by TC Matson
Just as I take the first step, a hand reaches out and grabs my elbow, stopping me dead in my tracks and startling the hell out of me.
“Timid and shy at a club?” His voice causes my skin to explode with goosebumps.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before turning and facing him. Easton Langley, out of his suit and into a polo shirt and jeans, looking mouth-freaking-watering.
“Hey…Mr. Langley,” I stumble out an octave too high.
“I didn’t peg you to be a clubber.”
Nervously, I laugh. “I do get out occasionally.”
A tall woman steps up beside him and wraps her arm around his waist…claiming her territory that’s not in jeopardy. Her long brown hair is tousled, the skin around her lips pink, probably from making out and a failed attempt of cleaning up the mess of the lipstick. She’s very pretty, wearing a tight black long-sleeved crop top with a brown skin-tight skirt and strings lacing up each thigh.
I glance back to Easton, hoping the pang of jealousy that just slapped me across the face isn’t visible to him. “Have a good night. I’ll see you Monday,” I say and quickly turn without giving him a chance to respond.
Trekking up the stairs two at a time, I silently cuss karma. Go figure I run smack dab into the very man I’m trying to escape, and of course, he’s with someone who looks like she should be on the cover of a magazine.
The moment I top the last step, I pause and then groan to the ceiling. Britney’s on Ken’s lap in a full-on make-out session. Her hands run through his hair, and his hands roam over her back and up her neck.
That took no time. They’re going to have a great time tonight.
I bounce back in my seat and slap the table. “Soooo…” I laugh.
Britney’s breathless when she comes up for air and isn’t abashed for staying on his lap. She winks and then winks again, I guess to ensure it’s a “go” because her sucking his face wasn’t clear enough.
They’re definitely going to have a good time tonight.
“Ken was telling me about his brother, Jack. He’s here somewhere. He texted him. He should be here any minute,” Britney says.
And as if on cue, a large body slides in beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulder. His dark brown eyes match his brother’s, but that’s the extent of the matching qualities. Jack’s hair is longer, shaggy looking, his lips are thinner and his frame is smaller.
“When he said you were banging, he wasn’t telling the whole truth. You’re gorgeous,” he says, whipping out a charming smile.
I force myself not to roll my eyes. I hate weak, overplayed pickup lines. “Thanks.”
He tucks his finger under my chin and pulls my face to his. “Seriously. You’re really pretty.”
I cringe. Intimate touching when there’s no intimacy, especially when you’ve just introduced yourself, is not charming. In fact, it’s creepy.
I pull back and meet his overly adoring eyes with a challenge. “Your line closely resembles the one she used on your brother. Next time, tell me my thumb is pretty.”
He laughs and then lounges back into the booth. “So, we going to grab something to eat or what?”
“Yep!” Britney pipes up, boring me with a “we are going” stare.
Without a second to protest, Jack grasps my hand and pulls me out of the booth. He leads the way down the stairs, and as we get to the bottom, the urge to sneak a peek of Easton pulls my gaze. My heart skips a beat as our eyes meet briefly before he glances to my hand in Jack’s. His smile slinks away, forming a straight line…like he’s angry I’m leaving with Jack.
Quickly, I blink away, almost laughing at myself for the ridiculous thought. Apparently the shots have gone straight to my brain, scattering my ability to think without dreaming.
The guys settled on a pizza place two blocks away, only because it’s the only place open this time of night. Britney and Ken have hit it off, chatting and getting to know each other through their tongues. But Jack and me…not so much. There isn’t a spark. No attraction. He’s far from interesting and making every second beside him awkward. I’m finding it difficult to think of anything to talk about, making our conversation pretty nonexistent.
Unlike Britney, I’m not the one-night stand type of girl, which is what Jack is clearly hoping for. It’s not that I won’t. There just needs to be some sort of spark—a reason to want to sleep with him other than just the thought.
He’s tried kissing me several times, but each time, I conveniently grab things from my purse. My ChapStick has seen more action tonight than it has the six months I’ve owned it.
I sigh, over the tortuous awkward. “I’m going home,” I say.
Jack’s expression brightens. “I’ll take you home,” he says eagerly.
I may be timid around certain people, but not around guys who think getting into my panties is just a nice gesture like a ride home. “No. Thank you. I’m going home alone.”
Disappointment and anger settles on his face, but he scribbles his number on a piece of napkin anyway. This is code for “I hope you lose it, but I’m going to be nice anyway.”
He hands it to me. “Give me a call sometime. Maybe we can get to know each other better.”
Yeah…no.
We part ways, Jack taking a different taxi than us. I’m starting to regret riding together because Britney and Ken have pawed each other in the backseat, unable to rip their mouths apart the whole ride home…and during the elevator ride…and down the hall.
“Good night,” I say, just in time to catch a glimpse of her wrapping her leg around his waist and him pulling them into the apartment.
Whatever floats her boat. I’m just glad we have a hallway separating us. I’d hate my life if I had to share a wall with her…
Zoey
“I’ll need you to do some errands today,” Mr. Langley says curtly, his voice cold, as he passes my desk without looking at me.
