7. Parker
7
PARKER
I spend the following morning, staring at my computer screen, contemplating how to get out of working with Evelyn. If this were any other scenario, I would tell the marketing assistant to stop dicking around and work with me. But this isn’t just anyone. It’s Dylan. And when I walked out of Blue Bird yesterday, her eyes were full of pure hatred.
Of course, I know her well enough to know it’s a front. One she’s put up to protect herself. But I’m not willing to make her feel uncomfortable. I don’t have much of a choice, though.
I mindlessly tap my pen against the untouched notepad to my right. As much as I care for her, I’m not willing to ruin my career over this. I’d confer with Blake, but I already know how that’s going to go. He’d tell me to stop being a pussy, suck it up, work with her, and then try to have sex with her while I’m at it.
I take my laptop out of my briefcase and boot it up. Maybe throwing myself into other work will help take my mind off of it. Ignoring it isn’t the best solution, but it’s not like I have to make an immediate decision. I’ve got at least a week before Evelyn sends me the final copy after she makes all the changes I suggested. That buys me just enough time .
My computer immediately pings once it’s started, and my inbox is already sitting at fifty emails despite it only being 8:30 in the morning. I take a drink of my coffee, nearly choking when my eyes catch on the name Dylan Jenkins at the top.
I give myself a small pinch on the hand to make sure that I’m awake. I tossed and turned all last night, so I already know that I’m going to be fighting a sleep-deprived haze all day. I do not have enough caffeine in my system yet to deal with this workload. Let alone someone who gets an email from the same girl who swore she refused to work with me with nothing but contempt.
I quickly scan the email. It’s short and sweet, leaving no room for interpretation.
Parker,
Yesterday did not go as planned. I think we need to talk. If you’re free today, I’d love to meet up for lunch. Text or call me at (931) 529-1740.
Dylan
I sit back in my chair, mindlessly folding my arms over my chest, unable to process what I just read. I know deep down I should turn down the invitation, but I can’t help but be intrigued. Less than 24 hours after the meeting, she’s already changing her tune. Maybe she realized how overdramatic she was being. Then again, she’s always been quick off the mark and hot-headed if pushed too far.
I don’t know why I’d expect anything less these days. Perhaps it’s because I’ve changed and want to give her the benefit of the doubt. Regardless, I know what my answer is to this email. I knew what it was before I finished reading it .
I grab my iPhone off my desk and quickly draft up a new text.
Parker: Hi Dylan. It’s Parker. I got your email. I have a free hour at noon if you’re available. There’s a good sandwich spot near Central Park. Let me know, and I’ll keep my calendar open.
Her reply comes back almost immediately as if she was sitting by her phone, antsy for me to respond. It’d appear the game she’s playing isn’t as foolproof as she thinks.
Dylan: Noon works great. I’ll meet you there.
I shoot her one last text with the name of the deli before placing my phone face down on my desk. This was not how I anticipated to start my morning. Any hope I had of focusing on work has been obliterated, knowing what awaits me in a few short hours.
I stand up, pacing around my office to work off some of the nerves that have found their way to the pit of my stomach. As optimistic as I want to be, there’s a very good chance that she won’t apologize for our interaction yesterday, which leads me to question whether or not I just agreed to walk into the lion’s den.
I hear a soft rapping knock at the door, and before I can acknowledge the sound, Blake is barging his way into my office. I take a deep breath, my chest heaving. Lord knows this is the last thing I need to deal with right now. He may be my best friend, but some things are just better left unsaid, and my lunch with Dylan is at the bottom of my list of current topics of conversation.
“Yes, Blake. Come right in.” I grumble sarcastically as I gesture to the seat across from me and sit back down in my chair.
He sits down and kicks his feet up, making himself at home like he always does. “You look stressed, dude. You good?”
I jerk the sleeve of my shirt down in annoyance and run a hair through my unkempt hair. I probably should have spent a little more time getting ready this morning, but I laid in bed, trying to fall back asleep until I needed to leave for the office. I can only hope that I look better than I feel.
“I’m fine,” I reply through my clenched jaw. I sit up straighter, wordlessly begging him to leave it alone. I’m in no way, shape, or form in the mood to talk about my feelings.
