Right

by Jana Aston

  “Sandra,” the man greets her and gives me a little nod.

  “Mr. Laurent,” she returns, but her voice sounds different than it did a moment ago. Reverent. Maybe the guy’s important. But there’s something more, I suspect. I eye her and watch as her gaze drops to his ass when he reaches out to punch a floor on the control panel. Oh! She is totally into the hot tech nerd! I wonder if I can help. I do love helping.

  The doors slide closed and the elevator is again ascending, this time into a cloud of awkward silence. They really do need my help.

  “Sandra, I love your shoes,” I say, glancing down. But I’m not looking at her shoes. I tilt my head as if I am, but it’s just a ruse so I can see if this Mr. Laurent takes the opportunity to check out her legs while we’re both distracted looking at her shoes.

  He does. Which most any guy would—she’s got fabulous legs. But his gaze lingers a moment longer than necessary and then he swallows and clears his throat. It’s subtle. No way Sandra is catching this, but I am. I verify that he is ring free and then, satisfied, I tuck the information away until I can use it. This day is really turning around.

  Twenty-Three

  The elevator stops and we exit, Mr. Laurent doing that thing men do, holding the elevator door open for us as if it’s capable of squashing us to death if not for them holding back the doors. It’s nice, plus I’m sure it gives him the opportunity to check out Sandra’s ass. Win, win.

  “Is Sawyer still in the Chesterfield meeting?” Mr. Laurent pauses outside the elevator, directing the question to Sandra.

  “Yes, sir. They’re in the Langhorne conference room.”

  The corner of his mouth arcs in the smallest smirk at her use of the word ‘sir.’ “You’ve worked here for two years, Sandra. I believe I’ve mentioned you can call me Gabe?”

  Her eyes widen and she nods, but when she speaks it’s with fake confidence. “Of course!” And then with the smallest lift of her head, she says, “Gabe.”

  He looks at her a second longer, then nods and heads in the opposite direction from us.

  Sandra guides me to the right, down a wide hallway and past a glass-walled conference room before I can’t contain myself any longer.

  “Two years?” We’re walking at a very efficient pace down the hall, Sandra’s ponytail swishing with each step.

  Her steps don’t falter but her head turns in my direction and she asks, “Pardon?”

  “That”—I point to her and then point in the direction that Gabe disappeared in—“has been going on for two years?” I’m incredulous. There is no way that has been simmering for two years, unfulfilled.

  She blinks rapidly and opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. “I’m sorry?” she tries, clearly out of her element in how to respond to an Everly-style inquisition. The hallway ends at a corner, with another wide hallway leading across the building, but we stop here and step into a foyer of sorts. There’s a desk—I’m assuming it’s hers based on a quick glance around. A sweater hangs over the back of the chair and a pink notepad sits on the desk. Two chairs are placed across from the desk and a small couch stands along the wall near a set of open double doors that I assume lead to Sawyer’s office. Pretty fancy stuff.

  “May I take your jacket?” she asks, and I slip it off and hand it to her and pull down the sleeves of my sweater to the tops of my fingers. Sandra hangs my coat in a closet near the door, and then offers me a seat.

  “You can wait here,” she says, turning back to me. She offers to get me a drink, I insist I don’t need anything and then she’s off, promising to let Sawyer know I’m here but reiterating that he is in a meeting so please be patient.

  The second she’s gone I stand and enter the attached office. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the entire office space. I step right up to the edge and place my forehead against the glass. Holy shit, the view from up here is insane. We must be on the top floor. Logan Square looks bigger than you’d think from up here. The fountain surrounded by grass is easy to make out. The cars rounding the circular drive are tiny though. Turning around, I survey the room. It’s probably four times the size of my dorm room, maybe more. There’s a large desk with two chairs in front of it and a separate seating area with a sofa and chairs by the wall with the refrigerator that is hidden behind decorative paneling.

