Chapter Seven
Jane
Well, this has been one of the most surreal nights of my life. I went from wanting to make a good impression on my boss to kissing and dancing with him—while he had no idea who I was.
I’m not sure how I feel about being so forgettable, but it makes sense. He’s used to women far different from me. I’m just the poor girl he rescued from a creep. It goes to show how little our ill-fated encounter affected him.
He takes a step back, releasing me for the first time since we hit the dance floor. “Jane. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you right away.”
His words are smooth, but there’s something on his face that tells me he’s backpedaling.
“Well, we didn’t technically meet this morning, did we? You were in a bit of a hurry.” I know I shouldn’t remind him of how rude he was, but I can’t help myself. He inadvertently leveled the playing field when he all but stuck his tongue down my throat, and I can’t pass up the chance to have a little fun with him.
“I was rude.”
“Maybe a little,” I relent, “but you just made up for it, so I guess we’re even.”
He smiles at me, his eyes dancing. “Thanks.”
And now it’s uncomfortable. What do I do? He’s not a normal guy. He’s my boss. It’s not like I can sit down and have a drink with him, not even if I now know he’s a good dancer and an even better kisser. Just the briefest thought of that kiss makes my pulse pound dangerously hard, and I know I need to go before I embarrass myself even more.
“I think I should go now,” I manage to mumble over the blood rushing through my ears. Between that and the music, I can barely hear myself think.
“What? You’re going so soon?”
I nod. “I want to be fresh tomorrow morning. You know. For work.”
He winces even though I don’t mean anything negative by it. “Right. That.” Suddenly, his eyes light up. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “At least let me see you home. Did you take a cab?”
I don’t understand why he’s being so nice right now, not when he wasn’t this morning. Should he take the easy out now that he knows who I am?
I offer him another one. “Yes, but I was planning on walking. It’s a pretty good distance.” Somehow, the idea of sitting in the back of a cab with him is even more panic-inducing than anything else that’s happened. If I tell him I’m walking, he’ll back off. No one wants to walk that far in the dead of a New York winter, no matter how mild it’s been.
Lesson One: Do not assume anything about Anthony James.
“I’m always up for a good walk. Can I walk with you?” When I hesitate, trying desperately to think of something else to put him off, he adds, “You shouldn’t walk alone at night, especially in New York City. Didn’t anybody ever tell you that?”
He has a point, especially considering where I live. I’ve just backed myself into a corner. If I tell him I’m taking a cab now, I’ll look like a fool. And there’s no way in hell I’m telling him that I didn’t think of it being dangerous because I’ve never had anyone checking up on me like that.
I have a feeling Anthony isn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Okay.” I wave to Chloe to let her know I’m leaving, and the look on her face tells me I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when we see each other in the morning.
Wonderful.
I wonder if I could try for a job in DC or Philadelphia. Or Seattle.
As soon as I step outside, I regret telling him I’d walk. I button my coat up to my throat and wind my scarf around my neck. He turns up the collar of his coat, which of course only makes him look more dashing. Like he needs any help.
We walk in silence for more than a block and it’s a surprisingly companionable silence, not uncomfortable at all.
And that’s a lie.
He smiles at me like he’d rather do nothing else than walk in near-freezing temperatures next to a virtual stranger he’d been kissing less than an hour ago. The question of what he’s going to want from me when we reach my building bounces around my skull like a ping pong ball. What should I do? I have no experience with this sort of thing.
Inevitably, I start babbling to break the silence. “I’m looking forward to learning more about the company.
He raises an eyebrow. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah?”
Maybe this is my chance to show him what a go-getter I am. Maybe this is a golden opportunity. I can erase that terrible first impression from this morning and get off to a better start.
“Sure,” I reply, more eager than ever. “I mean, for instance, I overheard a bunch of people talking about Chambersmith this morning and how they’re looking for a new advertising team. It’s a pretty big deal, right?”
“Chambersmith? Yeah, I guess.”
He guesses. They’re only one of the biggest stationery and office supply producers in the country, and they’re looking for his company to revive their image. How can he be so blasé about it? Then again, as the CEO’s son, maybe he’s the sort of person who’s used to having everyone else do things and not having to think about how they get done.
Still, I keep going. “It must be hard for them, the digital age. Not as many people writing things out, nobody sending letters anymore.”
“Yeah.”
I’m losing him. Dammit. I have to make my point, and it has to be a good one.
I start scrambling, words pouring from my mouth. “I see commercials for them sometimes, and I think they’re going about things the wrong way. Their approach is the same as always. Yes, we know their name, we know they have a strong reputation. They don’t need to keep hitting us over the head with that. Instead, if it were up to me, I would make sure they acknowledged the digital age and how it’s affected all of us, but also how some things never change. If anything, some people are starting to swing back to more traditional means. Like how traditional books are making a comeback after everyone said ebooks would kill them off. Bullet journaling is huge right now, for instance. There will always be people who prefer to write things out. There’s something soothing about that. The same goes for getting a handwritten message in the mail. It’s like, I don’t know, reconnecting to something that’s been lost. Besides, anybody who’s ever gotten a card in the mail knows the feeling of gratitude that somebody took the time to handwrite a message. Finding that card or letter, years later, maybe even after the person who wrote it is gone?” I shiver, and not just from the cold. “I mean, that’s huge. You can actually touch the paper, feel the impression from the pen against it. And you know that loved one, whoever they were, made that impression. Much more impactful than finding an email. Imagine finding a birthday card from a beloved grandparent and running your fingers over it. Imagine a commercial with somebody doing just that. I mean, jeez. I’d cry if I watched it. And I’d probably sit down and write a letter, frankly.”
I’m pretty impressed with myself. In fact, I can see the entire commercial in my head. For someone who has no family, the idea of one tugs my heartstrings like nothing else.
If Anthony’s impressed, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even respond. I wonder if he’s listening to me at all. Well. At least it carried us through most of the walk. We’re only another block shy of my building by the time I finish speaking, so at least I don’t have to feel like an idiot for long. Hopefully, tomorrow he’ll forget about this whole day.
“This is me.”
We stop in front of my front door, and Anthony’s handsome face is a blank mask. Shit. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve walked and not said a word. He probably thinks I’m some scrambling upstart, trying to use our time together to my advantage...then again, isn’t that exactly who I am and what I tried to do?
Can’t I do any of this right?
He takes the slightest step closer to me. Shit. My heart drops. That’s all he’s interested in. He doesn’t want to hear my ideas. He only wants to kiss me. Probably more. I feel like a rabbit in a snare, and my mind rushes around wildly for a way to get out of the situation. Meanwhile, his eyes meet mine. Wow. They’re beautiful. He’s beautiful.
I stick out my hand before those eyes of his undo me and I get myself into even more hot water. “Thanks so much for everything tonight. You saved my butt.”
Oh, sweet Lord. What a stupid thing to say.
Something flashes in his eyes, and he looks down at the hand I’ve thrust in his direction. The corners of his mouth curve up into what looks like a wry smile. Then he laughs softly. Still, he takes my hand in his much larger one—his engulfs mine—and I remember the warmth of his hands on my back when we danced.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could save, uh, your butt.” He laughs again, but his laugh isn’t unfriendly, and his eyes twinkle. Then he turns and hails a cab. Magically, one pulls right up in front of him. I’ve never been so lucky.
I don’t realize until I’m already halfway up the stairs to my floor that he held the cab back until I was safe inside the building. I don’t want to think about what that means. All I want to do is take a shower and curl up in bed.
And hope that tomorrow’s going to be better.