Against All Odds (Searching for Love Book 4)

by Kelly Myers

  I resist the urge to stomp on his foot.

  “I’ll meet you in fifteen,” I say with as much haughtiness as I can muster.

  Michael grins and gives me a thumbs up. What a dork.

  I shut the door and turn around.

  It’s because of the Yelp reviews, I tell myself. And because nothing on the room service menu looked amazing. That’s all.

  I glance at my open suitcase. It’s got to be the maroon dress. I don’t want to wear my power suit from today, and I only have a travel outfit for the flight tomorrow. We’re done with New York meetings for this trip.

  I mutter a quick thanks to Marianne as I peel off my pajamas and pull on the dress. Luckily my hair still looks nice, and I leave it down. I haven’t washed my makeup from the day off either. I stand in front of the mirror and dig through my toiletries bag.

  I swipe on some lipstick and give my eyelashes a fresh coat of mascara. I examine myself. The dress really does fit spectacularly.

  I shove my feet into simple black shoes with a small block heel and head towards the elevator.

  I didn’t even need the full fifteen minutes. I look forward to teasing Michael over that.

  But when I see him sitting in a lobby chair with his glasses on as he reads a magazine, I lose my breath for a second, and all my witty remarks vacate my head.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Great. I am the epitome of intellect.

  Michael looks up and gives a little stare. He rises to his feet, but also seems at a loss for words. I glance over at the door to avoid eye contact. He’s definitely looking at me in a funny way.

  I just can’t tell what kind of “funny” it is.

  “Hey,” Michael says.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Michael says. “I already called and got a reservation.”

  “Good,” I say.

  People who don’t call ahead to reserve tables are my worst nightmare, so I flash him a grateful smile as we exit the hotel.

  “That was another real smile,” I say. “So you’re at four now.”

  He gapes at me, and I can’t help the bubble of satisfaction that rises up in my chest. He didn’t expect me to be so easygoing. He thought I was going to be uptight. He doesn’t know that I can be fun. Sometimes.

  I can even be flirty. Just a bit. A teeny, tiny, harmless amount of flirty.

  When we reach the restaurant, I nod in satisfaction. It’s nice, but not over-the-top and definitely not a tourist trap. It’s filled, but not too crowded.

  Michael and I get a table in the corner, and he orders a bottle of red to share.

  “A whole bottle?” I ask as the waiter waltzes away.

  “Why not?” Michael asks. “Their company is paying, plus we’ve earned a bit of celebration.”

  I give him a wry look.

  “I don’t usually celebrate after one day of work,” I say. “Maybe after a month of good work.”

  “Maybe you should treat yourself some more,” Michael says. “It could be the secret to reaching your maximum productivity.”

  “Hm,” I say. “I doubt it.”

  We pause as the waiter returns and pours the wine into our glasses. I don’t actually mind Michael ordering the whole bottle. I never say no to a good red wine.

  “Not that you need to get any more productive,” Michael adds. He lifts his glass in a little toast. “We all know you’re the best at the office.”

  He doesn’t say it in a snarky way or a mocking way. He just says it in a nice way. In a way that makes me feel warm and happy inside. And I feel even warmer when I note the way his blue eyes sparkle, crisp and clear, across the table. And the way a chunk of his light brown hair keeps falling over his forehead.

  I grit my teeth and focus on the menu. He’s good-looking in the most generic way possible. He’s the guy all the cheerleaders had crushes on in high school. The guy who charms secretaries and cash register girls. He’s all great hair and chiseled jawline and broad shoulders.

  I’ve never trusted that kind of a handsome man. Never, never, never.

  “I’m sure I’m not the best in the office,” I say.

  “What?” Michael asks, his eyes widening in fake shock. “The great Zoe Hamilton admitting that she’s not the best at everything.”

  I can’t help but crack a smile. If we were in front of other colleagues, I would be annoyed at him making fun of me. I would assume he was doing it to make me look bad. But it’s just the two of us, tucked into this little corner sharing a bottle of wine, and I can tell his teasing is all in good fun. I can hear the respect in his voice.

  Or maybe I’m just deluding myself. Either way, between his smile and the wine, I’m feeling quite giddy.

  “Do you remember that client I had last year?” I asked. “The tech company merger out in San Francisco?”

  Michael nods.

  “I went out to their office, and I didn’t realize they shared a building with this massive beauty line,” I say. “I walk in, and I’m thinking that the tech company has really nice decor – like the walls are this nice pink, and they’ve got pictures of nature and lakes and stuff.”

  Michael laughs in disbelief as I continue the story. I’ve never told anyone besides my friends about this.

  “And I get a little confused because the front desk lady is offering me moisturizer samples, but I just roll with it, and tell her I’m there to meet with Kelly, who was the point of contact for the tech company, but of course, they have a Kelly too.”

  “Oh, God,” Micahel says.

  “Yeah, poor Kelly, who was literally a college intern, sat through my entire presentation of sales projections and user views for the fourth quarter.”

  “You presented the whole thing?” Michael asks.

