by Melissa West
The warmth in my cheeks spread through me, refusing to be contained. Why did he have to say things like that? Words that to anyone else would mean nothing at all, yet his tone, his expression, everything about him said something more. He was my boss, and in truth, if he were anyone else I would be offended, even worried, but with Aidan…
I sat down in the chair across from him and crossed my legs. “Not to me.”
The moment lingered long, tension building, and then he turned his monitor toward me so I could see what was on the screen. It was an ad mock-up from creative, but nothing about it was creative. The colors were too bold, the text too heavy, the images impossible to focus on.
“Did you bring your notes?”
Without thinking, I passed him my notebook and phone, our fingers touching in the exchange, the connection so intense I had to jerk away. Was it suddenly very, very hot in his office?
“Password?”
He started to pass it back to me, when I said, “5267.” His eyebrows lifted, and I added, “It was my father’s birthday.”
“Was?” he asked, his tone hesitant.
“He died in a plane crash when I was twelve. He was the pilot.” I had no idea why I admitted that to him. I could have just shrugged, claimed it was a random number, but something about Aidan made me feel too raw to lie. Like with the phone itself—why had I passed it to him so easily? I was standing right there, so it wasn’t like he could search my phone, but a person’s phone was a sacred thing. Home to friends and family, embarrassing texts and photos that should have been deleted the moment they were snapped. Yet I had passed mine to him without hesitation.
It took me a second to realize that he was watching me. I looked up, unwilling to show too much emotion. My dad died. It was a long time ago, and while I would always feel that ache in my chest, more than anything I just wanted to be the daughter he raised. To make him proud. I expected Aidan to say he was sorry or ask more questions, but he simply nodded, typed in the password, and then began reading the notes I had up on the screen. My ideas for the campaign.
He didn’t speak as he read them or nod or give any indication that he had any opinion at all. But then he set my phone down and leaned back in his chair, his hands linked behind his head as he stared past me. I turned around to see what was on the wall behind me, the same wall I’d seen him focused on the night before. It was a painting of a young man with a toy train facing a man who was attempting to pull a locomotive with a rope. I studied the painting for a long time, then glanced back at Aidan to find him watching me.
“It’s a Pawel Kuczynski piece.”
“It’s deep.” I eyed the painting again.
“His work is very satirical. A different look at the world. That’s what I try to do here. I want our ads to be different, to take a different approach to advertising. It isn’t enough to catch the consumer’s attention. You have to make them never forget.”
The passion in his voice made me want to sit and talk to him for hours about work, to pick apart his brain and discover how he’d risen in the company in such a short amount of time, but I knew I shouldn’t. Aidan had already made an impact on me.
I focused back on our campaign. “Is that what you’re trying for there?” I asked, pointing at his screen. The ad was horrible, but maybe he saw something in it I didn’t. After all, he was the expert.
He laughed, the effort completely changing his face. It made him look younger, more relaxed. “You’re joking, right? This shit makes me want to send Alan home for the day in hopes that he returns tomorrow with something more inspired.” Alan was one of two senior graphic designers for the agency, and clearly he’d misunderstood Aidan’s vision.
“Well, maybe…” What could I say? He was right—it was crap.
“There’s a team coming from Blast this afternoon. I want you to take your ideas to creative and ask them to come up with three mock-ups. Tell Alan to pack up his things if he hands over another ad like this one.”
I stared at Aidan. “I’m not telling him that. I barely know him. Shouldn’t you be the one to take the ideas over?”
His mouth twitched, and the warmth in me reignited. Why did he have to be so sexy? “You do realize you work for me, don’t you?”
“Technically, I work for Gayle.”
“Who works for me.”
He cocked his head slightly, daring me to argue. I had no idea why I was arguing with him. He was my boss. For all the convolutedness of our situation, that detail was perfectly clear. But ordering the senior designers in creative to do something for me, an entry-level nobody, ranked high on my I’d-rather-scrub-toilets list.
