“Let’s not get into a brawl, boys,” Jordan admonishes. “As hot as that would be to watch, I did make more.”
He waves a second container in Jackson's face and his eyes light up like a kid at Christmas. Instead of snatching it like I did, Jackson actually stops to shake Jordan's hand.
“Nice to see my buddy has finally met his match. I was rooting for you from day one. We must have dinner soon, okay?”
Jordan nods, his face blushing slightly as Jackson takes the container and leaves the office as fast as he entered. The guy is like a whirlwind.
“Well, looks like everybody knows. No going back now, I suppose,” says Jordan, with a dramatic sigh.
He steps forward to lean against the side of my desk and I have to fight the urge to grab my cinnamon rolls again. I guess the fact I stopped myself shows growth. I am willing to share my goodies with Jordan. I really must love him.
Reaching over, I take his hand and tug him down to sit on my lap. “There was no going back for me evenbeforeeverybody found out, and definitely not now I’ve tasted these rolls.”
I smirk at his face as it twists in disgust. I know there’s a smile under there that he’s trying to hide.
“You are so gross, old man.” He even adds a fake shudder for emphasis. “I am giving you plenty of notice, so no backing out or working late. We are going to meet with the guys from Savage Ink on Friday after work for my birthday.”
My jaw drops as he shimmies off my lap and sashays out of the door to his desk.
Fuck, I only have four days to find the perfect gift. Is it cheating if I ask Maddie for help?
Surprisingly, Maddie proves to be absolutely no help at all. She has the audacity to tell me that if she helps, then the gift won't be personal. That's bullshit if you ask me.
So, here I am now, looking like a lost soul walking around Neiman Marcustrying to figure out if I should buy make-up or shoes. The lady at the first make-up counter is kind of terrifying. It looks like she put her makeup on in the dark. Nope. I make a swift turn to the next counter, but they all start to blend into one. There’s a heavily made-up advisor and no less than one thousand products to choose from at each and every location. I am so far out of my element.
Putting my head down, I speed through the cosmetic department and take the escalator up to shoes on the second floor. I figure since Jordan was wearing Louboutinsthe night we met, it’s a safe bet he’ll be happy with another pair. I will also get the pleasure of seeing him in them. Hopefully while wearing the pretty underwear I ordered for him this morning.
This time when the sales assistant approaches me, I don’t need to cower in fear or try to breathe through my nose so as not to choke on cologne.
“You look a little lost. Can I be of assistance?” the smiling man asks. He actually reminds me of Jordan with his dark hair and subtle hints of make-up. He’s even wearing incredibly high heeled boots. “Are we shopping for a special someone, or treating ourselves?”
I don’t miss the way he avoids gender specifics with that, and I appreciate it.
“It’s my boyfriend's birthday this week and he’s a huge fan of Louboutins. I won’t pretend like I have a clue when it comes to shopping, so maybe you can help?”
“Of course, sir. Does your boyfriend have a preference? Formal men’s shoe? Sneakers, perhaps? Or is he more of a heel man, like myself?” He draws my eyes to the five-inch spikes on his feet. I wonder how the hell he walks around all day in those.
“Heels and boots,” I say, recalling the black boots Jordan often wears to the office that Maddie is forever pining after. Maybe I should have Jordan get her a pair for her Christmas bonus this year. Lord knows she deserves it.
“Right this way, sir, I think we have just what you are looking for.”
Less than an hour later and significantly lighter in the wallet, I carry a large white Neiman Marcus bag out to my car. Resting the precious cargo in the trunk, where Jordan would never look, I head over to his place. I’m hoping we will actually have some time alone to talk about what happened and how he’s feeling about it all. He seemed perfectly fine at the office earlier, but I need reassurance that he isn’t panicking and planning to pack up and move to LA to live with his parents.
As that thought crosses my mind, my phone starts ringing. Checking the display on the dash, I smile and connect the call to the car's bluetooth.
“Hey, Dad. How's it going?”
“Busy, Son. Always busy. Never mind that. How are you? How is Denver treating you?”
I haven’t seen my father much in the last few years. Like he said, he's always busy, but we do try to call at least once a week. It never fails to hit me in the chest how much older he sounds each and every time we talk. He’s clearly tired right now, but I don’t even need to ask whether he's still at his office.
“It’s great, Dad. The firm is the top in the city, and my partners are amazing. This move was the right thing for me. I’m looking forward to you visiting sometime. What about for your birthday? Take a vacation, come see your son.” I’m asking him the question, but I know that he won’t. My dad turns seventy next year and is refusing to retire. Soon enough, the lab are going to force it on him, and I'm worried what he will do with himself when that happens.
“That’s good, I’m glad you are happy. Your mother would be proud of you.”
The grief in his tone has me taking in a shaky breath. I doubt he will ever get over my mother’s death. Time does not heal all wounds, it would seem. Clearing the lump from my throat, I blink away the tears that are threatening to fall. It’s not the mention of my mother that has my throat burning, but the pain that I can hear in my dad’s voice. It’s crushing that there’s nothing I can do to help him.
“Thanks, Dad. Oh, and I met someone. I’d love for you to meet him too when you come to visit. Or maybe we will come spend a few days with you when the better weather rolls around?” Maybe I’m sounding a little too hopeful here. It’s not that he would ever turn me away, but I know he isn't keen on having people in his space, even his son.
