Leo lifts an appreciative brow. “Is this your second run of the day?”
“Hell, yeah. One wasn’t enough. After I left you in the dust and went home, I had a ton of energy, so I ran down here. And I came up with awesome ideas as I ran this morning. Speaking of, I had this killer new idea for sales. Want to hear it? We have a few minutes before we start.”
Leo nods and turns to me, mouthing later.
I motion that I’ll join them in a few, then I take a sip of my coffee, fueling up.
“Hey, Lulu!”
I turn in the direction of the voice and I see the white-blonde RaeLynn striding over to me.
“Hi, RaeLynn.”
“I was hoping to catch up with you. I’ve been reading about your chocolates, and everything I’ve seen on blogs about you is tremendous. You were picked as one of BuzzFeed’s Top Five Chocolatiers to watch.”
“Thank you. I was honored to be named.”
“I know you’re working with Heavenly, but I’d love to work with you too, at some point. We should talk about doing a partnership together.” She’s so intensely earnest that it throws me. She doesn’t seem like the same woman who made comments about my USB T-shirt yesterday.
“Thanks, but I don’t see my Heavenly partnership ending anytime soon.”
“Oh, well, you should be really careful, then.” She nods in the direction of Leo.
I scrunch my brow. “What do you mean?”
She gives me a you’re so silly look. “Well, isn’t there kind of something between the two of you?”
I blink. Is it that obvious? Was it evident from the whispers between us that we were saying I want you? Honestly, it probably was.
I do something I hate, but that’s necessary for survival. I lie. “There’s nothing going on. We’ve known each other for a long time. He was the best man at my wedding.”
There. I hope that’ll get her off the scent.
“Oh, thank God there’s nothing going on.” She wipes a hand dramatically across her forehead. “Because you need to be smart in this environment.”
“What do you mean?” A kernel of fear takes root in my chest.
“Aren’t you an employee of Heavenly? I’m sure they have a policy that says you can’t get involved with the executive who hired you.”
I blanch. “Well, I’m not technically an employee. I’m a contractor, so it’s different.”
“True, though you have to think about not only the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law too. Personally, I find you can’t be too careful these days,” she says in a sisters-looking-out-for-each-other way.
As she walks away, I want to trip her.
I want to shout at her.
But I don’t have any ground to stand on.
She’s right.
You can’t be too careful. There aren’t any hard and fast rules in place, but the fact is there are unwritten rules. And while I’m not worried that Leo would screw me over at work, I do worry how this might look to others—like I slept my way to this opportunity.
I cringe inside at that thought.
And now I have a new wrinkle in the should-I-or-shouldn’t-I debate.
The concern isn’t only whether it’s wise for me to get involved with someone I’m working with while I build my business, but how that involvement might appear to others.
What seemed clear moments ago has once again been muddied.
The same could be said about the clue Kingsley hands us.
25
Lulu
They say I’m worth millions. Just weigh me and you’ll know. You’ll find me by shiny shoes and acorns, underneath the universe, where everything is faster or slower, depending on how you look at it. When you find me, capture the moment with me and your team. Then be sure to add to your collection with all of the above.
* * *
Noah stares at me slack-jawed. “What the Derek Jeter is this?”
I’m dumbstruck. I’ve been riddling my way through the words for five minutes, but I’m back at square one and it’s empty. I should know it. But I’m struggling. My decoder ring isn’t working well, and maybe it’s because RaeLynn’s words are ringing in my head, the echo of them occupying all the space that I ought to be devoting to this clue.
Ginny yawns. “Sorry, guys. I’m a bit off my game. Had a late night with my daughter.”
“Is everything okay with her?” Noah asks.
Ginny smiles. “She’s great. But she possesses a common trait among ten-year-olds. She forgot to tell me we had to make cupcakes for a school project until the very last minute. We were up late baking.”
Noah stares at her, perplexed. “Why not just go out and buy the cupcakes?”
Ginny recoils. “I’d be shunned.”
“For real?”
Ginny nods. “It’s completely verboten. You can’t bring in store-bought cupcakes when the class is asked to bake.”
“Next time, ask me.”
She stares at him incredulously, as if he’s begun walking on his hands. “Why?”
“Because I’ll help you bake. You can call me anytime.”
“But . . . you’re twenty-five,” she sputters, like that’s the natural response to learning someone has baking acumen, when it’s actually the first thing on her mind with him—the age difference.
And he knows now. A sly smile spreads on his face. “I get you, Ginny.”
“What do you get?”
“You think I’m too young for you. I’ll have you know I’m a mature twenty-five, and I can bake my ass off.”
“And I’m an old thirty-five.”
“Doesn’t bother me. I don’t even think about it. You shouldn’t either.”
“I shouldn't think about how young you are?”
“Only to think about how much energy my youth gives me in many areas.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so so.”
And I think he might be wearing her down, erasing her worries about age.
Wait. Old. Young. This hunt . . . that’s what it’s about.
“The past,” I whisper to Leo.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what this hunt is about. The tomb, right? And all the other items in the museum yesterday. Obviously, they’re items from the past. What if the twist to the hunt is learning from the past? Discovering teamwork or something from the past.”
