by Claire Adams
I thought of saying that there was no way Jonathan was going to be overwhelming anyone, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Maybe you could sort of . . . I don’t know . . . get an idea from her whether or not she’d be interested.” He wouldn’t look at me as he said this.
“Really?” I said. “What is this—middle school? Do you want me to write her a note and pass it to her across the aisle? Circle ‘yes’ if you like Jonathan. Circle ‘no’ if you don’t.” I laughed.
He looked at me in agony. “This isn’t funny! It’s not a joke. And was I laughing at you when all that shit went down with Annie? When she tried to throw that stapler at you? I had your back.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m not really laughing at you, though. I’m laughing with you.”
“But I’m not laughing.”
“Well, if you were in my shoes, you might be. Sure, I’ll help you out, Jay. I’ll suss out the situation for ya, I’ll report back. Sound good?”
The look of relief on his face was clear as day. “You’ll do that for me?”
“Sure. We can call it . . . Operation Daisy Dukes, how ‘bout that?”
“That’s sounds totally sexist. How about we don’t call it anything? Because then it’s making it sound like a much bigger deal than it actually is.”
“If anyone is making this a big deal, it’s you.”
He took a deep breath. “I know, I know, you’re right. I don’t want to turn this into something . . . something that it’s not.”
“Right,” I said. “Well, I’ll get right to it.”
“Getting right to it” in this case meant leaving my office door open and going out into the main office to mingle far more than I would under other circumstances. With the door open, I could look out and see Daisy’s profile as she sat at her desk, and it seemed that every so often, I’d catch her watching me, though she’d always immediately look away when I looked up.
Around lunch time, she got up and disappeared, then came back with a lunch box, a soft fabric one, like a little kid would have. It was light blue with pink and purple flowers on it.
“I think we’re going to order some Thai food,” I said as she started to unwrap what looked to be a sandwich. “You want in on that?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ve got my lunch right here.”
“You don’t have to eat at your desk, you know. You can leave, or go in the break room.” Or go sit in Jonathan’s office. I didn’t say this last one out loud.
“I’m fine right here,” she said. “This way, I can do a little work, too.”
“Just don’t get peanut butter on the paperwork.”
She smiled but didn’t say anything.
I pretended that I was doing some work on the computer, but really, I watched her as she (neatly) ate her sandwich, followed by a baggie of carrots, a few pretzels, and finally, an apple. She caught me looking as she bit into the apple.
“I always save the apple for last,” she said. “It’s like nature’s equivalent of a toothbrush.”
Holy fuck she and Jonathan were meant to be. “Good to know,” I said. “Does Jonathan know that? About the apple?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Probably. He seems like he’d know that sort of thing.”
I couldn’t quite tell if that was a simply a statement of fact or a compliment.
“Where is Jonathan, anyway?” she asked. “I saw that he wasn’t in his office.”
“It’s Monday, so he’s out on call right now. He’ll be back at some point.” My cell phone started to ring. I looked down at the screen, then picked up the phone and carried it over to Daisy.
“Answer this,” I said. “Except don’t say Hard Tail Security or anything. Just say hello.”
She had a skeptical look on her face but took the phone from me and answered. “Hello?” she said again. She waited a second and then pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. “They hung up. Or the call got disconnected.” She handed the phone back to me. “Who was that?”
“Someone I didn’t really feel like talking to,” I said, taking the phone from her. She looked like she was about to ask me who it was that I didn’t feel like talking to, but then the office phone rang, and she reached over and answered it.
A few hours later and Jonathan still wasn’t back yet. Daisy appeared in the doorway, knocking lightly on the frame.
“Chris Robertson is on the phone,” she said. “He says that he has to reschedule the meeting with you tomorrow, and he was hoping to do it Wednesday. Later, though; he has something during the day.”
I shook my head. “Can’t do it Wednesday. I visit my stepfather then. Tell him Thursday, early afternoon; he can choose the exact time.”
I waited until she’d gotten off the phone with him to go out there. I leaned against her desk. “So he’s all set?”
“Yeah,” she said. “For Thursday at one.” She dropped the pen she was holding back into the cup holder and looked at me. “You visit your stepfather every week? I think Jonathan had mentioned something about it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “My mom died, but I still go say what’s up to Pete. Don’t want him to just languish away there.”
“That’s really great of you. My parents got divorced, and I had a stepfather for a little while. He was a pretty nice guy. But that marriage didn’t last long, either.”
Of course I’d let her think that I was going to visit Pete out of the kindness of my heart, because I felt I owed him something for being such an upstanding stepfather. I was a little surprised that Jonathan hadn’t mentioned what a dick Pete really was, but, then again, Jonathan was all about forgiveness, regardless of how badly the person had wronged you.
“I really don’t see my father much,” Daisy continued. “He moved to Maine and got remarried, and they’ve got a couple kids now. Who I only met once, back when I was a teenager. They were little, like toddlers, but it was nice, considering they’re my brother and sister. I don’t think my dad’s new wife liked me much, though.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. “That’s too bad,” I said.
