Our Forever Crazy Love: Contemporary Romance

by Jennifer Nolan

  “Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you so much, Mrs. Kelley.” I notice she’s staring at my boots.

  “Are those your mouse-hunting boots?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I shrug. “There was no way I was chasing that thing around my apartment barefoot.”

  Mrs. Kelley smiles as she turns towards the stairwell. A few minutes later she returns with the trap. “Here you go, dear. Just place a dab of peanut butter or cheese in the center of the pad and place it where the mouse is hiding. Then check back and call me when he’s stuck. I’ll get Mr. Kelley up here to retrieve it for you.”

  “Wonderful, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  Alone again, me and the mouse. I remove the trap from the plastic wrap and place it on the kitchen counter. Grabbing a spoon and some peanut butter, I place a tiny amount in the center of the tray as Mrs. Kelley instructed. I know I will need to be quick when I place this. I kneel down in front of the cabinet, and in one smooth and rapid movement, I slide one of the cookbooks to the side, insert the trap behind it, and slide the book back again. There, it’s done.

  Feeling confident, I remove my boots and put them back in the closet with the broom. I make myself a cup of tea because the only thing left for me to do now is to wait. As I’m stirring my tea, it dawns on me that earlier the apartment was getting so warm from the oven I’d opened the balcony door a crack to cool it down a bit. That must be how the little bugger got in. I’m sure I read somewhere mice can climb walls or maybe the trees out back provided the little bugger access. Guess I’ll never know for sure, and it doesn’t matter how he got in as long as I can get him out.

  About thirty minutes have gone by. My tea is finished and I decide it’s time I check the trap. Getting my cell phone and turning on the flashlight app, I kneel in front of the cabinet, ready to peer underneath the moment I slide one of the cookbooks away. Somewhat terrified the mouse has not been trapped and is waiting to pounce at my face, I hesitate. Three, two, one…

  I push one of the cookbooks aside, leaving about an inch of space to peek in. The flashlight works, illuminating the entire space under the hutch—and there, in the middle, is my nemesis immobilized on the pad.

  Chapter 15

  My alarm goes off at five-thirty a.m. on Monday, about one hour earlier than usual, giving me some extra time to get ready. One would think that after my baking marathon and mouse fiasco last night, I would have slept like a baby. But, how could I? I tossed and turned most of the night, preoccupied with the fact that today is the day of my mysterious meeting.

  After my shower, with my towel still wrapped around me, I stand in my closet looking over my entire wardrobe, agonizing over what to wear. How do I decide what to wear when I have no idea what I’m dressing for? Should I wear a dress, a tailored suit, a skirt and blouse? Should I wear my hair up or down? I frantically pull one option after another from the closet. Why the heck does Joel Rockhurst want a meeting with me anyway?

  I try on several outfits and a pile of rejects fills my bed before I decide to keep it simple and go with black dress pants and a black-and-white polka-dot blouse. Then I neatly return all the clothes I chose not to wear to my closet. I do my makeup and hair, deciding up is best, and whip up a protein shake for breakfast. I can’t imagine trying to stomach anything else this morning. I down my shake and check my phone for the third time this morning. But there is no word from Danny. Not even a quick text to say he’s arrived safe. As badly as I want to text him, I don’t. Instead, I remind myself to stay focused.

  Grabbing my purse and keys, I head out the door. I stop into I-Sales to get the Monday morning report done for the sales meeting at ten and check and answer important emails that came in for Bob over the weekend.

  About ten to ten, Ted pops by my desk as he usually does Monday mornings to grab the sales report before heading into the meeting. “Morning, Vivienne. Got the report ready for me?”

  “Yes, it’s all ready for you. Oh, and Bob asked me to remind you to make sure you email him the minutes from the meeting today.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” says Ted. “Bob worries too much. He already reminded me twice before he left. He always gets a little antsy as we get closer to the end of the month. Thanks again for this,” he says, holding up the report as he walks away.

