“What’s his name anyway?”
“Umm . . . Mr. Bradshaw, obviously.”Okay, wow, I don’t know his first name . . .
She laughs out loud, throwing her head back. “Wow! You don’t even know, do you? I bet you never even told him yours either.”
“There isno wayI slept with him without giving him my name and asking for his. I’m just...having trouble recalling all the little details. But at the very least, I remembered his face.”
“Hmm, yeah, sure. You were a little hooker that night.” She’s smiling, clearly proud of me for stepping so far out of my comfort zone.
She’s right; it was completely unlike me. I feel a twinge of guilt at the realization that I could have really screwed up this job before it even started.
“Well, I’m paying for that mistake now, aren’t I?”
She just smiles, shaking her head of freshly colored violet hair.
“Watch, you and him will end up together though. That would be a crazy turn of events after all this. You have to swear to give me credit at the wedding for pushing you to approach him at the bar, okay?”
I roll my eyes at her ridiculous prediction.
“Where did you end up that night?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh! I went home with Nikolai, the bartender. He’s taking me out this Friday actually.”
“Wow, really? That’s amazing! Where to?”
“I have no idea. He’s going to pick me up.” She smirks, getting up to start cleaning her station.
“I hope he’s a good one. He’s so hot.”
“Yes, almost too hot to be true.”
Like someone else I know.
I didn’t wearthe pink dress to work today. If he recognized me in it, what would even happen?Oh, hey. Wow, that dress looks familiar. Have we met?
That would be infinitely worse than him just not knowing who I was the whole time.
I have on a sensible ensemble that I purchased at a boutique that I really couldn’t afford. It’s a tea-length violet wrap dress that Mel swore complemented my skin tone.
“Miss Dawson.”
My breath hitches at the sound of that deep voice addressing me. I look up into his green eyes as he stands in the doorway of his office. Today, he’s wearing a black shirt rolled up to reveal his veiny forearms with a royal-blue tie—the exact same color as the lingerie I had on that night.
Is that on purpose?
Stop reading into things.
“Yes?” I didn’t mean for the word to sound so breathy, but my voice did it anyway.
“Can you get me an Americano?” He plants his hands in his pockets, the familiar pose from his penthouse sending tingles straight down my spine.
I exhale, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes travel over me as I stand up. I feel my nipples harden under his inspection. I will keel over anddieif he can see them.
He flexes his jaw before finally turning back into his office and shutting the door.
I expel the breath I was holding subconsciously as I grab my purse and rush out. Traffic is horrific, but I sigh with relief when I see Starbucks.
