Chapter 12
Brielle
My footsteps echo in the quiet stairwell. It’s almost weird coming straight home after work, alone.
I liked spending our nights together, getting to know each other, probably more than I should.
I now know if he’s ever broken a bone (nose, age fourteen, fighting) and what he likes for breakfast (protein smoothie daily, occasionally poached eggs with hot sauce).
And he knows that I hate my eggs poached (yuck), and I wanted to be a television weather reporter when I was little.
Holly was supposed to go out tonight, like usual, but I called in my bestie card, and because she’s the best, she stayed home with me. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure I would have had several nervous breakdowns by now without her.
“Ugh, what am I supposed to wear to this thing?” I groan. My closet looks like it threw up on my bed. Everything I own is scattered in various piles, but none of it looks right for a Maine activity retreat, and it’s only an overnight stay.
“Are you going to be doing any of the activities? Or is this a cozy, sit-by-the-fire-with-hot-chocolate kind of thing?”
I drag my hands down my face for the fortieth time today. “I have no idea. I think the ice fishing is just a guys thing, or I’m hoping so, at least. But I don’t know what else they have planned. The Vitales are really active, so they’ll probably have more things for us to do.”
“And how do you know these people again?” she asks.
I still haven’t told Holly the truth about Damian.
She obviously knows that I’ve kind of been seeing someone, which is easier to explain than what we’re really doing.
Building a fake-dating relationship with my boss in order to score an account has a bit more complexity than “I met a guy, and we’ve been hanging out. ”
“They’re Damian’s friends,” I tell her.
“That hot guy who came to pick you up on Valentine’s Day is going ice fishing?” She sits up on my bed just to give me a disbelieving look, before collapsing back down onto the pillow.
“They don’t exactly share the same interests,” I confess.
Holly laughs. “Yeah, hot work guy doesn’t strike me as the outdoorsy type.”
I think back to when I said just the opposite at our Valentine’s Day dinner. It feels like forever ago, when it’s only been two weeks. Damian’s tense jaw, the flash of fire in his eye when I told them that he’s a big nature-lover, was as hot as it was scary.
I groan, dropping myself onto the pile of clothes strewn across my bed. I can lie and tell myself that I have nothing to wear that would be suitable for the colder temperatures up north, but the truth is that it isn’t the temperature on my mind as I dig my way through my wardrobe. It’s Damian.
My phone buzzes loudly on my nightstand, and I stretch myself out to reach it so that I don’t have to get up.
My traitorous heart skips a beat when I see that it’s from Damian, although that’s not what it says on my screen.
I changed his contact in my phone earlier this week.
We don’t talk much at work, but the occasional text does happen, and I didn’t want Rui or Erica to see his name on my screen accidentally.
Valentine: We leave at 5:30.
My jaw drops. Is he serious?
Me: In the morning???
Valentine: Yes, in the morning.
Me: What? Why?
Valentine: It takes four hours to get up there.
I fall backwards, starfishing myself across the bed and Holly, my head landing on her shins.
“What’s up?” Holly asks.
“He wants to get on the road at 5:30 tomorrow morning. And I still have no clue what to pack for this thing.”
“Damn. You must really like this guy.”
“What? No. I never said that.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice. “We’re still getting to know each other.”
“But you’re going away with him for the weekend? That’s kind of a big deal, Bri.”
“It’s not like that. It just kind of… came up.” I don’t know how to explain this without telling her the whole thing.
“And who would say no to spending the night with that hottie,” she laughs.
“We’re not having sex or anything.”
Holly looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’ve spent every night this week with him, and you guys haven’t slept together?”
“No, no… No.” I hadn’t even thought about sleeping with him. He’s my boss. The devil in a very attractive disguise.
Okay, maybe a rogue thought crossed my mind on occasion, but I’m only human. Besides, I highly doubt the wealthy, gorgeous mogul is keeping himself awake with thought of me.
“Well, no time like the present.” Holly waggles her brows suggestively.
“I have a cute little pajama set you should borrow.” I give her a warning look, but she just shoots me a knowing glance back.
“It’s better than the sweats you usually wear.
You can’t go on a weekend getaway with a guy you’re dating with a baggy T-shirt and stained sweatpants. ”
“They’re not stained,” I mumble, but Holly is already up.
She comes back a minute later with a pair of pink silk pajama pants and a tank top.
It isn’t as skimpy as I was expecting, to be honest. The thought of Damian seeing me in that instead of my usual pajamas makes my belly swoop. “Okay, yeah. Throw them in my bag.”
I get up off the bed and put a single sweatshirt on top of the pajamas, picking up and putting down every other article of clothing that I touch. I know I’m overthinking this, but I can’t get out of my own way. I pick up my phone and shoot a text off to Damian, hoping that will help.
Me: What are you wearing?
The three dots appear immediately, then stop. Then pop up again, disappearing just as fast. Finally, the text comes through.
Valentine: Getting into character already? I appreciate that kind of initiative. Gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt.
My face heats as I see what I did wrong there.
Me: I meant what are you wearing this weekend? What are you packing for clothes?
Me: But now that you told me, I have to say I’m having a really hard time picturing you in anything other than a suit.
Valentine: Do you need a visual?
My hand freezes as I reread that text a couple of times. A tightness squeezes at my chest, the seconds ticking by.
