Sincerely Not Yours (Knitted in Love #1)
1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Gigi Ricci’s phone chimed, slicing through the early morning darkness and jerking her from a complicated dream, in which she’d lost all her teeth while also running late to high school math class. Sitting straight up in bed, she clutched the covers and gasped. Her hand went straight to her mouth. Confirming all her teeth were still present and accounted for, she slumped back into her pillows, releasing a breath.
It’d been nearly two decades since high school. Why did her sleeping brain torture her so? Couldn’t she dream about tropical beaches with margaritas and handsome lifeguards? Or kittens and rainbows?
Still dazed, she squinted at the alarm clock. 5:56 a.m. blinked back at her in an accusation.
Who’s texting me at this hour?
With a grunt, Gigi grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She swiped the notification and discovered a text from her boss. “Emergency meeting. Eight o’clock sharp. East conference room. Don’t be late.”
“That is not good,” she mutter-whispered, but the message woke her as quickly as a shot of caffeine. Kim, her boss, was wound tight, but she didn’t call emergency meetings unless there was a true disaster.
In record time, Gigi showered and threw herself together. She laced on tennis shoes and tossed a pair of dressy ballet flats into her tote bag, along with a thermos of coffee. Finally, she pulled on her peacoat and grabbed a container of yogurt to eat on the way to the office. Then she hit the streets of Chicago in a power walk. Her apartment was only eight blocks from work, but the last-minute meeting had her in a time crunch. She had a report due this morning that she hadn’t quite finished last night. Now she’d have to complete it before Kim’s meeting.
Fighting off the biting wind, she tugged her knit cap down to cover her ears before popping open her yogurt cup. With a plastic spoon, Gigi ate her breakfast and navigated the familiar route past tall stoic buildings on a quiet sidewalk covered with a light dusting of snow. Thankfully, there were few commuters to battle as she raced along, wondering what had blown up at the office.
Had they reduced next year’s marketing budget? Were there issues with the Christmas ad campaigns or holiday product lineup? As the marketing director of SheTime, a Ryan & Ryan brand of premium beauty products, Gigi often navigated challenges, but the next few weeks were filled with holiday events. She didn’t have time for a major crisis.
“Please don’t let this be as bad as the apple pie-scented face-lotion fiasco.” Her stomach squeezed as she recalled the same time last winter, which had also required an emergency meeting.
Last year, SheTime’s fall beauty collection had a dessert theme, and the bestselling fragrance was “spiced apple pie.” However, a last-minute change to one of the antiaging ingredients in the face lotion had caused a strange reaction with the fragrance. After applying it, the sweet scent turned sour and smelled more like stinky feet than spiced apple pie.
Gigi groaned, pushing through the revolving door and into the office lobby. The social media backlash had been brutal, and it’d been Gigi’s responsibility to clean up the mess. A true PR nightmare.
Because no one wanted their face to smell like stinky feet. Obviously.
With a wave to the security guard, Gigi strode through the quiet lobby, hoping the emergency meeting was good news, like an early Christmas bonus or a larger marketing budget for the next year. Maybe an assistant? Something that would make her smile rather than scream. Scraping the bottom of the yogurt container, Gigi wished she knew what the meeting was about and considered texting her boss, but got distracted by the closing elevator door ahead.
“Hold the door, please!” she called, breaking into a jog. The office was in a historic building, making it an architectural gem with ornate stone archways and marble floors. That also meant the elevators were notoriously slow. She didn’t have a minute to spare this morning.
Miraculously, a large, masculine hand appeared, catching the door and pushing it open.
“Thanks,” Gigi sighed, slipping inside to discover a man standing near the control panel.
“Good Morning. What floor?” Dressed impeccably in a tailored charcoal-gray suit, he greeted her with an indifferent nod. The fabric clung to his tall frame, accentuating a lean, muscular silhouette. Everything about him was meticulous. Polished. Expensive. His piercing green eyes sized her up in a way that gave her the jitters.
