Ella

I left Josh's office and went back to my own, conflicted about everything. It felt really strange to have to pretend that I didn't just almost sleep with Josh and I knew that if we kept it up, it would be very awkward – and potentially very dangerous – for me to become involved with Josh.

I didn't want to be beholden to him and so I went to Sharon when she returned from her meeting with Josh and told her what happened, asking her to get me a cashier check so I could take possession of my apartment on Monday.

I stood in front of Sharon's desk and held my breath, waiting for her reply.

Her mouth dropped open, but she agreed right away, with no hesitation.

"Of course, I'll help you. Sit down sit down," she said and pointed to the chair across from her desk. "You should have come to me right away, you poor thing. How much do you need?"

I sat down and heaved a huge sigh of relief. It was hard working up the guts to go into Sharon's office and ask for her help. I'd sat in the bathroom and scrunched up a tissue, trying to get up the nerve to go in and ask for her help.

All my anxiety was for nothing.

"My first and last month's rent for the studio is $5400.00. I'll transfer you the money as soon as the bank gets my account re-activated," I said and held up my cell, showing her my banking app, and the balance in my account. "Just give me the email you want me to send it to and it'll be in your bank account once the bank lifts the block, which they do when your bank card is stolen."

She told me and I made a note on my calendar to make sure I sent it after the block was lifted.

"I'll go down to my bank during my break and get you the cashier's check," Sharon said, smiling.

"Thank you so much. You can't know how relieved I am. I was afraid I'd lose the apartment and have to stay in this tiny little Airbnb I have now. I wasn't even sure I could do that, because I had to report my credit card stolen and so I wouldn't be able to use it to pay for any extra days."

"I thought you said everything was fine," Sharon asked. "If I had known..."

"I didn't want to be your problem," I said, my fingernails digging a bit too firmly into my palm, thinking of what Josh had said to me in the elevator. "I wanted to be the solution to your problems. If I asked you to get a cashier's check so I could get my apartment, I'd become your problem which is the opposite of the reason you hired me."

"You shouldn't have worried. I'm just sorry you waited so long. You must have been frantic."

"I was at first," I said, nodding. "But I went to my bank and told them what happened. They walked me through the steps to get new ID, but I couldn't get a cashier's check until I had something tangible to prove who I was and my address. But I wouldn't have anything tangible until I got the mail at my new address with my new card -- in ten days."

"The old catch-22."

"Exactly," I said. "I thought I had someone who could help me, but it turned out to be a flop. You were my last hope."

"Well, I'm glad I can help you." She smiled softly. "Now, go find me some good books. I need something to show the editorial team tomorrow."

"I'll do my best."

I left her office and went to my own, sighing with relief.

When I left the office at six, I hoped I didn't run into Josh. The last thing I needed was to see him and be reminded of what a hunk of man he was, and how much I was going to regret having ethical standards.

Jerkface had been screwing his secretary.

I was determined that I wouldn't become just an office romance to anyone – even someone as gorgeous and powerful as Josh.

The next morning as I left the elevator on my way to my office, I passed a delivery man going into the elevator. When I arrived in my office, I saw a bouquet of flowers on the desk.

I knew immediately who they were from...

I sat at my desk and stared at the flowers. Two dozen of the prettiest violet roses with a spray of baby's breath. I read the card and couldn't help but smile despite my anger.

From your friendly neighborhood Bicycle Courier Impersonator...

It was almost enough to make me take out my cell and text him, accepting the offer of the best Italian meatballs for supper.

But I didn't.

I couldn't get past the boss-employee thing. If he had been just a bicycle courier, and not one of the wealthiest men in the US, I would have been happy to go to his – to his company's -- apartment for some late-night bed-tumbling. But he wasn't just a bicycle courier.

He was my boss.

I sat starting at the flowers, thinking about Josh. He did help me out. He was very generous, and now of course, I realized that it was because he truly could afford to and not only because he had a good heart. My first and last month's rent was probably what he paid a day for his apartment. I'd seen an article about apartments in SoHo that rented for a cool half million a month. That kind of wealth was unthinkable. I couldn't imagine it. I grew up privileged with my father being a successful lawyer before becoming Governor. But Joshua Macintyre Jr? His father had owned Macintyre Broadcasting. It was one of the biggest media empires in the country.

Probably the world.

Frankly, he scared me.

Monday came and I went to pick up keys to my new place in Chelsea and compared to my Airbnb place, it was a palace. Hardwood floors, real exposed brick on one full wall with windows overlooking a small courtyard. It had its own bathroom, which, while tiny, wasn’t shared. The kitchenette was cute if really small, but I had a big open space for my bedroom / office.

And it was all mine.

