Jason

 

 

 

"The weather forecast predicts snow tonight."

Mr. Gideon scans over our little group, the expression on his face indicating he believed he had just shared a brilliant insight with us. He's a short, round man with a thick waist and very little hair left on his undersized head, which seemed too small for the rest of his round frame. He's my father's age, but he appears much older.

"That's putting it mildly," his associate Danny comments. "They’re calling for a full-blown blizzard."

Mr. Gideon nods in agreement. "So I've heard. Supposed to be the storm of all storms."

I'm standing between the two of them, my eyes flipping back and forth between them as if I was watching a tennis match. The weather. I can’t believe we’re talking about the fucking weather. Mr. Gideon is one of my father’s long-term associates, one he's conducted business with since he was my age. I'm sure they wouldn't be talking about the damned weather if my father was here.

"How are you getting back to New York?" Danny asks.

"Plane," I say, affixing a fake smile. "Tomorrow evening."

"Oh," Mr. Gideon exclaims. "That's going to be tough. It sounds like that's when the blizzard is supposed to be at its peak."

"Yes," Danny agrees. "I'm staying over an extra day. Wanted to give them some time to clear the roads."

Mr. Gideon nods again and turns to him. "You live close by?"

"Not far; it’s just a two-hour drive."

"Well, that's a lot closer than New York, for sure."

Mr. Gideon looks at me then, smiling like a docile grandfather.

"I have things to do," I tell them. "I need to get back. I'm sure it'll be fine. They always go overboard on these forecasts."

They both nod politely, but don't seem convinced.

As the two men continue their mindless chatter about the weather, my gaze drifts, scanning the hall glancing among those in attendance to see if there's anyone else I should be speaking to. Mr. Gideon was one of the first names on my list, but I think I've spent enough time making small talk with him for the night. I found out that he's sticking around for my presentation about our new IT security segment tomorrow, and that's all I needed from him tonight.

It dawns on me that the venue seems cold and sterile, with little to no decor. It looks more like one of those gigantic convention halls that need to be filled with massive displays and exhibits to look the least bit welcoming. Tonight there's none of that, only a crowd of dark suits and the occasional blotch of color added by a female attendee. Guests are milling around circular bar tables, sipping champagne and snacking on finger food. Waiters and hostess girls are meandering through the crowd carrying silver trays, collecting empty glasses and offering food and drinks to anyone who makes eye contact with them.

I've seen her doing her rounds a few times now. She never stopped by our table, but she's been in the vicinity. I don't know if that was by coincidence or if she's avoiding me. Not once did I catch her looking in my direction, but every time I see her, I regret what happened earlier because it was wrong on so many levels. It was wrong because it didn't reflect who I am. I'm not an arrogant asshole, and never before have I lost it like that because of something as stupid as a stain on my shirt. I hate what this pressure is doing to me. I hate that it makes me act like the kind of man I despise. It makes me weak, and I hate being weak.

And she's just so God damn pretty. Petite, lithe frame, slim hips. There's no cleavage bursting from her tidy uniform, but her chest is firm and pert. Her fair skin reminds me of porcelain, and it creates a vivid contrast against the shiny, thick, dark brown locks framing her oval face. But it's her eyes that captivate me. Their ice blue color cuts through me with unsettling intensity. It's like looking into the blazing sun – I don't think I could stand looking directly into them for too long without being blinded.

Nevertheless, it's all I want to do. I want to talk to her, to apologize for my asinine behavior. I want her to see me in a different light.

To tell the truth, there's a lot more I want to do to a girl like her, but this is neither the time nor the place to be fantasizing about such things. I need to focus. I need to remember what I'm here for. I'm not here to fuck up some small town beauty, but to represent my family's company.

Yet, when I see her walking at the other end of the hall toward the buffet with an empty tray in her hand, I stop fighting the urge to follow her. I politely excuse myself from the dull Mr. Gideon and his eager associate and make my way through the hall, nodding and smiling as I pass by a few familiar faces that I should be stopping to talk to rather than going after her.

I ignore the doubts worrying my mind and carry on, closing in on her as she puts her tray down at the buffet. She's exchanging words with one of her colleagues when I come to a halt next to her. The girl she's talking to, a tall blonde, notices me before she does. Her eyes widen in that same, intimidated way that I've seen on so many faces before. I know the effect I have on women, which is why it bothers me even more when I fuck it up like I did.

"Excuse me," I interrupt, raising my voice, watching as the clumsy brunette turns to look at me.

There it is. Icy blue eyes, ruby red lips – and a frown. She doesn't look at me the same way her friend does. There's no adoration, no intimidation, no yearning. No, she looks at me as if I was the ugliest person on the planet.

And her words stab me like a hot knife.

"It’s you."