I resign myself to another bus ride spent standing as I once more climb aboard the 106. Today will be my first day catering a Knox Security meeting after my run in with Jordan at Dark Brown.

He hasn’t been to the cafe since. I’ve tried to convince myself to go back to my imaginary fantasy man, but every time I conjure up an image of an attractive guy, it just ends up being him. I keep going over the moment I crawled out from under his desk to find my mouth just inches away from his zipper, imagining the scene taking a very different turn than it did. I may have even and gotten a bit creative with the showerhead this morning while thinking about it.

Lately my sex life has been limited to the covert sort of self-induced orgasms that living in close quarters with your mom and kid sister necessitates. I can’t even buy myself a vibrator because there’s no way they wouldn’t hear it, and while I know I should be grateful for even having a place to live at all, I’m so sick of having to muffle my moans against a pillow.

I’ve only ever had one serious relationship. His name was Steve. Our lockers were next to each other in the tenth grade, and we dated for the last two years of high school before breaking up a few months after he started university. He didn’t even leave the city, but once I was working full time our schedules hardly ever lined up and we both agreed it was for the best.

I had sex for the first time in his dorm room bed, as we hurried to get it over with before his roommate came back from class. It felt like learning to speak a new language, a jumble of confused adjectives and verbs. We only did it a handful of times after that, just enough to get over the floundering nervousness of it all and leave me craving all the things we never tried.

The bus pulls up at my stop and I navigate my way between the swaying bodies filling the aisle before heading into Dark Brown. I’m prepping the Catering Mobile myself today, and get to work packing up everything on the list I’ve been given.

Things are a bit slow this morning and Trisha, who’s on cash today, is using a few spare minutes to drop off a load of cups and saucers in the dish pit.

“You’re so lucky,” she says, glancing over at me as I pack up the cart. “You actually get to leave this place for a bit.”

“I’ll bring back tales of the outside world,” I joke.

“You could bring back some outside men.” She dabs at her forehead with her apron. “The regulars are starting to drive me crazy. They stare at us like we’re some kind of...cupcakes!”

I laugh and nod at how true that is.

“They’re just drawn to the fact that there’s still a spark of joy left in you, Trisha. You haven’t been here long enough for this place to crush your spirit. Oh and trust me, the men in the Knox building aren’t any better. I’m a cupcake over there too.”

We share the desperate and verging on hysterical sort of laugh that only two coworkers at a terrible job can share. Trisha returns to the cash after and I wheel myself out the back door and over to the Knox building.

The event I’m catering today is much smaller than the first one. I set up in a windowless meeting room with a large projector screen. I only have one coffee dispenser and a tray of muffins to arrange, so I finish well before the meeting is due to start.

I leave to find the bathroom. After a bit of wandering up and down the hall, I spot one and step inside. The three stalls are all empty, and as I’m washing my hands, I take a minute to stare at myself in the mirror.

There are purple rings under my eyes, and my skin is sun deprived enough to be almost as pale as my blouse. While I did take the time to fluff the front of my hair up into a little pouffe and avoid the strawberry blonde skullcap effect, there is not enough dry shampoo in the world to disguise the fact that that it’s sorely in need of a wash. Mom’s been working even crazier shifts than usual this week, and looking after my appearance has taken a backseat to looking after Amanda.

After giving my cheeks a few pinches to try to draw some sort of colour into them, I open the bathroom door to find Jordan Knox exiting the men’s room next door.

As I’ve come to expect around him, my breath swoops out of me and blood starts rushing to my face. Suddenly I’m wishing my cheeks were less red.

My initial impulse is to run and find somewhere to hide where I can creepily stare at him from a distance, but seeing as following my instincts last time ended with me crouched under his desk, I take a second to employ an underdeveloped skill of mine: being logical.

He’s turned away without seeing me. I could let him keep walking down the hall. Putting the moves on the heir apparent to the company I’m giving a professional service to does not sound like a good idea when rationally considered.

There’s a few services I’d like to give HIM, I think, staring after Jordan as he gets farther away.

Just like that, caution, and logic along with it, is thrown to the wind.

“Hey stalker,” I call after him.

He turns around, and the crooked smile that forms when he sees me makes me realize that sometimes it feels good to be stared at like a cupcake, especially when it’s a very tasty one.

He walks back towards me. “This feels a bit more like you stalking me.”

“That’s what a really good stalker would want me to think,” I counter, while asking myself why I have to be such a dork.

He smiles again and scratches the back of his head, then leans his elbow against the wall. I feel like I’m staring at an Armani ad. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’m a serial stalker.”

Then his stomach growls so loud I almost jump.

“Oh, shit.” He looks embarrassed. “Guess I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.”

“Do you want a cupca— I mean, uh, a muffin?” I offer, trying to keep my eyes from wandering the length of his suit.

“If I say yes are you going to magically produce one out of thin air?”

“Well I wouldn’t want you to be too impressed with me.” My insides are doing cartwheels over the fact that we are definitely flirting right now. “I have some extra ones in the meeting room.”