  I get back to answering emails and following a few other odds and ends, and before I know it, it’s time to go. I log off my computer and return everything to its proper place. I stand and look down at the small picture of my dad and me sitting on the corner of my desk. I grab the picture and toss it in my purse. Maybe Dad will bring me luck.

  I give myself plenty of time to get to the JetStream executive offices so as not to be late for my mysterious 12:45 lunch meeting. And I’m not. I arrive ten minutes early, which gives me plenty of time to visit the ladies’ room and touch up my lipstick before taking a seat in the reception area. Carolyn Gauge, Mr. Rockhurst’s secretary, greets me with a big smile. “Thanks for coming in, Vivienne. Mr. Rockhurst is looking forward to meeting with you. Please go ahead and grab a seat. I’m sure he won’t be too long.”

  “Great, thank you.”

  I sit, crossing my legs one way and then the other as I shift the purse from my lap to the seat beside me and back to my lap again. I pick up the closest magazine and pretend I’m interested in what it says. Meanwhile, all I can think of is why the heck I’m here in the first place.

  Joel Rockhurst is the youngest CEO JetStream Aerospace has ever had. When he was appointed to the position a little over a year ago, someone said he was thirty-three. So that would make him nine years my senior. Not that I’m counting or anything. Besides being the youngest CEO JetStream has ever had, he’s without question the hottest. In fact, as rumour has it, his nickname is Mr. Hotness. It’s a name I’ve heard floating around on more than one occasion. Apparently, “Mr. Hotness” was bestowed on him by some of the ladies in the accounting department soon after he took over as CEO and it stuck. Never used in his presence, of course.

  The phone on Carolyn’s desk rings and she is engrossed in conversation when Mr. Rockhurst steps out from his office. “Vivienne, I’m so glad you could stop by. Carolyn, please hold my calls. Vivienne and I have a lot to discuss.” Carolyn nods and he motions for me to lead the way into his office.

  “Hello, Mr. Rockhurst. It’s nice to see you again,” I say as I stand and walk towards him.

  “Please come in and take a seat. I’m sure you’re curious as to why I’ve asked to see you today?”

  “Yes, I am curious. But before I forget, I want to thank you for the lovely flowers and thoughtful note you sent to my apartment after my father passed away. That was very kind of you.”

  “It was my pleasure. I meant what I said. Your dad was an important part of the JetStream family. He will always be remembered for the valuable contributions he made to this company. Although I never had the pleasure of working with him personally, few have the stellar reputation Mike Ramsey has around here.”

  “Thank you for saying that. I know it wasn’t an easy decision for him to leave, he enjoyed his time here. Now Mr. Rockhurst, please tell me how I can help you?”

  “Well, after meeting you at the company golf tournament, I asked around about you. It seems you’re very respected around the I-Sales offices and your boss, Bob Brockhaus, has nothing but praise for the job you do over there. He says you are always one step ahead of him.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  “I was wondering, Vivienne, where do you see yourself five years from now? Do you have any aspirations for your future with JetStream?”

  “Honestly, I’d welcome the chance to challenge myself more should the opportunity arise.” Does this mean I’m not getting axed?

  “Well, what if I told you there may be an opportunity for you in the very near future? Carolyn has told me she’d like to spend more time with her family, and that means stepping down from her position as
my executive assistant. While this is not a formal interview, I wanted to reach out in case you might be at all interested in stepping into the role?

  “Seriously?!” That sounded way more surprised and squeaky than I intended. But Carolyn never said anything to me.

  He chuckles. “Yes, seriously.”

  “Yes! I mean, absolutely. I would definitely be interested.”

  “Well, why don’t we go out and grab some lunch? It will give us a chance to get to know each other and discuss the position.”

  Damn, he’s charming. My cheeks flush. “Sounds great” is what I say, but HOLY CRAP is what I’m really thinking. Executive assistant to the CEO is definitely a step up from my current position, and I’m sure it comes with a nice raise too. Granted, it’s sure to involve longer hours and more responsibility, but I’m up for the challenge. And with Danny away in Saudi Arabia, extra time won’t be a problem. In fact, the less time I have to sit around my apartment missing him, the better.

