The Casual Rule (2 page)

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Look at him, everything about him screams sex. Go. Talk to him.” She nudges my shoulder with her hand.

“You spotted him, you talk to him.” I nudge her back.

“No tats. You know I like dirty bad boys. This guy is more your type: tall, built, brown hair, dark eyes… Go.” She nudges me a little harder.

“I already told you, I’m not here to meet guys.”

“Julia, you’re not marrying the guy. You’re just saying hello. I
dare
you to talk to him.” She raises her eyebrows with a smug smirk.

That bitch. She knows my weakness. I can’t say no to a dare. I narrow my eyes and scowl at her. I’ll make up some excuse, ask him for something stupid, and get the hell out of there.

“Fine. If I talk to him, you have to cook dinner and clean up tonight. Deal?”

“Sure. Whatever,” she says dismissively.

I take a deep breath and stand, mustering up my courage to make a fool of myself. I throw my sundress over my head, covering my bikini.

Allie frowns. “Why are you covering up? You have a hot body. Flaunt it.”

“I’m not going to walk around Central Park in a bikini like some desperate girl looking for attention.”

She shrugs. “I would.”

“I’m very much aware that
you
would. But that wasn’t part of the dare.”

“Oh, fine. Be like that,” she huffs.

I make my way through the sea of sunbathers over to Mr. Khaki Shorts. The closer I get, the more nervous I feel. This is the same way I used to get before going into a class to take a test I didn’t study for. Why is that?

He’s lying on his stomach now, leaning on his right elbow, his chin resting in his palm while reading the Daily News. His back and shoulders are all muscle. Damn, look at his biceps … a guy with well-defined guns does something to me. And his ass is perfection. I could probably bounce a quarter off of it. I’d like to squeeze it, bite it, do anything to it.

Calm down Julia.

I take a deep breath and go for it. “Ah, excuse me. Do you have the time?”

He grabs his cell phone and takes a quick peek at it, then looks up at me. My knees practically buckle. From far away he was gorgeous, up close he’s fucking immortal. He has the darkest brown eyes, the kind you want to get lost in. Forever. The kind of eyes you want peeking up at you from in between your legs.

Whoa, where the hell did that come from?
Allie is right. Mr. Khaki Shorts screams sex.

He has a strong jawline…I’d love to run my teeth across it. His face has just enough stubble to make him sexy, but not so much that he looks like a slob. Damn.

“It’s two-twenty,” he says with a smile. Of course, his teeth are perfect, too.

“Oh, thank you.” I look down to the ground, blushing.
Blushing? Really Julia?

“Something wrong with your watch?”

“Hmm?”

“The watch on your wrist,” he answers as he points at my hand. I’m guessing I’m not the only girl looking to get Mr. Khaki Short’s time. Well, I feel like an ass.

“Dead battery,” I answer flatly.

“Do you make it a habit of wearing watches that don’t work?” He arches his brow with the hint of a sly smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows I’m lying and he’s teasing me. Smug bastard.

“No, just today,” I snap. This guy is mocking me and enjoying it.

“I’m happy to be your timekeeper…Miss?”

“I’ll be going now. Thanks for the time.”

“Anytime,
Miss I’ll be Going Now
.” He smiles, clearly amused at my embarrassment.

I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled; I turn around with my head held high and storm back over to Allie.

I reach my towel, quickly take off my sundress and plop back down, sulking.

“Well?” Allie asks, wide-eyed, ready for the lowdown.

“He’s an ass, just like every other guy I’ve come in contact with. I’m taking a nap.” Allie knows me well enough to know that means the conversation is over. I close my eyes and pretend I’m sleeping, all the while envisioning Mr. Khaki Shorts and his smug hands all over my body.

There’s something seriously wrong with me.

~o0o~

After our afternoon of man gawking at the park, Allie and I head over to the subway and back to our apartment.

I take a quick shower and tell Allie I’m going to the Cheese Shop around the corner on Bleeker Street before they close. Although Allie and I had a deal that she would cook dinner, I know her culinary skills are pretty dismal. A wine and cheese dinner to forget Mr. Khaki Shorts, and all men in general, sounds perfect. Besides, it’s too hot to cook.

