Julia

After a stellar start to my day, I get to hand out granola bars that contain no gluten, dairy, sugar, eggs, and probably no joy, either. I don’t tell anyone what they’re made out of—or not made out of—as I’m giving them the little cups, mostly to see their reactions when they realize they’re eating cardboard.

A middle-aged woman with flaming red hair chews the offending granola bar so long she looks like a cow chewing its cud. “What’s in this thing?” she asks in disgust. “Sandpaper?”

“Quinoa and flaxseed,” I reply automatically. At the woman’s look of deeper disgust, I add, “It’s very healthy for you.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll stick to my usual brand, thanks.” The woman walks off, still chewing, and I have to resist the temptation to text Kevin about it.

After my run-in with asshole Bastian this morning, I’ve tried to put him out of my mind. Of course, my mind is extremely rude, and it likes to have wet dreams about the man who was so rude to me, so I haven’t been able to completely forget him. But I’m trying. I really am. I’m disappointed that I crushed so hard on a guy who’s such a jerk. I should’ve known: no guy with an ass like that could be decent.

My chin in my hand, I gaze despairingly at the expanse of Cooper’s. I guess that adventure I was hoping to have isn’t going to happen, is it? How depressing. I’ll be handing out samples until I’m dead and buried, and knowing my luck, people will show up to my funeral hoping for even more free samples.

As I sigh deeply, She-Hulk comes around the corner. She’s been on my ass for everything lately, ever since I ran off to chase Bastian in the taxi. Today, her white-blond hair is in the tightest bun I’ve ever seen; I wonder if she loses circulation in her face doing that to her hair. Her lipstick doesn’t complement her coloring, and it makes her look rather sickly. But all of that fades away when she sees me staring off into space.

“Rominger!” she barks.

I stand at attention, like a soldier in boot camp. “Yes?”

“Stop looking like you could care less and do some work for once.”

“The phrase is actually ‘couldn’t care less.’ Because saying you could care less implies that you could still care, at least a little bit.”

She-Hulk stares at me. Then she glares. “Did you just correct my grammar?”

Good going, dumbass. “Nooooooooo, I just…fun fact? Haha?”

“How about you focus on your work instead of trying to sound smart, huh? You don’t need to correct my grammar to hand out granola bars.”

I’m starting to blush. I can see customers staring, and I want to melt into the floor. I shouldn’t have said that, but did She-Hulk have to be so mean about it?

“Look, I know you don’t like me for whatever reason,” I blurt out. Oh God, word vomit, incoming! “But that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like I’m stupid. Okay? It’s rude. Just, rude.”

When She-Hulk doesn’t say anything, I can almost imagine her starting to get bigger and bigger just like the Hulk, until she’s burst through her clothes and is a bright green, growling and yelling. But she doesn’t transform. Instead, she rolls her eyes and snaps out a brusque, “Fine,” before walking away.

I don’t know if that’s a victory, but I’ll take it.

As I’m about to clean up my station, I see something out of the corner of my eye. When I realize who it is, I gasp. I drop the container of, well, containers, and they spill out onto the floor. Some roll away, and I want to bang my head against something.

None other than Big Sexy Asshole (Kevin’s new name for him) is standing at my stand again, sans suit. He’s less than five feet away from me, but he doesn’t say anything. He just eyes me with those golden eyes a girl could drown in. I’m tongue-tied. I try to speak, but it comes out as a stutter. So I stop trying.

“No suit,” he says.

I blink. “Um, what?”

“I’m not wearing the suit that turns me into an asshole. So you can relax.”

I mentally wince, remembering what I inferred about his suit having super asshole powers.

“What’s your sample today?” he asks.

I blink. Samples? What are samples? Oh, samples. Yes, that’s my job. “Gra-gra-gra-gra-nola bars,” I finally spit out. I hand him one. “They’re healthy.”

“Uh-huh.” He looks at the bite of granola bar, and then tosses it into his mouth. And then I get to watch him make the same face as everyone else who’s eaten them today.

“Tasty, huh?”

He chews. He chews some more. And then he swallows, but it’s with effort. “Sure,” he says with a cough.

The look on his face is ridiculous enough that I have to stifle a laugh.

He clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier, I mean.”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Bastian Rich is apologizing to me? Nobody Julia, sample giver and perpetual failure?

“I have no excuse for how I acted. I’m not in a great place, I guess. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Okay, well…thanks.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Well…” I bite my lip, and he seems transfixed by the sight, so I quickly stop.

“What is it?”

“Are you not in a good place because you’re…sick?” It’s something I should have considered before I’d gotten in his face this morning. The guy had passed out on me, after all.

