Page 79 of Pierced

I press the speakerphone button and say, “Yes?”

“Hey,” Pierce says.

“Hey,” I say back.

“Did you bring your weekend bag with you this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Then… you wanna get out of here early and beat the traffic?”

I get a strange tingling feeling in my body as I say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

I can feel him smile through the walls that separate us. “Let’s go.”

There’s nothing to clear off my desk for the weekend because I truly do not have a purpose here, so I just log off the computer, grab my purse, and exit my office.

Pierce is waiting just outside. He smiles at me, which for reasons that remain elusive, gives me that tingling feeling again, then places his hand on the small of my back, urging me forward with him, and looks over his shoulder at Valerie to say, “Have a nice weekend.”

I am lost in the feeling of his guiding hand on the small of my back, so I don’t even hear if Valerie responds. I just know we leave together. And that it is very apparent we are leaving together because by the time we enter the elevator with a half a dozen other people, he’s holding my hand.

I stare straight ahead at the elevator doors. Afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Afraid to do anything.

When they open to the garage, we spill out like a herd, which dissipates quickly, and then Pierce is asking me, “Is your bag in the back seat? Or the trunk?” Because he has successfully guided me to my parking space, where my Tesla sits right next to his Escalade. This makes me let out a small laugh.

“What?” he asks.

“I must’ve been lost in thought when I pulled in this morning and didn’t notice the Escalade, because for some reason I pictured us driving up the mountain in your McLaren.”

“I would never drive you up a snowy mountain in a McLaren.” And then he smiles at me. “That would be irresponsible.”

Yes, it would, I think to myself. And that’s not who he is. Not with me, anyway. Not anymore. “Trunk,” I say, thumbing my key fob to release the lock.

He lets go of my hand and approaches the rear of the car, then plants his hands on his hips, looking down into the abyss of my trunk, and shakes his head.

“What?”

“We’re not going to Paris. It’s just a weekend.”

“I like to be prepared,” I say, hiding a smile as he takes out the matching three-piece set of Tiffany luggage. “And believe me, I’d bring all six pieces for a Paris trip.”

“Here,” he says, leaving the luggage as he clicks his key fob and motions me over to his car. “Get in while I load.” We walk over to the passenger side and he opens my door, waits until I’m comfortable, and then closes me in.

I admit, I like being on the receiving end of his good manners. I have always known he was a cultured man, but this is the first time I’ve ever experienced it as his… date.

It’s nice.

I check my watch. Almost one-thirty. Then fidget as I decide how to appear… casual. Do I cross my legs? I cross them. But today’s pencil skirt lands above the knee, which means it’s now mid-thigh, so I uncross them. Press my knees together. Decide that’s a position my mother would choose and stop doing that. I cross my ankles like a lady, decide I’m not really the ankle-crossing kind of lady, and cross them the regular way again, angling my body a little so I’m facing Pierce, just as he opens his door and slides into the seat.

The Escalade is roomy but his long legs take up all the space under the steering wheel.

“Have we ever been in a car together?” I ask.

“No,” he says, hiding a smirk.

“You’re sure?” I ask.

“Positive.” His eyes meet mine for a moment as he backs out of his parking space, then refocus on his task.