“Don’t worry, they won’t bite.”
Snatching my phone off his desk, I started for the door. “Fine, but I’m not telling them the firing bit. You can do that yourself.” I could almost hear his smile from across the room as I slipped through the door.
…
I stood in line at Starbucks an hour later, desperate for a pick-me-up after my attempts to explain my ideas to Alan and Trent, the designers on the campaign, who did little more than stare at me while I spoke. I still wasn’t sure they understood a word I said. Regardless, the Blast Water people would be at our office at one for a lunch meeting, and I wanted to be on my game, show that I was an active part of the team.
My thoughts drifted back to Aidan and his words from his office. I tried not to dissect every moment, but something about him put me on edge. I wanted him to like me, in more ways than I should.
“What do you suggest?” a voice asked from behind me, yanking me from my thoughts. I turned around to see a man dressed in the sort of suit that could max out a credit card. He had deep brown hair and olive skin and a flashy smile that said he knew exactly how he looked and planned to use his looks to their full potential.
“It’s Starbucks,” I said, teasing. “Something tells me you know how this works.” The barista asked for my drink order and I called out my regular grande vanilla latte and motioned for the guy to place his order. I waited for him to say something like venti, double shot, blah, blah, blah, but instead he flashed me a grin again and said to the barista, “I’ll have a coffee. Black. Whatever size you think is fine, or better yet, let her decide.” His gaze swept from the barista to me, where it held.
I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “Wow, you really are a Starbucks virgin. How does that happen, exactly?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t have time for complicated. I always walk in, order a black coffee, and walk out.”
“Give him a grande. It’s just enough.” Then I grabbed my coffee and turned toward the elevators with trepidation. Sure enough, the slowest elevator known to the world opened up, and I didn’t have time to wait on my favorite. Damn, slow turtle of an excuse for an elevator. I was just considering taking the stairs when I heard someone walk up behind me.
“I’m a visitor here. Think you could give me directions?”
I pointed to the directory beside the elevator without looking at him. I didn’t need this distraction. Not today. “Sorry, I’m new, but that should help.” I stepped inside the turtle elevator and turned to see Coffee Dude shaking his head, a crooked grin on his face as the doors closed.
It took ten rounds of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to get me to the fifth floor, and by the time I made it to my desk, my hands were shaking, my breathing uneven. Inhale…exhale…Inhale…exhale. After a solid minute of this, my breathing relaxed, and I clicked my email, eager for a distraction, but before I could dive in, Gayle appeared at my desk. “Have a minute? The Blast guys are here early.”
Crap.
“Um, yeah, sure.” We started toward the conference room. “But I don’t think creative has had time to fix the mock-ups,” I whispered.
“Don’t worry. Aidan’s going to lead the meeting. His middle name should be bullshit. He’ll wow them. Then he’ll tell us he’s disappointed in our efforts and order an all-nighter until we solidify our idea.”
“Gre
at.”
She opened the glass door to the conference room and motioned for me to follow her, but my eyes had stopped on the two men already seated at the table. One was older, maybe sixty, and the other was Coffee Dude from downstairs. He smiled knowingly, and I felt my cheeks flush as the guy held out his hand for me to shake. “Trevor Blast.”
“Cameron Lawson. So you must be…?”
His father held out his hand for me to shake. He had an air about him that I instantly liked. He reminded me of my stepdad, Eric. He was real, not at all the typical executive. “William.”
I glanced between the two men. “Very nice to meet you both. We’re so excited to handle your campaign.”
They both smiled, and I knew instantly where Trevor inherited his telltale grin. Gayle shook their hands as well and we sat in front of them, me fighting to keep my cheeks from burning and Trevor clearly fighting to keep from laughing. How the hell did I get myself into these situations?
Aidan and Brody came through the door a moment later, saving me from an awkward apology.
