Of course, he probably won’t even realize it’s about him. And it’s not really about him, anyway. So it’s okay. I can show him the pitch. Or ... Now, just hear me out here ... or I can lie and weasel my way out of it.
I lie like the rug I am.
“I don’t think I can show it to anyone yet. Because ...” Shit. I should have planned out a lie instead of just jumping in! “I think there might be an NDA or something.”
“Wouldn’t you know if you’d signed an NDA?”
“Yep. It seems like I would, doesn’t it?”
Gah! Could my lies be any more transparent and stupid?
No. They could not.
I’m just not ready for Keegan to see the ad I created based on the fantasy of him kissing me.
I mean, yeah, someday he might see it when it goes live. Someday in the future, when that fantasy feels less fresh. I can live with that. But for now, I want to keep the fantasy as far away from the person who inspired it as possible.
Thankfully, he lets me get away with the horrible, awkward lie.
He and I talk for a few more minutes, and I mention the follow-up meeting on Monday. I play down how much work it will be, because I don’t want him to worry about it overlapping with the gala.
Talking to Keegan is comfortable and soothing. I don’t mention the meh feeling I have about the presentation or my disappointment at Reid’s absence. After all, it was silly for me to expect the CEO to be at the pitch meeting in the first place. Why did I even assume he would be there? Just because of an offhand comment he made in the elevator? He was probably just making conversation.
By the time I’m done talking to Keegan, I feel better about everything. Which is why it’s so important that I have him in my life. He grounds me in a way no one else does. He gets me. Our friendship is one of the most important relationships in my life. I can’t forget that.
I nearly lost his friendship once by letting Ollie drive a wedge between us. I can’t let something like that happen again. Even if that wedge is my own imagination.
chapterfourteen
By the timeI hang up with Keegan, I’ve drunk most of my iced tea, but I haven’t even touched my sandwich. I’m considering just bringing it home with me when a noise from behind startles me.
I stand and whirl around, hand pressed to my chest, only to see someone else walking out onto the rooftop via the same sticky door I used. For an instant, the person is framed by the open doorway and backlit by the light in the stairwell. All I see is that it’s a man.
And isn’t it just my luck that today—right after the biggest triumph of my career—is the day I’ll run into a serial killer.
Statistically speaking, I’m pretty sure the odds of that are low, but it would be just my luck.
(This, by the way, is the downside of having such an active imagination.)
But then, a moment later, the man pauses, having obviously just spotted me, and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t think anyone else would be up here.”
My breath catches.
Because it’s not a serial killer. It’s Reid Forester.
My unfortunately hot boss who I may or may not have a crush on even though I definitely should not be crushing on him. (At this point, I’m feeling a bit muddled about which of the unattainable men I’m striving to not be attracted to at any given moment.)
And of course now my heart is pounding for another reason entirely. It’s one thing to have the occasional sexy fantasy about your hot boss when you rarely see him and almost never talk to him at all. It’s another thing entirely to run into him all alone on a rooftop at dusk.
“I’m glad you’re not a serial killer.”
I want it to sound like a joke, but his steps slow as if he’s afraid he genuinely scared me.
Reid, who manages to look amazing in the harsh office lighting, somehow looks even better in the dim ambient light of nearby office buildings. Despite that, my stomach doesn’t do that flip-floppy thing it usually does.
Before I can decide what to do, though, Reid walks over to me and holds out his hand.
“Hi. I’m Reid.”
