going to happen again. Ever.”
With his eyes intensely concentrated on me, he replies, “Pity.” He’s got that condescending smirk back on his face, and I wonder why I’ve been obsessing about this guy for the last three hours. I mean, what was I thinking? A total waste of my precious time. He’s the same old Alex Walsh: a self-centered, cocky jerk.
I return his condescending smirk with additional volume. “No, it’s not a pity.”
He turns up the dial up on his own darn smirk. “I think it is,” he pauses before he adds, “Darce-onia.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you it’s Darcy. Plain and simple.”
“Oh, believe me,” he says with a chortle, “there’s nothing plain or simple about you.”
My hands fly to my hips. “What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “It means what it says.”
The elevator pings and the doors slide open. Hallelujah.
“After you.” He gives a sweeping gesture with his arm as though he’s doing me some big favor by allowing me to enter the elevator before him.
“No, after you,” I reply. “You’re the visitor.”
“Ladies first.”
I clench my teeth. “Fine.” I walk into the elevator, followed by Fake Gentleman Alex and all his comments and shrugs and superior smiles. I press the button for my floor then turn and face the doors. As they begin to close, it occurs to me that we’re now alone for the second time today.
Well, even though it’s a total cliché for two people to make out in an elevator, particularly when those two people have already made out in the kitchen of a café on the same day, there’s no way that is going to happen.
I stand rigid, facing the doors, willing the elevator to reach my floor in record time.
He clears his throat.
I don’t look at him.
“Darcy?”
Without turning, I say, “What?”
“You’ve got something stuck to your shoe.”
I roll my eyes. There’s nothing stuck to my shoe. What is he talking about? I’m certain it’s some sort of ploy, but I look down at my feet regardless, only to see a trail of toilet paper attached to the heel of one of my shoes. Oh, no. It must have got caught on my shoe when I visited the ladies’. Of all the times for something like this to happen! Icy mortification creeps up my neck. I scuff my heel against the elevator floor to loosen the paper. It takes some effort and several attempts, and my cheeks begin to burn. “Thank you,” I mutter as I bend down to collect the offending paper in my hand.
“No problem.” There’s more than a simple note of amusement in his voice. In fact, it’s a virtual symphony. “I know you’re a really busy person with work and all, but sometimes it’s good to stop and smell the roses. Or stop and remove the toilet paper from your heel. You know, whichever one crops up.”
I shoot him a fake smile while I fume inside. Hot lava bubbles up, ready to burst out of me and burn him to cinders.
The doors slide open, and I give a silent prayer of thanks. With only a scrap of dignity left, I stride out of the elevator. I ball the offending paper, put my hand behind my back (as though that’s going to make this situation any less embarrassing), and turn to face Alex.
“Welcome to Cinnamon, Larissa Monroe’s wellness platform,” I parrot, delivering the message Larissa wants every person who visits her company to hear.
“And here I was thinking this was Smurf headquarters. Nathan would love it here.” He looks around the office. “Seriously, is everything in this place blue?”
I press my lips together and ignore his jibe. “You used that weak joke already,” I point out. And yes, it’s not that I haven’t wondered about the insane amount of blue in here before. But I’m not about to share that with Alex “kiss me in the kitchen” Walsh.
“Have a seat.” I indicate the two-seater sofas. “I’ll go see if Larissa is ready for you.”
He surveys the seating area. “Which one is Papa’s favorite? I wouldn’t want to sit there. I bet that guy has got a real temper on him.”
“You’re hilarious,” I deadpan.
He shrugs. “I’m a barista-slash-photographer-slash-comedian. Don’t you remember? In fact, I believe it was you who suggested I pursue a career in comedy. When you were at my apartment. Or was it when you were alone with me in the kitchen earlier today?”
Is he trying to put me off? Well, it’s not going to work. I put on my best motherly voice and say, “Alex, might I offer you a suggestion? Drop the Smurfs thing before you meet with Larissa. She takes the whole color therapy thing very seriously.”
“Good advice. I’ll go with an Avatar approach, shall I? More up her alley? Or maybe Cookie Monster?” He laughs at his own joke. “Oh, yeah, definitely Cookie Monster. That guy has got ‘Larissa Monroe’ written all over him.”
I shake my head in frustration. Okay, and a touch of amusement. But there’s no way I’m telling him that.
The balled piece of paper is beginning to burn a hole in my hand now. “Wait here,” I instruct. I beat a hasty retreat to the ladies’, where I dispose of the paper and wash my hands several times over (because euw, toilet paper). I look up at my reflection in the mirror above the basin.
You can do this. He’s just a guy.
Yeah, a guy I had the most incredible kiss of my life with a mere handful of hours ago.
I suck in a breath and then blow it out. It’ll be fine. We’ll be with Larissa, talking about his work.
