The song stopped. “We’re ready. What the hell is up with you being in New York? We really need this win.”
“You do know my absences will not affect the team’s performance.” He had mockingly collapsed onto the island in his kitchen when I told him my trip was during football season.
His gasp was loud enough for me to hear when the water-filled eyeshadow palette dropped into the trash in the main room of the sublet. “Who is this, and what did that shitty ass city do with my friend?”
Stepping over to the mini-fridge, I took a bottle of water out and sat on the bed to check the time. Floyd was a talker.
“How did you phrase it? ‘I’m working on my unrealistic ways of thinking.’”
“Well, stop that right now. Get your ass on a plane by Friday, so you can come cheer on your Spartans,” Floyd demanded.
I grabbed my lipstick off the ottoman, that served as a storage and the only other seat in the sublet, with a dramatic eye roll. An alert chimed on my phone stating I had fifteen minutes to make the train, so I grabbed my mini compact out of my purse. It was time to redirect my friend right to the end of this conversation.
“I’m not going to make it. Derrick has my parking pass, and my tailgate stuff is in the garage. He’s got the code–” I brushed the tip of the foam lipstick wand across my lips.
“Everyone has the code.”
“I have to walk out the door in like ten minutes–” My words sounded funny with my mouth open, applying the last coat of stay-on-all-night lipstick.
“I get it.” He sighed. “But if we lose this weekend, we are all going to blame it on you.”
“Me too,” I said, processing the fact this deal with Morgan Financial Holding would require I miss a lot more games in the future.
“Go be one of those Big City girls. Kick ass while you’re there and bring your ass home soon.”
“Will do.” My hushed response bore the weight of the next serious conversation I would need to have with one of my dearest friends.
“Go Green!” He shouted into the phone, probably to get me out of my head.
“Go White!” My Spartan upbringing forced the appropriate volume and fierceness, but the call disconnected, missing the return of my whisper. “Thanks, friend.”
A quick check of my makeup in the bathroom mirror proved invaluable as I discovered I had only completed one eye before I knocked the palette into the toilet. Wiping off my carefully constructed cat eye, I resorted to a bit of blush on my cheeks and eyelids. The entire time I cursed myself for not bringing more make up with me. With a dab of gloss on my now puffy lips, I was out the door rushing to the train station.
Making it to Nello’s with two minutes to spare, a text arrived from Anderson.
Anderson - Running a few minutes behind. The table is under your name.
I reread Anderson’s text and watched as the door to the restaurant opened. Placing my phone on the table and took a deep breath to relax. Why are you nervous? This is just practice.
White linens with fresh-cut white flowers lined the tables with a Buckingham Palace level of precision. The artwork was a mixture of colorful landscapes and charcoal drawn portraits. Mirrors hanging along the wall every foot allowed the natural light to dance with the soft glow of the wall sconces. As my eyes scanned the menu, I worked to hold my composure at the fifty-dollar pasta dishes listed on the menu.
A waitress placed a cocktail in front of me. “Oh, this isn’t mine.”
“It’s from the guy at the bar.” The waitress leaned to the left to allow me a clear line of sight.
“I… I’m on a date.” I blurted out.
“I’ll tell him you said thank you,” she winked at me. “Enjoy.”
Turning toward the bar, a handsome guy in a grey suit met my glance and smiled. He picked up his drink and walked toward the table. Shit!
He sat in the seat across from me. “Mind if I join? I couldn’t help notice you were here alone.”
“I’m meeting someone.”
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “Shame they left you all by yourself. You’re gorgeous.”
“She is, isn’t she.” Anderson peered down at the stranger. “Not alone either. You’re in my seat.”
The guy got up, and the two men stared at each other for what seemed like five minutes. It was probably more like fifteen seconds, but either way, it was awkward.
“Enjoy the drink.” The stranger placed his card on the table next to the cocktail and walked away as the waitress approached.
“Making friends?” Anderson asked as he took the seat the gentleman vacated. “I’ll take a double Goose rocks and Tito’s.”
“Do you serve King St.?” Anderson smirked as he waved at the stranger’s drink to be removed by the waiter. I ordered my own cocktail.
“Absolutely. We’re doing a muddled blackberry cocktail. It’s my new favorite.”
“I’ll try it.” With a smile and a nod, the waitress was off.
Anderson leaned forward in his seat, “First, you look lovely tonight, and I’m really sorry I’m late. We both know how much that bugs you.”
“I hope everything is okay.”
“Fine. Everything is fine. Rover didn’t want to come inside from playtime.”
Picking up the menu, I spoke as I scanned the entrees. “I still have a difficult time picturing you owning a pet. You just do not seem like someone that would–” I pressed my lips together right at the edge of insulting the man that had asked me out on a date and chosen a very nice restaurant.
“Oh no. Please don’t stop there, Ms. Messer.” He stretched out his long legs to the side of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. It was the first time tonight I paid attention to what Anderson was wearing. A dark blue suit. Not the suit he wore to work, but a different suit. His gaze traveled down to where I was tugging at my clearance Gap short sleeve navy dress.