Leo’s smile lights up. “That might be it. You could be onto something.”
He steps away, paces, furrows his brow. He spins around, heads toward us, muttering under his breath. He’s like a detective assembling clues, and it’s hella hot.
He passes us again, and as he wears a hole in the concrete, I, too, try to work the problem.
“Maybe it’s a famous hotel,” Noah offers.
“Or a landmark building,” Ginny puts in.
“Maybe it’s all of them,” I say.
“All of them?” Noah asks.
“Something that combines them.” Leo snaps his fingers. “I think I know what it might be. The weigh me part is the key.” He glances around, making sure the other teams aren’t nearby, then pulls us in close and whispers.
I gasp, and I want to smack a big one on his lips because he’s so damn clever.
Except I can’t do that.
Or really, I shouldn’t do that.
RaeLynn’s last words underline my every thought.
You can’t be too careful these days.
That needs to be my mantra, and I vow to follow it as we rush out of the park, Noah debating the fastest way to Midtown.
When Noah finally settles on a flying carpet—or a cab, if no flying carpet is available—Leo stops in his tracks.
He stares at the ground by the arch. A pink backpack with a rainbow sits forlornly on the concrete. The top is unzipped slightly, revealing purple and pink spiral-bound notebooks and a Pusheen the cat pencil holder. “Guys. Did some kid lose her backpack?”
“I don’t know.” I bend and take
a look at the tag. “Property of Isabelle Grayson.” It lists an address a few blocks away.
I look around for any grade-schoolers, but the park is mostly empty of school-age kids, since it’s nine thirty. Nor do I spot any young kids searching for a pink bag.
“We should return this,” Leo says firmly.
“We should,” I say, seconding him. “Doesn’t matter if it puts us behind.”
Noah groans.
There’s a time limit on the scavenger hunt. We have two hours to complete the challenge and send in the photo proof. The team that’s fastest and most creative wins the points.
“We can’t split up. We can’t take the pictures unless the whole team is there. We need to make a decision,” Leo says. “Backpack mission or hunt mission?”
“Um. Hate to break it to you. But ticktock.” Noah taps his wristwatch.
Ginny stares at Noah. “Hello! Some kid doesn’t have her bag for school. She might even have her lunch in there.”
He scoffs like that’s what he meant to say. “Yeah, exactly. Ticktock, as in, let’s get our butts in gear and drop this backpack off at Isabelle’s place.”
Ginny smiles warmly at him. “I thought that’s what you meant.” Her words come out a little flirty.
Leo checks the address tag. “Her apartment is a few blocks away. Let’s see if there’s a doorman we can leave it with, at least.”
“Wait.” My warning comes out before I expected it to. But the conversation with RaeLynn replays in my head. Would she have planted this backpack? Is this scavenger hunt sabotage? Or worse, did George—sweet, put-upon, beleaguered George . . . Would he have done this to slow down the team in the lead? Both of them are salivating for the prize, albeit for different reasons. I’d hate to think the triplet daddy would do this, but I don’t know either one of them. There could be more to this than meets the eye. Isn’t there always?
“What is it, Lulu?” Leo asks curiously.
“Do you think this is a trick? Like, some sort of sabotage?”
“Dude, that would make this one cutthroat scavenger hunt,” Noah says.
“But it’s possible. It could totally be some crazy scheme concocted by those manifesters. The Frodo’s people,” Ginny suggests, loving the conspiracy idea.
Leo cuts in, his voice confident and commanding. “Guys, it doesn’t matter whether it’s a trick or real. Our choices are the same. Leave it or return it. Which one are we doing? I know my decision. What is yours?”
Just like that, he assumes the leadership role fully, and I tuck away my doubt.
All at once, the three of us declare, “Return it.”
“I’ll do it.” Noah reaches for the backpack. “Told you I was Usain Bolt.”
And bolt he does. His feet are winged. He’s Hermes, flying down the block before anyone can stop him. We jog behind, but he’s propelled by jet fuel, racing along the block, stopping briefly to cross the street, then speed-demoning it down the next one.
I point at him. “Holy smokes. That dude can fly.”
“He sure can,” Ginny says, admiration in her tone.
“Ginny, do I detect a note of you’re-seeing-Noah-in-a-new-light in your tone?” Leo asks.
She snaps her gaze toward him. “What? New light?”
“Oh, come on. The two of you clearly have some sort of Sam and Diane vibe.”
“You’re so old, Leo,” Ginny says.
“Ha. Cheers is on Netflix. I didn’t watch it in the ’80s. Also, I turn thirty-three today, so I’m not that old.”
“Happy birthday, Leo!” Ginny says.
I stop him, slamming an arm against his. “Today? You turn thirty-three today? You were trying to sneak a birthday past me again?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m not turning one, twenty-one, or one hundred one, so it’s no big deal.”
“It’s your birthday. That’s a huge deal, and you never ever let us celebrate it before.”
“I’m just not one of those birthday people.”
“Whatever. That’s crazy talk. I’m making you a cake, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“No?” he offers.