He looks over both his shoulders before starting to walk down the hall with me, and I figure he’s probably supposed to be working right now.

How illicit, thinks my inner temptress.

We get into the meeting room and I put one of the muffins from the tray on a plate for him.

Then we stand there.

“I guess I’ll eat this here,” he says finally. “Wouldn’t want to steal your plate.”

I grab a muffin for myself to make things less awkward and we sit down beside each other at the table.

“This is good,” he tells me after a few bites. “Did you make them?”

“Nah, I don’t usually do the baking.” I swallow another bite.

Then he’s leaning in towards me and the muffin falls out of my hands and onto my plate. I hear myself draw in a breath as my body turns to face him, watching as he reaches a hand towards my knee.

He leans back, holding up a small grey hair. “Did you get in a fight with a cat on your way here?”

My heart is thrumming against my chest and I stare blankly at him as my brain catches up with the past few seconds. I look down at my knee and see that half my pant leg is covered in hair.

“Oh, shitting hell. That must have been Nemo.”

I duck down and start plucking some of the hairs off, hiding my burning face from view.

Of course he wasn’t going to kiss you.

“As in...the fish?” I hear him ask.

“Actually yes,” I say, straightening up after getting myself back under control. “My sister really wanted a fish, but we got a dog instead. It’s funny; usually it’s the other way around, you know, kids wanting an exciting pet and getting stuck with a fish. She was so upset she named him Nemo anyways. She used to force him into these cardboard fish costumes she made. Once we caught her trying to take him in the bath with her.”

I’d forgotten all about Amanda doing that. Jordan laughs.

“So you live with your family, then?”

I pick up my muffin again, embarrassed. “Yeah. Pathetic, isn’t it? It’s just my mom and my sister and me, so I help out a lot, cooking and babysitting. That kind of stuff. Also I’m saving up for school.”

“That’s not pathetic, Hailey.”

The sincerity in his voice is enough to make me turn and look him in the eyes. He’s staring at me with an intensity that has me wondering if I really was wrong in thinking he was going to kiss me.

Then it hits me.

“How do you know my name?”

Now it’s his turn to drop his eyes and pick at his muffin.

“At the cafe,” he explains, “I heard one of your coworkers talking to you.” He looks back up at me. “Sorry, that’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

“Just a little...Jordan.”

He starts a bit at hearing his name and then smiles. “Looks like I’m not the only stalker in the room.”

“Don’t blame me,” I protest, holding up my hands. “You don’t exactly have a low profile, Mr. Heir to the Company.”

His eyes cloud over with an expression I can’t read. He finishes off his muffin with a final bite, and stands up, holding onto his plate.

“Where would you like me to put this?” he asks.

I stand up too, wondering if I should apologize, although I don’t know what for.

“I’ll take it.”

I reach out for the plate and one of my fingers brushes against his. I’ve never felt more aware of that quarter inch of skin in my life. I set the plate down inside one of the bins in my cart, and turn back to find Jordan looking at me.

“Thanks,” he says, the lightness back in his eyes, “for the muffin, and the conversation.”

“Anytime,” I tell him. “You know where to find me.”

His eyes search my face for something, and my Impending Kiss O-Meter starts flying off the charts once again. Then he flashes a final lopsided smile and heads towards the door.

As soon as he opens it, a blond man passing by stops and calls out “Boss! I was just looking for you. What wer—”

The man falters as his eyes pass over the inside of the meeting room and land on me.

“Ah!” he continues, punching Jordan in the shoulder. “So about those files...”

* * *

“Watch out for that corner!”

The warning echoes across the Knox Security lobby. I’m once again attempting to steer the Catering Mobile around the corner of the swimming pool-sized fountain. It’s my second Knox meeting of the week. This one seems to be a pretty big affair; I could barely fit everything I needed into the cart.

I look over to see who’s called out to me and find Jordan, just arriving at work. I’ve realized that trying to avoid him would be futile; we run into each other way too often for that.

He’s got a pea coat thrown on over his suit that he’s in the middle of unbuttoning. I wait by the elevators as he moves closer.

“I’ll have you know I’m a pro cart driver now,” I tell him. “I just showed that corner who’s boss.”

“Looked like a near miss to me,” he says. “You almost lost your spoons again.”

“Oh you haven’t seen me lose my spoons yet, boy.”

Shit. Shitshitshit.

My not-so-tempting inner temptress just got the better of me. Jordan’s staring at me like he’s not quite sure what to say. Thankfully, the elevator doors open and I hurry inside, Jordan stepping in after me.

“Doesn’t anyone ever help you out with this?” he asks, gesturing to the cart, and I’m grateful he’s chosen not to acknowledge my spoons comment.

“I’m a team of one,” I tell him, “a catering manager with no one to manage.”

“Do you need any help? Looks like you’ve got a pretty full load today.”

I hope you’ve got one too.

