by Tabatha Kiss
I inhale sharply. “Are you sure you want to know that?”
She shrugs a bare shoulder and waits.
I exhale slowly. “I was going to say that... if the next words to come out of your mouth were that I ruined you for other men, then I would never function properly ever again.”
She nods, a smile barely touching her lips. “Hm.”
“And then,” I continue. Too late to turn back now. “I might have considered slamming my fist on the bar and declaring that... friends don’t let friends go four years without getting their genitals licked, and then I was going to go look for Blondie so you could...”
“Get my genitals licked?” she asks bluntly.
I swallow. “Yes,” I answer.
Again, Paige nods.
After a moment, she smiles.
“That’s funny,” she says.
“I think it’s the word genitals that sells it.”
“Yeah, not the sexiest word.”
“I’ve always thought that, too.”
She chuckles. Her stiff shoulders relax a bit. “Look, Oliver, I—”
“Say no more,” I say, stepping back. “I’ll leave you be.”
“No, that’s not...” she says, prompting me to stop. “I’m not pissed at you.”
“You’re not?”
She shakes her head, wet strands clinging to her cheek. “What happened today... wasn’t entirely your fault.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No, I...” She hesitates. “I could have stopped you. I should have, but...” She looks down again, swallowing hard. “I don’t put myself out there like I used to anymore, and you’re familiar to me… in that way. It makes for a complicated friendship, as you put it.”
I nod. “They do, yeah.”
“But we work well together,” she says. “I see no reason that can’t continue, assuming we maintain a few professional boundaries for the rest of this trip.”
“I agree completely.”
Paige smiles. “Starting with you... getting the fuck out of my room.”
I laugh as I hold my hands up. “Consider it done.”
“Thank you.”
“But then...” I rest my hand on the doorknob. “Would you like to go out with me?”
She furrows her brow.
“Not like that!” I say. “I meant, would you like to leave the hotel with me? The truth is, it’s been a minute since I’ve been to Boston. I’d really enjoy a friendly outing with my friend. If you want. Or I can just go fuck myself tonight. I’m down for that, too.”
Paige bites her lip in thought. “Sure,” she says.
“Sure, I can go fuck myself?” I ask.
“No.” She laughs. “Sure, we can leave the hotel.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I was about to go out anyway,” she says with a shrug. “I have some friends in town that I like to catch up with while I’m here. I guess you can tag along. The neighborhood I’m going to isn’t exactly in the safest part of town, so... it’d be nice to have a friendly escort.”
I pique a brow. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere until I get dressed, so if you don’t mind—”
“Getting the fuck out of your room.” I open the door. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”
“I’ll be down in twenty,” she says.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby.” I step out, but poke my head back in. “Should I dress up? Dress down?”
Paige clings quickly to the loose towel. “What you’re wearing is fine,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Right on.”
I ease out of the room, lingering for a few seconds too long, jokingly hopeful for a little side boob.
Or more.
“Oliver,” she scolds.
As I close the door, I catch a glimpse of her smile.
Chapter 23
Paige
“Muffin Top?” Oliver reads the sign aloud.
“Don’t let the name fool you,” I say from the sidewalk outside. “It’s the best coffee in Boston and the only bakery in town worth mentioning. The owner is very nice to look at, too.”
He raises a brow, intrigued.
A bell chimes above our heads as we step inside.
“Hello!” a deep voice bellows from the room behind the counter.
We walk around the small tables, most of them occupied, and my nose tingles with delight the entire way toward the counter.
Muffin Top is the best.
A man steps out from the kitchen wearing a tight T-shirt and old blue jeans. A bit of ink peeks out from under his shirt on his thick bicep, a tattoo he shares with Ira Botsford; an anchor in ocean waves.
“Hi, Vincent!” I greet.
He looks at me and smiles. “Oh, hey, Paige! Welcome back.” He nods at Oliver. “How are you?”
“I’m excellent. How are you?”
“Having a good night. Bit busy, but that’s fine.”
“I can imagine.” I bend over to scan the arrangement of pastries beneath the counter. “And now, I’m extra excellent now that I see you’ve got one last cherry cupcake left.”
Vincent laughs. “Saved it just for you.” He opens the display and grabs a pastry box to place it in. “Where’s Graham tonight?” he asks, giving Oliver another curious glance.
“Back in Vegas being his badass CEO-self, but he says hi.” I pat Oliver’s arm. “This is Oliver, his replacement. Oliver, this is Vincent, the owner of this fine establishment.”
Oliver extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
“You, too,” Vincent says.
“Ah, you weren’t kidding,” Oliver says to me. “He is nice to look at.”
I grin. “I never lie about the important things,” I say.
Vincent releases Oliver’s hand as his face contorts with confusion. “What?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I say. “Can I get a vanilla mocha with that, please?”
“Sure.” He nods at Oliver. “Anything for you?”
“I’ll take the same,” he replies.
“Coming right up.”
Vincent steps back to fetch our coffees.
I lower my voice. “Vincent used to work with Ira,” I say.