I loved it. I hauled my one suitcase into the space and did my best to make it my own. I had been able to get some cheap bedding and some drapes for the windows. Luckily, the place was furnished with a proper full-sized murphy bed in a nice cabinet and tiny two-seater sofa and coffee table. There was a small table against the wall with two chairs.

Really, it felt like a mansion compared to the Airbnb. I went out that night and bought some groceries, and had my first home-cooked meal in my new apartment.

I was in seventh heaven. Now, if only Josh hadn't been so deceptive about his real identity, I might have been in bed with him and we would be enjoying each other's bodies the way we should have been.

The next week passed pretty slowly, and although I was glad I didn’t have to face Josh and be tempted by him, I felt a little sad that he hadn't persisted. But it was probably for the best that I didn't become involved with him. The last thing I needed was to get involved with my boss. Josh was the kind of man I could fall for and who would probably throw me over for someone more beautiful – a better catch than I was.

When Friday night rolled around, I was sitting on my bed, my laptop open, and was reading my Twitter feed when my cell pinged, indicating an income text. I took it out and checked my messages.

Speaking of the devil, the message was from Josh.

JOSH: I'm going to be sitting in the restaurant waiting for an order of the best damn meatballs in all of Manhattan -- perhaps the world – Saturday night. Say, around seven o'clock. If you're interested, I'll be waiting. But I won't wait too long. Nothing worse than cold meatballs! Seriously, Ella. Please meet me there and eat some meatballs with me. We could set some rules governing our relationship if being boss and employee really bothers you. Then, whatever you decide, I'll be happy to accept.

There was even a pasta emoji at the end of his message. It was so cute with the tiny fork rolling spaghetti that I was almost won over.

Almost.

But if you didn't have standards, what did you have?

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I closed my cell and got ready for bed, trying my best to put him and his offer out of my mind. Just when I was starting to feel okay about leaving him out of my life, he had to contact me and ask me out on a dinner date.

I brushed my teeth and got into my pajamas, then snuggled down into my bed in my tiny studio apartment in Chelsea, wishing I had fewer standards and could allow myself to go tomorrow night and sit at a table in the window with Josh, slurping spaghetti and eating the world's best meatballs.

The next day, I went for a long walk around my new neighborhood, hoping to find all the great places to eat and shop in my local area. Of course, all morning, I kept thinking of Josh's offer, and was torn whether to accept. I wanted to. I wanted to find out what could happen between us, but I was worried that I shouldn't. I needed to talk to Steph so picked up my cell and called. She answered on the third ring.

"What's up, kiddo? How's the Big Apple treating you? Did you get the ID thing sorted out? Did you and Mr. Straining Glutes have dinner?"

"I did get the ID thing sorted out and yes, Mr. Glutes and I did have dinner. But there's a problem..."

I bit my lip and wondered how to phrase my next confession.

"A problem? Do tell..."

"The thing is, Mr. Glutes isn't really a bicycle courier."

"Don't tell me. He's really a hitman for the Russian Mob. I always told you that you were too trusting of people." She laughed, but I imagined she was only partly kidding.

"No, Steph. Don't laugh. This is serious. He's really," I said and hesitated, hating the words I'd have to tell her.

"He's really what?" she said, her voice impatient. "Quit with the teasing. Who is he?"

"He's my boss." I cringed when I said it, because the thought that I had almost had sex unknowingly with my new boss was the very last thing I should ever have done.

"Your boss? I thought this Sharon lady was your boss."

"She's my supervisor, but he's the boss. He's the big boss. As in, Joshua Macintyre Jr, CEO of Macintyre Broadcasting Corporation."

"MBC? The CEO? Oh, my God, Ella. Seriously?" I heard her typing on a keyboard. "I'm searching now for Joshua Macintyre. Annnnnd..." she said and then I heard a gasp.

"Oh, my God, Ella. He's a freaking hunk. You actually thought he was a bicycle courier? How could you ever imagine that? I mean, Armani model yes, but bicycle courier?"

"He was wearing a bicycle outfit, you know, with the whole tight body suit and slick helmet. What else could I think?"

"Like, maybe he was just riding his bike and he takes riding seriously? He's gorgeous."

"Yes, he is. He's a total babe. And the worst part of it is that we ended up at his apartment and he had my bra off and was just about to take off more when his drunk ex-fiancée walked in and caught us."

"Shut the front door," she said, laughing. "Are you shitting me? This is one of your erotic stories, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. It really happened. We were all hot and heavy and I looked up and saw this blonde woman standing in the doorway, crying. Needless to say, it spoiled the vibe I was trying to create what with his face between my boobs."

