23. My name is Bond. Jamie Bond
23
MY NAME IS BOND. JAMIE BOND
L ena calls me into her office a few weeks later, the urgency in her voice apparent. “Now. I need you in this office now.”
I run after her, phone and notebook in hand, my heart racing a little. It’s been a while since we’ve addressed the giant Prada bag in the room—Jenna’s betrayal—and I wonder if whatever it is she wants to talk about is related to this. Did she finally find a way to give me the recognition I deserve? Did she find a way to make Jenna pay? Or are we just generally screwed?
“Shut the door and take a seat,” she says, motioning for the chair in front of her desks. When we’re both seated and calmer, she finally speaks. “I’ve managed to receive a last minute invite to a work event tonight, and I need you to come with me. I know it’s Friday and you probably have plans, but you need to cancel them.”
I frown, confused. “Okay?”
“Okay? What do you mean okay ?”
“I—Well, I thought you were going to tell me there’s been some progress with the whole Jenna thing. That you’d figured out a way to…”
“To what, Bridget?” She raises a brow, her eyes shooting icy daggers at me.
“I… don’t know, honestly.” I sigh, because I don’t know. What is there to do? I just kind of hoped she would know.
“I told you to leave it to me. And tonight is part of that. I found a way to get invited to Stevenson’s anniversary party. It’s always this huge gala, and this year it’s going to be at the New York Public Library. Dinner, dancing—the works. They’re going to be honoring their new CFO. I want to use that opportunity to talk to our clients and yes, maybe undercut Jenna by giving them more attention than she ever could. She doesn’t know anything about the account, she doesn’t know the ins and outs, and she sure as hell isn’t coming up with the golden ideas. But she’s recycling everything we say, which means the client thinks she’s so devoted to them. I want to go to this party and show up for them, make nice with the buyers and the higher ups, show our faces so they can begin to associate us with this project and not Jenna—or even Sartoria for that matter.”
I blink at her, processing her words. “I don’t understand.”
She sighs and blushes, like she knows her answer will be embarrassing. “I want us to be the girl you can’t avoid. I want to make ourselves unavoidable and constantly available. And while that would sound kind of pathetic in the dating world, I don’t think standard dating rules apply here. When it comes to sales, I think the opposite is almost always true: playing hard to get becomes a problem, and making yourself constantly available is how you succeed.”
I shake my head. “I’m confused. We already signed this deal. We just need to finish it. What are you talking about making ourselves—?” Realization hits me in the chest with the full force of a train. “You mean us as in you and me ?” Did she mean eventually cutting out Sartoria not thirsty.” She brings her index finger to her lips in a silent shh , looking around in every direction as if there were cameras all around us. “Later.”
I nod. “So what’s the plan?” I ask in a whisper.
“The plan is we go to this party tonight. We schmooze. And we pull their attention to us. I want to get more info on what Jenna’s been feeding them. And I want you to try and find her assistant and bond with her, too. It’ll be just you and me—I checked with Jenna’s assistant, and she said she was otherwise engaged tonight, so it’s a perfect time.”
“Okay. Done.”
“Do you need a dress for tonight? We might have some black tie dress samples in your size in the closet you could borrow.”
My eyes widen, breath catching. “The sample closet?” Act cool. Act cool. Do not freak out. Do not blow this. You are just a few minutes away from living out your movie montage makeover fantasy. “I… Yes, I would love to borrow a black tie dress for tonight.”
“Okay, then. Tell Marina from product development to give you something—not too boring and not too sexy, please. We don’t want them to think you’re matronly or a Kardashian.”
I snort and nod before leaving her office, walking with purpose to the elevators. While I wait, I text Will:
Bridget
Lena’s got me on some super secret mission for work, so I’m not gonna be able to hang tonight.
After what happened between us the night of his mom’s birthday party, Will and I had decided that denying the intense chemistry between us was a bit ridiculous. It was obvious there was a spark there, and we both enjoyed more than each other’s company.
“We’re adults,” I’d told him as we’d lain naked in bed, his fingers trailing a path up and down my spine. “We can do this just for fun, right?”
It was a pathetic attempt by me to have whatever part of Will he’d be willing to give me. If I couldn’t have his heart, I could at least have his friendship and body, right? The silver-lining of it all?
He didn’t look as enthused by the idea as I thought he would—and it stung. “You mean do a friends-with-benefits thing? Are you sure?”
Did he think I couldn’t handle myself? That I wouldn’t be able to separate sex from romantic feelings for him? I half wanted to tell him that of course I could. After all, I’d fallen in love with him way before I ever laid eyes on him.
“I’m sure.” I stretched to kiss Will, to taste him and reassure him that I was in it. “You’re kinda my best friend. And also the best sex I’ve ever had.”
This made him laugh, even made his cheeks flush a little. He slinked an arm around my waist and brought me closer to him. “Ditto. And ditto.”
“So let’s do this.”
“Alright,” he grinned, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What are our rules? We gotta have some rules, right?”
I paused to think, scanning his face for every minute change in his expression, searching for… something. But his face had slipped into a comfortable poker face.
