I groaned. “Whippedcream?”
“Nope. And the mocha sauce is sugar-free.”
“Lu,” I whined. “I can’t drink thisgarbage.”
Luciano took a cup from the register and started the next order. “Well, I made a regular one and even added extra whipped cream for your big day, but you let someone else take it.” He shrugged. “Should’ve spokenup.”
He was punishing me, but it wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried to convince her it was mine. “She didn’t give me a chance. Why didn’tyousayanything?”
“Because she was right. There was no George around.” He stopped and looked at me. “If a colleague of yours waltzed in right now and demanded she give your presentation today, would you roll over and let her?” With a sigh to let me know I’d disappointed him, he leaned over the counter and took the skinny drink back. “I’ll remake this,” he said, disappearing behind an espressomachine.
“I just don’t want to start my day with confrontation,” I called after him. “Especiallytoday.”
“Nobody does,” he yelled back. “But if Georgina doesn’t respect herself, why should anyoneelse?”
Respect wasn’t an issue—atwork. I was a fixer, and a damn good one. When I walked into a failing media company, I joined the team and guided them toward solutions. Yet when my ex had been struggling to finish school with a full-time job,Georginahad been persuaded to shoulder the burden. How could I argue that saving to take my family pub-hopping in Dublin for the holidays was more important than Neal’s education? And could I really expect him to help with the crippling vet bills for a dog he hadn’t even wanted? He’d told me he was quitting his job in insurance sales, and I’d accepted it without a fight. I’d do Ireland another time, I’d reasoned, so I could cover rent, bills, and healthcare while Neal earned his Master’s. And he had. Right before he’d left me for aclassmate.
The door jingled behind me, and a man’s voice filled the space. “No, I’m at a coffee shop downstairs,” he said. “Can’t believe I’m starting my morning without Dunkin’, but this sludge will have to do. It’s for a goodcause.”
For anyone to suggest that Dunkin’ Donuts was better than this place, which carried specialty, single-origin organic coffee, was absurd. I turned. The man on his cell was at least a head taller than anyone else. With boyishly brown hair, a square, tailored suit, and an even sharper jawline, he looked as if he’d walked right out of a magazine. Considering all the media companies on this block, it was entirely possible that he had come from aphotoshoot.
“Hang on,” he said into his cell as he approached the counter. He lowered the phone to his side and read Luciano’s nametag. “Morning, Luciano. Can I get three coffees, two black and one iced with extra cream andsugar?”
“Name?”
He hesitated. “Can you write ‘number one boss’ on the icedcoffee?”
Luciano nodded. “Coming rightup.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” The man passed over his credit card before stuffing a five-dollar bill in the tipjar.
A generous tipanda sincere thank you? What planet had he come from? Not only was it out of character for a New Yorker, but it was even less so for such a beautiful specimen. Good god, he was something to look at with thick hair the color of my beloved morning mocha and broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Tall and imposing, he seemed vaguely familiar, like an actor who’d suddenly started popping up in every hit movie, or the treadmill hunk who kept all the girls—and some guys—motivated at the gym. Except I had no doubt I would’ve remembered seeing him at mygym.
If I’d belonged to agym.
Hedefinitely did, if the bulges under his sleeves were any indication. Luciano loved men’s pecs. My boss worshipped at the altar of ass and thigh. But I was all about the face. I loved jaws and noses as strong and distinguished as British royalty, features passed through generations. He had parentheses for laugh lines, and when he half-smiled, a semi-colon formed in one cheek—one perfunctory, deep dimple just slightly above a curved one at the edge of his mouth. I read him like a book that made you forget how—right to left, top to bottom, backward andforward.
He cleared histhroat.
To cover up the fact that I’d been staring, I glanced away and continued rehearsing. Was there any greater distraction than a gorgeous man who smelled as if he’d spent the morning foraging for wood—or at least in the men’s product aisle at Target? Fresh Blast, Classic Old Spice, Cool Rush—he was one of those, probably whichever smelled best. If I could remember my presentation in his presence, then I’d nail it lateron.
He was at the pick-up counter now, closer than he had been moments ago. Without warning, he squatted at my feet. My breath caught as he reached past my ankle and under the counter. His forearm grazed my calf and I shuddered, goosebumps spreading like wildfire up my bareleg.
He stood and held out one of my notecards. “I think you droppedthis.”
I just stared at it, willing my hand to take it, but my body wasn’t done being stunned by his nearness. I hadn’t had a man between my legs in months. And he was still here, inches away, standing closer than a stranger would. As if we’d come here together. As if we wereleavingtogether. . .
“By the way, the iced coffee isn’t for me,” he said gently, as if sensing mydiscomfort.
I took the index card, shoved it in my bag with the others, and met his eyes—the perfect summer green of the grass in Sheep Meadow where I’d sunbathed just last month. “I’msorry?”
“I didn’t just pull a Michael Scott and proclaim myselfnumber one boss. I’m actually buttering upmyboss.” He shrugged. “And I’m not above excessive flattery orcaffeine.”
I glanced around to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else, but we were alone. He wasflirtingwith me—a man this attractive who was also well-versed inThe Office. As soon as the thought hit me, my barely working brain short-circuited. With a chiseled jaw and smooth, styled brown hair, he was a marble statue away from Greek god status. My throat had gone bone-dry. Seconds ticked by, and I still hadn’tanswered.
“Hopefully this place does the trick,” he continued with a smile. “I’ve never had the coffeehere.”
Slowly, I nodded, grasping at words. “It’s notsludge.”
