by Sydney Logan
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Stupid Cupid
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About the Author
Stupid Cupid
By
Sydney Logan
First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2013
Copyright © Sydney Logan, 2013
The rights of Sydney Logan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters and events in this Book – even those sharing the same name as (or based upon) real people – are entirely fictional. No person, brand or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.
This book is a work of fiction and should be read as such.
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E-book ISBN-13: 978-1-61213-336-2
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Cover design by: T.M. Franklin
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“I despise Valentine’s Day.”
Annalise, my co-worker and best friend, looked up from her laptop and grinned at me.
“That’s unfortunate, Jada, since you work for a greeting card company.”
It was unfortunate. After all, I hadn’t spent four years getting my English degree so I could spend my days writing sappy messages for greeting cards. However, my student loans couldn’t wait for me to write the great American novel, so I’d accepted the job at Heartfelt Designs writing Christmas card greetings. I never planned to make a career out of it, but that all changed six months ago, when I was promoted to associate writer within our Valentine’s Day division.
Or as I like to call it, the eighth circle of hell.
“I don’t understand, Jada. I mean, look at this place,” Annalise said, waving her hands around the room. “How could you not be in the Valentine’s Day spirit with all these decorations?”
This year’s marketing campaign was Cupid’s Arrow, and the entire office looked like a bottle of Pepto Bismol had exploded on the walls. Splashes of red and pink were everywhere and hundreds of little Cupids with his bow and arrow dangled from the ceiling. It was enough to make any sane person go mad.
Annalise, however, wasn’t sane. She lived for this holiday. Of course, she had an amazing husband who lavished her with love all the time. The constant arrangement of fresh flowers on her desk and the endless pings of her email were evidence that he was attentive and sweet.
Lucky bitch.
“Valentine’s Day is for people who are in love, or at least pretend to be,” I muttered, groaning a little when an image of a sickeningly sweet couple standing on a yacht appeared on my monitor. Like that’s relatable in this economy. “Billions of dollars are spent each year on this one day. Shouldn’t you show your love year-round?”
“You should, but not all couples do. Some need reminders.”
Austin, my ex-husband, had always needed reminding about important dates like birthdays or holidays. It would be so easy to blame my cynicism on him, but truthfully, I’d always been a little disgusted by all the hoopla surrounding Valentine’s Day.
I was clearly in the wrong profession.
“Do you know what you need, Jada? You need Cupid to shoot you in the ass with one of his arrows. How long has it been since you’ve gone out with someone besides me?”
“Umm . . .”
“That’s what I thought! It’s Friday, Jada. You should do something besides sit at home.”
“I have plans.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh?”
“Yep. There’s a Brad Pitt marathon on cable, starting with Thelma and Louise and ending with Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
Annalise groaned. Luckily, her phone rang, rescuing me and allowing me to focus on my laptop once more. I finally found a picture of a young boy kissing his little girlfriend on the cheek. It wasn’t terribly original, but it was cute enough to make me pause and jot down some notes.
Young love is forever.
Valentine’s Day is like first kisses . . .
Love is eternal, no matter the age.
Remember when I used to meet you at the door, wearing nothing but an apron, and you’d lift me onto the kitchen counter . . .
“I’d cross out that last one,” Annalise said as she peeked over my shoulder.
I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should pitch an erotic e-card line. Think Mario would go for it?”
Mario was our division supervisor and always eager for fun, creative designs that customers might not find with the larger greeting card companies. He’d loved our Men in Uniform e-cards we’d developed just in time for Father’s Day.
“He’d probably go for just about anything you offered him.”
“I’m not dating the boss, Annalise.”
Annalise wiggled her eyebrows. “Who said anything about dating?”
“I’m not doing that, either.”
She giggled and returned to her desk just as Heather, one of our interns, walked into the room. She took one look at the decorations and began to clap wildly.
Kill me.
The rest of the afternoon was the same. Everyone in the office was just so festive, eagerly anticipating February 14, and far too excited about the holiday party, where our Cupid’s Arrow line of cards and gifts would be unveiled.
I felt like Scrooge, and it wasn’t even December.
With a heavy sigh, I closed my laptop. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the dungeon.”
That’s what we affectionately called the basement, home of our graphics department. Some of the more devoted artists were famous for living in the dungeon for days while working on a project. The lack of windows meant no natural light, and the place was always freezing.
“I hate going down there,” Annalise mumbled.
I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I have a meeting with the new illustrator.”
“Nathan Reynolds,” she said, sighing dreamily. “Tall, dark, handsome, and single. Twenty-seven years old. Originally from Oklahoma City. Lives in the West Village.”