“Gentlemen,” Aidan said, holding out his hand. He didn’t sit. Instead, he let his eyes land on each of us, an act intended simply to show us respect. I loved that about him. He really was amazing at his job.
I glanced up to find Trevor watching me. He flashed me a smile and mouthed something I couldn’t make out, and suddenly, Aidan stopped talking and peered down at me. “Cameron, is there something you want to add?”
“What? Me? No. Not at all.” I folded my hands in my lap, praying Trevor would behave, or else I could be off this campaign before it officially began.
Aidan didn’t look at me again for the remainder of the meeting, and for once, I was grateful. He launched into three ideas, and then when he started the fourth, my gaze darted up to his to find him watching me, waiting for my reaction. It was one of mine. Creative had used one of mine.
He smiled knowingly and then turned to the screen behind him. It was a flashy commercial with boys playing football as kids and then quickly transforming into men as the video continued. Then the slogan, “Blast Water, turning kids into athletes since 1995.” William nodded along during the idea, and at the end, he and Trevor picked two they wanted us to explore. One was clearly an idea Aidan had pulled on a whim, and the other was mine. It was all I could do to keep from screaming in excitement.
William and Trevor stood at the end of the meeting and passed around business cards with the other higher-ups in the room. Just as they were about to leave, Trevor turned back. “Very nice to meet you, Cameron.”
I smiled. “Likewise.”
As soon as they left, I started around the table, picking up leftover water bottles. Alexa could do it, but I was here, so why not help? My skin began to prickle, and I peered up to find Aidan still in the room, watching me, his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Oh, hey, I thought everyone had left.”
He didn’t move, and I realized then that he wanted to say something. “Did you know him?”
“Who?”
“Trevor Blast.”
“I met him downstairs. Why?” The whole exchange felt off, like he was a jealous boyfriend instead of my boss.
His mouth opened, then closed, then he motioned to the table, like he wasn’t sure what else to do. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“I know. But just because I don’t have to doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help, you know?”
He shook his head. “No one thinks like that.”
I stood across from him now, staring over the table, the distance both impossibly long and impossibly short. Were others out in the office, watching us right now? “I do.”
He started to speak again, and I paused, waiting to hear what he wanted to say, but he only watched me, then as though he realized what he was doing, he took a step back and ran a hand through his hair, blinking like he’d been in a trance. “They liked your idea. Good work.”
“Thanks. It sounds like they liked yours, too.”
Aidan shrugged off the compliment. “Ah, it was a throw-in. Yours is the keeper. It’s good. Great, actually.” He held my gaze, the energy between us building by the second.
I smiled, unable to hide my joy at his praise. Aidan knew advertising. He wouldn’t say my idea was good unless it was truly special. The thought made my heart warm, despite my best efforts to stay levelheaded, to remember that he was my boss. He could compliment my work and it meant nothing extra. But this didn’t feel like nothing.
Our eyes met once more, the moment so intense it was almost painful, and then he ran a hand through his hair again and started for the door just as I turned around to trash the bottles I’d picked up. I waited until the door closed before turning back around, my heart a noticeable presence in my chest.
Somehow, UT Guy and Aidan were blending together in my mind. I needed to put a stop to these thoughts before my heart opened up to him. Even if he weren’t my boss, this wouldn’t work. He didn’t date, and I didn’t do the casual thing. We would never work.
Chapter Nine
I spent the rest of the afternoon going back and forth between creative and my desk, taking the longest way possible to avoid Aidan’s office, afraid to feel that connection between us again. Finally, I closed down my laptop and tucked it into my laptop bag, then grabbed my gym bag and tossed it over my shoulder, eager to head to kickboxing to work off some of this pent-up energy.
