Ainsley #2
“Reid, we’ve talked about entering my personal space.
Get off my desk,” I say with measured calm and a bite to my words that precede a true snap.
He stands up without argument, used to my bluntness at this point.
It’s easier to fall back on that than give in to the panic that’s swirling inside of me from Archer’s texts and unexpected reentry into my life after two years of silence.
“Oh, sorry. Send me the story and chase down your next. You had some good ideas in our meeting this morning. Run with those and get me something to edit.” He starts to walk away before turning with his finger in the air.
“And no extra stories this weekend, kiddo. You’re too young to waste all that time working. Learn from my mistakes.”
He smiles like he’s imparting some secret wisdom.
In reality, he’s the one who assigns me the stories and makes me work on the weekends more often than not.
Reid has children my age and tends to treat me like them.
I remind him regularly that I’m on his staff, no matter how much he wants the newsroom to be a family.
“My personal life is none of your concern. The story’s already in your inbox.
” I close out my email for emphasis. I stopped playing along with social niceties when I moved to Atlanta for a fresh start.
I like to blame my time in New York for the curt replies and testy attitude, but it just feels better this way, less likely to get hurt if you keep everyone away.
He waves. “Get out of here, kid.”
I look around the office and notice everyone shutting down computers, chatting about evening plans or dinner recipes.
I follow their lead, closing my ancient laptop.
I’m supposed to meet up with Della for after-work drinks in a bit, which I desperately need following that awful text exchange.
My phone vibrates in my purse and I pull it out, wondering if it’s her asking where we’re meeting up. Instead, it’s Payton.
Okay Payton: Miss me yet?
I feel a two-fold sense of relief that Payton’s texting me and it’s not Archer from some other number harassing me.
I wouldn’t put it past him to have another way to do just that.
I take a relieved breath and smile because the egotistical jerk I enjoy a whole lot more is the one wanting my attention.
I type out a quick reply as I head to my car.
Me: Sorry, who is this?
Okay Payton: You want to wound me, but you can’t. I missed your insults and crankiness. My life wasn’t the same without you.
Damn. I know he’s messing with me, but reading that last sentence strikes a chord that feels like a melody I haven’t heard in far too long.
His attention feels a little too good after the absence and I allow myself a moment to enjoy it before I quickly shut it down, despite wanting more of the reassurance that when I’m not hearing from him, he’s missing me.
Me: I doubt it.
Okay Payton: Never doubt me, Muffin. Do you like espresso martinis as much as you like iced coffee? There’s a bar by Olympus that has the best and I’m heading there now. You’re coming with me.
He doesn’t even bother to invite me. He sends me the address in a pin with the expectation that I’ll join him. It’s a bold move that I rather like. I call him out on it.
Me: You’re a smug bastard. I’m meeting a friend for drinks tonight so I’m busy. Can’t make it.
Okay Payton: Not a bastard. Arrogant asshole was a previous insult and it was more fitting.
I know you miss my annoying smile. Invite your friend.
I have a friend, too. We’ll put on a show for them.
Get ready for our first double date. See you soon.
I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.
This time, you won’t even have to pretend to enjoy it. I’m fucking excited.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I let out a sound that’s a cross between a sigh and a frustrated snarl as I slide into my car, wincing when I burn my hands on the hot steering wheel that’s been baking in the sun all day.
I crank the engine of my old Toyota to life and turn the AC all the way up, knowing it won’t cool down for several minutes.
Double date? Can’t wait to get his hands on me? Holy shit, this is really happening, and I’m kind of into it.
I type out a text to Della, letting her know plans have changed.
Me: Hey, is it okay if we meet up with Payton and a friend of his for drinks tonight instead?
It takes a few minutes for my phone to vibrate back with her reply.
Della: HELL FUCKING YES! Have you seen who he associates with? The men of Olympus are hot as fuck. It’s about time you dating him worked in my favor. I’m so glad I finished early and went home to shower.
I shake my head in resignation and send her the address. If she’s on board, I guess I can't argue. And now I’m about to play his fake girlfriend in front of my friend and I have to make it convincing. I sigh and let Della know my arrival time so she won’t beat me there, and begin the drive.
It takes me half an hour in Atlanta traffic to make it to the bar and another five minutes in the car to talk myself into going inside.
Archer texting me out of the blue after years of not hearing from him still has me rattled.
Knowing my connection to Payton is what caused him to reach out makes me nervous to be seen with the billionaire because this PDA-filled evening will absolutely make it into the gossip pages again, as planned.
A thought strikes me, and it has me considering the situation from a different angle.
Maybe this is exactly what Archer needs to see after all this time, me moving on with someone he hates more than anything.
I’ll just keep blocking him if he continues contacting me.
I don’t actually have to interact with him.
That’s enough motivation to resolve to be as convincing as possible that I’m falling head-over-heels for Payton Olsen.
I slick on my vanilla-scented lip gloss, making sure the rest of my work-appropriate attire and makeup are still in place. I walk toward the bar, knowing I’ll be bombarded with Payton’s annoying cheerfulness as soon as I find him, and I’ll like it more than I care to admit.