Oliver blinks twice. “Work with Ira?”
“Work with Ira,” I repeat.
“As in highly classified operations in redacted locations with Navy SEALS? That kind of work with Ira?”
“That kind of work with Ira,” I confirm.
He studies Vincent with a tilted head. “And now he runs a bakery?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Surely there’s a longer story there.”
“He’d never tell, but his wife owns the bar next door,” I say. “We’ll swing by there next. She’s very chatty.”
Oliver hums as Vincent returns with our coffees. “So, you worked with Ira Botsford back in the day?” he asks him. “You guys toppled dictatorships and stuff?”
Vincent shrugs, his face expressionless. “I’m not at liberty to say,” he says.
“Badass,” Oliver whispers with awe.
I roll my eyes as I reach into my handbag for my wallet, but Oliver sets a twenty-dollar bill on the counter before I can.
“Keep the change, sir,” he says. “You’ve got a nice place here.”
Vincent takes the money with an appreciative nod. “Thanks.”
I grab my coffee and pastry box, along with the receipt. “See you around, Vin,” I say.
“Bye, Paige. You two have a good night.”
Oliver bows his head in respect. “You, too.”
I grab two plastic forks off the rack by the register and motion for Oliver to follow me toward the first open table. As we sit down, Oliver takes another long glance around, getting a good look at the bakery before sipping his coffee.
“Good coffee?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Good coffee,” he repeats.
I offer him a fork. “And the only thing that makes it be
tter is swallowing it down with a chunk from this thing.” I open the pastry box in the center of the table. “And please do, because I can’t eat this entire thing by myself.”
“Let me guess. You and Graham usually share?” he asks.
I nod. “I’d be thirty pounds heavier if it weren’t for him.”
Oliver chuckles as he slices off a piece and sticks it in his mouth. “Vincent made this?” he asks, his eyes widening as he chews.
“He makes everything here.”
“What a fascinating man.” He goes back for more cupcake. “We should definitely stop in next door and see his chatty wife.”
I laugh before taking a sip from my perfect coffee. “Graham and I usually do at least once during Boston visits.”
“Wait, really?” he asks. “Graham actually leaves the hotel?”
I nod. “He does.”
“To go to a bar? Where fun happens?”
“It’s literally one of the few places he’ll go in any city.” My smile drops a little. “It’s weird to think he and I won’t be doing that very much anymore.”
“Do you think you’ll miss the road?” he asks.
“I already do, truthfully. It feels strange to fully unpack my suitcase if that makes any sense at all.”
“Give me a few months. I’m sure I know exactly what you mean.” He takes another sip from his coffee. “You know, you could always talk to Graham. Ask him for a transfer to a position with more travel.”
I shrug. “Unfortunately, Assistant to the Company Liaison is the only position in the company I’m qualified for and it doesn’t exist anymore.”
Oliver licks his lips. “Are you sure about that?”
I pause, sensing the meaning behind his words. “I thought you were dead set on being the lone wolf Liaison,” I say, arching my brow. “No assistants for Mr. Black.”
“Graham tell you that?”
“Graham tells me everything.”
“Well…” He clears his throat. “I’m thinking I was wrong about that.”
“You? Wrong?”
“Believe me. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
I chuckle. “What made you change your mind?”
Oliver looks at me as if the answer is obvious. “You,” he answers.
I glance into my coffee. “What’d I do?” I ask.
“Your job.”
“And?”
“And… I would not have been able to do mine this week without you,” he says.
“Well, that’s not true.”
“Stop.” He cants his head, his dimples coming out. “Don’t downplay how amazing you are, Paige.”
I say nothing, but my cheeks burn.
“I shouldn’t have been so arrogant,” he says. “I guess I’m just… insecure.”
I stare at him, genuinely surprised. I’ve never seen Oliver like this before; so open and honest and… vulnerable.
“Because of your fear of flying?” I ask, wading in slowly.
“Maybe,” he muses. “I don’t like to depend on others. I always thought having an assistant showed laziness but, turns out, that was yet another thing I’ve been wrong about. Now that I’ve had a taste, so to speak… I don’t want to lose you.”
I lean back. “You want me to be your assistant?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Obvious unresolved sexual tension aside, I think we make a good team.”
“That’s one pretty big aside,” I say with a laugh.
“I know, but it is worth consideration. Don’t you think?”
I pause, unsure of what to say.
Me?
Leave Graham?
I’ve never even considered it before. This is the best job I’ve ever had. It’s the only actual job I’ve ever had. I planned on staying put for as long as possible.
I adore the Botsfords. They’ve made a place in their family for me — for my mother — but I can’t deny the wanderlust in me. I can’t sit still for too long. I don’t know if I even could.
“I’m not sure,” I say, finding my voice.
“What aren’t you sure about?” Oliver asks. “Let’s hash it out. Is it money?”
“No,” I say before quickly tilting my head. “Well, maybe. A little.”
“Whatever Graham pays you, add ten percent.”