“Do you know his social security number, too?”
“No, but I could get it.”
I rolled my eyes. Annalise was far too nosy for her own good.
“Wonder what would bring an Oklahoma boy to New York City?”
Maybe I’m too nosy for my own good, too.
Annalise shrugged. “No one knows. Rumor has it he’s pretty private. He doesn’t really socialize with anyone outside the office. They say he’s wicked talented, though.”
“Maybe he can take this Valentine’s theme and do something creative with it. Something that’ll make me a little less desperate to stab the nearest Cupid with his own pointy arrow.”
“I still say you just need a Cupid of your own.”
“Actually, that’s the last thing I need.”
My best friend grinned. “Tall, dark, and single. I’m just sayin’ . . .”
Whatever.
I was always surprised at the calm atmosphere of the graphics department. Sure, the place was filled with illustrators and designers, working tireles
sly on their projects, but there was rarely idle chitchat or gossiping around the water cooler. These artists were hardcore and focused. When I was feeling particularly stressed, I’d sometimes hide down here, just to have a moment of peace.
No one noticed as I made my way into the room. Everyone was in their cubicle, heads low, totally engrossed with whatever design was on their desk. Glancing around, I looked for any unfamiliar face, assuming he’d be the new guy. Finding no one, I sighed a little too loudly, and one of the nearby artists glanced up from his work.
“Hey, Jada.”
“Hi, Travis. How’s it going?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Deadlines are hell, but you know how it is.”
“I do, yeah,” I said sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just looking for the new guy. I’m a little early, I guess.”
“Nathan? He’s probably still out to lunch.”
I laughed. “I didn’t think you guys emerged from the darkness for something as trivial as lunch.”
“Most of us don’t. If it can’t be delivered to us in a take-out carton, we just don’t eat,” Travis said, chuckling. “Nathan always goes out, though. You could wait at his desk if you’d like. He should be back soon.”
Travis pointed the way, and I thanked him before walking toward Nathan’s cubicle. I felt a little intrusive as I sat down at his desk, but I couldn’t deny I was impressed. His workspace was neat and orderly—a definite rarity down here in our graphics department. I didn’t touch his things, but I couldn’t help but notice the little personal touches he’d added to his area. An art degree from Oklahoma State was displayed on the left wall. A Garfield comic strip, autographed by Jim Davis, was in a frame on his desk. There were some pictures, too, of a beautiful little girl with bright blue eyes and long blond hair. In one picture, she was dressed in a plaid school uniform and holding a Beauty and the Beast lunch box. In another, she was at the beach, perched on the shoulders of a handsome, shirtless, and muscular man with the same striking blue eyes.
Is this Nathan? If so, then Annalise’s description of the man was right on target.
Tall, dark . . .
But how could he possibly be single?
A clearing of a throat brought me back to reality, and I looked up to find myself staring into those same piercing blue eyes. He smiled down at me, and I felt my heart skip a beat.
“You must be Jada.”
I gazed at the beautiful man, wondering how the sound of my name coming from his lips could make my insides melt.
“I’m Nathan. Sorry, I’m a little late.”
He could have been ten years late and I wouldn’t have cared.
“Jada?”
Move your mouth, girl.
Rising to my feet, I extended my hand.
“Yes, I’m Jada Morgan. It’s nice to meet you.”
Nathan touched my palm, and I inhaled sharply, loving the warmth of his skin against mine.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I always forget how long it takes to get across town. I’m still trying to get used to the city.”
“It’s no problem, really.”
Nathan grabbed an empty chair from a nearby cubicle. “I have to admit, if I’d known such a beautiful woman was waiting at my desk, I might have tipped the cabbie to drive a little faster.”
I laughed nervously. Is he flirting?
He reached for his laptop, and I watched as the screen flickered to life. On his desktop background was the same little girl from the pictures.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Thank you. That’s my daughter.”
Nervously, I sneaked a glance at his left hand, smiling slightly when I noticed his finger was bare. Not even a groove where a ring once lived.
“What’s her name?”
“Arwen,” he said. I noted the reverent tone of his voice.
“Hmm. Somebody was a Lord of the Rings fan.”
“Somebody is.” Nathan laughed, embarrassed, and I knew he was the lover of Tolkien. “She hates her name now that she’s in school. She’s rebelled hard, forcing me to decorate her bedroom with Disney princesses. This morning, she informed me she’s changing her name to Belle.”
“Belle is my favorite, too.”