I scramble to my feet and race in behind him. “What am I doing?”
He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it across the back of his chair. “Dry cleaning,” he gruffs as he drops into the chair. He digs through the top drawer of his desk. “Two buildings down from that, you’ll need to drop these keys to my apartment off. Ask for Theo. He knows you’re coming.” He tosses them in my direction, but still doesn’t look at me. “Also, call in lunch and dinner. I’ll be here all day and more than likely all damn night.” He shuffles some papers around.
“Okay. Anything else?” I ask.
He levels a hard glare on me. “No.”
I bite a smile even though he’s being harsh. “What about the phone? How do I field your calls while I’m gone?”
“Forward them to your cell phone,” he responds contemptuously, flicking his wrist.
Exit all my confidence and enter mortification. “I’m not sure how to do it.”
He sighs in frustration. “For now, leave them on Do Not Disturb and hurry back. I’ll show you how later.” His cell phone rings and he glances to it before dismissing me with a pointed look.
Bad days. Everyone has them.
Dry cleaning—check.
Keys to the high-class maintenance man—check.
Missing the damn train—twice check.
Lunch ordered—check. Now let’s hope he likes it since I was given no hints.
I rush back into the office and lightly tap on his door. He calls for me to enter and when I do, my chest aches at the sight. His palms are stretched out on the round table, his eyes concentrating on the papers and drawings scattered across it. His hair is disheveled like he’s run his hand through it multiple times. He looks entirely overtaxed.
“Where would you like these?” I hold up his dry cleaning.
He jerks his head. “In the closet.”
I step in and hang them, instantly embraced by the scent of him. All of him. Masculine and warm. Fresh and cool. Sexy. I close my eyes and take a deep inhale. Is it strange a cologne can make me feel exhilarating?
“Anything else?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. Thank you.”
An hour later, the delivery man drops off the food. I’m shaking like a leaf, more nervous he’s going to hate his lunch than I was when Tanya was interviewing me. I’m the person who thinks “whatever” means pizza rolls and ranch dressing, or a cheeseburger from McDonald’s. But this “whatever” is from the boss, who I’m certain has high-class taste. He’s the same man I’m massively crushing on and desperately trying to impress with great assistant skills.
“Lunch is here,” I try adding extra cheer in hopes to lighten his mood.
He’s sitting with his ankle thrown over his knee, staring at the papers in his hands. “Thank you.” He drops the documents and slides them out of the way to create a hole for him to eat from.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered something that always puts me in a good mood even when I’m in my worst.” I hand him the Styrofoam plate. “I hope you like Italian meatballs. If not, I can rush to the deli.” My confidence trembles slightly.
A smile finally cracks his face and I all but want to do a victory dance. “From Gustoso’s?”
“Yes. Ever eaten there?”
“Antonio is a brilliant chef,” he replies.
Relief slackens my shoulders and I beam proudly. “I agree. Is there anything else you need before I go catch up?”
He lifts a brow curiously and studies me. “Are you not taking a lunch?”
I shake my head. “My chicken sandwich will wait patiently for me.”
Disapproval makes a clear presence across the lines of his face and he pushes to his feet. He disappears into the closet and when he returns, he’s holding a plate and plastic silverware. I watch him place two of the four meatballs onto the plate and then dump half the salad beside them.
He moves more papers out of the way and shoves the plate toward me, dropping the silverware beside it. “Eat.”
I hold up my hands, shaking them. “That’s your lunch, sir. I’m fine.”
“Don’t be difficult,” he gruffs bluntly. “Sit down and eat.”
“But—”
“Sit,” he orders more sternly and I do.
He watches and waits until I take the first bite before he begins eating.
“Theo said it’ll be a week,” I inform him.
He nods like he already knew. “Thank you for running my errands. As you can tell, I’m up to my ass in work and the morning traffic would’ve set me back further.”
“No big deal.” I shrug. “I prefer early morning running opposed to evening running. The train is less busy, plus weirdos tend to take it over in the afternoon.”
His eyes snap up to me. “You took the train?”
“Yeah…” I say slowly.
“Why didn’t you drive? All the running was across town.”
I know. I was there.
“Because I don’t have a car,” I say, feeling inferior. There’s no way in hell he’s lived a day without a car or a driver. I bet a limo took him to school. “I live in walking distance of almost everything,” I add.
And the fact I had to sell it right after my ass up and left home to make ends meet. I couldn’t ask Dad for help because I wanted to prove to them that I could do this…on my own.
He shifts his view back to his food and grumbles something under his breath before speaking again. “Well, Miss Campbell, I haven’t spent much time getting to know you. So far, you live downtown within walking distance of everything, therefore you don’t own a vehicle, nor do you think about traveling. You’re an only child from Nebraska.” He glances back up, this time his lips wearing a mischievous smile. “You never told me if you like dogs.”
Him remembering anything about me shouldn’t cause my heart to swell with happiness, but it does and I can’t hide the smile.