"No kidding. Look, kiddo. When I told you to live it up, I had no idea you'd take me so seriously. He's the actual CEO of MBC? Are you sure he wasn't tricking you or something? You are very naive..."

"No, seriously. He's the big boss in all his impeccable Armani-suited-hunkiness and I saw him actually sitting behind the biggest desk you've ever seen."

"He's the one with the perfect mouth and blue-gray eyes? The sexy longish hair that flops in his eyes? The perfectly trimmed beard? The devastatingly square jaw? And you were kissing that mouth?"

"I was. That mouth was licking my tattoo just when I saw the ex-fiancée gawking at us in the bedroom doorway."

"Oh, my God. Ella. What a story."

"I know, I know. I told him I couldn't see him again."

"What? Why?"

"He's my boss, Steph. I thought you'd understand."

"He's gorgeous! How could you turn that down?"

"I know, right? But he's my boss. Anyway, he texted me with an invitation to go out for supper for the best meatballs in the world and try to set some ground rules, but I turned him down."

"You're turning down meatballs? He wants to lay down ground rules? You mean, finish what you started, right?"

"Yes, but Steph, I can't. It would be what Jerkface did to me."

We both had been hurt by office romances but it seemed the two of us were just interested in being together, and the rest of it didn't matter all that much.

"You're turning down one of the richest hunks in all of the USA?"

"Yes," I said, pouting at the tone of her voice. "He's my boss."

"You've said that three times already and each time, I still don't understand. You met and you like each other. End of story."

"It's hilarious, because I thought he was a bicycle courier. He played along for a while, amused. I even offered to pay for his health care if he needed to see a doctor for stitches. God, I offered to call his boss and provide a letter that he'd hurt himself because of me."

We laughed for a moment and I thought of how truly funny it was.

Once I got under control, I sighed. "He seemed to like me thinking he was just a bicycle courier."

"He's probably used to having dozens of young women offering themselves to him because of his money."

"And his looks," I added.

"Yes. The being a total hunk part doesn't hurt but make the millions seem even more enticing. He was probably happy that you liked him for himself, rather than his money. You know, poor little rich boy nobody can really see because they have dollar signs in their eyes."

"I suppose so. Thing is, I would have kept seeing him if he was just a bicycle courier."

"You are such a stickler. And that's prejudiced, by the way."

"I even asked him if he knew any Mr. Big types he could introduce me to."

"Oh, my God, that's just too good. He was the actual Mr. Big."

"I know, I know...Why did he have to be my boss?"

"What's he like?"

"He was so nice. Offered to help me. Handed me money and a cell. Took me out for supper and drinks. Sent shivers down my spine before we were rudely interrupted."

"The shivers down your spine part. Spill, sister."

"He kisses good." I smiled, knowing that would drive Steph wild.

"He kisses good? That's all you're giving me? What about the licking the tattoo part?"

"I'll write a story about it. I feel weird telling you."

"Okay, you do that. Write a story. Except, finish it the way you wish it turned out. Maybe title it, 'He Was Just A Bicycle Courier But He Sure Spun My Tires.' Or 'Pulled my chain'. Or Blew My Horn.'"

"You're crazy..."

"You know it. Seriously, Ella. Go out for dinner with him. Have a nice meatball or three. Give him a chance. Jump his damn bones."

"I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long or there'll be someone else come along and be only too happy to take your place, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay. I'll think about it quickly. I gotta go, but thanks for listening."

"Hey, who loves you?" she said with a laugh.

"You do," I replied. "Love you back." Then I hung up, smiling at the thought of her own smile I knew would be plastered across her face.

At around seven, I checked my messages and while I was wishing that Josh had sent me yet another message, thinking that if he had I might have broken down and gone to meet him, a message popped up from Steph.

STEPH: So I take it you're right now sitting in a nice Italian restaurant in Mid-Town Manhattan across from one of the hunkiest richest publishing magnates in the world, enjoying world-famous meatballs like I said you should?

I sighed.

ELLA: Actually, I'm sitting on my bed. There's a frozen dinner in my freezer with my name on it, but I'm not really all that hungry right now...

STEPH: Oh, cry me a river. You're in Damn Manhattan, in a studio apartment in Chelsea, with a job in publishing, and a millionaire hunk wanting to lick your tattoo and a whole lot more. Get your ass down to the restaurant and have some damn meatballs, will ya???

ELLA: Okay.

STEPH: That's better. Dammit! Text me to let me know how it goes. If I don't hear from you, I hope it's because he's busy licking something other than your tattoo. And not his spoon either!

ELLA: Okay, okay. I'll go. *Smooch*

STEPH: *cracks whip*

I smiled and put my cell into my bag and left my apartment.