I smooth down my hair and square my shoulders.
I can do this.
Fully psyched, I walk back out into the offices only to find the sofa where I left him empty of one Alex Walsh. I tap on Larissa’s door. When there’s no response, I swing it open. Empty.
He’s got to be here somewhere.
I walk down the hallway and pause at Maureen’s desk. “Have you seen a guy come through here in the last few minutes?”
“You mean the one who looked like he could have stepped out of an aftershave commercial?” she asks with a grin, and I nod. “He came through here with Larissa. They’re in the Red Room.”
The Red Room. Of course. Larissa wants answers to her questions about his “higher state of consciousness.” I suppress a smile. Watching how he deals with Larissa’s questioning is going to be fun.
“Thanks,” I say to Maureen.
“Let me know if you need a 104. It was fun this morning, although the guy who just went past didn’t look the type to me.”
“You never know, Maureen. Wolves in sheep’s clothing and all that.” She nods her agreement then I make my way through the office to the Red Room. I knock and then push the door open to see Alex and Larissa huddled over his portfolio. Alex is pointing at something, saying, “—and they’re considered the foothills of the Himalayas,” just as he had to me at his apartment.
“Fascinating,” Larissa says, clearly hanging on his every word.
Huh. Another woman falling for Alex’s charms. So predictable.
His eyes meet mine. “Oh, there you are, Darcy. Did you get the shoe emergency sorted out?”
“Shoe emergency?” Larissa questions in alarm.
“I dealt with it. It was nothing.” I give a wave of my hand while I throw Alex a series of sharpened daggers with my eyes. I turn to Larissa. “What have you got up to?”
“Oh, Alex Walsh was just telling me about the mountainous region of northern India. I feel such a connection to it, even though I’ve never been there.” She crinkles her forehead. “Why haven’t I been there, Darcy?” She tilts her head to look at me as though I have the answer.
I’m ready with my response. “Because the time hasn’t been right, Larissa. Perhaps you’d like me to schedule you a trip?”
“Yes. Yes, do that. Alex Walsh told me the Dalai Lama lives there. Did you know that, Darcy? The Dalai Lama.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I need to visit this place. It’s calling me.” She raises her hand to her ear. “Can you hear it?”
Larissa “hearing” something call to her is all par for the course in my job, but I swear I spot Alex straining to listen.
I flip open my Labrador puppy notebook. “Absolutely. What I’m going to do is take a note, and we can organize a trip for you when your calendar allows.”
“Wonderful. Now,” she says as she loops her hands around Alex’s arm, “I was just telling this incredibly talented man here that I want this exhibition to open when I launch my new line of herbal tinctures.”
My eyebrows ping right up. She’d already given me a tight timeframe, but this is insane. “Your herbal tinctures? But that’s soon, Larissa.”
“It’s in two weeks,” Alex says, and I snap my head up to gawk at him. He raises his own eyebrows in silent communication. He knows it’s an insanely short period of time to organize a gallery opening, too.
“Two weeks?” I say breathlessly.
Alex’s eyes lock onto mine. “Well, one week and five days, to be precise.”
“But . . . but that’s hardly any time at all. We need to work out what to exhibit, hanging it, catering, the guest list, the—”
“Darcy, darling, everything will fall into place, just as it always does. Trust me on this.”
I harrumph. Everything will fall into place because of all the hard work I put in.
Larissa’s hands fly to her chest, and she lets out a satisfied sigh. “I have such faith in you. Really, I do.” She reaches for Alex’s and my hands. “In both of you.”
“Err, thanks,” Alex says awkwardly.
If it wasn’t for the fact I’m freaking out about this significantly shortened timeline right now, I might have laughed.
Larissa walks toward the door. “I’ll relieve you of your other tasks, Darcy. I want you all over this one hundred percent.”
I try to swallow. My throat feels like it’s shriveled right up. “I’ll, ah, I’ll get it done.”
“We’ll get it done,” Alex corrects me.
“I know you will. I have such faith.” Larissa looks from Alex to me. “You two have a truly beautiful synergy. Did you know that?”
Yeah, a beautiful synergy that got us playing an extended game of tonsil hockey in a café kitchen only this morning.
Alex raises his eyebrows at me, his mouth lifting into a smile. “A beautiful synergy, huh?”
Larissa looks between Alex and me, her face bright. “Yes! A strong, incredible synergy that the two of you must capitalize on. I can feel it. Can you feel it?”
“Oh, I can definitely feel something,” Alex replies, his eyes not leaving my face. “Can you feel it, Darcy?”
I shoot him a withering look. Synergy or no synergy, I know one thing for absolute certain: the next week and five days working with Alex is going to be nothing short of sheer, unadulterated hell.
Chapter 13
“What the heck am I going to do?”
