Chapter 3
I refuse to do the Dougie
February
Amelia
Cramps and brain freeze are a bitch of a combination. My mint chocolate milkshake is already gone, and I’m only halfway through my lunch break.
I look longingly down the hall at the little bistro tables and chairs on the balcony outside, covered in a light layer of snow.
Stupid snow.
Stupid winter.
Stupid February in New York.
I miss sitting outside for lunch. Alex even joined me more often than not. But then it got too cold and he begged me to stay inside until spring. The man was worried I’d turn into an icicle and said he would be lost without me.
That second part is a pretty accurate statement.
It wasn’t my intention to become invaluable to him.
I just wanted to make his life easier. It’s been my main focus for the last six months.
It’s literally my job as his personal assistant, and I’m damn good at it.
That eldest daughter, people pleaser shit pays off sometimes, I guess.
This job was supposed to be temporary while I picked up the pieces of my life.
But that was before I met Alexander Delgado. Before his magnetic pull grabbed hold of me. I’ve had crushes and a few boyfriends, but no one has ever made me feel the way he does.
Bean’s ringtone starts playing from my phone and a photo of the two of us in Halloween costumes from a few years ago pops up on the screen, bringing a smile to my face. We’re unrecognizable in the heavy makeup that took us hours to apply, but it was worth it. Damn, that was a fun night.
For years, we were just next-door neighbors who sometimes hung out. Usually, when her mom had a date and needed a babysitter. But then we spent the whole summer before third grade together and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
Even now, with her back home in Washington State and me living in New York, we call and text each other all the time.
Pressing the answer button, I say, “Milkshakes are never big enough.”
She hums in agreement. “Coffees are also never big enough.”
“Why is that? Who do we complain to?”
“Good question. I’ll get back to you. But I have news. Are you sitting down?” she asks, her tone serious.
Shit. Bean is rarely serious. “Do I need to be sitting down?”
“Yes.”
“Well, lucky for you, I am. But this better not be another pregnancy scare because my heart can’t take any more of those.”
She groans. “I swear that whole box of condoms was defective. But no, that’s not what this is. Think you can take off for a week or so in August?”
“Are you taking me on that cruise you promised me when we were eleven?” I tease.
“Damn it, I forgot about that. Next year, Min,” she promises.
“Um, you’re moving out of Castle Shrew?”
“I fucking wish. Well, actually, kind of. But try again,” she prods.
“You finally beat Breath of the Wild?”
“You know what, fuck you. It’s hard!”
“It’s not that hard and you’ve had years to do it. There’s an entire second game now. And I’m out of guesses. That’s not true. I could probably do this all day. Save yourself the ridiculousness and just tell me.”
“Calvin proposed!” she yells.
I process that little piece of information for a second.
“And you said ‘no, but thanks for the ring’, then pawned it and booked us that cruise?” I ask hopefully.
Calvin’s not high on my ‘fucking awesome people’ list. Actually, he’s not on that list at all.
He’s on the ‘meh, I guess I don’t want to murder you’ list.
She chuckles. “I know he’s not your favorite person in the world, but you have to admit he’s the best guy I’ve dated.”
Yeah, because she has the worst taste in men. The. Worst. The bar was fucking low when Calvin came into the picture, and he barely cleared it.
“I won’t disagree with you there. And if you’re happy, I’m happy. I already have an idea for your wedding present.”
“It better not be a giant box of condoms.”
“Who, me? Never!” I say innocently. It’s going to be an enormous box of condoms. Every variety I can find: lubed, ribbed, flavored, and every color imaginable.
“Yes, you. I know you, Minnie.” Her teasing tone ends with a sigh. “Which is how I know you’re not going to like this next bit.”
That’s comforting… “Out with it, Bean.”
“I want you to be a bridesmaid… I mean, really, I want you to be maid of honor, but Mom and Stephanie threw a fit because Steph’s my sister, and she’s here while you’re all the way across the country.”
Ouch. Fucking Tiffany. Of course she made a big deal about Bean picking me over her precious, perfect Stephanie. She’s Tiffany’s pride and joy.
I pick up my shake cup, hoping to see more mint chocolate goodness has magically appeared inside, but it’s still empty.
“Your mom has always hated me. She’d make both our lives a living hell if you picked me as your maid of honor instead of your sister. She’s going to make our lives hell anyway, but it would be way worse.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to stand up to her. To both of them. But I folded and I feel terrible. And I know I’m going to need your help a ton.”
