Sweet Surrendering (16 page)

By lunch, I almost felt like my old self, pre-Lucas. We were getting ready to launch a new product in the coming months, and pretty soon I was going to be spending nights and weekends here while trying to make sure everything was on track and deal with the inevitable insanity that accompanied a new release.

I had to be extra bitchy, and I’d already yelled at three people who hadn’t done what I’d asked them to for the third time. Everyone else was working hard, except for Mr. Craig, who had bailed for golf again. It was so cool that if I did the same thing, I would have been out on my ass a long time ago. Or maybe not. Dad probably would have given me a stern talking to and I never would have done it again.

I didn’t actually mind the crazy and even looked forward to it. Everyone got hopped up on caffeine and went without sleep and lived on takeout, but it helped bring the team together to go through something like that. There’s no other bonding experience like it.

There was only one problem. I didn’t want to do any further bonding with Lucas. Mr. Blaine. We had bonded quite enough already.

But then there was a knock at my door and there he was, invading my space and talking with that voice and looking at me with those eyes.

“It’s almost time for your meeting,” he said, pointing at the clock above my door.

“I know.”

“Well. I just thought I would let you know so you didn’t miss it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blaine.” I didn’t point out that he could have called me to let me know. I expected him to leave, but he lingered, with only his head inside my office and the rest of him on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry I was a dick.” He shut the door before I could say anything.

Well, that was progress.

We made more progress over the next week, and I got to the point where I only got a lady boner every other time I saw him, and his lusty looks to non-lusty looks ratio went from 99:1 to 70:30. If we could get it down to 50:50, that would be great.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for the weekend. All the girls and I were going out to the bar on Saturday and I’d messaged Fin asking him to come, but then I started second-guessing myself. I mean, it was going to be him and four women. Most guys would think that was some kind of fantasy, but when you actually put them in that situation, it would be completely overwhelming. I was sure Fin could handle it, but I didn’t want him to get weirded out and then never hang out with us again.

“Any fun plans for the weekend?” Mr. Blaine said as we both walked toward the elevator. It was an innocuous question, but I could tell he was really interested.

“Oh, nothing earth-shattering.” Or panty-shattering. Or ripping.

“Hm.” The doors closed and the air suddenly got thin and hard to breathe, like we were on Everest or something.

Oxygen. I needed oxygen.

We didn’t face each other and instead I stared at the numbers as they got smaller and begged them to go faster, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

“And you?”

“What?” He acted as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“Do you have any exciting plans this weekend?” I fiddled with my purse. It was always great having a purse that you could use to fool with when you didn’t want to look at someone.

“Not really. You, uh, heading to the bar?” Oh, crap.

“Um, we might. But probably not. Why, you headed for open mic night again?” I still didn’t look at him, but I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye as the elevator door finally opened.

“Haven’t decided. Maybe. Maybe not.” He motioned for me to leave first, so I did.

“Well, have a good weekend, Mr. Blaine.” We faced each other in the lobby.

“You as well, Miss Clarke.” He almost looked sad as he turned and headed for the revolving door.

Boys. Are. Weird.

Sloane couldn’t be dissuaded from her plan to hook Marisol up with Fin, so on Saturday morning she dragged me to the salon to get our nails done, because apparently going to the bar now required us to have perfect hands and feet. Marisol met us there too and I almost felt bad for her in her cute obliviousness.

“I miss you guys. I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever, but I’ve been so busy.” Marisol was our only friend who was still in school and getting her PhD in Education. She already had two master’s degrees; one in Education and the other in Business. Yes, she was one of
those
people.

“I know,” I said as we sat in massage chairs and soaked our feet. “God, I needed this. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea,” Sloane said on my other side.

“No comments from the peanut gallery, please.”

“Wait, what did I miss?” I hadn’t wanted to share the rest of the story with Marisol, seeing as how she was swamped with all her work. It seemed almost crass to call her up and be like,
Hey, what’s up? Well, I’m banging my assistant . . .

“Ugh, okay. I guess I’d better tell you before someone else takes it and embellishes it and makes it into more of a big deal than it is.”

Marisol put down her magazine and gave me her full attention. Lovely.

I started from The Morning After, because she didn’t know about that yet, and worked my way forward. Actually, it was weird that she hadn’t asked me about this before now. Her lack of shock was also starting to make me suspicious.

“And then I told him that we couldn’t do it anymore, which you already know,” I said. Marisol feigned shock. An actress she was not.

“What? No, this is the first time I’m hearing about this. Go on.” I turned and glared at Sloane.

“What? You never made me sign an NDA. That means everything is fair game. Besides, you would have told her eventually. I just told her sooner. And you know I’m better at telling stories anyway.” She was right on the last count, and I would have told Marisol. Ugh, I hated it when Sloane was right. She always gloated way too much.