I walk around the block and into the store. The minute I step in, the heavenly scent of cheeses, cured meats and olives surround me. Who needs men? This store may be my one true love. Sorry, BOB.

The shop is packed. I guess no one wants to cook tonight. Most of the cheesemongers already know me. I inform them that tonight’s wine is a Pinot Grigio. They pair it up with Brie and a Chevre. I always trust their selections. I walk over to the olive bar in the center of the store and grab a container. As I’m helping myself to the olives, something catches the corner of my eye. I look up and Mr. Khaki Shorts is standing at the cheese counter.

Crap. What the hell is he doing in
my
neighborhood?

I take a few steps back and duck behind a display of dried pastas. Why does this store have to be so tiny? I’m sure I look like an imbecile, spying on him sampling cheeses. I wonder if he lives around here.

He looks really hot in a tight white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He fills out those jeans nicely, very nicely. The bastard still screams sex, even with more clothes on.

I sigh pensively. He really is a beautiful man. Too beautiful. Then again, I’m always attracted to beautiful gay men, so he must be gay. Yes, that’s it. He must be gay. Well, I feel better. It was never meant to be.

Just as I convince myself that he’d never want me because I’m born with the wrong anatomy for his taste, a pretty girl with shoulder length pin straight, super shiny brown hair comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. He quickly turns around, they hug, and he kisses her cheek.

God, it’s worse than I thought. He’s not gay; he’s taken. Well, I don’t break girl code. Mr. Khaki Shorts is off-limits.

C'est la Vie.

I hastily make my way over to the cashier, my eyes cast down toward the floor, hoping he doesn’t recognize me. I glance over to my left where he’s still standing. The girl he’s with is talking, but I can tell he’s not listening to a word she’s saying.

His index finger is stroking his bottom lip with his gaze fixed on me. Our eyes lock. Whoa…I feel a strong pull, an intense invisible force drawing me to him like a magnet to steel. For a moment, I’m jealous of his index finger. I’d like to be the one stroking those lips. My face flushes. I need to get the hell out of here.

He says something to his lady friend and walks toward me, politely making his way through the crowded shop. I practically throw my money at the cashier and hightail it out of the store before he reaches me. I walk as fast as I can around the corner. Once I’m out of view, I lean on a brick building, trying to catch my breath.

Why does this random guy affect me so much?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’s taken and I’ll probably never see him again.

Looks like it’s just me and BOB again. I hope I have some fresh batteries. I’m going to need them tonight.

Chapter 2

There ought to be a law banning alarm clocks, especially on Mondays. Mondays suck. The day should be banished altogether. It’s a cruel reminder that the real world is alive, well and ready to devour us. I’d much prefer a string of endless weekends.

After a quick shower, I blow dry my hair at record speed. I should patent my routine; I have it down so well, others could benefit from my knowledge. I grab my black pencil skirt and white cotton button down top. Although it’s not a requirement, I like to look professional at work.

At least I have a great job, a really great job. I’ve been working at Wisteria Hill Publishing ever since Rutgers University placed that hard-earned diploma in my hand, thanks in part to a recommendation from my Communications advisor to my boss Vivian Newman, a fellow Rutgers alumnus. I was shocked when I received a phone call offering me a job. I’m so thankful for it.

When I first met Vivian two years ago, I was so intimidated. She’s a true broad. Her short spiky fiery red hair is the first thing you notice when you meet her and it matches her personality. She’s always dressed for success, even though Wisteria Hill has a casual work environment. She looks the part of a true professional. She’s achieved it in spades, especially for someone in their late thirties.

When you meet her, you know immediately that she doesn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone. But for as brash and upfront as Vivian is on the outside, she has a warm and generous side on the inside. She’s taken me under her wing, mentoring me in all aspects of the book business. I’m eternally grateful for the time she’s investing in showing me the ropes from fact checker to her editorial assistant and then some.

She hates women who hate women, especially in business. She maintains that women have it hard enough in the business world without the cattiness of undermining each other. She’s absolutely fabulous. I’m so fortunate.

