Text Me, Maybe

by Jolyse Barnett

  “I thought I was ready, but now I’m not so sure.” Her shrug was apologetic.

  He swiped at his forehead.

  The woman’s drinking water, not inviting you to bend her over the treadmill. Enough, already.

  “Try not to stress the first day jitters. It’s normal.”

  “This might seem crazy, but all I can think about is that Taylor Swift commercial. You know? The one where she’s all happy, rocking it out on a treadmill, but then ends up doing a face plant on the thing a few second later.”

  He laughed. “I forgot about that one.”

  “You’re not helping here.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s plenty of ways to avoid injury.” He lifted the safety tether. “Attach the clip at your waist, like so.” He modeled. “You slip, the power cuts off. No worries, see? Just remember to grab the bar.”

  She wrinkled her nose, but tossed her bag against the wall, out of the way.

  “No feature’s foolproof, so use common sense. If you get dizzy or whatever, grab the bar like I said and click the down arrow.” He tapped the treadmill’s landing step. “Another trick is jumping on these so you straddle the belt.”

  “I guess.” She placed her bottle into the holder, then flashed him a hesitant smile and whipped off her sweatshirt.

  And out flew all his good intentions.

  Stop looking at her boobs.

  They were glorious.

  Down, boy.

  Thrusting one of the towels at her, he covered the front of his bike shorts with the other. Didn’t need the poor girl thinking he walked around with a perpetual boner. Maybe a run would help. Yeah. A really hard, fast run. “Any questions, just ask.” When she didn’t respond, he popped in his earbuds and got to work.

  Three tunes later, he turned to her, careful to keep his eyes on her face. “A minute out from your jog. Feeling good?”

  She nodded.

  “Great.” Maybe now was a good time for small talk, distract her from the exercise monotony. “Want to tell me more about you?”

  “I didn’t answer all the questions?”

  “Yeah, sure you did, but that was about your goals.”

  Liar. You want to do a hell of a lot more than break ice with her.

  She laughed. “Putting the personal into personal training?”

  Hmm. And was that innuendo? The next four weeks might prove to be an adventure. “Why not? We’ll be hanging out here a lot the whole month.”

  “Uh, not such a good idea.” Her smile faded. “Don’t think I can run and talk at the same time.”

  “Sure. Do what’s comfortable.” He assessed her condition. Hmm. Nothing to indicate shortness of breath. Maybe she was shy? He rubbed the back of his neck, then powered up the tunes. Maybe music would make him stop wishing he was the fabric cradling his client’s breasts.

  A few songs later, he turned to her again. “You did it!”

  She shot him a soul-melting grin, and he gripped the bars to steady his world, and slowed his pace. Where the hell was that obnoxious beep coming from?

  He pulled out his earbuds.

  Aw, fuck.

  “Sorry.” He ripped his palms off the heart sensors. Who was this woman that gave him insta-lust? He shook his head and laughed. In all his years as a trainer, he’d never had a client affect him like she did. He glanced over at her. “Four more minutes. You still feeling okay?”

  She dabbed at her brow, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I survived. Does it get better?”

  “Should.”

  “Hope so.” Her voice was soft.

  Was the client still talking about exercise? He wasn’t sure. Lexie Bloom was a mystery.

  Chapter Three

  Juggling a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand and a bag of doughnuts in the other, Lexie wove her way through the maze of gray office cubicles to her own at the far end. She set the tray down and tossed her duffel bag beneath the desk before turning at the click of high heels behind her.

  Ms. Swann approached, pale and slender in a blue dress and pumps that matched her eyes and complemented her blond, shoulder-length hair. “Taking advantage of the fitness center?”

  She struggled to wipe the goofy look off her face that she probably made whenever she thought about her trainer. “A lot better than I’d expected. I met someone…” Her voice trailed off, and she turned to hide her blush. Rule number one in administrative assistant etiquette was to keep personal details out of the office. Besides, there really was nothing to tell. Matthew Hennessey was paid to help the firm’s employees use the gym safely. She stifled a sigh and dropped her purse on her chair. “I’ll set these in your office,” she said, nodding at the drinks she carried.