He stares at me, his cheeks becoming ruddy with color. “I’m not dying or anything,” he says, which doesn’t really answer my question, but it does fill me with a sense of relief. Despite how he acted earlier, I’m glad he’s okay.

“I just…Did you apologize to Holly?”

“Hol—?” Understanding overtakes his expression. “Ah yes. I did apologize to Holly. And I was even still wearing my suit when I did it.”

God, I’ve known him mere minutes, but we actually have an inside joke. The knowledge fills me with pleasure. “Good for you. And yes.”

“Yes?”

“Now that I know you apologized to Holly, I forgive you.”

“Do you know Holly?”

“No. It’s just that she tried to schedule Ryland’s appointment, but we were talking and…” I wave my hand. “I kind of felt like I had something to do with you being mad at her.”

He nods, then pulls out his wallet—that infamous wallet, just as fat as before—and I have the horrible suspicion he’s going to offer me a monetary reward for returning it to him, like I’m some random stranger who did him an impersonal favor. Like he’d reward me the same way he’d reward anyone, even that old guy who’d grossed me out when he’d been sampling the Miracle Swabs, for returning his wallet.

“Do you know how I ended up with two fifty-dollar bills in my wallet? I could’ve sworn I only had twenty and hundred-dollar bills.”

Oh, that. I try to laugh it off. But he just raises an eyebrow at me. So I end up confessing. “I tried to follow the ambulance when you collapsed, and I bribed the cabbie with a hundred dollars.” At his look, I add hastily, “I was always going to pay you back! And as you saw, I did. Sorry about using your money, though. That wasn’t very nice of me.”

He thinks a moment, his expression serious, as if he’s not sure how to take that I not only tried to follow him, but used his money to do so. “Well,” he says finally, “I’m afraid the two fifties just aren’t good enough.” Shaking his head, he takes out the two fifties and hands them to me.

I’m so stunned I take them. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Is this his way of giving me a reward?

“I’m saying I don’t want the hundred bucks back, but perhaps you’ll give me something else instead.”

Lord, the images that pop into my head at that statement.

“I took your advice and got tickets to one of Ryland’s concert on Saturday evening. I’d like you to go with me.”

Is Big Sexy Asshole Bastian asking me out on a date?

A date? A real-live, holy-shit-oh-my-God date?

This can’t be real. Surreptitiously, I pinch myself. Shit, ow—it is real. He’s standing here asking me out.

Then I narrow my eyes. Why is he asking me out? Is this some trick? Some joke? I look around for hidden cameras. But it’s just me and Bastian, standing and staring at each other.

I’m not sure if I should say yes, but then the words tumble out before I know it. “Be honest. Is this just so you can pump me for more financial advice advice?”

He slowly smiles. “You’re on to me. But it won’t be all work. Hell, if you’re a good girl, I’ll even buy you dinner beforehand.”

“And what if I’m a bad girl?” I cringe as soon as the words escape my lips, and pray that somehow he wasn’t able to hear the way those words rolled off my tongue with the tone of a budget call girl. I don’t wait for a response before correcting course. “Never mind. I’ll be good.”

“Come however you’re feeling,” he says. “Good, bad, or in between. I’m betting I’ll enjoy getting to know all of you.”

His eyes flare with heat, and I feel the answering heat course through my entire body. I want to jump over the sample stand like it’s a pommel horse and climb him, but alas I am nowhere near that athletic or brave. In fact, I’m back to wondering if this is some kind of nasty ploy for payback—mess-with-the-chubby-girl-who-mouthed-off-to-him time, or something. And I hate what that says about my self-esteem or lack thereof. “You sure about that? There’s obviously a whole lot of me.”

He scowls. “You’re fucking gorgeous. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Now say you’ll go to the concert with me.”

I hesitate. But he just said he thinks I’m gorgeous and I’m suddenly convinced that hell no, this isn’t a joke. He’s just as attracted to me as I am to him. Excitement makes me tremble and I clutch the edge of the sample stand for support. But when I speak, my voice is steady. “I work until six on Saturday, so I probably can’t do dinner beforehand. But if that’s okay…I’ll go with you to the concert.”

“That’s fine. We’ll do dinner another time.” He takes out his phone and begins typing away. “What’s your number? I’ll pick you up on the way there.”

I’m still reeling from his casual statement that we’re going to be doing something together again after the concert, but somehow I manage to give him my number.

Before he leaves, he reaches out and touches my arm lightly. “I’m looking forward to seeing you Saturday, Julia. Take care.”

“You, too,” I say softly.

Then he’s gone. And for a solid minute, I don’t think I do anything at all but stare after him. And then I start to laugh with pure joy.

Who am I, and where has boring Julia Rominger gone?