I wave it off. “Won’t accept it. The only question you should be answering right now is chocolate, marble, black forest, pineapple coconut, or strawberry.” I tap my toe, deliberately impatient. “What does the birthday boy want?”
His eyes roam up and down my body, lingering on my throat, my breasts, then finally my lips.
That, right there—the dark look in his brown irises. That’s the definition of “melting point.” I go from solid woman to liquid desire.
“I want . . . pineapple coconut.”
Have it. Have me. Have everything, I want to say.
“I’ll make it for you.” My voice betrays me. It’s breathless, husky. I want to make him a cake, and I want him to have it and eat it too.
Ginny rolls her eyes. “Speaking of vibes . . .”
But before I can ask about vibes, Noah is Forrest Gumping toward us again, pointing down the street. “Isabelle called her building! I talked to the doorman. She’s at school. It’s two blocks away. I’m going to get it to her before second period.”
Then he’s Road Runner, flying past us, turning down the next block, and blowing away all the cheetahs in the world.
Ginny watches him, stars in her eyes.
Despite Noah’s best impression of cheetah-meets-Olympic-medalist, we arrive at Grand Central Terminal thirty minutes after we wanted to.
But Isabelle has her backpack, and she told Noah through tears and a smile how happy she was to have it.
Inside the still-grand train station, we rush to the famous clock. It’s made of gold, and because of its four opal faces, it’s said to be worth $10–$20 million. Hence the weigh me part of the clue, since gold is valued by weight.
We take a photo beneath it.
Next, we head to the departure boards, where every train is listed as running one minute earlier than it actually leaves. That’s deliberate to accommodate stragglers. We snap another shot of the four of us.
After that, we look skyward, where the stars and the constellations are depicted in gold and green on the ceiling. Another picture.
Finally, we hunt for the marble inlays that appear to be squashed pineapples but are actually acorns, a symbol of the Vanderbilts, who financed the terminal. We find them and take the final photo, sending it in right before the two-hour deadline.
All the items we’re unearthing are from years ago. The clock. The ceiling. The departures board. Even the symbol of the Vanderbilts. For a moment, it’s as if Kingsley is reading my mind. Making me think about the past. Leo and I have so much past between us.
But even so, I’ve learned the past isn’t what matters anymore.
It’s the present and what we do with it.
I don’t believe RaeLynn is correct, after all. I definitely don’t care if anyone thinks I slept my way to this post. I know the truth. I know my truth. I’m here at Heavenly because I’m a damn good chocolatier. I won Kingsley over with my talent. I don’t need to prove a thing to anyone but our customers. For them, the chocolate is the only proof needed.
As I gaze at the constellations etched into the ceiling, as I stare at the board where the time isn’t always right but is designed to be on our side, and as I take one last look at the clock worth millions, I have to ask myself if time is the answer. If time is bigger than should I or shouldn’t I?
The past is no longer present. And in my present, my heart wants what my heart wants.
And I am no longer wary of it.
The time is now.
As Ginny and Noah debate the ethics of eating food left unmarked in a company’s break room fridge—Noah says everything is fair game, while Ginny says gross—they duck into a deli to grab sodas. I grab the opportunity to pull Leo aside between a shoeshine and a flower stand. “Come to my chocolate shop later. Before your cake.”
His eyes sweep over me, sending a fresh flurry of tingles through m
y body. “Chocolate and cake? What are you doing to me, woman?”
The way he says that word—woman—is commanding, possessive, and also . . . crystal clear.
There’s no mistaking his intention when he calls me that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a sign near one of the shoeshine stands in the terminal. This used to be the Biltmore Room, and it’s being renovated in 2019 to return it to its former glory.
This is kismet.
This is poetry.
“Do you know what the Biltmore Room used to be?” I ask, a little breathless.
He shakes his head. “No, but I bet you do, little Miss New York Historian.”
“It was a room under the Biltmore Hotel where train travelers would meet their sweethearts. And kiss them. It was called The Kissing Room.”
His eyes sparkle. “Are you trying to tell me something, Lulu?”
“I believe I am.”
He steps closer, crowding me, backing me against the wall between the unmanned shoeshine booth and near the flower stand. He parks one palm against the wall. The other hand fiddles with my necklace. Oh yes, I like Commanding Leo very much.
“Would you like to be kissed, Lulu?” His face is inches from mine. His lips are taunting me with nearness.
All the breath rushes from my body and races down the corridor. “Yes.”
“How can I deny you?” He’s closer now, his jawline brushing my collarbone, his lips whispering near my throat.
A supernova blasts in my body. “Don’t. Don’t deny me. Kiss me.”
“Are you sure?” His lips barely dust my neck, and I can’t take it. I’m aching exquisitely for him. My lips beg him. My hands grab at him. I need him.
“So sure.”
He rewards me, his mouth sweeping over mine as he kisses me tenderly and possessively, making the rest of Grand Central Terminal slink away. We might as well be in Alaska or Antarctica, someplace where it’s only the two of us, kissing, against the world.
That’s how he kisses me.
Like there are no more questions.
No more worries.
No more past.
Only a present where mouths and lips and bodies collide.
Birthday Suit Page 14