  “Interesting. What a coincidence. I met someone there, too,” Ms. Swann replied as she leaned forward to pull off one of the colorful sticky notes on which Lexie had written inspirational quotes and posted inside her cube.

  “I can remove those if—” she began.

  A smile spread across Ms. Swann’s flawless face. “May I?” she asked, holding a pink note.

  “Uh, sure,” she mumbled, following her boss into the sunny, corner office. Why the sudden interest in one of her scribbled quotes?

  After sticking the note on her desk, Ms. Swann tapped a pen against her glossy, red lips as she sauntered toward her office window. There was a lot of speculation among the administrative assistants on the fifty-third floor as to how a thirty-year-old had risen to the level of partner in such a prestigious consulting firm so fast. Some suggested Sylvia Swann had beguiled the older men in the firm with her beauty, but Lexie suspected it had a lot more to do with hard work and a few well-placed connections.

  “It’s quarter after,” Lexie prompted. “Anything else I can do?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Ms. Swann moved to the door, closing it before she slid onto the sleek swivel chair behind her impressive mahogany desk and motioned for Lexie to sit as well.

  Did I miss a phone call?

  Her heart skipped a few beats as she sank onto the cushioned seat. She glanced toward her cubicle where the office planner lay. “Should I get your—”

  “Relax.” Ms. Swann lifted the pink note off her desk. “Whose quote is this?”

  Who so loves believes the impossible. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

  “Remarkable,” Ms. Swann observed.

  She stifled a snort. Remarkable that I can read, or the quote itself? Because love was impossible. Why fall for the myth of love only to end up unhappy and alone?

  “I have an assignment for you.”

  She met her boss’s sharp, blue eyes.

  “There’s a personal trainer here at J&C I’m interested in getting to know better.”

  Matthew?

  Her boss leaned back in her chair and grinned. “We met a few weeks ago. The guy has buns of steel.”

  A vision of Mr. Hennessey’s backside popped into her head, and Lexie swallowed. “What’s his name?”

  “We exchanged numbers and texted,” Ms. Swann continued, “but I’ve been so wrapped up in the promotion I haven’t had the energy to follow up.” She fished around in a drawer then slid a second smartphone onto the desk.

  Why two phones? And the trainer, who was he? The chance that Ms. Swann was referring to the same one she’d met Friday was slim. Still, Lexie had to know. “What’s his name?”

  “That’s not important.” Ms. Swann flicked a hand in dismissal and stood. “Your excitement about the gym, and that sticky note, reminded me of him.” She leaned against the side of the desk closest to Lexie. “Lucky for me, not only does the guy have a body I’d like to explore for weeks on end, but he’s very educated. I did my research. He earned his Ph.D. in English and teaches Brit Lit at Manhattan University.” Her eyes sparkled. “There’s just one tiny, little concern.” She laughed. “I don’t remember an iota of required reading from my freshman lit class.”

  My guy is young and hot, definitely not a professor. Lexie relaxed her shoulde
rs and dared to breathe again. My guy? When had she started thinking that way? Insane.

  Ms. Swann leaned forward, her smile wide. “I’ve seen your resume. Summa cum laude.” She glanced at her office door before continuing. “It’s not in your job description, but if you can handle this little issue for me, you’ll be ready for more sensitive J&C ad work. What do you say?”

  I say that I’d so love to write event promos rather than type form letters all day.

  Ms. Swann pushed off from the desk and slid around to pick up the phone. “This is for my boy toys. You know, equal opportunity for us ladies.”

  Who in the twenty-first century calls the men they date boy toys? So wrong.

  Lexie blinked, the dots starting to connect in her mind. “You’re asking me to text him and set up your, uh, date?”

  “Yes.”

  This can’t be happening.

  “Why?”