“I don’t know,” I said finally with a shrug. “I just know I enjoy doing this. Maybe the rule is we keep doing this until we stop enjoying it? Simple as that?”
He bent to place a soft kiss on my shoulder, raising goosebumps on my skin. “I can do that. But what about exclusivity?”
Every muscle in my body tensed, though I tried my best to play it cool. I took a deep breath to regulate my heartbeat before answering to the best of my abilities. “I don’t think… I don’t think I’d be able to do this if you were still sleeping with other people.”
“There are no other people, Bridge.” His voice was soft, eyes intense.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I wanted to know whether there were other people for you . Whether you’re seeing other people.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not seeing anyone.”
He smiles. “Well, alright then. The rules are we’re exclusive, and we stop doing this once it stops being fun and/or we want to start seeing other people.”
“Deal.”
And with that, we’d agreed to continue our friendship—and added some serious benefits to it.
Our friendship has remained the same—we still text often, support each other, and hang out all the time. Only now, some of his messages have turned spicy (again) and whenever he comes over, we often end up in bed—or the shower or kitchen counter or the floor or against my damn front door.
Ginger has gotten attached to him, too. Will bribes her with treats and cuddles every time he comes over, and honestly I don’t blame her. There’s no way anyone could resist a good cuddle from that man. When Will sleeps over, she nudges herself between us if we’re spooning, purrs loudly the second he pets her.
We’re both head over heels for Will Jacobs and I can feel the danger of it. But I still can’t help myself.
Maybe a night away from him will be good after all.
Will
Oh, yeah, Jamie Bond? You out to kill someone or something, 007?
I snort, getting into the elevator when it arrives.
Bridget
Or something
Will
It’s fine. I was actually going to text you anyways. I forgot I had plans already
Bridget
Awww, Will. You don’t have to make something up just so you don’t sound as lame, you know? That makes it even more pathetic.
Will
LOL.
Call me when you’re done with your mission? Maybe we can still meet up
Bridge
Will do
Will
K. Talk then
Idiotically, I begin to type love you but catch myself just in time and delete it in a manic panic. The horror of the moment distracts me from realizing that I’ve made it to my floor, a virtual shopping center of the most incredible dresses—some samples that never went into production and some that became our clients’ bestsellers.
I look around the floor, slack-jawed in disbelief. Like a whole department store floor to myself. I know in a heartbeat this place is going to find something for me.
* * *
“Come on, Ginger. Please eat. What’s going on with you?” I groan, pushing my baby’s food bowl towards her in an attempt to tempt her. She sniffs at her paté, loaded with beef Churus (essentially just cat GoGurt, if you ask me) to tempt her even more. But she just walks away, jumps on her chair, and curls up with a giant sigh.
Anxiety rips through me as I stand in the middle of my apartment in a huge red floral print taffeta dress with a high slit and black heels. Ginger barely picked at her breakfast this morning, but I thought she was just protesting how I’d given her the same meal three times in a row. So I gave her some treats instead, assuming she’d eat when she was hungry, and went to work. But she won’t eat now, either, and it’s killing me.
“At least have some water?” I ask, kneeling in front of her chair, placing the water bowl by her, doing my best not to ruin this dress.
She lifts her head and laps at the water a bit, which eases me a little. Maybe it’s a virus. Maybe it’s nothing. But what if it’s something horrible?
My phone vibrates for the eighth time in the last thirty minutes. I would bet my life that it’s Lena again asking where I am. I considered telling her the truth, but I’m not sure “my cat is sick” fits the list of acceptable reasons to skip out on work events (or is this a work sabotage? I don’t even know anymore).
With a sigh, I place the food and water bowl near Ginger’s chair and kiss her on the head, right between her ears. “I’ll be home as soon as possible, okay? Like, sooner than as soon as possible.”
But she doesn’t reply, of course. Doesn’t even look me in the eye.
Something about it doesn’t feel right, but I ignore my instincts.
With a deep breath, I grab my phone from the bed and stuff it into my clutch before heading out into the chilly spring night.
When I get to the New York Public Library, Lena is out of her mind angry with me. Thankfully, we’re in public, so she reels it in, the vein in her forehead close to bursting.
“What the hell took you so long?” she hisses, pulling me by the arm into the hall. “You missed the presentation and the awards. I told you we need to be everywhere.”
“I know, I’m sorry. But my cat?—”
She heaves a sigh and stops to stare at me. “It’s fine. You’re here. Go get yourself a drink and scan the party for Iris. If you see her, text me. I’ll do the same if I find her first.” With that, she turns on her heels and disappears into the crowd.
Checking she’s out of sight, I head towards the bar because, if I’m going to endure the rest of this night, I’m going to need a cocktail. And a strong one at that. It’s a work event, and of course I need to focus, so I remind myself to keep my drink limit to one. But when I’m hit with a familiar scent at the bar, my whole body tenses in anticipation, head swims with it. Because I would know that orange blossom and vanilla scent anywhere—even surrounded by a crowd.