  “How does Zunzi’s sound?” he asks. Zunzi’s is a popular lunch spot in Savannah. The food is amazing and I’ve often called them to cater interdepartmental meetings and events.

  “Sure.” I stand and wait for him to come out from behind his desk.

  “After you,” he says, again motioning with his hand for me to take the lead. “I’ll drive.”

  As we exit his office, he asks Carolyn to call Zunzi’s and have them reserve us a table.

  “Sure, Mr. Rockhurst, I’ll do that right away. Enjoy your lunch,” she says.

  We make small talk as we head towards the elevator and out to the parking garage. I expected it to be a bit awkward and instead find he’s rather easy to talk to. He is a true gentleman, opening doors for me as we work our way through the halls and out of the basement to the garage area. As we reach his parking spot, I see his sleek, jet-black Porsche 911, so clean you can see your reflection in the paint. He opens the passenger door for me before walking around the front of the car and getting into the driver’s seat.

  “Great car, how long have you had it?” I’m thinking it can’t be long; to say this car is spotless is an understatement. And it still has that new-car smell.

  “About a year now. She’s real fun to drive.”

  I smile as I reach for my seat belt and buckle myself in. I’ve never been in a Porsche before and I try to act casual and not let on how in awe I am. The black leather seats curve in at the sides, caressing and enveloping me in comfort. Everything about the interior is luxurious and rich, right down to the glossy mahogany-wood accents. I resist the urge to reach out and slide my fingers across the dash. The roar of the engine only serves to intensify the experience as we peel out of the garage and onto the street.

  Once we arrive at the restaurant, the hostess recognizes him. “Hello, Mr. Rockhurst. Welcome. Carolyn called and told us to expect you and Miss Ramsey. Your table is ready, please follow me.”

  She walks us over to a table near the window and asks Mr. Rockhurst if it’s suitable; he smiles and assures her it is. He pulls out my chair for me before taking his own seat across the table. There is always a wait at Zunzi’s. At least that’s been my experience, but not today. He seems to have clout here. A few of the staff members have already made a point to say hello and others have acknowledged him with a quick wave from across the room.

  He wastes no time looking over the menu. “Think I’ll have the Godfather, it’s a great sandwich. I’ve had it before and it comes with their signature Shit Yeah Sauce, which is to die for.”

  My mouth waters as I read the menu, but I think I’ll keep it simple; no fancy sauces that could accidentally find their way onto my blouse. I decide on a whole-wheat wrap with chicken and veggies as the waitress returns to take our order. Mr. Rockhurst also asks her to bring us a bottle of white wine.

  As soon as the wine arrives at the table, he asks, “May I pour you a glass?”

  “I don’t usually drink during the workday, but I guess seeing as how you’re the CEO...”

  “And you wouldn’t want to turn me down, right?” He raises and lowers his eyebrows in a playful fashion as he fills my glass.

  “No, I guess not.” I laugh. “Thank you.”

  After pouring himself a glass, he tells me all about how much he enjoys working with Carolyn, and what a wonderful job she does managing his day-to-day schedule and correspondence. The way he talks about her makes me realize I have some big shoes to fill if I am to replace her.

  I share a little of my background with the company and the pertinent information about my current responsibilities and skills—hoping he will conclude I’m a worthy candidate for the position.

  We also talk about hobbies. He expresses his love for fine art and how he enjoys visiting galleries when he’s travelling. I, of course, make sure to mention how much I love to cook.

  “Maybe I’ll have a chance to sample some of your cooking one day.”

  “Maybe. I’ve been known to bring a dish or two to the office from time to time.”

  “Your boyfriend must appreciate you being such a good cook.”

  I haven’t said I have a boyfriend—he’s fishing, right? Oh my God, is he wondering whether or not I’m single?

  “Ah, well, that’s kinda complicated. I’m not sure I have a boyfriend at the moment.” Desperately wanting to move off this topic, I ask, “So, did you grow up here in Savannah?”