Nathan grinned at me. “You know, you kind of look like Belle, with your dark hair and big, brown eyes.”
We shared a smile before he nodded toward his laptop. “So, I guess we should . . .”
“Yeah, we should probably get to work.”
He showed me some of his designs, and the rumors were absolutely true about his talent. Nathan described his artistic process, along with the software he used for his designs, but it was all white noise to me.
“I don’t know much about art,” I admitted. “I mainly use images for inspiration. I need something visual to get the creative juices flowing.”
“I understand. I do the same thing—just in reverse. I find meaningful quotes and then try to design a picture to match the emotion being conveyed.”
We continued clicking through his designs, and I was thrilled to find that many of my greetings would coordinate perfectly with some of his artwork. What was supposed to be an hour-long meeting suddenly turned into three, and by the end, we’d matched twenty of my greetings to his illustrations.
“We make a good team,” Nathan said, smiling approvingly.
“I think so, too.”
“I know our theme is Cupid,” Nathan whispered, “but I swear, if I see another bow and arrow, I’m going to gouge my eyes with my pencil.”
It was the perfect thing to say.
“Have dinner with me,” I blurted, feeling instantly ridiculous.
Nathan smiled. “You stole my line.”
“I did?”
“Jada, I’ve been trying to find the courage to ask you out since the moment I found you sitting in my chair.”
I grinned, relieved. “There’s this great Mexican place just up the block. It’s Margarita Monday.”
His face turned to stone. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh. Well, the food is still great. They have the best chicken tacos.”
“I really wish I could, but the sitter leaves at six,” Nathan explained, looking disappointed. “We could maybe grab a quick coffee or something after work, though?”
I nodded. “Coffee would be great.”
We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet at five o’clock at the coffee shop across the street. When it was time for me to head back upstairs, Nathan offered to walk me out. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about prying eyes or quizzical looks as we navigated our way through the cubicles. Not a single head turned our way.
What happens in the dungeon stays in the dungeon.
“I was this close to calling for a search party,” Annalise announced as I made my way back to my desk.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You were right about Nathan.”
“Tall, dark, and single, right?”
“Well, I meant that he’s talented, but yes, he’s definitely tall, dark, and single.”
Annalise smiled brightly. “Your meetings don’t usually last three hours. That must have been some creative connection.”
“Very productive,” I agreed.
While waiting for my laptop to boot, I nervously bit my lip, wondering how much I should share. My best friend was staring at me expectantly, just waiting for any small bit of information. Just then, my phone pinged, and I glanced at the screen, smiling as I read Nathan’s message.
IS IT FIVE YET?
“Do you want to grab a pizza after work?” Annalise asked, snapping me back to reality.
“I thought you and Dev were going to the movies?”
“He called while you were downstairs. He’s on duty again tonight.”
“That’s too bad.” I felt bad for my friend. It had to be hell being married to a police officer. “You can come over, but it’d have to be
later. I . . . umm . . . have early plans.”
Annalise scrutinized my face. “You didn’t have plans three hours ago.”
“I have plans now.”
Nervously, I texted him a quick reply before placing my phone back on my desk. When I looked up, my best friend was staring at me, waiting impatiently.
“I’m having coffee with Nathan,” I said with a sigh.
Her eyes widened. “You’re having coffee?”
“Yes.”
“You hate coffee.”
“So? I’ll have tea.”
Annalise squealed so loudly every head in the office turned in our direction.
I miss the dungeon.
I loved the coffee shop across the street. Ms. Lorraine, the owner, baked the best blueberry muffins around. As if that wasn’t enough, they now had an outdoor patio, complete with Wi-Fi. On sunny days, I’d walk over during my lunch break and sit at one of the tables, letting the sounds of the city surround me as I worked. Those writing sessions had led to our I Love NY series of greeting cards, one of the company’s bestsellers from last year. Knowing her store played a small role in the creation of that line, Ms. Lorraine always gave me a free muffin whenever I stopped by.
Today, she gave me two.
Nathan and I took our muffins and drinks and headed out to the patio.
“Have you always lived in New York?” he asked.
“Born and raised. My parents are professors at NYU,” I explained as we sat down at one of the tables. “You’re from Oklahoma?”
He nodded. “My mom lives here now, and my brother and his wife recently opened a restaurant in Manhattan. They have a daughter close to Arwen’s age. I figured if I ever wanted my art to be taken seriously, I’d have to get out of Oklahoma, so here we are.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I miss the quiet, but no, I can’t say that I truly miss living there. I can live anywhere. My home is wherever my daughter is safe and happy.”