“Julia, my nanny just called. Justin fell and hurt his arm. They’re on their way to get X-rays. Jim is out of town, so I’m the sole parent in charge. I have to leave and meet them at the hospital.”

“Of course, Vivian. I hope Justin is okay.” I watch her quickly loading her Coach tote bag with paperwork.

“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m supposed to meet that author, Ben Martin at Emilio’s Cafe for an early dinner at five-thirty.” She looks at her watch. “Shit. It’s already after five. It’s too late to cancel. We were supposed to go over some editing issues. You know his work. Can you go in my place?”

“Vivian, I’ve never met with an author alone before. I’ve never even met this guy.”

“You’ll be fine. You practically edited the book by yourself anyway. You and I have discussed this book before. Just relay what we’ve already discussed,” she instructs as she continues to hastily shove half her desk into her tote.

“I don’t want to screw this up for you Vivian.”
I don’t want to screw this up for me, either.

“You won’t. You’re very capable. It’s time for you to get out of your comfort zone and work directly with the authors, cultivate good relationships with them. It’s an essential part of your job. Look, I have to go. The dinner meeting shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Are you going to help me out here, Julia?”

“Sure Vivian. No problem.”
It’s not like you’re giving me much of a choice.

“Good. Here…use my Amex. Email me later.” She throws her credit card on my desk and flies out the door like a bat out of hell, leaving me alone with my shattered nerves.

~o0o~

I pass Emilio’s Cafe every day coming to and from work. I’ve always wanted to eat here. The fact that it’s on the company’s dime almost takes away the unsettling feeling I have about this meeting.
Almost.

From the second you walk in, you feel like you’re in the middle of Barcelona. Mission red terracotta floor tile, a dark rustic wood bar with a copper top, dimly lit hanging lanterns illuminating the bar with a warm amber glow. There are several tables with white tablecloths and flickering votive candles. It’s very romantic, too romantic for a business dinner if you ask me.  Well, I didn’t pick the place.

I walk over to the hostess who has her nose buried in the seating chart. “Hello, I’m here to meet a Mr. Ben Martin. Do you know if he’s here yet?”

“Yes, he arrived a few minutes ago. He’s already seated. Please follow me.”

I follow her like a lost puppy. With every step closer to the table, I’m more nervous. Of course, I’ve dealt with authors before, but never alone. I was always the observer, Vivian’s student. We reach a table where the person seated has his back to me. He’s looking over the menu. I walk around the table as I reach my seat and he stands. At least he’s a gentleman. I look up and…

Just kill me now.

The manuscript copy I’m holding almost falls to the floor. Standing in front of me, in the flesh, is none other than Mr. Khaki Shorts himself. I nearly faint.

Cool it Julia. This is work. You can do this.

He’s stunning. There’s no other word…simply stunning. He’s wearing a dark navy blazer over a light blue button down shirt, opened enough at the collar to see some of his chest hair peeking out and a tight in all the right places pair of jeans. He’s perfected the sexy stubble look; I’d like to freeze this moment so I could run my hand through his beard, just to feel it. The man is flawless.

Okay. I need to get a grip. Yeah, the guy is beautiful, but he’s also taken. And an ass. Besides, I don’t want a man in my life. This much I know for sure. I’ve been burned enough to know the only way to preserve my soul is to stay away from men and love, anything that might break me. I won’t open myself up to that kind of hurt ever again.

I wonder if he recognizes me as the Central Park Gawker or the Cheese Shop Ducker for that matter. Well, I’m in a different setting. I’m dressed professionally and my hair is down. Maybe I’ll luck out and he won’t put it together. I need to keep my eye on the prize…getting through this meeting without him recognizing me and more importantly, with some degree of respect for the work I do. I’m good at my job. That much I do know. I still have a lot to learn, but since Mikehole demolished my heart, I’ve poured myself into work. At least I got something out of the end of that disastrous relationship…a better work ethic.

Here goes nothing…

“Hello Mr. Martin. I’m Julia Conti, Vivian Newman’s assistant. I’m very sorry, but Vivian had an emergency and is unable to make it. She sent me in her place.”

“I hope everything is all right with Vivian.” He holds his hand out to shake mine with a polite smile.