Could I be more underdressed? Chandler Bing and Joey popped into my head, and I felt like Monica sitting with Richard feeling inadequate. What did he just say?
“Please.”
“I’m sorry. Please, what? I wasn’t paying attention.”
Anderson mumbled as the waitress arrived with our cocktails. “You are doing wonders for my ego.”
Vodka and blackberries already sounded delicious. The garnish took my excitement to the next level. “So good. The tartness of the blackberries plays off the vodka nicely. Really smooth.” A second sip brought out the sweetness of the simple syrup. Damn it. This is good.
“Exact same reaction I had when I first tried it.” Looking at Anderson, the waitress’ excitement evaporated as she robotically listed the specials. “I’ll give you guys some time to scan the menu.”
Anderson’s eyebrow went up as she left the table. “You were saying.”
“That’s a perfect example.”
“What? Example of what?” His expressions were becoming a bit more familiar, and it was easy to see he was amused.
“People don’t seem to warm up to you.”
“Jurnee, this is New York. No one wants anyone to warm up to them. But what does that have to do with Rover?”
“I just meant that you seem like someone that keeps a fairly full calendar and having an animal takes time. Plus, you don’t really come across as the warm and fuzzy type.”
“What else have you already decided about me?” That you have a sexy as hell smirk.
“That’s not a fair question.” I tried to hide behind my plum-colored cocktail. “We haven’t spent that much time together.”
“It’s a very good thing we are changing that, isn’t it?”
My phone rang, making me jump. Checking who was calling, I apologized and answered. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Where’s the second six-foot table? I’m only finding one.” Floyd was on speakerphone in my garage.
“Tom borrowed it. He already knows to bring it.” Anderson kept his eyes on me as I spoke. “Do you see the two green table
cloths?”
“Got’em. Thanks. Go Green!”
“Go White.”
I turned the phone to silent and placed it back on the table face down. “Sorry about that, he’s at my house picking up stuff for the weekend’s tailgate.”
He nodded and took a sip of his drink.
“It’s homecoming.” I squirmed in my seat under his stare. “We do a pretty good tailgate. Have you ever been?”
“I have not.”
Focusing on the menu, I whispered, “They’re fun.”
What the hell am I doing? You have nothing in common with this guy. I looked over at him to see if it was my imagination or if he was staring at me. Still staring.
“The wheels look like they’re spinning in your head. Are you searching for the answer to my question?”
“Question?” Wait, what did he ask?
Anderson smiled, “Before you overthink yourself into a fog again, why don’t you tell me what you were going to do in New York for a month besides ‘practice’ dating.”
“The air quotes were a nice touch. Actually, I had each week broken into categories so I could see the entire city. This week was bridges, next week museums–”
“You can’t see all the bridges in New York in one week. There are over twenty-six bridges in Central Park alone.”
“I scheduled a whole day for Central Park.”
An animated Anderson waved his hands in the air for me to stop, “Thank God you took me up on my offer to practice dating. Clearly, I was meant to save you from yourself in the world’s greatest city.”
“How do you know?”
He tilted his head and leaned toward the middle of the table. “That this is the greatest city in the world?”
“That there are twenty-six bridges in Central Park.”
“My parents had a love-hate relationship with Central Park. My mother loves the park and insisted the nannies take me every day, weather permitting, when I was young. My father, on the other hand, talked endlessly of Seneca Village and how the City took over the land from its freed black landowners.” Our dishes were placed in front of each of us. Anderson gave the waitress a curt, “thank you.”
“I didn’t know that.” I stared at my food, embarrassed at my lack of knowledge in an area I had been obsessed with for as long as I could remember.
“I believe that’s true of most Americans.” He gave me a smile as he picked up his fork. “What’s the deal with homecoming?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s homecoming. It’s a weekend to relive the best years of our lives. You know, reconnect with old friends. Drink too much. Eat too much. Cheer on a team that we love.”
“Do you always go?”
“Mmmm.” I surprised myself with moaning noises as I took a second bite of the ravioli. “Sorry, but this is the best Italian I’d ever eaten. I’ve only missed one homecoming in fifteen years. Michigan State football is a big deal back home. Like, big.”
“You scheduled your meeting with Graham during football season?”
“My job ended, and I have a six-week break before the next project begins. I never really expected Soraya to be able to add me to Graham’s calendar. Trust me, if there had been any other time of year, I would have jumped at it.”
“I guess Graham wanting to partner with you in the coffee shop business really tossed a wrench in your plan.”
“Are we ready for dessert?” The waitress asked as Anderson and I looked at one another.
“We’re good.” My face felt flush as the words slid out of Anderson’s mouth, followed by a definite licking of his lips.
This is such a bad idea.
16
Anderson
This had been the best week of my tenure at Morgan Financial Holdings, and it was approaching an end. Every morning, Jurnee arrived at the office with either bagels or muffins, orange juice, and coffee. We’d clocked almost three hours a day virtually alone in this conference room. Each day, our chairs mysteriously moved closer. I was already dreading the two next days without seeing her.