I take another slug of sparkling wine, willing the alcohol to hit my bloodstream and somehow miraculously make Alex disappear. I let out a defeated sigh. Alcohol may be good, but it’s not that good.
Erin has dragged me to Cozy Cottage High Tea to help me eat and drink away my bad feelings about Alex. Of course, I made her check to ensure he wasn’t working here today first. Twice. You can’t be too sure when the person you’re trying to avoid seems to crop up wherever you go.
“Come on, Darcy. Is it really that bad?” Erin asks as she chooses another sandwich from the tiered cake stand.
“Yes, Erin. It is that bad.”
“I don’t get it. Why does he get under your skin so much?” She pops something into her mouth. “Oh, yum. You have got to try this, Darce. It’s passionfruit, I think. No, wait, it’s feijoa.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling as she chews. “Whatever it is, it’s delicious. Here.” She picks one up in her fingers and holds it out for me.
With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, I lift my plate, and she places in on it.
“Try it. Go on. It’s so good, I’m sure it’ll pull you right out of your Alex-induced grump.”
I blow out a puff of air and then put it in my mouth and chew.
“Well?”
“It’s delicious,” I say, my enthusiasm level at about a minus ten.
Erin laughs. “Say it like you mean it, babe.”
My posture sags as I slump back in my chair. “You see? That’s what Alex has done to me. He’s sucked all the pleasure out of eating delicious, sugary treats. And you know how much I love eating delicious, sugary treats.”
Erin pulls a face. “I do.”
“I was forced to work with Alex all day on Friday. All day! It was a nightmare.”
“Darce, it’s only Saturday.”
“You see? One day of working with the guy and I’m already off sugar. It’s a bad sign, Erin, a very bad sign.”
She twists her mouth as she studies me. “Has something happened with him?”
I move my glass of sparkling wine to my lips and drain it. Placing it carefully back on the table, I lift my eyes to hers. She’s looking at me questioningly, waiting for my reply.
I could really do with getting this whole Alex thing off my chest. You know what they say: a problem shared is a problem halved. I chew on my lip for a moment. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But you need to know that I’m working on it and it’s not going to be a problem.”
“Sure. Working on it, not a problem. Got it,” she replies with a business-like nod.
I glance around the room on the off chance Alex is about to jump out from behind the curtains and yell, “Surprise!” Which is crazy, I know, because a) Sophie’s told Erin twice that he’s not working here today, and b) that would be totally weird. But, as I said before, when avoiding someone who seems to crop up unexpectedly everywhere, you can’t be too careful.
With no sign of the man in question, I begin. “I needed to get the photos from him that were here at High Tea, so I went to see him at the café. He was in the kitchen. Bailey said I could go back there, which I did.”
“And?” I’m clearly not getting to the interesting part fast enough for her.
“Actually, I need to back up a bit.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “If you’ve got to.”
“At his apartment, I looked at something I shouldn’t have looked at.”
Her eyes bulge. “It was him, naked!�
��
“No! I’m not a Peeping Tom, or whatever the female equivalent of that is. A Peeping Thomasina, perhaps? Or a Peeping—”
“Just get on with it!” she exclaims in irritation. “I want to know what you saw.”
“Okay. So, I saw these photographs, totally by accident, and he got pretty angry with me.”
“What were the photos of?”
“A beautiful woman. Like, next-level beautiful.”
“Oh.”
“So, the next day, I went to the café to apologize to him.”
“And?” she leads.
“I apologized, and something else happened.”
“What? You’re killing me here, Darce. Talk about dragging a story out.”
I press my lips together for a moment. “We kissed.”
“You kissed?!” Erin shrieks.
People at the neighboring tables turn to look at us.
“Erin,” I protest through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, sorry. My friend kissed a hot guy, that’s all,” she explains to the room, much to my mortification.
“I cannot believe you did that.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’ve all gone back to eating their high tea. So, I want details. Did you kiss him or did he kiss you?”
“He was the one who came over and stood right in front of me, and he made it pretty clear he was leading up to it. But when it came to the actual kiss? It was mutual.”
A smile spreads across her pretty face. “How was it?”
“Oh, Erin, I wish I could tell you it was terrible, but it wasn’t. It was the opposite of terrible.”
“The opposite of terrible?” Erin repeats with a laugh. “You have got to get better ways to describe kissing hot guys.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing right now: it’s never happening again. And I told him that.”
“You did?”
“Of course I did. There’s no point letting him think I want to go there again with him.”
Her face creases into a smile. “But you do, don’t you?”
“No!” I protest. Heat blooms in my cheeks.
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“You sound like Sophie’s brother.” Sean, Sophie’s brother, loves to quote Shakespeare because he thinks it makes him cultured or super smart or something. It doesn’t. It’s just a bit irritating for everyone else.
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