“He’s cute, Mom,” Emmy comments, watching Roman as he strolls down the sidewalk.
“What are you going to order?” Avoidance is my plan. The last thing I want is to get into a discussion with my teenage daughter about the sexy man I’m trying to avoid.
She turns her gaze back to the menu in front of her. “I’m having a burger.”
Sighing with relief, I make a quick decision and rattle it off just as the waiter steps up to the table.
Of all the places in Miami, he just happens to walk right past where Emmy and I are dining. What are the chances of that? Was it simply fate or could it be something else?
What, like he’s stalking you?
I give myself an internal eye roll and reach for my wine glass. Roman Moran is many things, but a stalker he is not. A man that confidant would have no need to resort to less than favorable tactics simply to gain a women’s attention. So if its fate, what does that mean? It certainly saved me from having to tell him outright about my daughter, but I do have some suspicions about his reaction—or non-reaction, if I’m being honest. Either he’s a very good actor or he has little to no issue with the fact that I have a child. He was certainly warm and welcoming enough to her, even if she was falling all over him. I can’t blame her. She’s right. He is cute.
Emmy snaps her fingers in front of my face and grins. “You like him, don’t you?”
“What? No. We work together.” My daughter is not one to be fooled easily, so I carefully school my expression into one of nonchalance.
She giggles and rests her chin on her hand. “Nice try, Mom, but I saw the way he looked at you.”
“We work together,” I reiterate.
“Big deal. Are you gonna go out with him … like on a date?”
I wish. “No, sweetie. I am not. Now can we please change the subject?”
Emmy frowns. “Why not? You haven’t ever had a date as far as I know. You need to get out more.”
“Tell me about what you and the M’s did last night?”
She chuckles. “Uncle Jack says you’re turning into an old maid. I think you should go out with Roman so that doesn’t happen.”
“Mr. Moran,” I scold—again. “Uncle Jack needs to learn to mind his own business.”
Emmy stirs the ice around in her glass with the straw and looks at me with wide, curious eyes. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
With a shrug, I murmur, “I really don’t know, but I doubt it.” I’ve been so busy raising her that I’ve hardly even thought about the fact that I’ve never married. And because I’m a single mother, it’s truly something I assumed would never happen.
“I think I’ll get married. I’d like to have a guy who is happy to see me when I come home from work. I think it would be cool to know that someone has chosen me above everyone else to love forever.”
Smiling, I feel tears pinch my eyes. “I’m glad you want that for yourself, sweetie. I want that for you too.”
“So how come I can’t want that for you, then?”
Since when did my child become so incredibly wise? “You can want that for me. But if you’re thinking Roman is the man to do that, you’re wrong. He likes to date a lot of people.”
She smirks. “So he’s a player?”
This conversation has steadily gone downhill. “Um, no. He just isn’t ready to commit, that’s all.” Granted, I have no idea what Roman does or does not want, but the quicker I can sell this to her, the faster she’ll shut up about it.
Tipping her head sideways, she stares down the sidewalk where he disappeared from sight. “He’s pretty cute, Mom. Maybe you should … you know … have a fling with him. Get your motor running.”
My eyes widen in shock. “Emerson! It is not appropriate for you to be talking like that.”
That comment earns me an over-exaggerated eye roll. “Get real, Mom. I’m no dummy. I know people your age sleep around for the fun of it. No judgement.”
Good lord, I need to find the nearest hole and throw myself in it. “I will never believe it’s okay to sleep around for the fun of it.”
“Relax, Mom. I get it, you’re afraid. It’s been a long time.”
Thankfully our food arrives, and I’m saved for a time from any further interrogation or wise words from my teenager. And as I watch her dive into the massive burger, I feel a twinge of sadness that my baby girl is no longer a baby. She’s a blossoming young woman, developing her own thoughts and ideas about the world, curious about relationships and what to expect from her future. Have I denied her the opportunity to witness a positive relationship between a man and a woman simply because I’ve been too busy—and yes, admittedly too afraid—to get out there and try again? The last thing I’d ever want to do is shortchange my child. She’s gotten enough of that with the missing father in her life and the only blood family she has living thousands of miles away.
So what if I do as she suggests, take a chance and go out with him? Then what? From what I’ve witnessed so far, the sparks between him and I would be combustible … but would they last? As much as I might be enamored with him, I certainly don’t want to run the risk of losing my heart to a man who has no intention of wanting it for the long haul.
Poking at my salad, I glance across at her and ask, “How would you feel if I did decide to date? Would that be weird for you?”
Emmy shrugs. “I don’t think so. It might be weird at first, but I think it would be good for you.” She swirls a French fry in ketchup and murmurs, “It might be strange if a guy stayed over, though.”
Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine. “I’d never have a guy stay over that I was just dating.”
“Would I have to call the guy dad if you married him?”
“No, absolutely not.” I thoroughly assess her reaction to each word said, watching and waiting for her to freak out a little. But she just continues to sit there, munching on fries and mulling over what we’ve talked about, taking every single bit of it in stride.
“Do you think you might use one of those dating website things, like EHarmony or Farmers Only dot com?”
Snickering, I grin at her. “You think a farmer is what I need?”
Emmy shrugs. “Who knows? I’ve never seen you around a guy except for Uncle Jack, so I have no idea why type of guy would be good for you.” Her grin widens. “I think you’d look cute with Roman.”
Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Mr. Moran.”
“Whatevs.”
Teenagers. “Well, I doubt that he and I are going to date, so maybe I will try that farmers’ thing.”
“You’re such a dork, Mom.”
I believe God gave us children to keep us from ever feeling confident about ourselves—and to keep us grounded at all times. Just when I think I might be a cool, hip mom, I say something that earns me an eye roll and “you’re so embarrassing” exasperated sigh. Somehow I fear that this will only get worse the older she gets. “Yeah, I know.”
After a long night of tossing and turning, I head into the office early Monday morning to get a jump start on the projects I didn’t manage to complete when I was there on Saturday. I’m three cups of coffee in and still not completely awake when I step into my office to find Roman seated there, casually glancing through a magazine. Jumping out of my skin, my feet come to a grinding halt just as he tips his head back and greets me with a slow, lazy smile.
“Good morning, Ms. Morris.”
“Mr. Moran. Can I help you with something?” It feels odd to speak in such a businesslike manner with a man who only a few days before was talking about doing naked things to me on a desk.
He waits until I’m seated then closes the magazine and sets it aside. “I brought you coffee.” He slides the large cup across the desk but immediately sits back in his chair, his way, I suppose, of being nonthreatening. “Did you and Emerson have a nice dinner last night?”
“Uh, yes we did. And th-thank … thank you. For the coffee, I mean.” Geez … I’m like a flighty teenager with all my stammering.
Roman smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Awkward silence fills the small space as I search for the appropriate words. What is it one says to a man she’s infatuated with but cannot have? I’m fairly certain I said everything that needed to be said on Saturday, though by the way he’s looking at me now, I do have to assume that he misunderstood somehow.
“Um, was there something you needed?”
He shakes his head and slowly gets to his feet, uncurling his large body and hovering over me as he stands at the edge of the desk. “Nope. Just wanted to bring you coffee, that’s all.”
I can feel my face heating with embarrassment, and I briefly consider what my staff must think. “Oh … well, I appreciate that but it wasn’t necessary.”
Roman shrugs and moves toward the door. “No worries. Glad to do it. See ya.”
He’s gone before I can fully comprehend what just happened, and I’m left staring at the doorway thinking I must have dreamed the entire thing. When my assistant Cynthia comes strolling in, a huge smile across her pretty face as she shoves the door closed, I realize we’re not fooling anyone.
“Oh my gosh, Roman Moran is so handsome!” She plops down into the chair he vacated and rolls her eyes. “He was here on Friday too. Brought you coffee.” She glances at the cup that’s still perched in the middle of my desk. “I think he likes you, Sabrina.”
Schooling my expression, I give my head a firm shake. “We work together, Cynthia. Now, was there something you needed?”
I’ve never been particularly close with any of the people who work for me, but Cynthia is one of the few who completely disregards my attempts to keep things business only. Ten years younger than me, she constantly asks me for advice or bounces ideas off of me that are probably best suited for hours out of the office. Last week she needed guidance with the new man in her life; the week before it was whether or not to buy the car she’s been eyeing. Her vivaciousness and energy is contagious, and most days she can get me laughing without trying too hard. But bringing up Roman is a whole different thing completely. One little remark from me and before I know it the rumors will make their way to the thirtieth floor and into Cruz’s office. Knowing how ruthless he can be about business, I believe wholeheartedly that he wouldn’t hesitate to fire me on the spot.
Cynthia looks like I just kicked her cat, disappointment filling her eyes as she mutters, “No, there wasn’t.”
“Then please get back to work.”
She nods. “Okay.” She’s standing at the door before she turns to speak to me again. “I’m sorry, Sabrina. You know … if I got too personal with you.”
Her tone reminds me that I’ve worked very hard to keep myself distanced from my staff, maybe too distanced actually. Mostly likely they see me as the ice queen holed up in her office, barking out orders. What they don’t know is that I’ve never really had friends before, except Jack, and I have no idea about the etiquette involved between a boss and her employees.
“That’s all right.”
Finally alone, I sigh heavily and lean my head against the chair. Closing my eyes, I consider that I might need to tell Roman to keep his distance. He sure didn’t seem to get the picture from our conversation the other day and after running into him last night, I’m beginning to think I’m more of a challenge to him now more than ever. He has no idea what this job means to me, means for me. He has no idea that upsetting this apple cart could completely derail any plans I might have had for my future, for Emmy’s future. To him I’m just a pretty, untouchable blonde holding him at arm’s length. What he doesn’t know is that I couldn’t take a chance on him even if I wanted to. The cost of doing so could potentially be life-altering to me in more ways than one.
Grabbing the still-warm cup of coffee, I toss it in the trash and it lands with a loud thud at the bottom—sort of like my heart does whenever he’s speaking to me. While speculating his motives, I gnaw on my bottom lip. I really dislike the fact that I instantly assume he’s up to no good. I know it’s not fair to judge him based on whatever rumors I’ve heard and even though I have little experience with men, I feel I would know if he was playing me. Is that what he’s doing? Charming me into his bed or trying to? I wish I could ask him why he’s even bothering. He could have his pick of any available, childless, younger women in this city, but he’s wasting time on me. It’s baffling to say the least.
Starting right this moment there will be no more inappropriate conversations or glances or remarks. Starting right now I am nothing more than the woman who runs the HR department and he’s nothing more than one of the executives.