Samantha
SAMANTHA
C handler was totally checking me out in the elevator this morning, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel desirable. But the kiss last night was a one-off. It can never happen again. Not under any circumstances. That was all I thought of when I got ready to work in the cafe with him this morning. Something about being kissed like that gives me a big boost of confidence. I woke up energized, wanting to put more effort into my appearance than usual. Even though we aren't meeting clients today, I decided to go for a dark gray, business casual dress with my red heels. I’m not sure what to think about Chandler’s family wanting to meet me. It’s a little weird, but maybe they’re just being polite. It’s not like I’ll see them again, anyway. After this, no more work trips. That ten thousand dollars is my ticket to starting my interior design business, and then I can quit Hal’s CPA and move on to other things. I grab a coffee from the cafe and sit across from Chandler at a table, going through the work emails. Mr. Frankston sent in his report, and even though the app has a few bugs, Chandler and I should be able to knock this out in no time. I feel his eyes on me, but when I glance up at him, his eyes are on the computer screen, not me. My heart races, remembering the look he was giving me last night in the elevator right before we kissed. It’s been a while since I felt that agonizing pull toward someone, and even then, it was never that intense. The kiss was hot, really hot, and a small part of me wants it to happen again. But it can’t.
“Everything okay?” He asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at him for the last few moments.
“Yep, just still waking up," I say. What is with me?
“We should be able to get all of this done within a few hours," he says, leaning back in the chair.
“Let’s hope," I say. I’m unsure what the plan is for today after work is done. Mr. Frankston will be sending us emails throughout the day, but we can do whatever we want while we wait for them to come in.
“Maybe I’ll go to the pool later," I mutter.
“The pool?” Chandler asks, and I realize I’ve thought that out loud.
“Maybe," I shrug. “Or maybe I’ll try to find a bar to go to tonight.” I watch his nostrils flare, and his jaw clench while he holds my stare. He looks away from me and goes back to typing on his laptop.
“The restaurant we’re going to has a bar.”
“Good to know," I say.
“I wouldn’t expect to find your ‘lay of the night’ there, though.” Probably not with him around.
“You never know," I say and hold up my phone. “I have a dating app. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone.” I haven’t actually used it. When I finally downloaded the app at Penny’s suggestion, I was skeptical, but now that we’re in a place that I don’t plan on returning to, I figured I should give it a shot. Sometimes, I wonder why my friend is so invested in my sex life. Maybe it’s because she’s sick of me complaining about it, or maybe she wants to live vicariously through me. I haven’t been able to figure that one out yet.
“Dating apps usually don’t work out well.”
“And how would you know?”
He shrugs. “Common sense.”
“That," I say. “Is something I think you’re lacking.”
“Keep insulting me, Sam. Maybe you’ll have to walk back from the restaurant tonight in your heels.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
Tom Frankston is a man who likes to send us half of what we asked for 15 minutes overdue. It takes about 30 minutes for him to get into the app, and as soon as he does, I get a message from him.
Tom: Hello, .
I tilt my head. Huh, I didn’t think it would actually work. It’s a good thing it does, or I’m sure we would have lost him as a client.
“Looks like Tom figured out how to use the app.”
“Wow. Proud of him," Chandler says, seeming a bit miffed. “Not surprised that he messaged you first.”
“Someone is jealous again," I point out. He shakes his head.
“Not at all. But the way he was looking at you at the meeting yesterday was uncomfortably predatory.”
“Predatory?” I laugh. “I’d say you barging in on my time with Hudson last night seemed pretty predatory to me.”
“Do you always kiss people you think are predators?” He asks, his mouth ticked up in amusement. Is he making a joke about our kiss? It was a mistake, one that will never happen again. I don’t know why I feel the tension in my shoulders or why my blood boils from his joke, but it’s not funny to me. It was stupid. We were stupid. We had too much to drink, and I was way too horny.
I glare at him. If I murder him, I could probably plead insanity.
“Jackass.”
“Brat.”
“Asshat.”
“Weird flower coffee drinker.”
“Your car sucks!”
He gasps, wide-eyed. “You take that back!”
“Nope. I am not sorry.”
“I don’t think you even know what sorry is!”
“I could say the same thing about you!”
We’ve never resorted to name-calling before. Apparently, when you kiss someone in the elevator and have unresolved tension, it ramps up the arguments an extra ten percent. Chandler slides a hand down his face. “All right. We need to cool it.”
I clear my throat, the irritation subsiding. “You’re right.”
He averts his eyes from me for a moment, then looks at me with a frown. “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too," I say. “That was so unprofessional.”
“It was," he agrees. “On bother our ends.”
An awkwardness plants itself between us, and I’m suddenly desperate to create some distance.
“I’m gonna go get ready to go to the pool now. What time are we supposed to meet your...“ I start to say ‘creators,’ but we’ve just apologized. “Family?”
“Six O’clock.”
“Got it. I’m going to take the afternoon to lounge by the pool for a bit. I’ll meet you in the lobby later.”
He stands from his seat. “I think I’ll join you.”
Well, isn’t that just lovely?