“I have no hard feelings toward her or anything like that. I wasn’t trying to steal all of my father’s attention or anything. She just didn’t seem to like me.”
Daisy frowned, a crease forming in the space between her eyebrows. She had exceptionally smooth skin that I could practically feel underneath my fingertips.
“Of course she didn’t like you,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I can just imagine you as a teenager. Most stepmothers aren’t going to be wild about their new husband’s teenage daughter.”
“Why not?”
Was she really this naïve or just playing dumb? “Because women are jealous and territorial, that’s why. Because she’d feel competitive with you, even if you two are vying for two completely different types of your father’s affection.”
“Well, I never wanted to take anything from her. I thought it would be weird if I had these siblings out there that I’d never met, but I guess that’s really how it’s going to be, because she wants it to be, and he doesn’t seem like he’s willing to stand up to her. But I understand. I wouldn’t want the conflict, either.”
“He’s pussy whipped.”
She blushed.
“Really,” I said. “And maybe that’ll make it so your feelings aren’t as hurt. It’s not you—it’s the fact that his new wife is insecure, and your dad is pussy whipped.”
“Could we please not talk about my dad and pussy in the same sentence?”
Mmm, just hearing the word out of her mouth made me hard. But she was obviously uncomfortable. If she was such a freak in bed, as Jonathan claimed, then there’s no way something like that would have made her so uncomfortable. Perhaps I should try to suss that out, too, and maybe while I was at it, figure out which positions were her favorite. Though that probably wouldn’t be the sort of report that Jonathan w
as looking to get back from me.
“We don’t need to talk about our fathers,” I said. I glanced over at the clock. “You know, the workday is just about over. Want to go get a drink?”
She hesitated. I could tell she wanted to say yes, but she didn’t know if it would be appropriate to go out fraternizing with the boss like this.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” I said. “You’re still technically on the clock, and therefore have to do what I want, since I’m the boss. So come on, we’re going out to get a drink.”
“Okay,” she said.
We were almost at the door when it swung open, and Jonathan walked in. He jumped, obviously not expecting to see us right there.
“We were just heading out,” I said. “I was about to lock up, but since you’re here, I’ll let you handle it.”
His eyes shot from me to Daisy, then back to me. “Oh? Where are you going?”
“We’re just going to get a drink,” I said. “I figured it would be good for me to get to know Daisy a little better outside the work environment.”
Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. “A drink,” he said. “Maybe . . . maybe I should come along, too.”
“That’d be great—” Daisy started to say, but I cut her off.
“I think there’s some stuff you’ve got to take care of here,” I said. “Isn’t there? I need you to go over the applications we’ve received so far and get the top twenty to me so we can start the interviewing process.”
“Oh . . . okay . . .” he stammered. I waited until Daisy wasn’t looking at me to give him a big wink.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “This is just going to be a friendly thing. You’ll come with us next time. Hell, maybe it’ll be the two of you going out, and I’ll be the one left behind!”
I ushered Daisy out before either of them could say anything else.
Chapter Eight
Daisy
It looked like Jonathan wanted to say something, but Ian herded me out the door before he was able to.
“Don’t worry about him,” Ian said. “He’s got a bunch of stuff he needs to handle there right now. Plus, he can’t hold his alcohol for shit.” A half smile curved the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. “I’m just kidding, of course. Jonathan could outdrink an Australian.”
“An Australian?”
“Yeah. Drinking’s like the national past time there. Dan, our field manager, he’s originally from Australia. Not Sydney . . . Brisbane, I think it is.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“He’s only got a little bit of the accent left, which comes out a lot more when he’s drinking. So,” he said as we walked down the sidewalk. “What do you think of Jonathan?”
The question caught me off guard. “Jonathan?” I said. “He’s great.”
“Yeah, he is a good guy.”
“I really appreciate that he was able to get me a job interview with you, and that you decided to hire me.”
“Anything to help a friend out,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he was referring to me as a friend, or to Jonathan. “You want to take a cab or drive?”
“Where are we going?”
“Back Bay. The Knock. Ever been?”
“No.” It was an upscale bar that Caroline had been to once before. “Um, we can drive I guess. My car’s right here.” I pointed a few feet ahead of us.
“This little thing?” he said. “Jesus Christ, you drive a Prius.”
But he said it with a smile on his face, like he was giving me a hard time, but in a good-natured way.
“Yes I do,” I said. “I don’t think I’d be able to manage to parallel park anything bigger.”
We got in and he directed me to The Knock. I tried to remember what Caroline had said about the place, but I couldn’t really recall anything. Right away I could tell it was filled with people I wasn’t going to feel very comfortable around. Everyone in there looked like they could be on the cover of a magazine—handsome men and beautiful women all dressed immaculately, exuding an air of confidence that seemed to saturate the place. The walls were backlit with a warm pink light that cast everyone in a cheerful glow. I felt shy as we stepped through the door, though I shouldn’t have; no one was going to notice me.
