I would prefer it if you got here sooner rather than later.
Let me know when you’re at the gate. Simon is the security guard on duty today and he is excessively talkative. Do not get sucked into a conversation with him.
ME
Too late! I just parked outside your building. See you in a few minutes.
I parked next to the only other car in the parking strip in front of the building that houses the Always Right Productions offices. It’s a black BMW, and there’s a booster seat in the back that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy feelings are a lot more appropriate for a work environment than the hot and bothered feelings I had in the shower this morning.
I still can’t believe Paxton is Elijah Abrams’s son. I still haven’t had time to truly process this. I don’t even know how I’ll process it when I do have time. It felt so good to hold his hand and he was so attentive, it was surprising.
Not that it means anything. We’re all wrong for each other. Total opposites. He was born into an empire of steel barons, and I was born to a couple of hopelessly romantic community-theatre lovers who worked retail and were always scraping by.
I enrolled in film school because it was my mom’s unfulfilled dream, and he enrolled to piss off his dad. I approached every assignment as a fun opportunity to learn new skills and get to know people. He approached literally everything as acompetition and an opportunity to prove to everyone that he wasn’t just some entitled trust-fund kid. It became clear pretty early on that we were the top students in our year. We did push each other to be better. I know he recognized that too.
At the end of the first term in our second year there was an actual competition for best short film. We both produced, wrote, and directed ours. The films were screened for a panel of professional judges. And I won.
And I was really happy I won because my parents were so proud when I called them to tell them.
But I also didn’t care much. Elijah cared. I saw his face when they announced my name.
I thought he would be furious with me, but at the Christmas party later that night…well. That was the first time he surprised me. But I can’t think about that night right now.
I can’t believe I pretended to be Elijah’s date at his ex-wife’s wedding party.
I can’t believe I kissed him under the mistletoe again, eight years later.
I can’t believe both Paxton and Elijah offered me jobs within twenty-four hours.
I wonder if Elijah would have even remembered begging me to temp for him for a few days if I hadn’t made him repeat the offer while I was recording it as proof.
I wonder if he even remembers kissing me last night before drinking three more glasses of scotch.
I wonder if he’ll be able to tell that I can still feel his lips on mine even though the kiss we shared last night was very PG compared to the kisses from eight years ago.
Maybe I won’t spend the entire day or rest of the month or rest of my life wondering if he felt anything too or if he was only doing it because he wanted his son to think he was having a nice time with the song-and-balloon lady he hired to be his playdate.
Maybe he’s really hungover and he’ll look a lot less handsome today! That would be great. I step off the elevator and immediately know for a fact that he does not look less handsome today. Because Elijah is standing at the end of the hall, outside the door to his office, in a beautiful blue suit. I can tell from twenty feet away that it makes his eyes even bluer. But he didn’t shave today and his hair is wavier than it was last night so he looks infinitely sexier. I want to scream “All I Want for Christmas Is You” at him because I just know he would hate it.
He’s tossing a ball back and forth between his hands, but when he gives me the once-over and his gaze lands on my boots, he clenches his jaw and squeezes that ball so tight, I watch the veins pop out on his hands.
Gosh darn it.
How does he manage to make anxiety and aggression look so hot?
“Why are you carrying that enormous duffel bag and a garment bag?” That’s his greeting. NotHey, let me help you carry that!OrI haven’t been able to stop thinking about our mistletoe kiss last night and seeing you in that sweater dress and those boots that your fussy gay housemate forced you to wear is giving me a very unprofessional semi-boner.
I decide to respond with my own question. “Do you have a lunch date or something?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You’re wearing a suit.”
“Of course I’m wearing a suit. I’m at the office.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Exactly. This is my casual suit. I’m not wearing a tie. Thanks for not wearing your saucy elf costume. You look nice.” He takes a few strides toward me. “Lemme carry that for you—it looks heavy.” He takes the duffel bag from me.