I really need to get my subconscious under control.

“Really? I actually am running kind of late,” I acknowledge, “but I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

“Trust me. My work is the last thing I want to be doing.”

We arrive at the floor the meeting is on and Jordan helps me shift the cart out into the hall.

I start heading to the boardroom when I realize he’s not following. I turn back to find him still standing at the elevators, craning his neck to see past me down the hall.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“No, no” he answers, focusing back on me. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

Shrugging, I continue down the hall. He must have spotted someone he needs to talk to.

I’m in the middle of arranging a cookie tray when he joins me in the boardroom. A thrill runs through me when the door closes behind him and heat creeps up my neck. Something about being alone with him turns all my nerve endings into sparklers.

“What should I do first?”

About a dozen answers spring to mind at once, most of them involving the removal of clothing.

“You could get the coffee dispensers set up,” I tell him, going with the most sensible reply I can think of.

He starts lifting the dispensers and setting them on the table. I try to manage a casual conversation.

“So you’re not really into your job?”

“Hmm?” He pauses what he’s doing and turns to face me.

“You said it’s the last thing you want to be doing.”

“Oh.” He starts straightening the dispensers into a line. “I mean, it’s not exactly my dream job.”

“19^th Street isn’t really the place for dreams.”

He laughs so hard that for a second I’m startled, as much by the sudden noise as at how breathtaking he looks, head thrown back, his mouth stretched wide into a smile that’s totally carefree. I can’t help but laugh too, and soon we’re both clutching our stomachs as we try to calm down.

“You’ve got that right,” he tells me, still chuckling. “So you don’t like your job either?”

“No,” I inform him, “I do not. I didn’t think it was possible to turn something as comforting as a cafe into the lifeless hellhole that is Dark Brown Coffee Co, but apparently it is.”

“I take it you normally like cafes?”

“I love them,” I tell him, unable to stop myself from gushing. “Maybe it’s a weird thing to be passionate about, but I am. It’s just this...feeling, you know? When you go somewhere you just feel absolutely right?”

To my surprise, he nods.

“I get that. There’s this one park I go to sometimes. They have all these statues that play music. When I’m there I just feel...absolutely right.” He goes silent for a moment, looking embarrassed. “Anyways, why are you working in a lifeless hellhole? Have you looked for anything at a cafe you actually like?”

“I’ve thought about it,” I reply, “but the hours here are steady, and I’m pretty close to saving up enough for school.”

“What do you want to study?” he asks, leaning against the table next to me.

“I don’t really know,” I admit. “My mom’s just adamant that I get a degree.”

Jordan nods. “I know the feeling. My dad—”

He bites off the end of his sentence, his face clouding over with the same stormy expression it did a few days ago, right before he got up to leave the meeting room. Just as he did then, he straightens up and announces that he has to go.

Without thinking about it, I place a hand on his arm and our eyes meet.

“Jordan,” I start to say, “is there...”

My sentence trails off when I feel his hand come to rest just above my hip. The curve of my waist is burning under his touch, and the heat radiates through me, inching down between my legs. I drop my eyes to his chest. He’s breathing just as hard as I am.

“Hailey.”

His grip on me tightens just slightly, but it’s enough to tip me over the edge of self-restraint. My hand moves from his arm to circle around the back of his neck. He inhales sharply and digs his hand into the small of my back, drawing us even closer together.

He hooks his other hand under my chin, tilting my head back so that I’m looking up at him once again. His macchiato eyes have darkened to a straight-shot-of-espresso black. There’s a hunger in them so intense it almost feels obscene to meet his gaze, like I’ve pulled back the drapes covering a painting I know I shouldn’t be looking at. His breath is hot against my mouth, his lips now so close that my entire world has shrunk to the inch that separates them from mine.

Then the door to the boardroom opens and we jump apart so fast my brain needs a second to catch up with my body.

“Jordan!”

I’m facing away from the door, both my hands braced against the table as I fight to get my heart rate under control, but I’m pretty sure I know whose voice that is.

“Ludo.”

Jordan’s answer confirms my suspicions. His voice is husky when he says it, a fact that doesn’t help to make my own breathing any slower.

“Just wanted to check in on our catering, see how things were shaping up.” Ludo lets out one of his wheezy smoker’s laughs. “But I guess you beat me to it, Jordan my boy.”

“I was just leaving.”

I glance over at Jordan. His hands are balled into fists at his side. Smoothing my apron, I turn around to face Cold Cuts.

“Good morning, Missy,” he says, with a tip of his head in my direction.

Missy? Ew.

“Well if you’re done here,” Ludo continues, speaking to Jordan now and not even trying to hide his insinuating tone, “your father would like to speak to you in his office.”

“Right.”

Jordan moves to the door. He throws a look at me over his shoulder and opens his mouth to speak. I try to read his expression but it’s like flipping through a blank journal. He turns back around and continues out of the room. Ludo follows after him, but not before giving me one of his ‘Creeper of the Year’ worthy winks.