I respond at the same time a new message pops up.
Valentine: I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have sent that.
Me: Yes, I think I do.
Shoot. What am I doing? This conversation is getting away from me. Had I waited two more seconds, I would have received his message, accepted his apology, and moved on. Now I have a message—to my boss—that is distinctly asking for a picture of himself.
I am halfway through a message explaining that I was joking when an image comes through of Damian dressed exactly like he said. Gray sweatpants and a plain white tee. His face is cut off, so it just showcases his body.
“Damn, girl,” Holly says, looking over my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not getting in on that? You can send him my way, you know.”
“Shut up. You’re obsessed with Jordan, anyway.”
“Yeah. Which is too bad, because that man is fire.”
I look back at my phone to see another text has come through.
Valentine: Your turn
“Well, that looks like my cue to leave. If I don’t see you before you leave, have fun this weekend.” Holly wiggles her fingers as she backs out of my bedroom.
I roll my eyes. “Love you. Good night.”
“Love you, too.”
I look back at my phone. Should I say something back? Keep it flirty? Or should I shut it down?
A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in my belly. I decide to stick with honesty and leave it at that.
Me: You’re going to be disappointed to learn that I’m still wearing my work clothes.
Valentine: I don’t think you understand the meaning of the word ‘disappointed’
I stretch my arm out and capture a photo with me surrounded by all the clothing chaos.
Valentine: The only disappointing thing in that photo is that your bag is still empty. Get packing. We have an early morning tomorrow.
Me: It has a sweater.
He doesn’t respond. Probably because he didn’t know how to send a proper glare through text, with his eyes all dark and broody, the lines between them grooved. I smile to myself at the image he makes when he does that.
A knocking sound wakes me from a deep sleep.
I crack my sleep-crusted eyes open and swat around my nightstand for my phone.
The screen lights up so bright that I have to close my eyes again, but when I finally get them open, a rush of panic hits me.
Another knock sounds at my door. I throw the bedcovers off and race into the living room before he can wake Holly.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to set my alarm,” I greet Damian in a whisper as I open the door.
He sweeps his gaze up and down me with a scowl.
“You could have texted. Holly’s still sleeping.” Like a normal person, I add under my breath.
“I did. Ten minutes ago. You didn’t respond.”
It’s too early to care about his sour attitude, so I let it go. I’m grumpy this early in the morning, too.
“I need a few minutes to get ready. I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
“So that isn’t what you were planning on wearing?”
I have to look down to see what I slept in.
My F.R.I.E.N.D.S. T-shirt has seen better days, and paired with my Christmas pajama bottoms, bed head, and sleep lines on my face, I am probably quite the sight.
I shoot him an unimpressed glare before going back to my room.
A few minutes later, I’m ready to go. I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth to see Damian sitting on my small sofa, looking wildly out of place.
For the first time this morning, I notice that he’s wearing dark jeans and a gray button-down.
He stands when he sees me, coming over to grab my bag.
His shirt is untucked, which I am guessing is his idea of casual.
“Thanks.” I heft my overnight bag into his hand, and he takes it like it weighs nothing at all.
We get to his car, and Pete takes a step back from the hood. A couple of teens are across the street, giving off the distinct vibe that they’d like to be causing some trouble.
“You’re good. No one came over to bother your ride,” he tells Damian.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Damian pulls his wallet out, but Pete waves him off.
“Keep your money. Just earning what you already gave me.”
I look at Damian. He gave Pete money? When?
He opens the door for me, and we both thank Pete again before taking off.
“Did you give Pete money?” I ask.
“Not today.”
“But before?” I don’t know why I’m so fixated on this. We’ve been spending a lot of time together this past week, and every day, I find out something new about him. But mostly, it’s been facts, childhood memories, and likes and dislikes. Being witness to his character is wholly different.
“Yeah. A few times.”
“How many times?”
“Three,” Damian says casually. “He seems like a decent guy who could use a little help.” My jaw falls. Three times? That means Damian has helped him out almost every time he’s been here.
I don’t know Pete’s whole story, but he’s been hanging around since Holly and I moved in.
He really is a decent guy who could use a helping hand.
He’s never been anything but polite and pleasant to me, always asking about my day.
He helps Holly shovel snow out of her parking spot.
He’s a genuinely good guy who’s fallen on hard times for whatever reason.
“And I like that he looks out for you,” Damian finishes.
Oh. “Me?” My pulse kicks into double time.
Damian glances my way from the side of his eye. His gaze is hot on my face, the confines of his sports car suddenly too small. “Yeah, Brielle. You.”
Air whooshes out of my lungs, my mind frozen on that one word.
I have to remind myself to breathe. Act natural.
Finding out Damian doesn’t want to see me accosted in front of my apartment complex doesn’t mean anything more than that he’s less of a dick than he wants people to believe underneath all that surly attitude.
I reach out and turn the radio on, totally calm and collected.
It automatically syncs to his phone, and a playlist simply titled “Maine” comes up, a song from the band Boston set as the first track.
The same song I was listening to in the office the day he told me to shut it off.
I put the volume on low and lie back in my seat, a strange feeling coursing through my limbs.
It must be the sleep deprivation that’s causing it.
Because it can’t be the makings of a crush.
No. Absolutely not. It’s definitely the lack of sleep.