The office was quiet, the sounds that filled the air during the busy day now replaced with nothing more than the gentle hum of the air-conditioning. Clearly, early morning and late evening hours would prove to be the best times to work without distractions. I had just turned the corner toward the kill-me-now elevators, right past Aidan’s office, when I noticed him standing in front of the Pawel Kuczynski painting, his arms crossed. Beyond the rise and fall of his shoulders, he wasn’t moving at all. I watched him, curious what he was thinking, when, as if he could feel my stare, he turned, and our eyes locked, and I swear, even the AC went silent.
Aidan started for his door, and I contemplated turning and going. Nothing about this felt right, yet everything in me told me to stay. “Kickboxing?” he asked.
I lifted the bag. “Yeah, heading there now.”
He glanced out his windows, to the darkness that had already set in. “Is your gym close by?”
I shook my head. “No, but it’s okay. It’s not a terrible walk.”
He considered me, then the window again, hesitating. “I don’t like the thought of you walking by yourself at night.”
The sentiment was sweet, but this was the city. Everyone walked everywhere, and at all hours. It wasn’t a big deal. “I’m okay.”
He bit his lip, and I wondered what he was struggling with, when he said, “We have a small gym here. A punching bag and gloves. You could practice. Or I could spar with you.” His voice dropped as he said the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say them aloud.
I glanced down the hall to where I knew the gym to be located. This had to be the worst idea on the planet. There was no one else here other than the cleaning crew. No one to see the look Aidan was giving me, equal parts temptation and desire. He took a step toward me, then another, then reached for my laptop bag, easing it off my shoulder. “You can leave your things in my office if you’d like while you go change. I’ll meet you in the gym.”
“Aidan…” I began, but somehow the words I should say wouldn’t come. I eyed the hallway again. Was it my imagination or had it suddenly turned dark and red? The devil stretching out his long fingers and waving me home. Sighing, I said, “I’ll see you in there.”
I shut myself into the ladies’ room and began to change into my workout clothes—a fitted pink aerobic tank and black yoga pants. The outfit was more than appropriate for the gym, but somehow here, with Aidan, it felt like I had nothing on at all. Every curve I had, both ones I loved and those I hated, were on display for all to see. It’s just a workout, I told myself as I swept my long
blond hair into a high ponytail and glanced at my reflection in the mirror.
My skin was too fair, the few freckles on my cheeks too pronounced, but I had always been the sort of girl who was comfortable in my own skin, grateful for what God had given me. Maybe that was my upbringing coming out, but living in New York could make a perfectly healthy girl feel heavy and a casually dressed girl feel downright tacky. It was exhausting at times, so I’d decided back at NYU that I wouldn’t fall prey to those things. I might be fair, but my skin was clear and vibrant. I might be curvier than girls like Alexa, but my large breasts made up for the swell in my backside and hips, giving me an hourglass shape.
Yet somehow all that coaching I’d given myself over the years flew out the window when Aidan looked at me. He made me feel self-conscious and beautiful all at the same time. And knowing he’d seen me naked did little to help.
I pushed open the door at the end of the hall and flicked on the light, exposing the company gym. It was a large room with wall-to-wall mirrors. The treadmills and ellipticals sat to the far left in front of a wall-mounted flat-screen. To the right were free weights and benches for lifting. And then to the right of the door were miscellaneous items, including the punching bag and gloves, yoga mats, jump ropes, and exercise balls.
I walked over to the mats and began to stretch, when the door to the gym opened and Aidan walked in, dressed in loose gray gym shorts that hung low on his narrow hips and a white T-shirt that showed off every taut curve and dip of his chest and arms. A flash of that chest pressed against me, his lips moving with mine, hit in my mind, and I sucked in a shallow breath, then two, trying to calm myself down. It should be illegal for a boss to be this hot. Weren’t there regulations for this kind of thing? No one too ripped, no one too young—no one with hair you wanted to run your fingers through while his mouth—
Stop.
Aidan lowered his head as he started for me. Even his walk was sexy. Slow, methodical. Every step so damn controlled. God, I was going to die before this workout even began.