  There’s a kitchenette section lining the wall adjoining the outer office. I check out the contents of the fridge. Not because I want anything, just ’cause I’m nosey. But he has Diet Sun Drop and I love Diet Sun Drop. I love it almost as much as I love new shoes, so I grab a can and move on to the desk. I hesitate for a moment. This can’t be Sawyer’s office, can it? It’s really impressive. But Sandra’s desk is just outside. This must be his office. I chew on my lip for a moment then plop in the chair behind the desk. There’s a desktop computer, but it’s locked, obviously. Which is fine, because even though Sawyer hacked my Facebook, physical snooping is more my thing.

  There’s not much on the surface of the desk. A pen, a couple of Post-Its. It’s very disappointing. But then everything is digital nowadays, so anything entertaining is probably on his computer. I set my soda on the desk and open the drawer. It’s weird the way security didn’t want to let me in the building. Nothing in the drawers either. How annoying.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  It’s Sawyer.

  Of course.

  Twenty-four

  “No.” I slide the drawer shut and, standing, glare at him. I push my hair over my shoulders and get ready to lay into him. “What is wrong with you? You hacked my Facebook, Sawyer! That is not okay. My mother is messaging me wanting to know what you like to eat for Christmas dinner,” I hiss. “I am going to kill you.”

  He grins and closes the office door behind him, the click loud enough for me to hear across the room.

  “Look, weirdo. I don’t know how you normally conduct your relationships, but what you did? Not okay.”

  “I needed to get your attention. I’d say it worked.”

  “My attention?” My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Try a phone next time, Sawyer.”

  He shrugs and walks towards me. “You never gave me your phone number.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan. “Hacking my Facebook to accept your friend request and publicly declaring that we’re dating was easier than getting my phone number?”

  “I can’t say it was hard.”

  I exhale and shake my head. “Is this your office?” I glance around the room again, a little dubious.

  “It is.” He’s standing in front of me now, across the desk. He stops and places his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a suit. Wearing the hell out of the suit, actually. I run my gaze down his body. I don’t try to hide it, because why? There’s no point with this guy. Clearly I can be myself and whatever I throw at him, he’s just going to laugh.

  “Are you somebody important here?” I ask, gesturing to the building in general.

  “Does it matter? All I want to be is somebody to you.” He says it sincerely, his eyes on mine, his gaze not wavering.

  “Your brother is really excited for us, Sawyer,” I say softly, my fight gone. “He thinks I’ve tamed you or some nonsense. Do you need taming?”

  “Miss Beverly Cleary Jensen,” he starts, but I interrupt immediately.

  “Oh, God. You went that deep? What’d you do, pull my birth certificate? No one calls me Beverly.”

  “Your passport. I wanted to make sure you had one.”

  “Sure.” I nod. “Totally normal.” I glance around the room again and cross my arms across my chest. I wonder how big a player he is. Swanky office. Attractive as hell. His own brother’s comments, not to mention my brother warning him to stay away from me last weekend. I bet he’s had sex in here, I think, eyeing him again.

  “Yes, I’ve had sex in my office,” he says, answering my unasked question. “I wasn’t going to suggest it for our first time together as I’m not sure how loud you are.” He pauses, gesturin
g outside his office. “Lots of people working out there, but we can give it a try if you want.”

  I snort. So fucking confident, this guy. “I bet. I bet women bend right over this desk for you,” I lean forward and place my hands on the desk and drop one shoulder seductively. “I bet they’re all, ‘Oh, Sawyer, it’s so big. I don’t think it’s gonna fit.’ Newsflash for you. They’re lying. It always fits.”

  He’s silent, watching my little show. Then a slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes amused. “I really like you.”

  What? I just insulted his dick and he’s complimenting me. I eye him, wary.

  He rounds the desk and I turn as he does so and now we’re toe to toe. He’s much taller than I am so I’m forced to look up, or stare at his chest. The button of his shirt is less than a foot from me, and I’m oddly tempted to run my fingers over it, but I keep my hands to myself and tilt my neck back. I take my time though, running my tongue over my lips and taking in his jaw on my way to meeting his eyes. I have a thing for a good jaw line on a man. I could spend hours on a good jaw, starting with a nip to an earlobe and working my way down. His skin fascinates me, the hint of a five-o’clock shadow present, the texture, that jaw-clench thing. Is there a term for that?