  “I had never been out to California, I thought maybe things were different, so I just had to stick to my plan,” I say. “And Kelly was already being extremely unprofessional, so I thought one of us had to stick to the agenda. Finally the poor girl almost burst into tears and told me she was a sophomore psych major, she had no idea what any of these numbers meant. I figured it out from there.”

  I’m laughing as I finish the story, and Michael joins me.

  The waiter returns and takes our order.

  “But you have to swear yourself to secrecy over this,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “Seriously, you cannot tell anyone.”

  “I’ll take it to my grave,” Michael says. “Cross my heart.”

  He even traces a little cross over his chest, and my eyes follow the line of his finger.

  “Although, maybe you could have pivoted and got a job at the beauty company,” he jokes.

  “Ugh, no way,” I say.

  “You want to stay in consulting forever?”

  “Yes.” Most people like to move out of consulting after a few years, but not me.

  “I like it, but I have to say, the media company life looks good,” Michael says. “That’s why I wanted this client so bad.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him and give him a small grin. “Does Nick know you have such selfish motivations?”

  Michael just grins at me before switching the subject.

  “Since you told that story, I’ll give you a confession of my own,” Michael says. “I had this tough client a few years ago, he was this older guy, and he just was dismissing me at every turn.”

  I nod. I’ve had my fair share of older men clients who are used to getting their way. For some reason, I always assumed that Michael was immune to that. I figured his charm and looks and maleness gave him a free pass.

  “There was this assistant in this office,” Michael says. “And she’s my age and nice, so I decide to try and work on her, figure out how to manage this guy.”

  I raise my brows. Of course Michael’s secret weapon is to approach the young women in a company.

  “We have lunch, and she’s answering all my questions and being super forthcoming, so I get a little too comfortable,” Michael
says. “And I just start railing about the boss and how ridiculous he is, and I really go too far.”

  I lean forward, eager to hear the rest of the story.

  “She was his daughter,” he says.

  I clap my hands over my mouth.

  “Oh no,” I say. “How did you salvage that one?”

  Michael leans back in his chair and gives me a wicked look.

  “Oh, I just slept with her,” he says.

  “What?” I shriek.

  My voice comes out about ten octaves higher than usual.

  “I’m kidding,” Michael says. “Although, I’m a little offended you believed it.”

  I stammer. He’s right. I did think it sounded like the exact thing he would do.

  “She told her father everything I said,” Michael says. “I had to do a lot of begging and apologizing, and then in the end I had to bring in Baxter for a meeting or two.”

  I nod. It was a smart move. Baxter isn’t in our branch, but he’s older, and he’s been at the company for years. He exudes a no-nonsense attitude and authority. I’ve never asked him for help because I hate the idea of people knowing I needed someone to bail me out. But then, I’ve never gotten into such a dire situation with a client.

  I should be disgusted by Michael’s lack of professionalism, but honestly the story is too funny, and it’s endearing that he’s able to laugh about it now. Plus, I’m impressed he managed to save himself. I probably would have jumped into Lake Michigan if I made such an error.

  “Well, your secret’s safe with me,” I say. “And don’t you dare try to flirt with any pretty assistants on this assignment.”

  Michael shook his head.

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” he says. “Trust me.”

  Something about the way he looks at me, dead in the eye, makes my stomach turn in somersaults.

  I lift my wine glass to my lips and take a sip. Michael does the same, and without thinking I stare at his mouth. He swallows and his neck tenses, just a bit. Then my eyes flick back to his lips. My cheeks start to burn.

  His brow furrows, and he’s about to ask me something, but then the food arrives.

  I rejoice at the distraction and dig in.

  To my delight, everything is delicious, just as Michael promised.

  It’s so good that I decide to stop worrying over how truly alarming it is that I’m out to dinner with Michael Barnes and, somehow against all odds, having a good time.

  8

  An hour and a bottle of wine later, Michael leans back in his chair and tosses the napkin over his empty dessert plate.

  “I’m stuffed,” he says. “I actually can’t breathe.”

  I take one last amazing bit of tiramisu and lick my lips.

  “I am the perfect amount of full,” I say. “Not too stuffed, but completely satisfied.”

  “How are you not over-full?” Michael asks. “You ate more than I did.”

  I shrug. It’s true I couldn’t resist ordering the roasted brussel sprouts and the butternut squash soup as appetizers, but I did share with him. A little bit.

  “I need a lot of sustenance,” I say.

  “But you’re so tiny,” Michael says.

  I lift my chin. I am definitely not tiny, but he’s so tall and I guess everyone is small compared to him.

  “I am in constant motion,” I say. “I never stop moving.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” Michael says.

  He sips his wine and then takes a breath as if preparing to say something big. I narrow my eyes, but my heart buzzes with excitement. After sharing a meal (not to mention a few drinks) everything feels so loose and comfortable. Like anything could happen and he won’t judge me. Like we’re friends.

  Even though we’re not friends. It’s just like we’re friends. There’s a difference, and I’ll define it tomorrow. Right now, I’m feeling too relaxed to think about nuances.