“First, I do think about traveling. I’m just not in a position to do any right now. Second, I adore dogs, although I don’t have any. Personally, I’d love to move to the countryside and rescue fifty if I could.”
He laughs, his green irises dancing. “That’s a lot of dogs.”
“I’m a sucker for them.”
“So, you’re not a crazy cat lady?” he teases.
Playfully, I scowl. “I despise cats. I’ll be the crazy dog lady.”
He chuckles, smiling widely. “Good to know.”
A comfortable silence cascades around us as our banter dies down and we eat. I’m just about to take a bite when he speaks again.
“Be careful with him,” he says casually.
My fork stops midway to my mouth and I look to him. “Excuse me?”
“The guy you left the club with. I’ve seen him do the same routine again and again. Him and his brother. Different girls, same lines. Just be careful with him.”
I can’t believe I’m about to admit, “I went home alone.”
“Good. You don’t need to be his next tally mark,” he says, sounding like a caring asshole.
I set my fork down and sit up straight. “No offense, but I’m not sure you of all people have any room to worry about playeristic antics. Seems a little hypocritical.”
He chuckles like I didn’t just bravely take a jab at him. “You give the impression of having dignity and self-worth. I apologize if I’m wrong.”
“Don’t belittle me,” I say.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate—”
“Why would you care what I do outside of work?” I ask valiantly. Bad day or not, I’ll not be the person taking direct hits from his frustrations.
He rests back in his chair. “Because I do.” I’m stunned by the sexy grin curving his mouth. “You represent me.”
He’s got to be kidding me. Him of all people? “Sir, no matter what I do, it’ll cause no harm to your business. If your reputation hasn’t damaged anything, I’m quite sure my nonexistent one won’t either.”
I smother the gasp my words cause. I can’t believe my mouth, but I hold my ground, keeping my nervousness below my poker face.
His chuckle is playful. “I’m not what they claim in the papers or wherever else my reputation is slandered. Rumors are just rumors. Most of them false. I conduct myself professionally and give them no further thought.”
My skin is still buzzing from his gall. “No matter how dazzling your entrance, your reputation got there before you. Regardless of how you conduct yourself, a reputation like yours can influence the purest of minds.”
He chokes on his water.
Still irked, I push to my feet and flash a bitchy smirk. “Thank you for lunch.”
I leave, trembling from my courage.
The high from my brave rant dissipated several hours ago, and now I’m wrestling the feeling of being a complete bitch for taking jabs at the boss. But I couldn’t help it. Something about how he warned me of Jack pissed me off. Maybe because of the hypocrisy or the conceitedness, or the sincere care like I was his intended target for his next sexcapade.
I’m also mad and embarrassed at myself because I got happy he remembered the small things about me. It’s like my mind was poking fun at me for the numerous nights I’ve laid awake, unable to sleep, thinking of what it would be like to be with him.
After his dinner is delivered, I enter Mr. Langley’s office following a small knock. He’s in the same spot, but he looks more exhausted with disheveled hair and his tie loosened, hanging low off his neck.
“Your dinner,” I announce, lifting the bag. “It’s earlier than what I requested, so I’ll put it on the couch for when you’re ready for it. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”
He checks his watch. “Already that time,” he says as if he’s telling himself.
“Try to have a good night,” I say and exit, making my way back to my desk.
I lock my computer, grab my purse, and head to the elevator.
“I need to show you about your phone,” he says without a drop of emotion in his tone.
I wave my hand, dismissing it.
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. “You don’t pay much attention to my schedule, do you?”
Shame splatters my heart across my chest.
“I’ll be gone for most of the day,” he continues. “It will only take a minute.”
My fingers tremble as I fish the phone out of my purse and hand it to him. He leads us back to his office and props his hip on the side of the desk to show me how to do it.
And, of fricking course, it’s simple as hell to forward the phones to my cell. I’m such an idiot.
“Thank you,” I say as I take my phone back. “Hope you have a great night, Mr. Langley.” I smile.
Moving to his chair, he chuckles. “It’s Easton. Please.”
First name basis. Giddiness buzzes over me. “Then please call me Zoey. I’m tired of feeling like an undereducated college professor.”
His smile is genuinely sweet, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Tell me, Zoey. What made you apply for this position?”
Dread wipes my exhilaration clean and my entire body tenses, bracing for the disciplinary actions of my jabs. “I apologize for getting curt with you earlier. I just—”
“Not being afraid to speak what’s on your mind respectfully is a good trait,” he interrupts with laughter still in his gaze.
I swallow. “I’ve worked for you for four years. I was ready to move up,” I answer.
Lines form across his forehead.
Hurt laces my laugh. “I’ve smiled at you every time you’ve walked in or out the doors and have spoken to you a handful of times. I’ve led some of your associates to the conference room, and I’ve helped the home division twice a week for a little over a year. I know I’m an asset to the company, but it’s hard to feel like it when you’re invisible.”
He looks at me. Like really looks at me.
“I know I’m still learning the ropes, but I’m a strong assistant, sir. It’ll take some time to get everything completely hammered down because you’re fleeting, but I will. I promise,” I add.