Chapter 19
19
Harrison
I can’t get past her doorman.
After pleading my case, he threatened to call the police. At least I know she’s safe in this building.
Standing outside on the sidewalk to avoid getting a criminal record in New York City, I call her. Again, there’s no answer. “Fuck.”
Going a different route, I call Natalie. “Hello?” She answers like she didn’t see my name pop up.
“Natalie, it’s Harrison.”
A soft laugh is heard. “I know. Does anybody not have caller ID?”
“Nope. Hey, I’m still looking for Tatum. I went by her apartment, but she’s not around. Do you think she’s at the office?”
“I can find out. Hold on.” The line goes quiet as I stand here waiting, trying to recall if she ever told me where in the city the office is located.
I shift, thinking I should grab a cab because I’m either heading to STJ’s offices or heading back to Natalie’s. I walk to the curb, but when I hear, “Harrison?” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“It’s me.”
“She’s at the office. I just confirmed on the security camera. It’s after hours, so no one answered, and I didn’t want to call her because it would ruin the surprise.”
“I’m not trying to surprise her. I’m trying to find her.”
“Same thing,” she says. If pep in her step could be heard in a voice, she just nailed it. “I’ll text you the office code to get in. It will be so romantic.”
Holding my finger up like she can see it, I reply, “I think that’s making this bigger than it is.”
“She’ll love it.”
“Natalie?”
“Yes?”
She sounds too happy to burst her bubble. I shake my head, but I’m smiling. It’s good to have Tatum’s best friend’s support. “Don’t forget to text me the code. Oh, and the address.”
“Doing it now. Good luck!”
“Thanks. I’m going to need it.” With my toes hanging over the curb, I throw my arm into the air to get a taxi.
SoHo isn’t far on a map. Throw in some major traffic and that’s an hour I’ll never get back. I have no idea if she’s still at work, but I’m going to give this my best shot. Just not empty-handed.
I turn in circles searching for a flower shop, or gift store, or anything, but most appear to be closed. I’m left with two options—coffee shop or a hot dog stand. Since the line is twenty people deep at the coffee shop, I rush to the stand, knowing this is fucking stupid but do it anyway. “Two hot dogs, please.”
Five minutes later, the elevator opens on the floor, and I walk toward the glass front door. After punching in the code, I gain entrance and start slowly scoping out the place. Pink walls, floral designs, and white desks. It’s very feminine, and I can see Natalie’s and Tatum’s tastes represented—high fashion mixed with low-key cool and pretty.
The lights are off, but as the sun sets outside, it’s easy to spy one light coming from an office down the corridor. But the last thing I want to do is scare her, so I try to figure out how I let her know I’m here.
“Decker?”
I whip around to see Tatum standing with a stack of gifts in her arms. “Hey. Hi. I got your messages. Well, there were no messages per se, but missed calls. Anyway, I’d show you, but my hands are full of wieners.” Fucking hell, why’d I say that?
Her gaze volleys back and forth between my hands. A grin wiggles across her lips, and then splits as she starts to laugh. “Do you need some alone time with your wieners?”
“Fuck, I sound like an idiot. I brought you a hot dog, but I’m not even sure if you eat them.”
She comes closer and signals toward the office where the light is streaming. “Come on.” There’s no sign of distress or urgency. Her body language is relaxed despite holding the gifts. I’m starting to think I was reading too much into a few missed calls.
I follow her into the office and look around. Although there is one, there’s no need for a name placard next to the door. This room has Tatum written all over it. The walls are painted in bold black and white stripes, her desk is white as well as the console and shelves behind her to break up the pattern. Accents of pink dot the space from bookends to pillows on the deep green velvet couch. Windows expand from one end to the other corner. “That’s a helluva view.”
She sets the boxes down on a table in front of the couch and looks out like she’s just noticing it for the first time. With her hands on her hips, she replies, “For a people watcher like myself, it’s terribly distracting.”
“I bet. Hot dog?” I offer her my wiener and then laugh inwardly because yes, I’m a prepubescent boy all of a sudden.
Her bottom lip drops on one side as she stares at the offering. Damn, I almost take the rejection personally.
Then she takes it and says, “I haven’t had a street dog since I was fourteen. I threw up for five blocks trying to get home after getting food poisoning. You can imagine what a delight I was for Natalie. Barely teenagers. Trying to be cool. And her best friend puking all over the sidewalk every thirty feet.” She sits on the couch, leaving room for me unlike how she sleeps, hogging the middle. “I was lucky it came out that way. Here goes nothing . . .” She takes a big bite.
I’m not sure if I have the stomach for it now. “You don’t have to eat it. The flower shop was closed.”
She chews, but a smile shines in the shape of her eyes. “You were going to get me flowers?” I nod, but then she says, “The dog is much more original. Way to stand out.”