  “Simple. I Googled the phrase he’d texted me, and it happened to be some obscure line from a dead writer. He intrigued me.” Ms. Swann shrugged. “I want to hook up, but don’t have the spare hours to research witty responses.” She didn’t add, that’s why I have you, but then, did she really need to? They both knew assistants at J&C were little better than gofers their first six months.

  Lexie rubbed her temple. “Are you sure that’s the way to go?” Perspiration trickled down the center of her back. “I mean, wouldn’t he probably want to communicate with you rather than your assistant? It’s not that I don’t want to help. I do, it’s just that—”

  “Of course, you won’t tell him you’re the one doing the texting.” Ms. Swann laughed. “He’ll never know.”

  “I’m not, uh, what you’d call proficient when it comes to romantic relationships.”

  Her boss shook her head, misinterpreting her reluctance. “I’m not asking you to romance the guy. You’ll use your, let’s say, literary wiles to catch his attention, then set up the date and keep him engaged until that night.” Ms. Swann tore a sheet off a small notepad and jotted something on it. “I’ll be more than happy to take things from there,” she said, handing her the paper. “You have my back, I’ll have yours.”

  Lexie glanced at the four-digit PIN, and her skin crawled at the thought of playing matchmaker. But what was the alternative? Return home to live with Mom and beg for work at the local supermarket or factory? Nope. Not happening. So she stood and pasted on a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Don’t forget this.” Ms. Swann handed her one of the phones.

  A boy toy phone. I can’t even.

  HR had warned her against accepting “tasks of a personal nature,” but what would happen if she reported it? What partner wanted to work with a tattletale? She held out her hand and smiled. “No problem.”

  After a silent meltdown in a ladies’ room stall, she trudged back to her cube, plopped onto her swivel chair, and stared at her pile of letters to be typed.

  Then glanced at the phone in her lap.

  She needed this job. There were bills to pay, and that meant she needed to follow her boss’s orders. Phone powered up, she typed in the code, and a screen devoid of apps appeared.

  “Alexandra?”

  She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Martin. Didn’t see you there. Good morning.”

  The senior partner hovered near her desk, his hands folded over his paunch as he scowled at the phone in her lap. “Busy day ahead?” He shot a meaningful glance at her inbox.

  She swallowed hard and nodded, but then stopped when she spied her Phillies souvenir in the corner, the figure’s head bouncing. One bobblehead per cube was plenty, and her Mike Schmidt collectible did the job just fine. With Martin’s imposing black suit still in her peripheral vision, and two more partners expected to arrive any moment, she powered down the phone and tossed it in her purse.

  “Very well.” Mr. Martin strode away.

  Lexie waited for the click of Ms. Swann’s office door behind the man before she released her breath. Okay, so she couldn’t complete her newest assignment at her desk. Didn’t need Swann’s partners thinking she was a slacker. Slapping the first letter onto her document easel, she settled in.

  Three hours later, she placed the typed letters on her boss’s desk. “All typed and ready to sign.”

  Ms. Swann looked up from her paperwork. “Nice. You take care of that text yet? I need you to cancel my flight to Toronto so I’ll be available Friday. He’d fit in quite nicely.”

  “Figured I’d do that during my lunch hour. Need to consider my response.”

  “Yes, well…” Ms. Swann reached for the stack of letters to sign. “Why don’t you take an extra half hour, then? That should give you plenty of time to compose a text.” She turned to her computer monitor. “Update me later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lexie backed out of the office, her stomach growling. Too bad she had no appetite for the task she was about to tackle.

  How do I pretend to be my boss when I barely know her?

  Grabbing her purse from her desk, she turned and headed blindly for the elevator. Only when she hit street level did her shoulders return to their normal position. Soaking in the movement and colors and scent of the city, Lexie strode toward the plaza she’d discovered during her first week at J&C, dodging sidewalk cracks and subway grates in her toe-pinching, three-inch heels.

  At the plaza, she glanced at the young women surrounding her, many of them pulling out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches like the one inside her own purse. Sitting on the cool marble steps near the fountain, she slipped off her shoes, then sighed and wiggled her toes before she dug in to her lunch.