  “No, I actually grew up in California. My folks still live out there.”

  He goes on to tell me a bit more about his background and the more he talks, the more intrigued I become. His clean shaven face reveals his flawless complexion and his intense green eyes seem to possess some magical gravitational pull that’s drawing me in physically. I can feel my body leaning towards him. And did I mention he looks killer in a suit? I can picture him on the cover of GQ as one of Savannah’s hottest married men. I manage to break my gaze for a moment to look down at his left hand for the telltale sign he’s unavailable, but there’s no ring. What? Wait. No. How did I miss that? Did he and his wife, the former Miss Georgia break up? Does this mean he’s single?

  He’s still talking, but I don’t think I’ve registered a word he’s said for the last two or three minutes. Realizing I’ve been daydreaming, I jolt myself back to the present moment, straighten my posture, and ask, “What is it you value most in an executive assistant?” praying he didn’t notice my trip to Lala Land.

  He doesn’t miss a beat and answers, “Loyalty. Carolyn is loyal to me, always has been, and that makes my life so much easier. I don’t need to worry about whether or not she has my best interests at heart, I know she does.” He continues, “Dedication is a close second. If my assistant is dedicated, things rarely fall through the cracks—and that’s critically important at this level.”

  “Well, working with Bob, I mean Mr. Brockhaus, has certainly provided me with the opportunity to hone those skills.” Seriously though, some days it’s as if I’m Bob’s third arm.

  Before we know it, two hours have passed. The waitress asks, “Will there be anything else for either of you today?”

  He looks at me and I shake my head before he says, “No, thank you, just the check please.”

  As he’s paying, he looks me in the eyes and says, “I’ve enjoyed our lunch today, Vivienne. It’s been wonderful getting to know you.”

  Seriously? Mr. Hotness, the pleasure has been all mine. “I enjoyed it too. And thank you for lunch, it was delicious.”

  “It was, wasn’t it? The food here never disappoints. Once I get back to the office, I’m going to tell Carolyn to email you the outline for her position and a link to an online application you can fill out.”

  “Great, I’ll watch for it. Do you know when Carolyn is going to step down or when you might be looking to fill her position?”

  “She told me she’d like to leave in a few weeks. I’m hoping to conduct formal interviews this coming week so she will have time to help train her replacement before she goes.”


  As we leave the table, he puts his hand on my lower back to guide me towards the door and I picture Danny and the way he would sometimes do the same. God, how I miss him.

  On the way back to the office, Mr. Rockhurst shares a few more details about what he expects from his executive assistant and does a good job of selling me the position. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I ask, “How many people do you expect to interview?”

  “I have asked Carolyn to post the position in our company’s newsletter which goes out later this week and also notify the head-hunting agency we work with. I expect there will be a few applicants from outside, but I’d like to hire internally if the right person is interested.” He smiles but keeps his eyes on the road.

  “Well, you have piqued my interest and I look forward to receiving Carolyn’s email. Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to suggest she and I meet sometime this week. I’d love to get her perspective on the job.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Why don’t you discuss it with her when we get back to the office?”

  “I will,” I reply as he pulls back into the parking garage.

  Mr. Rockhurst demonstrates again how gentlemanly he is as he once again opens my car door and stretches his arm, motioning for me to take the lead back to the office. Add rich, smart, kind, and considerate to his list of qualities. It’s no wonder Mr. Hotness is taken. Or is he? As soon as I get back to my desk, I’m going to have to check in with Darlene. If anyone knows the scoop, she will.

  Back in the office, Mr. Rockhurst thanks me again for meeting with him and leaves me to chat with Carolyn as he heads to his office, closing the door behind him.

  After the chat, I swing back by I-Sales and pull the picture of Dad and me from my purse, returning it to its rightful spot on my desk. It may have brought me luck afterall.

  I give Darlene a call.

  “Listen, Darlene, I was wondering if you knew the scoop on Mr. Hotness. I mean, Mr. Rockhurst’s marital status? I knew he was married, but today he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.”