I set my hot dog down on the table, and ask, “You called me?”
“Yeah, Um . . . I had a . . . moment today.” She follows me and sets her dog down, too. “Earlier. Much earlier,” she replies, waving me off.
“I’m glad you reached out to me. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It was silly. Nothing was actually wrong in the end. I think I just . . . hm. Did you know we’ve never texted? Well, you did a little while ago. I was going to text back when I knew what to say.”
I’m not sure what to make of her right now. There’s a frenzied pace to her words, and she bit off more than she could chew quickly, almost like she was wanting to end the conversation. “And you don’t know?”
She blinks a few times but doesn’t lose eye contact. I appreciate that. “I’m not sure it’s worth talking about anymore.”
As if she crossed that T, she appears finished with that line of questioning. That has me changing tactics . “How was your day?”
“Busy. I have a client that I can’t seem to please. He insists on meeting after meeting about the most trivial stuff. Like those boxes.” And she’s off like nothing ever happened. “He wanted to see the gift-wrapping options and how we can mix it up for him. Our wrapping is custom-made to fit the occasion, but he wants me to whip something together just to show him the bow. It’s ridiculous. His wife won’t care about the box once she sees what’s inside.”
“What’s inside?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t even get me started. That’s a whole other list, and he can’t decide. So basically, I’m showing him boxes for a gift that might not even fit inside. He told me that I’m doing too good of a job, and I made this difficult for him. He wants to meet soon to discuss everything over lunch again. I’m exhausted. He only eats pasta with me because his wife doesn’t allow him to eat it.”
“Is he hitting on you?”
“ Of course, he is. I see right through it. But when he’s spending six figures on an anniversary present, I’m supposed to be available.”
“No, you’re supposed to find the perfect gift. That doesn’t include you.” I shouldn’t have snapped, but I fucking hate men who prey on women. It’s different if they ask you to, which has happened to me before. It just wasn’t my brand of kink.
She jerks her head back. It’s subtle, but I see the change in her demeanor. A beguiling smile, that look in her eyes that tells me I’ve lit a fire inside, and her hand rubs over my knee. “Oh my, Mr. Decker, do I detect a note of jealousy?”
“Is that a turn-on for you?”
Stilling, she keeps her eyes locked on mine as she seems to digest the question. “You’re a turn-on for me.” She leans forward to kiss me. I won’t turn her down. Fuck, I want her just as much. I always want to know what’s going on inside her head. Rejection won’t win me points, so I kiss her. The feel of her lips pressed to mine makes it hard to stand on some made-up principle.
I stop, though. I hate myself for doing it, but it has to be done. “I want to take you to dinner, or we can order in if you’re not up for it. I just want more time with you. I like hearing about your day and your thoughts on wrapping paper. I like seeing where you work and . . .” I run a hand through my hair, looking down. When I look back up at her, her eyes are set on mine, but there’s a softness at the corners.
She asks, “And?” The anticipation is thread through the simple request.
“And I get why he’d want more time than he should get with you.” The fucker better not try anything. “Given the chance, Tate, I’d spend every minute with you, too, if I had my way.”
“Have your way with me then, and let’s go back to my place.” Taking hold of my hands, she urges me forward. “We can order food and hang out in bed, watch TV, and you know, just be together. Only the two of us.”
“You sure that’s what you want?”
She gets up and settles on my lap, wrapping her arms around me. “I do, Harrison. It sounds like the best date ever.” My head is kissed and then my temple.
I’m not sure I can take credit, but the woman who is used to getting anything she wants doesn’t want much with me . . . wait , that came out wrong. She’s content with me. That’s better.
With my arms around her middle, I hold her on my lap and look at her. “I think so too. You ready to head out, or do you need to wrap some things up first?”
“I’m ready. I was working late to avoid going home alone. My head will wander to a billion places that I don’t want to go if left to its own devices.”
She’s starting to open up without having to use ploys or tactics. That’s progress, and I’ll take it. “You sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”
“Not yet.” Her arms tighten around me, and we kiss again. “Is that okay?”
Rubbing her hip, I nod. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.” I want to push to get answers, but pushing Tatum will only push her away.
She hops off my lap, her skirt clinging to her curves, her high heels solid in her stance. The woman is skilled standing in those all day. She moves around her desk and takes care of a few things before asking, “Ready?”
I stand and join her at the door. When she closes it, I take her hand, and we walk through the empty office together. At the elevator, she asks, “How’d you get in?”
Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I reply, “Natalie.”
A small smile appears, and she looks up at me. “She’s hoping we get together.”
“And here I thought we already had.” The door slides open, and we step into the empty elevator. “We once made a pact not to.”
“Since we’re making this up as we go, let’s start with breaking our own rule.” I caress her face and then kiss her because I need to. Because . . . I fucking missed her today.