1
Six Months Earlier
HELLO, HOT GUY.
Yes, you, Mister Icy-Blue-Eyes.
Mister Dark-Tousled-Male-Model-Hair.
Mister Sexy-AF-Tailored-Black-Suit-and-Silver-Silk-Tie.
Mister Five-o’clock-Shadow-at-Eight-AM.
I see you right there behind me in this snooty Manhattan coffee shop.
I saw you look up from your phone and try to play off your double-take at me.
Even with my back to him now, I know he’s looking again. I’m pretending to scroll through my email, but the snooty coffee shop’s fancy-ass lighting provides just the right amount of glare on the screen to act as a rearview mirror. And he’stotallylooking.
Not that I’m so full of myself that I think I’m some kind of traffic-stopping woman, but Idolook good today. I have to. My first day of work at Platinum Aviation’s corporate headquarters as a sales associate necessitated spending money I don’t really have on a scrumptious red designer skirt suit and power heels. First impressions matter, after all.
And my first impression of Mister Sexy Suit behind me is that he’s an intensely focused type. That was clear from the pulse of a muscle in his sharp, stubbly jaw when he peered at something on his phone as he pushed his way through the glass doors of the coffee shop two minutes ago.
Butyours trulymanaged to break that focus of his for one hot second.
And now he’s still looking.
AndI’mnot looking for love nor anything that could distract me from my mission ofcrushing itat my new job,but…
If Mister Sexy Suit musters the gumption to ask for my number, I’ll give it to him.
I give my long, blonde hair—Victoria’s Secret model waves executed toperfectionthis morning—a careless toss over my shoulder and shift my weight to one leg to exaggerate the curve of my waist-to-hip ratio. Eyes still glued to his reflection on my phone’s screen, I can see that his gaze is discreetly roaming up and down my form.
Hey, Reader. You know that sense you get when someone’s staring at you? The feeling of having the weight of intrigued eyes on you? The small space of this line at the coffee counter isheavywith that.
The early-twenties ginger kid at the front of the line, who’s clearly an intern, finally turns from the counter to step aside after placing an absurdly large order. He’s frazzled and takes a wide, phone-distracted step around the woman in jogging gear in line just behind him. He doesn’t see me right behind her as she sidles up to the counter, andthenhe bumps into me. And it’s the perfect excuse for me to oh-so-casually take a couple of stumbling steps backward, right into Mister Sexy Suit.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say on a quick breath, but using the opportunity to bat my long, mascara-perfected eyelashes up at his towering height, all the while flashing him my best friendly-but-smouldering smile.
Mister Sexy Suit’s palm catches my sleeve-clad elbow on pure reflex, and he meets my gaze, his hand lingering on the underside of my arm for a second or two longer than necessary. An effortless half-smile tugs one side of his full lips, pulling a dimple deep into his scruff-covered cheek.
“No worries.” A baritone voice that is simultaneously rugged and so damnsmooth. Despite it being a chilly late February morning in New York City, I am suddenly a bit too hot under the collar of my overpriced, but totally worth it blouse. The heady smell of roasted coffee in the atmosphere is suddenly overtaken by his mouth-watering scent of spice, leather, and something woodsy, andyum.I coulddrownmyself in that. He flicks those icy blue eyes in the direction of the frazzled intern and offers a deep, panty-melting chuckle that makes me wish I could think of a clever joke on the fly so I can hear it again. “Poor kid is obviously stressed.”
I give him a light, complementary laugh as his hand finally slips off my arm. “Yeah.” I offer one more fetching smile before turning back to the counter to face the jogging lady’s messy ponytail again.
First impressions matter, and it’s obvious I’ve left him with one.
Because I check the reflection on my phone screen again, and he’s still looking at me.
Jogging lady must be ordering for her roommate or significant other back home because she’s going through a laundry list of requirements for a couple of drinks.
Soy.
Extra foam.
Extra hot.
Extra espresso.