“FINE.” My story time had been hijacked, so I just gave up and let Sloane tell the rest of the story.

Neither of us mentioned Fin, and I felt bad. We were totally ambushing her.

“So how’s Chlo?” Marisol and Chloe lived only a block apart and saw each other almost every day. She had to work this morning, which was why she hadn’t come with us.

“She’s still . . . not good. We need to find her a rebound. If she doesn’t get out of this funk soon, I swear I’m going to make out with her.” That made the women doing our nails give each other shocked faces and the three of us smothered our laughter.

“There is this girl in one of my classes that definitely stares at my boobs in a lusty way. You know how you can tell if a girl’s just jealous of your boobs, or if she wants to motorboat them.” I had to shove my fist in my mouth and I swear the woman working on my feet looked like she was going to have a heart attack.

“I’ll have to do some more covert ops to find out for sure, but she’s definitely Chlo’s type.”

“So what week have we decided on for our trip?” I said, trying to change the subject. As much fun as it was to watch the manicurists to squirm, I didn’t want them to charge us extra.

“Um, I can’t do the 24
^th
to the 31
^st
anymore,” Marisol said. “I’m sorry! I got roped into doing this charity thing.” Marisol was always getting herself into that stuff. She had a hard time saying no to anyone.

“No, that’s fine. We can reschedule,” Sloane said, looking at her phone. We’d already rescheduled four times. When you try to take a trip with four women who have high-pressure jobs or school, things get tricky. We’d been planning on going together to Jamaica for at least a year. The ultimate Girls' Week. But it was proving more difficult to plan than figuring out Donald Trump’s hair.

After our hands and feet were polished and pretty and the women in the shop breathed a sigh of relief, we went to lunch.

“So do you think he’ll be there again tonight?” Chloe said.

“Seriously? Are we back to that?” I thought we were done. I’d relaxed and was enjoying my Lucas Blaine-free time.

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Sloane said, bumping my knee with hers. “He wants you. Bad.”

Yeah, well, it was mutual.

“Are you blushing? Wow, do you really like this guy?” Chloe said, which made me blush even more.

“No, no. I mean, he’s fine to work with and he’s not bad in bed, but that’s it. He may be funny and able to sing and have fabulous hair and a chin dimple . . .” I trailed off.

“Fuck,” I said, before remembering that we were in a café and there were children around. “I like him.”

Sloane and Chloe gave each other the same face.

“I love how you’re the last to realize it,” Sloane said. “For someone who’s so smart, you can be pretty dense sometimes.”

“I mean, I can like him without
liking him
, liking him.” God, I sounded like I was in junior high again. Maybe I should pass Lucas (Mr. Blaine) one of those notes that was like,
Do you like me? Circle one: Yes, No, Maybe.

Sloane and Chloe both laughed at my expense and I slumped in my chair.

“Shut up, both of you.”

As the day wore on, I started to get more and more nervous. It was very similar to the feeling you have before a first date. Not knowing what to expect, worried you’re going to make a fool of yourself. It had been a long, long time since I’d had first date jitters. I hadn’t even had them with Royce.

Sloane was dressing me, and I was being shoved into another one of her lingerie creations. This time it was a beautiful black bustier with sapphire flowers embroidered all over it, and a matching set of panties with little blue bows on the sides. It was nothing I’d ever dare to wear, but Sloane was insistent, so I put it on under a tank top and layered a sheer t-shirt over it so hopefully no one would guess what I was wearing underneath. I paired that with my favorite pair of dark jeans, and high-heeled black boots.

“Fabulous! I really like this real-world testing. Between you and Chlo, I’m gaining valuable insight.”

“That means we get a cut, right? Ten percent?” I said as I turned back and forth to make sure nothing was sticking out.

“Nice try, bitch.”

It was worth a shot.

An hour later we were in the bar, and I was fiddling with my first gin and tonic. Fin had texted that he was running late, but I told him it was no big deal. We’d gotten an extra chair and piled our purses on it, so we could just clear it off when he got here. So far, there had been no Lucas Blaine sightings, but that didn’t mean much.

“Terrible. That girl really should never ever sing again,” Sloane said as a girl exited the stage to a smattering of polite applause. The really mean critics hadn’t gotten here yet. It was good she went on early, or else she would have gotten ripped apart and probably left the stage crying. That happened at least once every time.

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Marisol said. “Okay, maybe it was. Maybe I want to bleach my eardrums so I can clean myself of that experience.”

“Good plan,” I said, finally sipping my drink. Most of the ice was melted, so it was pretty watered down.