“Whatever you say. You seem uptight as fuck, but I’m going to let it slide because you clearly don’t want to talk about it. Anyways, where did you go yesterday? You stormed out of the office after I mentioned getting that Dylan girl’s number and I didn’t see you for the rest of the day.”
“I worked from home for the rest of the day.” I shut down his questioning.
“Why?” he pushes on.
“I wasn’t feeling great. What difference does it make?”
He throws his hands up in a defensive position. “Dude, chill. I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re alright. You’ve been acting weird since the minute I picked you up from the airport. I left it alone because I figured you were just worried about work, but you’ve been wound up so tight all week.”
He’s right. I have been a dick to him all week because I didn’t want to tell him about the predicament I’ve found myself in. I assumed that after Dylan shut me down on the plane, I’d be able to forget that it ever happened. I knew it would take some time, obviously. I could get over it eventually, though. But after yesterday, it doesn’t seem like there’s any escaping it, and Blake doesn’t deserve to be in the dark after everything he’s done for me.
“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. There’s been a lot on my mind lately. It’s actually about Dylan.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Finally taking my advice and trying to ask her out? If you needed help getting a date with the girl, all you had to do was ask.”
“If I needed advice on asking a girl out, you would be the last person I’d turn to, especially when it comes to Dylan.” He throws a hand against his chest, acting wounded, but I push forward. “Her and I actually have a history.”
He leans forward in his chair, visibly intrigued. “What kind of history? How could you possibly know her if you just moved here?”
I clear my throat, unsure how to break the news to my best friend. I’ve kept this part of my life secret for so long. I’ve always been a more private person, but I’m extra protective when it comes to Dylan. It’s almost as if not talking about it helped me preserve the memories we shared. I wouldn’t have to acknowledge that I fucked up royally if I didn’t talk about it.
“She’s the ex I’ve told you about.”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “There’s no way in hell. She’s so out of your league. Besides, you’re telling me that you both just happened to move to New York and now have to work together?”
He’s not wrong. She is way out of my league. I’ve known that since the minute I laid eyes on her.
We met at a shitty frat basement party our sophomore year. She was dressed in this slinky little black dress that hugged her in all the right places. While I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her curves in that dress, that’s not what captured my attention. It was her smile. Even blanketed in the dark, you could spot it from miles away.
Dylan swayed to the music, and I remember thinking how stunning she looked. She seemed so…in her element. Come to find out, she’s not a big partier, but she seemed so carefree in that moment. I knew I had to get her phone number by the end of the night .
Spoiler alert: I didn’t. When I noticed her slip out to the backyard to get some air, I made some half-assed excuse to do the same. I was a nervous wreck, but I got the balls enough to strike up a conversation. We ended up talking for three hours in the freezing evening air. I gave her my denim jacket, and although I was borderline hypothermic, neither of us bothered to return inside for the rest of the night.
When it came time to say goodbye, I froze. I kissed her cheek and sent her on her merry way. I laid in bed in a beer-induced fog staring at the ceiling until the sun came up, kicking myself for letting this mystery girl walk away. When I fully sobered up, I went on a mission to find out who she was. All I had was a first name and a dream.
Luckily, my persistence paid off, and once I found out her identity, I invited her to another party the following weekend. We sealed the deal with our first kiss on a crowded couch, surrounded by rowdy drunks, and were attached at the hip for years after.
“Yeah, I am.”
“How is that even possible? There are millions of people in this city,” Blake utters cynically.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
He runs his hand over his stubble. “Something tells me that yesterday at the office wasn’t the first time you ran into her.”
I shake my head, guilt pooling in my gut. Behind his lighthearted demeanor, I can tell he’s hurt. We’re brothers. We tell each other everything.
“We were on the same flight over. We sat right next to each other if you can believe that.”
His features contort with pain, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “I don’t believe that. But what I have a harder time believing is the fact that you didn’t say anything as soon as you got in the car. ”
“I also saw her at the bar when we went out that night,” I blurt, unable to hold back now that the floodgates have been opened.
“Now you’re fucking with me.”
“I wish I was.”
He blows out a big exhale, placing his hands on the top of his head as he leans back in the chair. His eyes go up to the ceiling, and I see the wheels turning. The way he’s processing all of this new information makes the guilt nestle itself deeper into my psyche.
