Chapter 7
KATE
“I’m telling you right now, he doesn’t even remember my name. It was like a brief flash of recognition crossed his eyes, and then he just kept on walking into his big-shot office.” I’m speaking loudly, so Mel can hear me over the hair dryer in her hand.
My friend is styling her client’s hair. I’m sitting in the white leather salon chair at the station next to her.
“You have got to be joking. You slept together three nights ago, not three months! He’s faking it.” She shakes her head in disbelief.
The client, a woman in her mid-fifties, is listening to my tragic tale with wide eyes, and she perks up with her Southern twang.
“I betcha he don’t remember. Rex used to fall asleep right in the middle of our lovemaking.
Used to irritate me to hell. I bet I could cross him in the street today, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Men don’t even see us as human beings.”
I stare at her, wide-eyed.
Mel pats her shoulder. “Yes, Barbara, Rex was a pigheaded jackass. You’re better off without him.” She looks back up at me. “Did you talk to him at all?”
I shake my head. “Not really. He told the chief of staff to give me the usual PA duties and sent me on my way . . . after mentioning the dress code in the handbook. At some point, she told me to see if he wanted more coffee, but he was on the phone, yelling at someone in Chinese or something, so I didn’t even knock. ”
My dress rides up as I slump down in the chair. I thought Stephen cheating on me was devastating, but this is somehow even more humiliating. I wish I had a shell like Speckles’s to hide inside.
“Well, you could always find a new job. Maybe there’s something else out there. You did get hired right away,” Mel offers.
I groan dramatically. “I already looked. Nothing comes close to paying as well as BE. I have another payment to make on Dad’s care facility next week, and if I’m going to get into a new place anytime soon, I have to save up for the first and last month’s rent.”
She finishes Barbara’s hair, handing her a mirror to see the back.
“Well, I say, you stick it out. Ooh, you could try to make him remember.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.
“How would I do that when I’m getting his dry cleaning and rescheduling his maid service?”
Barbara approves the haircut, standing up with a grunt from the chair that struggled to support her weight for the past hour. “Honey, best if you move on. Forget about all men in general. They’re as worthless as unsweet tea.”
Mel rolls her eyes behind her back.
“Okay, they’ll get you checked out up front, and you can schedule your next appointment. I hope Teddy gets to feeling better. See you, Barb!” Mel hugs her before she wobbles out.
My best friend flips back around to pin me with a look. “Okay, tomorrow, you need to wear the pink dress you had on that night with a blazer over it.”
“That dress barely covers my ass! I cannot wear it to work.” I can’t believe she would even suggest such a thing.
She rolls her eyes again. “Obviously, you can put stockings on underneath it.”
My well-meaning friend has no idea what the corporate climate is like with stuffy shirts and women’s pantsuits. She’s currently in leather leggings and a black corset because she works at a salon, where the only dress code is wear all black.
Georginne dropped the handbook off at my desk earlier today, but I’ve only glanced through it.
Even if I was willing to risk getting fired for it, I have my doubts about this plan. Would the dress I wore when we met actually jog his memory?
“If he remembered me based on a dress and not my actual face, I would be pissed.”
“Honey, he was probably trashed, and that’s the only reason why he didn’t know it was you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “He drove like he was pretty sober.”
“Were you sober?” she questions, quirking a brow.
“I was . . . not completely un-sober,” I lie, my voice growing defensive.
“What’s his name anyway?”
“Umm . . . Mr. Bradshaw, obviously.” Okay, wow, I don’t know his first name . . .
She laughs out loud, throwing her head back. “Wow! You don’t even know, do you? I bet you never even told him yours either.”
“There is no way I slept with him without giving him my name and asking for his. I’m just . . . having trouble recalling all the little details. But at the very least, I remembered his face.”
“Hmm, yeah, sure. You were a little hooker that night.” She’s smiling, clearly proud of me for stepping so far out of my comfort zone.
She’s right; it was completely unlike me. I feel a twinge of guilt at the realization that I could have really screwed up this job before it even started.
“Well, I’m paying for that mistake now, aren’t I?”
She just smiles, shaking her head of freshly colored violet hair.
“Watch, you and him will end up together though. That would be a crazy turn of events after all this. You have to swear to give me credit at the wedding for pushing you to approach him at the bar, okay?”
I roll my eyes at her ridiculous prediction.
“Where did you end up that night?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh! I went home with Nikolai, the bartender. He’s taking me out this Friday actually.”
“Wow, really? That’s amazing! Where to?”
“I have no idea. He’s going to pick me up.” She smirks, getting up to start cleaning her station.
“I hope he’s a good one. He’s so hot.”
“Yes, almost too hot to be true.”
Like someone else I know.
I didn’t wear the pink dress to work today. If he recognized me in it, what would even happen? Oh, hey. Wow, that dress looks familiar. Have we met?
