CHAPTER TWO
“Here you go, girl.”
I cracked the passenger side car window some so my dog, Starlet, could push her nose out. With her front paws on the door and her torso stretched to its full length, her little pug tail wagged in delight. She nudged her nose against the open space, trying to get her whole face out. A desperate wheeze left her lungs as she begged for more open window.
“All right,” I sighed, letting the window down another couple inches. “Here. Don’t fall out.”
My number one love? My dog.
My number one fear? Something happening to said dog.
Maybe it’s sad. Maybe it’s weird. But some people have spouses. Some people have kids. I have a dog, and it’s much easier that way. With dogs, you’re the one in charge. They accept and respect you as their alpha, and they love you no matter what. Plus, you can leave them at home for the evening without feeling bad about it. A chew treat and a YouTube video of squirrels, and they’re good to go.
I checked the time on the dashboard as I pulled into Sup Pup’s parking lot. Starlet’s tail wiggled faster, and she jumped into my lap so I could put her leash on.
“Wiggle waggle,” I told her in the high-pitched voice I never use when other people are around. “Are you gonna go play with your friends? Huh?”
She tilted her face up at me and tried to hit me with a kiss, which I managed to dodge just in time. “No thanks, girl. I’m good.”
After dropping her off inside the dog day care, I hurried back out to my car. My phone, left charging in the console, rang away.
I hit the answer button and put the call on speaker.
“Hey,” I told Rory as I veered back out onto the road. “Congrats again. That was a great turn out last night.”
“Thanks, girl. Did you see who I was talking to at the bar?”
“That old stuffy dude?” I joked. “Kidding. Yes, I saw, and he looked very important. Who was he?”
“He’s that new gallerist in town. The one who just got written up in the New York Times. I think I mentioned him to you.”
“Ooh la la! So what’s the story? Is he interested in your work?”
“I’m going down there this afternoon so we can talk more.”
“Hell yes. I knew this was going to be your year.”
I stopped at a light as it turned red and eagerly tapped the steering wheel. Traffic was getting thicker as I drew closer to downtown. I’d hoped to get into the office a few minutes early so I could better prepare for the day. When was my first meeting of the morning, anyway? Nine? Ten?
“And I saw who you were talking to,” Rory said, interrupting my thoughts.
I laughed ruefully. “Yeah, that guy. Well don’t worry, after one five-minute conversation I think I’ve had enough of him to last me a lifetime.”
“Let me guess. He asked if the carpet matched the drapes?”
I burst into laughter. “No, but maybe I just managed to escape before he got that one out. I’m afraid that line might be making a comeback.”
On a date the month before, a guy had wanted to know if my strawberry red hair was natural. He asked before our drinks even arrived. By the time we got our cocktails he’d gone so far as to suggest I’d landed a job at my first consulting firm merely because the company needed to fulfill a quota that would make them more “gender equal.” While the waitress served our appetizers, he mused over the merits of women choosing to stay at home once they marry. We didn’t order a main course. I was gone by then, halfway to the closest burger joint drive-thru and a movie on the couch with Starlet.
“Did you meet anyone else last night?” Rory asked.
“I talked to this woman who works at Circle Records.”
Rory sighed. “I meant guys.”
The traffic light changed, and I floored it. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“You want me to have a boyfriend, settle down with one guy. Are Heather and London in on this as well? Scratch that. I know Heather is but is London?”
“What makes you think I’m not just trying to find someone for you to hook up with?”
“Because I don’t need any help in that area, and because I also know you… and Heather.”
“Aren’t you tired of not having a steady boyfriend? You know, it’s not that bad.”
“You know what else isn’t bad? Being a woman who can do whatever the fuck she pleases whenever she pleases. A hundred years ago women in America dreamed of the kind of life we have. Hell, just a few decades ago it was different. Married women in this country couldn’t even get a credit card under their own names till some time in the seventies.”
“There are a lot of men who will be okay with you doing your own thing,” Rory said, ignoring my feminist rant. “Men who love independent women.”
“Men who will be all right with me sleeping with other men?”
“Uh...”
“Did you call me just to talk about this? Was that whole thing about the gallerist being interested in you a farce?”
“No.” Her smile was audible even through the line. “I wanted to share my good news. My very real good news.”
“Good. I’m happy for you. Are we doing drinks tomorrow night?”
“Totally. I’ll start a group text. Love ya.”
“You too. Bye.”
The conversation ended just in time. I took the right turn onto my office’s street. The best thing about the high-rise I worked in was that it came with parking. After swiping my card and pulling into the garage, I did a quick check in the mirror.
When I first began working, when I got my first internship in high school, I started wearing suit skirts. I rocked them pretty hard for six or seven years, keeping up with the trends but also sticking to the most professional options. The year before, when one of my biggest dreams came to fruition, I started switching it up.
Opening my own business meant that, in some ways, I needed to try even harder. Now there were more people to impress, not just one boss. A plethora of clients expected me to prove myself to them on a regular basis. Though crazy, I lived on this. Thrived on this.
Being in charge made it easier to expand my fashion sense. I still thought about clients when I dressed, but I also took into account my individuality. I worked to own it when I woke up in the morning and opened my closet doors.