“Well, that explains why you’ve been so moody lately, and why you were so determined to drink yourself to death when we were at the club. I have to admit, I feel less sorry about that days-long hangover you had to deal with now.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I had no excuse. I’ve just always kept things about me and Dylan between the two of us. I haven’t even told my parents the real reason we ended things. They thought we were going to get married. I think that’s one of my biggest disappointments still to this day.”
“It’s all good, man. Had I known, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard about getting her number or trying to sleep with her.” I’m relieved he doesn’t press about the marriage thing. While I’m finally opening up about it, I’m not exactly in the mood to divulge why things didn’t work out between us.
The corners of my lips twitch up, and I narrow my eyes at him. “You and I both know that’s not true. If anything, you would’ve tried harder.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He smirks, and I release a breath of relief. The tension between us immediately thaws at the joke. If there’s one thing we’ve always bonded over, it’s his stupidity and inability to stop himself from flirting. He’s also great at making light of even the shittiest situations.
“I wish you had told me earlier.” His grin fades slowly, and he returns his gaze to me .
“I know. I’m sorry. From here on out, you’ll get full transparency on the Dylan front. Speaking of which, I’m meeting with her for lunch in a few hours.”
“Is lunch code for meeting up at a seedy hotel to have secret, forbidden sex?” He cocks his head and wiggles his brows.
And there he is, back to his idiotic self.
“No.” I fill him in on the events that transpired yesterday before mentioning the email I walked into this morning.
“What do you think it means?” Blake questions.
“I have no clue. I got an email from Katherine late last night that she’s putting her best marketing manager, Scarlett, on the project with Dylan. I’m hoping she’s coming around to the idea of working together.”
“Need me to tag along as a wingman? You know women can never resist my charm. I can talk you up. Make you sound bigger and more important than you are.” He flashes me a wink.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, something tells me that’s going to backfire. Besides, she already knows how great I am.” I return his cocky grin.
“If that’s the case, why aren’t you two together anymore?” He asks, voice reeking with arrogance.
“That’s a story for a different day. The bottom line is I fucked up. And I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by forcing her to work with me. Evelyn is the account I need to prove that I’m good at my job. I can’t afford to fuck that up too.”
“Relax, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just flirt with her a little, show her what she’s been missing out these past few years, and you’ll be golden.” With that, he stands up from his chair, tucking his perfectly styled tie back into his jacket.
“I think I’m going to try a different approach, but thanks for the advice.”
He strolls towards the door. “One of these days, you’re going to listen to me and realize how wise I am. Until then, I will not be held responsible for your life decisions.”
He slides out of the room before I can respond, leaving me chuckling. I glance at my watch. Only three more hours until lunch. I can do this.
I approach the deli and immediately spot Dylan sitting alone at a booth. I pause to soak in the view of her as much as I can before getting caught. Today, she’s wearing beige, twill plaid pants and a black turtleneck sweater. She’s got on a pair of thick black square glasses that take up a good portion of her face. I’ve never seen them before, but I wish she’d wear them more often.
She looks like a true businesswoman, and it’s sexy as hell. Between the glasses and the red lip she paired them with, my mind wanders to what she would look like wearing nothing but the glasses and the lipstick.
I discreetly shift the growing bulge in my pants, hopeful that she doesn’t notice it as I walk toward her. Her chin is pointed down as she scrolls through her phone, and she’s biting her tongue. It’s the expression she makes when she’s fully focused on a task, and the familiarity of it slows my steps.
She must sense my presence because she lifts her head from her phone and locks eyes with me, making my heart jolt in my chest.
“Hi. Thanks for meeting me,” she says as she stands and leans in to give me a hug. I mistake her body language and go for a full frontal, and I’m met with the side of her body, tangling us up in what I can only imagine looks like the most awkward hug known to man. Despite my discomfort, my brain latches onto her scent–rich spices and vanilla. It’s hypnotizing .
I clear my throat and take a step back, trying to distance myself from her and the embarrassment of the moment. “Of course. Did you order already?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s alright,” she replies bashfully, pointing to the sandwich that’s blatantly sitting in front of her. I was too distracted by her to notice the food.
We’re off to a strong start.
“Of course it is. Let me order, and I’ll be right back.”