“It’s not just about money, but…” I chuckle as that number sinks in. “Let’s remember that offer. For sure.”
Oliver smiles. “Then, what is it?”
I can’t trust myself with you.
I swallow hard, unable to say it aloud. “I’m not sure Graham can live without me,” I joke.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Somehow, I think the billionaire will manage just fine.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “But…”
I can’t trust myself with you.
“You don’t have to say yes,” he says. “Just don’t say no yet.”
I nod, giving him a quick smile. “I’ll think about it,” I say. “All right?”
Oliver sits back, noticing the very firm pin I stuck in this conversation.
“All right,” he repeats as he reaches for his fork. “Now, I really have to take another bite of this cupcake.”
I wave a hand. “Go right ahead.”
As he scoops another bite into his mouth, I take a second moment to think it over. There’s a part of me, a not-so-small part, that just wants to scream yes.
Yes, let me keep this job.
Yes, let me live off airport coffee and cookies from the Botsford Plaza welcome committees.
Yes, Oliver.
Take me with you.
I look down, smothering the thought before it grows into an even greater urge.
Oliver gasps.
“What?” I ask with a flinch.
He raises his fork, presenting the maraschino cherry. “There’s a cherry hidden inside the icing?” he asks, excitedly.
I chuckle. “It’s all yours.”
He shoves it into his mouth. “Best. Bakery. Ever.”
Chapter 24
Oliver
After consuming the greatest cupcake of all time, Paige leads me back outside. We cross the alley and walk into Ryan’s Place, a neighborhood bar right next to Muffin Top.
People pack into the bar, even more so than the bakery, but I spot more than a few to-go coffee cups scattered around the tables. I guess it’s common for Bostonians to hit up the bakery for coffee and treats before heading to the bar to hang out. Management sure doesn’t seem to mind. A sign hangs above the entrance promising fifteen percent off pitchers with your bakery receipt on Thursdays.
Paige waves our receipt over her head as we approach the bar. “Hey, Tommy!” she shouts, grabbing the attention of the bartender on the other side.
He raises his head and whips his shaggy blond hair to one side to get a better look at whoever summoned him.
“Hey!” he greets with a wide smile. “It’s Paige!”
She slaps the receipt on the bar. “Gimme a pitcher of that local stuff I like so much.”
“You got it, girlfriend,” he says as he grabs the receipt.
He briefly glances at me, making sure he didn’t offend the tall man hovering over her shoulder with the word girlfriend. I smile politely. No use in worrying the guy, and I’m frankly not all that intimidated by a man in a Hawaiian shirt.
“Two glasses?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” Paige says.
He grabs a pitcher and starts filling it from the tap. “You in town long?” he asks.
“For the weekend.” She gestures at me. “This is my new boss, Oliver. Oliver, this is Tommy, Vincent’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh, so you met the bakery man?” he asks me with a grin. “You get a cupcake?”
I nod. “I got a cupcake.”
“It’s an essential part of the Boston experience.”
“I can see why.”
Paige’s warm smile continues. “Is Monica around?” she asks him.
He s
coffs. “Maybe. She got pissed at me for something and bailed. If you stick around long enough, you might see us fight — another essential part of the Boston experience.”
I laugh. Such nice folks. “Looking forward to it.”
“Where’s Evey?” Paige asks.
Tommy sets the pitcher down on the bar with two pint glasses. “She’s working in the back,” he answers. “I’ll let her know you’re here. Climbing up out of her cave should do her some good.”
“Thanks, Tommy!” Paige motions toward the pitcher. “Please?” she asks as she grabs the glasses.
I pick it up and follow her through the crowd. We drift toward the open tables along the far wall, lucky to claim one just as a small group gets up to leave.
As we sit, Paige’s cellphone goes off, the ringing sound just barely audible over the hustle of the bar. She reaches into her pocket for it and smiles, offering me an apologetic glance as she swipes it on.
“It’s my mother,” she says.
I wave a hand to show it won’t bother me.
“Hey, Mom.” She raises her voice a little. “No, I’m in a… late meeting. Can I call you back?”
I smile at the little lie. I fill our glasses from the pitcher as I wait, taking the moment to admire my new surroundings.
With the obvious exception of a night or two at the Sin and Sand bar in Las Vegas to watch Jonah’s band play, I don’t spend a lot of time socializing outside of Botsford Plaza bars. I can already tell this spot, with the mixed scent of baked goods and local brews in the air, will be a decent place to return to on future business trips.
It’ll be even better with Paige right here with me.
My assistant.
“I’ll call you in the morning, okay?” Paige says into the phone with another glance at me. “Yes, I’ll talk to them about that, too. Okay... Goodnight, Mom. I love you, too.” She hangs up, exhaling hard as she shoves the phone back into her pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she answers, predictably. “She’s just… having trouble with a roommate—”
“Paige! Oh, my god!”
A woman walks up to our table. But the term waddles might be a better descriptor. She’s petite with wide hips, curly blonde hair, and enough stage presence to completely light up our dim corner.