“Morning,” she replied, but as the door squeezed shut, Gigi squirmed. She was suddenly conscious of her own appearance. Warm from the hurried walk, she’d opened her peacoat, exposing jeans and a cat-themed sweater. And it wasn’t just any cat-themed sweater. It was green and red, with three felines sporting tiny scarves and hats. Around the cats, there was embroidery that proclaimed Meowy Christmas . If she was being honest, it was one of her favorite sweaters. It just seemed a little out of place next to the suit guy. Besides the sweater, she had pulled her knit hat so low that it nearly covered her eyes. And to top off her too-early-for-this ensemble, Gigi held a yogurt cup in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other—which contained her last bite of yogurt.
She must look like a crazy person who’d wandered in off the streets.
“I work here,” she blurted, not able to control the urge to justify herself to this stranger. One of her tennis shoes was untied, and she almost informed the man that she’d packed ballet flats to change into. Of course, she’d run into Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome the day she looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of missing pieces.
He arched a well-groomed brow. “I believe you.” Though he didn’t sound like he did. “What floor?” He pointed to the control panel, reminding her of his unanswered question.
“Four, please.” Gigi analyzed his dark hair as he hit the button. Had he intentionally styled it to look perfectly mussed? When he pressed the tenth-floor button for himself, she straightened, as that was where the top of SheTime’s corporate ladder resided. Maybe he was a banker or investor? One of Mr. Ryan’s tennis club friends? Though they usually showed up at the office in expensive athleisure wear—not tailored suits.
“Casual Friday?” the man asked as the elevator rose. She scrunched her brow, bristling at his critical undertone, but tampered a sarcastic reply. Probably not in her best interest to lip off to anyone on their way to the tenth floor.
“Actually, it’s Football Friday.” She gave him a closed-lip smile. You’re going to be drastically overdressed for your meeting.
He peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “Football Friday?”
Gigi pushed her hat up and out of her eyes. “Yes. It’s like casual Friday, except with jerseys. The Ryans are big football fans. They’ll be wearing Bears jerseys and jeans, if you’re meeting with them today.” She scanned his face for confirmation. He didn’t give it to her. Instead, Mr. Swanky Suit clasped his hands in front of him, looking curious.
“But no football jersey for you?”
She shook her head. “Not a fan. Can’t get interested in a game where men pile on top of one another and compete for the most traumatic brain injury.” Gigi shrugged, not understanding the diehard passion people felt for the game. It bored her to pieces. “But, to each their own. No offense if you enjoy football.”
His eyebrows rose, but a hint of amusement played on his lips. “No offense taken.”
“Good,” she chirped.
A beat passed before the man asked, “But why the cat sweater?”
It was a valid question. She still quirked a brow at him. “Just because I don’t like football doesn’t mean I can’t take part in a day meant to celebrate something I love. Instead of sports gear, I always wear a sweater showcasing something I actually enjoy.” She cleared her throat. “Cats. Christmas. Knitting. I have another sweater with tiny margaritas and limes.”
Her comment instigated a crooked grin from the stranger—one that sent Gigi’s heart skipping out of rhythm. Gosh dang, he was handsome. In a classical, grouchy, stiff kind of way. Her stomach dipped in contrast to the rising elevator, and she immediately distracted herself by searching through her tote bag for her phone.
You have the worst taste in men, Gigi reminded herself. If butterflies were swarming her belly, he likely had a wife at home, a mistress, or a gambling problem. Or all three. He also could’ve just escaped from jail. Those were the type of men she was drawn to—ones that covered major flaws with a chiseled jaw and a boatload of charisma.
The elevator dinged, stopping at the fourth floor. Gigi located her phone and pulled it from the bottom of her bag.
“Have a great day.” She waved, stepping toward the opening door and recalling the pact she’d made with herself—no more dating. Not for a while . . . or maybe ever. The yo-yo of emotions it brought was more than her heart could handle. She was much better off focusing on work and friends.