I sprint away, trying to collect myself before she can see the redness creeping up my neck. I’m a thirty-year-old man, and I’m actually fucking blushing over an interaction with a girl. It’s humiliating.
I order a classic Italian sub with a soda, and the image of Dylan and I sitting on the beach of our hometown lake plays in my mind like a movie scene. She’s laughing, wild hair blowing in the wind, a smudge of Italian dressing coating the corner of her lips.
During the summer, we’d spend most of our weekends on the water, with beers and sandwiches from our favorite local deli. I always ordered the Italian, and she’d get the BLT with turkey, but without fail, she’d eat half of my sandwich. She always claimed it was “just one bite,” but I didn’t mind. There was something about seeing her so weightless that made me want to give her the world–even if all I had was a couple of dollars and a hoagie to my name.
With stomachs full of food, we’d lay under the sun until we were crisp. We forgot sunscreen on more than one occasion, and we’d do the painful walk of shame back to the car, eager to coat ourselves in aloe to soothe the burn. It’s because of memories like these that I look forward to summer every year.
I shake my head, trying to erase the image like an Etch A Sketch. I snag my food and make my way back to the table, hoping that I don’t embarrass myself any more than I already have .
While I open the wrapper of my sandwich, my eyes fall on her food—a BLT. I laugh quietly to myself. Some things never change.
As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “Let me guess. An Italian, no onions.”
“Am I that predictable?”
She gestures her chin towards her own sandwich and gives a weak shrug. “Some habits are hard to break.”
“I guess so.” I feel an ache in my chest, the softness of her voice tugging on my heartstrings like a cellist. I can tell by the anguished look on her face that she’s reminiscing about those same memories that I just relived.
“So I guess we should talk about why I invited you here in the first place.”
I nod, taking the first bite of my sandwich. In the short time I’ve been in New York, this has become one of my favorite meals for lunch, partially because it’s delicious and partially because of the nostalgia. But right now, it tastes spoiled as I chew. There’s a gnawing sense of panic that won’t go away until I know that she doesn’t hate me.
“I talked to Katherine about taking me off the account-”
“That’s not necessary,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you at work.”
She pushes on, fully ignoring me. “It doesn’t matter. I have no choice. I either work with you on this, or I’m fired. And as much as I would prefer we didn’t work together, I won’t jeopardize my career because we have a history.”
That shuts me up real quick. Katherine threatened to fire her because she asked not to be on a project? It only took one interaction to tell that the woman was evil. I just didn’t expect her to be this vicious.
My hands go limp under the table, and I find myself at a loss for words. She went out of her way to avoid working with me, and now she has no choice. How am I supposed to navigate this relationship now? She wants nothing to do with me, and I’m not willing to push her for my own selfish reasons.
“I’m sorry. This is an unfair position for you to be in. I never meant for this to happen.”
She hums in agreement quietly. “It’s not like you knew that our companies were going to be working together or that my boss is Satan’s long-lost daughter. Don’t take this personally. Besides, I had some time to think about it. I know how good you are at what you do, and I’d like to think I’m pretty damn good, too. Now’s my chance to prove it. What better way to do that than work with someone you’re already familiar with?”
I blink a couple of times, trying to keep the shock off my face. She’s being so level-headed about this. It’s a very different Dylan from the one I met at Thrive.
I school my features back into an even-keeled manner. “So, you think I’m good at what I do, huh?” I challenge. I take another bite of my sandwich now that I’m no longer concerned she wants to strangle me and bask in how the tanginess of the banana peppers complements the assortment of cured meats.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I laugh, wiping my mouth free of dressing with a napkin. “I won’t. Don’t worry. For what it’s worth, I think you’re great at what you do, too. You’ve always been talented. Katherine would be an idiot not to see that.”
She flashes me a soft smile, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I take another bite of my sandwich, relishing in this moment before her sharp-witted comments resume–they always do. It’s one of the many things that made me fall in love with her.
There’s something so attractive about a girl that talks back. If I think about it too much, the erection that made an appearance is going to come back with a vengeance.
As I’m about to ask her how she’s settling into her new life, a piercing ring fills the air. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I raise my eyes to her in a silent question.
“Go ahead.”
“Thanks, it will only be a second.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and glance at the caller ID. And just like that, my stomach falls into my ass. Shit .