By Friday morning, Martin, Jurnee, and I had developed a morning routine. It began with me stepping into the conference room ten minutes before our scheduled start to find Martin sitting across the table from Jurnee, enjoying breakfast as they chatted.
As the clock hit nine, Jurnee would jump up to clear the breakfast mess, and Martin would make his way to his desk to field calls and inquiries for my time. I looked forward to Jurnee taking her seat and exhaling into her workday. The sparkle in her eyes when she glanced at me was expertly chiseling away at my protective layer that had been in place for far too long.
“Should we begin?” I knew the answer, but I had asked the same question each of the previous mornings.
Jurnee smiled from ear to ear. “Of course.”
And just like that, we settled into a new day of reviewing the Morgan Financial Holdings partnership agreements. There was a knock at the door, and I instinctively moved away from Jurnee. It was Martin with a handful of possible lunch menus. The day’s rainstorm had started earlier than expected, so he wanted to get our orders in before the masses decided eating lunch in was the best course of action.
“I had a crazy idea,” Jurnee announced once Martin departed with our sandwich orders.
“You mentioned you’ve never been to a college football game, and I happen to have tickets to a game tomorrow.” Jurnee hesitated, as if she was attempting to read my reaction as she continued. “I was able to score two tickets on the first flight in the morning and a return flight Sunday mid-morning.”
I tossed my pen down on the pad and leaned back in my chair, letting Jurnee’s offer sink in.
“Forget it. It was a silly idea.” She flicked the tab on her planner.
Touching her forearm, I worked to contain my excitement. “I’d love to go to the game with you. I’m sure I have extra miles. I can get the flight–”
Jurnee’s hand flew in the air in front of my face. “My idea. My dime.”
Smiling, I scanned my memory for the last time I’d been the one treated to anything. I came up empty. This woman, that I had only known for a week, was inviting me on a trip on her ‘dime.’ Who was she?
Staring into each other’s eyes, I saw the apprehension. “I’d be honored to make a spontaneous trip to Michigan to experience a football game with you.”
“Really?” Her planner was in her hands before the huge smile spread across her face. “The flight leaves at seven. Can you be at the airport by five-thirty?”
“Five-thirty is doable, but I’m not sure we have to be there that early.”
“Oh, we have to be there that early. I’m not sure when you flew last, but everything I read to prepare for this trip stated I need to be at the airport one-and-a-half-hours prior to my flight’s departure.”
An alert sounded on my phone. When I opened my email, I found a confirmation for an early morning flight to Michigan and a boarding pass. “Okay. Five-thirty it is.”
Jurnee rocked in her seat with excitement and sang very off-key, “On the banks of the Red Cedar is a school that’s known to all. That’s the beginning of the best college fight song in the history of fight songs.”
Then, the two of us went quiet as the reality of the next two days set in. We were going to be spending the weekend together. This week had started on very shaky terms. Mistaken for a blind date, surprise potential client meeting, babysitting for my boss, and deleting the possible love connection text, all in the first five days of meeting Jurnee Messer.
Our attention returned to the work laid out in front of us. I read the next section aloud, and Jurnee scribbled notes in her planner. It was a process that had become familiar. Notes in the planner were items she wanted to research. Notes written on her copy of the contract were questions she would ask once I completed the section.
Three hours later, there was a knock at the door. When Martin didn’t pop inside, I told whomever to come in. Everyone else in the office knew not t
o interrupt us. A college student appeared at the door in a damp red polo, jeans, and a nervous look on his face.
“Yes?” I snapped in annoyance.
Taking one step inside the conference room, the guy spoke almost in a whisper. “I have an order for Anderson.”
He lifted the bags as proof he belonged where he stood.
“Just leave it on the table.”
Jurnee shot me a glare and bounced out of her seat. “Never mind him.” She reached for the bag, “thank you for delivering. It smells delicious.”
“We bake all our own bread.” The delivery guy stated with a smile as he deposited the two bags on the table. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. She must have this effect on everyone. He finished setting it down and lingered. What was he waiting for? I already know Martin added a tip to the bill. Go!
“Well, thank you again. Please be careful out there making deliveries.”
“Thanks. It was really coming down.” I watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other. “Makes it tough on a bike.”
“We have work to do.”
The outraged look on Jurnee’s face indicated my tone may have come across as rude. The delivery guy nodded and closed the door behind him. It took some effort to not laugh as Jurnee stood with her arms crossed, glaring at me.
“What?”
She sank in her chair. “Did you realize that you slipped into asshole mode, or are you oblivious to the whole thing?”
“Professional.” I corrected.
She giggled and rolled her eyes, “there is nothing professional about your asshole side.”
Geez, even her giggle does something to me. How was I going to survive this woman?
17
Jurnee
After two days of boring contract discussions and shameless flirting from both of us, I decided to show Anderson how to be spontaneous. Cashing in all the frequent flyer miles I had been collecting for years on a credit card, and maxing said credit card, was worth Anderson’s excitement. By the time we landed in Detroit and merged on the highway in the rental car, he was pointing and asking questions about everything, barely leaving me time to explain. It was fun to see him as a tourist in my state.
Mister Manhattan: A Hero Club Novel Page 8