  She was biting into her apple when her phone vibrated. She glanced at the Caller ID, sat up with a jerk, and swiped the screen with an impatient finger. “Hi, Mom.” Worry gnawed at her. “Something wrong? You always call me at night.”

  “Could be worse. My back pain’s been flaring up something awful, though.” Her mother’s voice was whinier than usual.

  “I’m sorry.” Lexie struggled to ignore the guilt that sidled in next to her concern. “Is Aiden helping?” She didn’t ask about the other man in their small family. Stu had an awful habit of disappearing whenever the going got tough.

  “Your brother’s been checking on me every day. Even stayed with us last weekend. He fixed the drip in the kitchen sink and did yard work. I think he might agree to move in with me until I’m back on my feet. Especially now.”

  “What’s going on?” As much as she dreaded the thought of returning to her hometown, she started calculating the cost of trekking to Battleton to help out for the weekend. “Please tell me what happened.”

  “I kicked Stu out last night.”

  About time. “Good for you. You deserve better,” she said, meaning every word, then stopped short as a new thought intruded. Her mother hated being alone as much as Lexie cherished her newfound single status. The jerk must’ve done something really bad. “What did he do?

  Her mother hesitated. “He stole money from Aiden. I confronted Stu, and he left. I won’t tolerate a thief in my home. Still, it’s hard.”

  She heard the regret in her mother’s voice and gritted her teeth.

  Please, please don’t go down that road.

  “I’ve got no skills, and you know how hard it is to get a decent job around here. Living on Social Security is near impossible.”

  Don’t say it. Don’t.

  Lexie pursed her lips and shoved unhappy toes back into high heels.

  “Let’s face it, I need a man to help out.”

  As usual, her mother’s answer to all of life’s ills was getting a man. Lexie snorted. Reluctant to hurt her feelings, but figuring her mother’s four failed marriages gave her the license to speak up, she gave it a shot. “You don’t need a man.” We don’t need men. “You can survive on your own.”

  “If only your father hadn’t died,” her mother lamented.

  Lexie swallowed the lump in her throat. “No amount of wishi
ng or crying will ever bring him back.” Her father’s home had been in the Battleton Community Cemetery going on thirteen years in October. “We owe it to him to move on and enjoy life. He’d want that.”

  “Your father was a good man. I miss him, and I miss you.” Her voice was soft. “When you left after Thanksgiving, I figured it was because I’m always on your case about something. But last week I ran into Billy Sheldon’s mother shopping at the Stop and Go. She said he’d arrived home the same day you ran away to New York. Did you know he was back in town—that he and Darleen had split up for real? His mother said he’d called you, wanted to make it up to you for all the embarrassment he caused. Maybe you should come home and give him a second chance. You two sure would make pretty babies.”

  “I gave him a second chance, and he blew it.” She paced the sidewalk, having stood as soon as Billy Sheldon’s name passed her mother’s lips. “And I didn’t run.” She stopped and squared her shoulders, refusing to be anyone’s fool. No second chances. No pretty babies. No happily-ever-after. Not with Billy, or Tristan, Doug, Sean, or any other guy she’d been blind enough to trust in her six colorful years of dating. “This move is about me, nobody else.” She kept her voice level, pushing away the flood of memories too depressing to dredge up. “I hate to cut you short, but I should try to get some writing done on my lunch break.”

  “You working on another play? Ah, honey, that’s wonderful. I hope it all works out for you in New York. I really do. But if you change your mind, you know you’ve always got a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on right here.”

  “Thanks.” She gripped the phone tighter.

  “You know I love you.” Her mother sighed. “I’d give my right arm if you’d come back home, but not at the expense of your dreams.”

  A rainbow of light reflected in the fountain’s spray, and for a second, Lexie considered opening up and telling her mother about her fears. But the woman had enough of her own pain; she didn’t need the extra burden of her daughter’s. “Get the money I sent?”