A deep sigh escapes me. “It’s okay. You know I’d do anything for you. You’re my best friend. Just don’t put me in pink or red. I look terrible in both and I’m putting a hundred bucks down right now on the shrew pushing for one or the other.”
“Shut up, you look gorgeous in anything. And I’m not taking that bet because I would already owe you a big fat Benjamin. She immediately suggested both colors specifically for you.”
Laughing louder than I mean to, I glance at the open office door. Alex leaves it open most of the time. He’s told me I should never worry about being too loud, but I’m always afraid he’ll change his mind because I can get very loud.
I like the door being open. I can hear him move around, shift in his chair, and type on his computer. Best of all, I get to hear his voice when he talks on the phone. God, his voice is so yummy.
The alarm on my phone goes off in my ear, signaling the end of my lunch break. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. Text me the dates, I’ll put in for it now. But only if you promise to ban The Dougie and The Cupid Shuffle from the reception.”
“Deal,” she says with a chuckle. “So much deal. Love you.”
“Love you more.” We hang up, and I let out another sigh. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear Alex until he’s standing in the doorway. Usually, I hear him as soon as he stands up from his desk.
“Is something wrong, Amelia?”
I turn toward him, breathing in his spicy musk that’s my favorite fucking smell in the world. His jacket has long since been discarded, probably tossed haphazardly on the couch in his office, and his sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms.
“Not wrong, just…unexpected.”
The spot between his deep green eyes wrinkles in concern. I have a love/hate relationship with that little wrinkle. I love that he worries about me, but I hate making him worry.
“Really, Mr. Delgado, I’m fine.”
He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed and raises an eyebrow, causing the wrinkle to disappear. “Amelia, you know you don’t have to call me that unless we’re in a meeting or something.”
“Yeah, but I had to get rid of that worry-crinkle between your eyes somehow.” I grin widely.
“I do not have a worry-crinkle.” He shakes his head with a smirk and runs a hand through his dark hair, a few light strands catching the light. I love the silver gathered at his temples. And the way his jade eyes shine with laughter. I don’t have a thing for older men, but I have a thing for him.
He’s always holding doors open, pulling out chairs, and hailing taxis for me.
He would prefer I use his car service, but it feels wildly inappropriate.
On the nights we’ve stayed at the office until almost midnight, I’ve allowed him to escort me home in one of those cars.
He walks me to my apartment door and then says goodnight like a gentleman.
Much to my dismay, never once has he followed me in and fucked me against that door.
He didn’t even come inside when I had a bad cold and he brought me soup a few weeks ago.
Maybe how we are with each other isn’t exactly flirting, but it comes damn close.
We both skirt the line constantly. And I don’t know if it means the same thing to him that it does to me, but I doubt he has to keep an extra pair of panties in his purse at all times.
I have to change mine at least once a day during the work week.
His voice, his scent, his teasing… It does things to me.
I sometimes imagine that he touches himself in the shower like I do, calling out my name as he comes, like I call out his.
I have no proof he does, but a girl can fucking dream, right?
Alex rarely talks about his personal life.
I know he lives in a penthouse, hates cabs, and has a daughter who is about my age.
He doesn’t wear a ring. He’s never brought a woman to the office—not even to the Christmas party.
If he did, I would have to stop fantasizing about him.
I might be half in love with him, but I couldn’t think of him the way I do if he were with someone else.
Also, I’m probably more than half in love with him.
God, it always makes my stomach ache to think of him having a girlfriend.
With everyone else, I can hide my emotions behind my well-trained stoic dancer mask. But he sees right through it. That crinkle of concern comes back.
“How was your milkshake?” he asks.
“Fantastic.” My cheeks heat. He’s an observant man.
Not every boss would notice the bottle of Midol and the heating pad that show up on the days I order milkshakes.
He did the second month I was here. The plus side to him knowing I’m on my period is that he mistakes the look of discomfort crossing my face for cramps instead of a ‘please-don’t-have-a-secret-girlfriend’ stomach ache.
“Give yourself brain freeze again?” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “Of course. You know I have no self-control where mint chocolate is concerned.” Milkshakes, coffee, alcohol, cookies, ice cream…mint chocolate is my weakness.
Well, mint chocolate and Alexander Delgado.