  By the time my eyes reach his they’re hooded. He wraps the fingers of one hand behind my neck, his thumb under my jaw, and then his lips are on mine. I’m expecting it this time, unlike outside my dorm, but it doesn’t change the current that runs through me with his touch. I move my hands to his chest, inside his jacket, and he’s warm under my palms, my hands sliding greedily over his shirt, desperate to feel the ridges of his chest.

  My ass is on his desk and my legs are wrapped around his waist when he tears himself away from me. It takes me a second to catch up, unsure for a moment how I even got onto his desk. He steps back and clears his throat, straightening his jacket, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a man do, but I want him to take it off, not straighten it out. He’s adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, then his tie as I come back to reality and realize how out of control that got very quickly. The adjustment of his pants confirms that. And hell, I can already see that despite my earlier teasing, he probably has heard the words, It’s not gonna fit.

  I straighten on the desk and he offers me his hand, helping me slide off to my feet.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he murmurs, his lips close to my ear, the heat of his breath causing a shiver to run through me.

  I nod, because really, I was never not going to agree to this. I didn’t stand a chance.

  “I’m not sleeping with you tonight, just so you know.” He brushes a stray strand of hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear.

  Excuse me?

  “I need you to respect me first,” he continues, his eyes somber.

  “You cannot be serious,” I blurt out a moment before he starts to laugh.

  He winks at me and pinches my ass, letting me know he’s teasing. Thank fuck. I’m so turned on from that make-out session on his desk. I haven’t had sex in a few months. I wasn’t dating anyone during my ‘make Finn fall in love with me’ campaign this fall, which is probably why I’ve been behaving like such a nut job.

  Sandra is outside the office, leaning against the edge of her desk, looking like she’s ready to start biting her nails from nerves when Sawyer opens the door to his office. She straightens, concern crossing her face. “Mr. Camden, they’re quite anxious to wrap up the meeting…” She trails off as the phone on her desk rings. Her eyes dart to the phone and back to Sawyer.

  She is way too young to be so wound up.

  “Tell them I’m on my way,” he says, not seeming the least bit bothered that people are waiting on him. He rests his hand low on my back and guides me through the door. His hand is large and firm on my back, the heat of his skin pressing through my sweater, and I want to push him back into the office and tell Sandra to hold all his calls. But Sawyer has already murmured, “Tonight,” in my ear and disappeared down the hallway. Damn, can he wear a suit.

  “They can’t even finish the meeting without him, huh?” I say to Sandra once she finishes with her phone call. I flash her a grin and roll my eyes in jest.

  She looks startled by my joke, then shakes her head. “Well, no, not really. He doesn’t attend every single meeting, obviously.” She smiles, but I’m starting to remember something Chloe said—

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” Sandra pulls open a drawer in her desk and slides something out of a tray inside. It clangs like coins do when you drag them across a desk top and scoop them into your hand, but what she holds up is not pocket change. It’s a shiny silver keychain, with keys dangling. Sandra reaches them out to me, dropping the key ring in my palm.

  “What are these?” I ask her, holding the keys up for closer inspection. They’re identical. Three of them.

  Her expression falters a bit, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Sawyer’s keys. Well, his key, really. He asked me to give them to you. It’s all the same key. He said you’d need three,” she adds, as if it’s that last detail that threw her.

  I want to throw back my head and laugh, but she has no idea I don’t even know where he lives, I realize. She obviously thinks I’m his girlfriend. I mean, I guess everyone does, since he announced it on Facebook. But she thinks it’s real. Like I’ve been to his place and left shampoo in his shower. Like I know when his birthday is. Not like we’re going on our first date tonight.

  Sandra says goodbye to me at the elevators, waving with a friendly smile as if she’s just made a new friend, and I step into the car alone, my mind whirling.