But people were certainly going to notice Ian.
He was just the sort of person that couldn’t go somewhere without being checked out, and heads immediately swiveled our way. There was music playing, some sort of electronica that sounded like it had been mixed with jazz. The whole atmosphere felt very elegant and grown up; this certainly wasn’t Failte’s, the dive bar that Caroline and I most often frequented.
“You want a table or you want to sit at the bar?” Ian asked.
The tables were circular and small, meant for two, maybe three people. I let my gaze travel around the long, narrow space and saw that every table was already taken.
“It doesn’t look like there are any tables available,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. I can get us one.”
“The bar is fine.”
I didn’t want to be that person who walked into a place and got special treatment for no good reason. Maybe Ian had a reason, but I certainly didn’t.
I followed him over to the bar where there were a few empty stools.
“So you’ve never been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I said, sliding onto the seat. “I haven’t. It looks pretty nice, though.”
“It is; if you like this frou-frou sort of thing.”
The way he said it, I couldn’t be sure if he was into it or actually didn’t like it at all. But then the bartender sauntered over, a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and full lips, and gave Ian a look that told me she knew him quite well, which meant he probably had been here a number of times before.
“What’s your poison?” he said to me. “Shellie here makes a great flirtini.”
“Flirt, you mean,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingertips lightly against his forearm. I looked at his face to see if he would be bothered by this but then realized how completely stupid that was—what guy would be bothered by a woman like that making physical contact?
“Um, sure, I’ll try that.”
Shellie’s eyes landed on me, took in my boring office outfit, my hair still pulled back into a ponytail. Why didn’t I at least pull it out of the elastic and muss it up a little before we’d come in?
“I’d normally ask to see some I.D. first,” she said, “but since you’re with Ian, that won’t be necessary.” She’d gone back to looking at him, making it sound like it was actually him she was doing the favor for.
“Shellie, you’re too kind,” he said.
She winked. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”
I felt my face get red. Ian seemed completely oblivious and continued to talk to Shellie while she mixed up the drinks. I had no idea about the people they were talking about, or the little inside jokes they were making that cracked both of them up. Obviously, this had been a bad idea. I was not one of these people; I did not belong in a place like this. I was way out of my league.
But then Shellie came over and slid my glass across the smooth counter to me, and one in front of Ian. He casually slung his arm over my shoulders as he picked up his glass, waiting for me to pick up my own. There was a wedge of pineapple on the rim and a maraschino cherry floating in the bubbly amber liquid. It looked like beer, in a martini glass. I picked up my glass, clinked it together with his, and we both took a sip.
“Oh!” I said after I’d swallowed. The drink was sweet and bubbly and tasted nothing like I’d been expecting. “That’s really good! What’s in it?”
“Pineapple juice, champagne, vodka,” Shellie said.
“And some extra lovin’, of course, because Shellie made it.”
Ian pulled out a handful of bills and laid them on the counter for her. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, sweeping them up. She went over to the cash register, and when sh
e was done there, I expected that she was going to come back over to us, but she didn’t; there was another customer waiting for a drink, so she went to help him instead. I half-listened as he ordered a Manhattan; Shellie was just as flirty with him as she had been with Ian. Maybe that’s just how she was.
I took another sip of my drink, and then another. I could barely taste the vodka at all. Actually, I couldn’t really; it was just like drinking a glass of fizzy juice. My face felt warm, and I suddenly found myself smiling, on the verge of laughter, even though no one had said anything funny.
“So,” I said, feeling emboldened by the alcohol. “Why did you bring me here?”
He took another sip of his drink and gave me an amused look. “Why did I bring you here? Ever hear of getting drinks after work? That’s something I rather enjoy doing. Also, it’s not always possible to really get to know someone during the workday; there’s always some sort of distraction or something going on. I like to get to know my employees.”
I realized that he had shifted on the bar stool and his knee was now resting against mine. Had he done that on purpose? Did he even realize it?
There was a tiny little voice in the back of my mind that was saying this probably wasn’t totally appropriate. Or maybe it was? I’d gone out and gotten drinks with everyone at the salon before; though it had been all girls, minus the two gay guys that worked there. It hadn’t been this small, intimate outing, and no one’s knee had been brushing up against my own. I also wasn’t sexually attracted to anyone there—and there was no doubt that Ian was sexy as all hell. Was the alcohol just making me realize it even more? Was it playing tricks with my mind? Because as we sat there talking, he seemed to be getting better and better looking by the second, which really didn’t seem feasible considering how good-looking he was to begin with.
“Are you enjoying the job so far?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. I picked up my drink to take another sip and was surprised to see that it was nearly gone. There was really only one sip left. “Whoa!” I said. “How’d that happen?”
“Magic,” he said with a wink.