  “I have to admit,” Michael says. “When we first met, I thought you were just a Type A girl who was going to tie herself in knots and self-implode within months.”

  My mouth almost hits the floor.

  “Excuse me?” I cry.

  Michael holds up a hand to stop me.

  “But now that I know you better, I think you’re pretty cool,” he says. “And you’re not that uptight, you’re just smarter than everybody else.”

  I hold still as his compliment hits me.

  “You think I’m smarter than everybody else?” I ask.

  I want to giggle with joy even though he did call me uptight in the same breath.

  “Not smarter than me, obviously,” Michael says.

  He leans forward on his elbows and gives me one of those heart-stopping smiles.

  “Ok, maybe a very tiny bit smarter than me,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Something heavy and intense fills the air between us, almost as if there’s an electric line connecting us across the small table.

  I clear my throat.

  “If we are discussing first impressions,” I say. “Then I’ll admit that I thought you were a total clown who was just going to coast on your charm before getting fired for utter incompetence.”

  Michael laughs so hard he almost choked. I gave him a sweet smile.

  “That is way worse than what I thought of you,” he says.

  “Well, now I understand that you do have a good work ethic,” I say. “It’s just kinda hidden beneath layers and layers of jokes and smiles.”

  “And of course my good looks,” Michael says.

  Yes, definitely those.

  But I don’t say that out loud, I just roll my eyes. His face gets serious again.

  “I actually admire how you don’t bother with the jokes or schmoozing stuff,” he says. “You just go for what you want. It’s refreshing.”

  He might call it refreshing, but I’m sure others call it off-putting.

  “Then why do you spend so much time joking and charming and all that?” I ask.

  I’m not asking to make him feel bad. I realize that I really want to know. I want to understand him.

  “I like to fit in,” Michael says. “I’ve always wanted to fit in.”

  His eyes glaze over a bit as he considers.

  “I went to private schools as a kid because my mom wanted it that way, but I was always on scholarships,” he says. “And I wasn’t ashamed or anything, I just wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to be like the guys in their nice clothes with their lacrosse sticks who got to go home to their two parents and big houses. So I just acted the part. I faked it until it was natural I guess.”

  He shrugs and stares down at the table. I can tell he’s not used to talking about his past. I’m desperate to know more though. Never in a million years would I have guessed that Michael Barnes was raised by a single mom and had to win scholarships and get financial aid. Everything about him screams privilege. He really did get good at acting the part.

  It all makes sense though. That’s why he can get so serious in the blink of an eye. That’s why underneath all his smiles, there’s something steely and determined.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What makes you the way you are?”

  I shake my head and give him a rueful expression.

  “I wouldn’t know how to be as likeable as you if I worked at it for a hundred years,” I say. “I was always too blunt, too bossy, too much of a know-it-all. So I just decided that I was going to have to work hard so that I wouldn’t need people to like me.”

  I’m shocked at how honest I’m being. But he was honest with me, it’s the least I can do.

  “I also decided to never go for an elected position, I lost the student council election in the fifth grade, and from then on I knew that anything that required winning a majority vote was not for me,” I say.

  “I was senior class president,” Michael says with a laugh.

  “Of course you were,” I say. “And the truth is, I envy your charisma.”

  I l
ook down at the table. It’s awkward to give a compliment to Michael Barnes of all people.

  “You should be proud of yourself,” I finish.

  I know I sound lame, so I distract myself by folding up my napkin and placing it atop the table.

  “You are likeable, you know,” Michael says. “Just in a really different way.”

  His tone makes me laugh, and just like that, things are easy and loose between us again.

  “Shall we head back?” Michael asks.

  I nod. It’s getting late. Our flight isn’t until 11 the next morning, but I don’t want to sit up all night chatting. It’s scary enough that such a thing even seems possible.

  We settle the bill and start to walk through the dark streets, side by side. I pull my coat tight around me.

  “You cold?” he asks.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s only a short walk.”

  It makes me sad that the hotel is only a few blocks away. I wish it was farther so we could extend the evening.

  I feel crazy thinking such things. I just didn’t think Michael and I would get along so well. For years, we’ve worked in the same office and only ever made each other furious.

  Now I realize, we were just misunderstanding each other. Our entire rivalry was built on misjudgments and assumptions.

  It makes me sad, but it also makes me feel reckless. Or maybe the wine is making me feel reckless.

  All I know is that for this brief moment, I feel like there are no consequences.

  Michael stops and points into the park. We’ve been walking alongside the hedges to Central Park for the last few minutes.

  “Look,” he whispers.

  I turn and catch my breath as I see it. High above the trees, there’s a full moon. It glows with incandescent light, casing a silvery sheen over the park and city below.

  When I glance over at Michael, I see that he’s not looking at the moon anymore. He’s staring down at me with a strange expression on his face. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but he almost looks transfixed.

  And he’s standing close. Really close.

  I turn my body just a few inches until we’re facing each other.

  He reaches out slowly, so very slowly, until his finger rests beneath my chin.