  Chloe had commented on their names, Sawyer and Finn. “Parents had a Mark Twain thing going on, huh?” she’d said. Mark Twain, which, if I’m remembering my high-school reading assignments correctly, was a pen name. A quick look on the internet via my cell phone confirms it. Mark Twains’ real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens.

  The elevator opens at the lobby and I step out, phone still in my hand, and make my way to the lobby entrance. CLEMENS CORP is attached to the wall in glossy three-foot letters over the security desk, matching the giant sign attached to the top of this building, and all the pieces fall into place.

  This is Sawyer’s building.

  Twenty-Five

  “I cannot believe I didn’t Google him this week.” I’m at my desk typing away while Chloe grins at me from across the room. I’ve showered and shaved my legs, moisturized everywhere with a sugar-lemon body lotion, and blow-dried my hair. Now I’m stewing.

  “Why didn’t I Google him?” I’m incredulous. I am the queen of invasiveness. I Googled Sophie’s boyfriend before she did. I set up an internet dating profile for Chloe without her knowledge and sent her on a date. Yet I was so distracted I didn’t even think of Googling Sawyer once this week. I’m slipping. I’m twenty-two years old and I’m already losing my touch.

  “On the plus side, it probably made barging into his office today easier, not knowing who he was,” Chloe says, trying not to laugh, so it turns into a snort.

  “No wonder the security guard thought I was an idiot,” I grumble, dropping my chin into my hand. “They tried to direct me to customer service, Chloe.” I’m mulling over my embarrassment when an even worse thought occurs to me. “He probably has sex with supermodels,” I say, my eyes widening.

  “So what? Isn’t there a saying about that? Show me a supermodel and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of fucking her?” Chloe asks, flopping onto her bed. “Something like that?”

  “Um, I think so. But how is that helpful? Wouldn’t he just move onto the next supermodel?”

  She thinks for a second. “Well, nobody ever said supermodels were great in bed or anything.”

  I sit up and shoot her a look that says, Nice try. “But they’re so tall,” I say, standing and moving to the mirror, eyeing myself. “He’s almost a foot taller than me.”

  “Supermodels are bony.”

  I chew on my lip and think. “Yeah,
that’s valid.” I am pretty curvy for being so tiny. I check out my butt in the mirror. “What am I going to wear?” I ask, scanning the clock as I sit back down and pull up my Pinterest account. Typing date with billionaire into the search engine does not pull up anything useful. Humph.

  “Did he say where you’re going?”

  “No. He just said he’d pick me up at seven. And I left there without his phone number.”

  “You could always call Finn and ask him for it,” Chloe suggests impishly while tearing open a package of Animal Crackers, immediately dunking one into a tub of Nutella.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. That stuff is disgusting.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she retorts and pops another one in her mouth.

  “I think I do. I’ve tasted it. And it’s nasty,” I tell her as my phone chirps. It’s a text. From Sawyer.

  Dress warm. Casual. Jeans are good.

  “Son of a bitch. He does have my number.”

  Chloe claps her hands and grins. “This is better than movie night!” she squeals, then holds up the Nutella. “I should put this away and pop some popcorn.”

  I thought you said you didn’t have my number.

  Let’s see what he has to say about that.

  I said you never gave it to me, not that I didn’t have it.

  Aren’t you clever.

  And wear the boots I sent. They’ll look good later wrapped around my neck.

  I don’t respond to that.

  “Chloe, is it slutty that I kinda want to skip this date and go straight back to his place for sex?”

  “Do you care if it’s slutty?”

  “Just on principle.”

  She pops another Nutella-covered Animal Cracker in her mouth while she thinks, holding up a finger to indicate she’s gonna give this some serious thought. I pull out my nail polish and survey my options. Aha! Perfect. It’s red and its name is Size Matters. How can I get a job naming nail polish colors? I’d be so good at it. I mean, I really understand the importance of the right polish name. It absolutely sets the mood of an entire outfit.