The man tipped forward to hold the door open for her. She turned to say a simple “thank you,” but the words never left her mouth. They got stuck in her throat when her gaze connected with his bright, sea-glass eyes. The intensity that lingered in an ocean of aqua and green momentarily ensnared her. And her stupid, slush-covered feet stumbled over the untied laces.
Gigi slid as though she were ice skating. And she’d never been good at any sport. Her feet flew in opposite directions and she became a mess of flailing limbs.
“Oh!” she yelped, trying to catch her balance as her phone shot out of her hand like a bullet, going God knows where. But that was the least of her worries. If she didn’t get some traction, she’d end up in the splits.
Trying to help, the man lurched forward. He grabbed her arm, but she was mid-flail and accidentally smacked him in the face. The back of her hand hit his cheek. Hard .
“Oof,” he groaned, skittering sideways and losing hold of her.
“Holy moly!” Gigi ran in place like Scooby-Doo for what seemed like forever before her legs tangled with the stranger’s and they both tripped out the elevator door. As they tumbled, Gigi’s forehead connected with his jaw like the smack of a hammer hitting a nail, which instigated expletives from them both.
Ugh . . .
Ouch!
They hit the floor, and then it was silent. Mainly because the man was flat on his back, and Gigi was on top of him, her face buried in his neck.
“Oh my God,” she uttered, with the little breath left in her lungs. Her words were stifled, her lips pressed against warm skin. When she inhaled spicy aftershave, she peeled her face from his neck, not believing the predicament she’d gotten herself into. She was trying to walk away from a handsome temptation, and the universe had put her smack on top of him.
Gigi lifted her head. Not sure what to do, she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed up, placing her lips just inches from his. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Mainly because her Christmas kittens pressed against his abnormally hard chest. And abs.
Heat flushed her cheeks.
“I—” she started, wanting to apologize for slapping him in the face and then pulling him to the ground.
He moved his jaw like he wasn’t sure if it was broken. “You sure you don’t like football? That was one heck of a tackle.”
So. Freaking. Embarrassing.
This guy was definitely going straight to Mr. Ryan’s office to claim assault.
“I—” Gigi started again, meaning to apologize, but there were other, more distracting words echoing through the quiet hall.
When she lost her phone, she must’ve unlocked her screen and opened an app, because the device was on the ground, playing the audiobook Gigi had drifted off to the night before—a romance by her favorite author. To her horror, it had started in the middle of a vivid kissing scene. The narrator’s husky voice echoed through the empty corridor, colorfully describing a passionate lip lock with throbbing hearts and pressing bodies.
Gigi gasped. Heat seared her face as the man’s eyes went wide, and Gigi became extra aware of how she was draped over him.
Swearing, she jumped up, making the man grunt with her quick retreat. Her phone was a few strides away, and she sprinted for it, diving to silence the audiobook before another steamy word could leave the speaker. Then, in the deafening quiet, she looked over. The man was standing, brushing down the front of his suit. The look on his face was anything but amused.
A nervous laugh escaped her. “Audiobooks. That’s another thing I love. Cats, knitting, margaritas, and audiobooks.” She wanted to shrink into a ball and roll into the cubicles behind her.
Mr. Swanky Suit gave her a tight smile before pressing the elevator call button. “Interesting start to my day,” he noted, and the door opened.
“Hope the rest of your day is better,” she called with forced optimism. He nodded and disappeared. Quickly, Gigi gathered her tote bag and what was left of her dignity. Sighing, she headed for her desk, running a hand over her face in disgust.
Could she be any more of a mess this morning? She’d completely embarrassed herself in front of some guy on the way to meet with one of the Ryans. And now she’d probably also have a big goose egg on her forehead. Her only consoling thought was that, at the very least, she’d never see Mr. Swanky Suit again.