That would be infinitely worse than him just not knowing who I was the whole time.
I have on a sensible ensemble that I purchased at a boutique that I really couldn’t afford. It’s a tea-length violet wrap dress that Mel swore complemented my skin tone.
“Miss Dawson.”
My breath hitches at the sound of that deep voice addressing me. I look up into his green eyes as he stands in the doorway of his office. Today, he’s wearing a black shirt rolled up to reveal his veiny forearms with a royal-blue tie—the exact same color as the lingerie I had on that night.
Is that on purpose?
Stop reading into things.
“Yes?” I didn’t mean for the word to sound so breathy, but my voice did it anyway.
“Can you get me an Americano?” He plants his hands in his pockets, the familiar pose from his penthouse sending tingles straight down my spine.
I exhale, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes travel over me as I stand up. I feel my nipples harden under his inspection. I will keel over and die if he can see them.
He flexes his jaw before finally turning back into his office and shutting the door.
I expel the breath I was holding subconsciously as I grab my purse and rush out. Traffic is horrific, but I sigh with relief when I see Starbucks.
The line is ridiculous, but I finally get up to order Mr. Bradshaw’s coffee and myself a skinny vanilla latte.
Once I get back to the Bradshaw Enterprises building, I step onto the elevator with a gorgeous, tall woman in a sleek, knee-length white dress. She could be a shampoo-commercial model with her shiny mahogany hair. Her perfect face is focused ahead like I’m not even here.
“Fifty-six,” I tell her since my hands are clearly full.
The button has already been pushed. We ride to the top in complete silence.
Once we reach our floor, her steps are quick and purposeful, like she’s on a mission.
Yikes, someone’s in trouble.
Right before the last corner leading into Mr. Bradshaw’s office, she stops abruptly. I nearly crash into her flawless white backside with the coffees.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, swinging around her just in time.
I pass by her, glancing back to see that her eyes are closed as she takes several slow, steady breaths.
Is she okay?
I almost stop to ask her if she needs help finding someone, but considering it’s only my second day on the job, I doubt I’d be of any assistance.
After setting my to-go cup on my desk, I knock on Mr. Bradshaw’s door.
“Come in.”
I push down on the handle, entering with his espresso drink in my hand. He looks up at me, watching as I walk toward his desk.
Don’t look away. It shows weakness.
I square my shoulders back, setting my jaw as I get closer, and hand him the warm cup. Our fingers brush, but I reject the electric jolt that shoots through me at the contact.
“Thank you,” he says.
Don’t think about him on top of you, groaning with that deep voice. Do. Not. Think. About. It.
I nod before turning to walk out, feeling his gaze burning into me the whole way.
After shutting the door behind me, I collapse at my desk.
My knees are weak from that tiny little exchange.
I can no longer deny that I want the boss man, even with him pretending like we haven’t already been intimate together.
The stunning brunette from the elevator waltzes past my desk just then, straight for his door.
“Umm, Miss—”
She ignores me, turning the handle and heading right into his office. I stand up, completely at a loss for how to handle the situation.
“Fallon, what a nice surprise,” I hear him say, and my heart drops into my stomach.
“Is it, Luke? Is it a nice surprise to see me here?”
The door slams right after I hear her cold response.
My mouth is wide open, my eyebrows raised to my hairline in shock.
Okay, okay . . . deep, calming breaths . . .
After twenty minutes, which feels more like three hours, I finally find the courage to creep up to the door. I press my ear to it, but all I can make out is mumbling. None of the words are intelligible.
I slowly retreat to my desk, perching myself on the edge of the office chair while I study the door as if my gaze could suddenly increase my hearing ability.
An eternity later, I’ve straightened every stray paper in the vicinity. I really have to pee after downing the latte, but I can’t leave my post and miss her coming out.
What could they possibly be doing in there?
Oh no . . . oh no, no, no.
There’s no way that is what they’re doing! Surely, he wouldn’t with me sitting here . . . but he is unreasonably attractive and wealthy. Doesn’t an entitled-asshole personality automatically come with good looks and money?
This can’t be happening to me.
I have to know. I have to.
Against all logic and reason, I creep back up to the door to listen very carefully for any noises that could give away their actions behind it. My ear is pressed up to the cold surface, and I hold my breath to eliminate any outside noise.
It still just sounds like voices. No slapping, grunting, or moaning can be heard. I release a sigh, standing up a little straighter.
Then, I hear the distinct clicking of heels, coming straight from behind the wall.
I lunge back toward my desk, nearly stumbling as I fall into the chair right as the door to his office opens up.
The beautiful woman appears again, her hand gripping the frame.
The tiny little iceberg on her left ring finger blinks at me from five feet away. My breathing constricts at the sight. His gaze is lasered in on her as she speaks.
It can’t possibly be . . .
“You know something, Luke? Wedding planning has been hard enough without you making it harder.”