After checking my makeup, I ran my palms down the front of my dress. Black, with lace trim and long cap sleeves, it fit me like a second skin. Paired with the suede heels, and I was ready to kill. I grabbed my purse and hit the familiar path for the tenth floor.
My phone buzzed right as I stepped into the elevator. Stepping to the side to make room for a man in a suit and a woman in a frumpy dress, I pulled my cell out.
Sup tonight?
My nose instantly wrinkled. I hated the word “sup.” It wasn’t even actually a word.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard while I debated. The text was from Matt Stephens. A casual friend. We’d met at a Cubs game London dragged me to a couple years ago. He was a number of things, the best one being he was pretty dependable for a good time. He could chill with anyone, was always up for a party, but never lost control. He’d gotten both his bachelor’s and master’s in history and could talk a circle around most people. Our conversations were always intelligent and invigorating. He was also a good lay.
Six months ago, when we started getting physical, we both made it pretty clear that we didn’t need anything serious. The arrangement had worked well. We didn’t expect anything out of each other. We saw other people and got together when we felt like it. Nothing messy had ever happened.
I could hit him back, invite him over for a drink and a screw. That’s what he was after. We’d never gotten together alone without clothes being taken off, and that certainly wasn’t about to change.
The elevator stopped, and the two other people on it got off.
No. I have too much work to do.
There was the Jefferson account coming up next week. They were one of my biggest clients. In order to step up my game, out of office work would be involved. Tonight needed to be spent preparing. Tomorrow night drinks with the girls. Maybe I had time for another social night, but better safe than sorry.
Men came at the very end of my list.
Sorry, I told Matt. I’m busy. Rain check?
The elevator opened onto the tenth floor, and I stepped out and into my day.
Ten people were on Laurent Consulting’s payroll, every one of them irreplaceable. Though men came and went and clothes fell out of style, the people you surrounded yourself with at work were crucial. They could make or break you.
“Good morning, Miss Laurent.” Justin smiled at me from the front desk.
“It always is,” I beamed back, energy filling me already. I was in my element, back in my second home.
Some people find work stressful. I find it life giving. I’m a doer. Every single moment of every single day I need to feel like I’m getting something done, making some kind of mark on the world. Even when I was a little kid, it was that way. Instead of playing outside like other elementary school children, I spent my free hours in my bedroom rearranging the stuffed animals on my bed or attempting to read my cousin’s high school text books.
“Is Miranda in yet?” I asked as I walked past the front desk.
“She just arrived,” Justin said.
“Good,” I answered, not breaking my stride. “I want to go over her meeting with Picoult Industries. Send her into my office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The rest of the staff greeted me as I crossed the large main room and turned the corner toward my office. Laurent Consulting kept four main consultants on hand, myself included. If we needed more, we hired out. The last few months had been crazy in that department. We were up to our eyeballs in work.
Just thinking about it made my hands pulse with frenetic energy. My fingers twitched as I opened the door to my office; my digits were eager to get to work.
The morning sun washed my private space with a golden hue. Everything sat immaculate, just as I’d left it on Saturday. I let out a sigh and hung up my jacket.
Just as I settled into my chair, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I commanded.
The door creaked open and Stephanie, our blonde college intern, poked her head in. “Good morning,” she said timidly, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses.
“Good morning,” I replied, booting up my computer. “Do I have any messages?”
“Oh, y-yes!” she stuttered, then scurried over to place my morning Americano on the edge of my desk.
I sipped the piping hot coffee while listening to her read the messages from her clipboard. “Mr. Lambert called to remind you of your meeting with him this morning.”
I rolled my eyes at that one. Niall Lambert. A regular client. He was hot as sin, but his personality, unfortunately, took away any real charm. Once that man opened his mouth, it was all downhill.
“Seth Allman called asking you to, uh, dinner.”
My head snapped up. “Wait. What? Who?”
Stephanie blinked through her hipster glasses. “Seth, uh… Allman?”
I groaned. How did he get my number? Or even find out my name?
As annoying as he had been, his grit and determination had to be admired. I shot him down hard, and yet he still went through the trouble of finding out who I was and how to find me. There was something undeniably sexy about that.
“Would you like his number?” Stephanie asked.
“No, thanks,” I nearly snapped. I sucked in a breath and debated for another moment. “Actually, yes, give it to me.”
I ducked my head as my cheeks heated. Seth was below the caliber of men I usually dated, thanks to his pretentious attitude. I would be stooping pretty low to go out with him, and that wasn’t something to be proud of.
Not that Stephanie knew what was going on.
I had no real plans to call Seth back. His attitude at the bar had left as much of an impression as the glow in his deep blue eyes.
Stephanie scribbled on a post-it and then stuck it to the corner of my desk. I eyed the nefarious numbers, their very presence tempting.
I could screw him and then make him leave. We wouldn’t even have to talk.
That would show him, maybe put him in his place. I’d be doing him a favor.
“That’s all for now,” I told Stephanie, turning back to my computer and forcing my eyes away from the taunting post-it.