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"Well, I'm glad I can help you." She smiled softly. "Now, go find me some good books. I need something to show the editorial team tomorrow."
"I'll do my best."
I left her office and went to my own, sighing with relief.
When I left the office at six, I hoped I didn't run into Josh. The last thing I needed was to see him and be reminded of what a hunk of man he was, and how much I was going to regret having ethical standards.
Jerkface had been screwing his secretary.
I was determined that I wouldn't become just an office romance to anyone – even someone as gorgeous and powerful as Josh.
The next morning as I left the elevator on my way to my office, I passed a delivery man going into the elevator. When I arrived in my office, I saw a bouquet of flowers on the desk.
I knew immediately who they were from...
I sat at my desk and stared at the flowers. Two dozen of the prettiest violet roses with a spray of baby's breath. I read the card and couldn't help but smile despite my anger.
From your friendly neighborhood Bicycle Courier Impersonator...
It was almost enough to make me take out my cell and text him, accepting the offer of the best Italian meatballs for supper.
But I didn't.
I couldn't get past the boss-employee thing. If he had been just a bicycle courier, and not one of the wealthiest men in the US, I would have been happy to go to his – to his company's -- apartment for some late-night bed-tumbling. But he wasn't just a bicycle courier.
He was my boss.
I sat starting at the flowers, thinking about Josh. He did help me out. He was very generous, and now of course, I realized that it was because he truly could afford to and not only because he had a good heart. My first and last month's rent was probably what he paid a day for his apartment. I'd seen an article about apartments in SoHo that rented for a cool half million a month. That kind of wealth was unthinkable. I couldn't imagine it. I grew up privileged with my father being a successful lawyer before becoming Governor. But Joshua Macintyre Jr? His father had owned Macintyre Broadcasting. It was one of the biggest media empires in the country.
Probably the world.
Frankly, he scared me.
Monday came and I went to pick up keys to my new place in Chelsea and compared to my Airbnb place, it was a palace. Hardwood floors, real exposed brick on one full wall with windows overlooking a small courtyard. It had its own bathroom, which, while tiny, wasn’t shared. The kitchenette was cute if really small, but I had a big open space for my bedroom / office.
And it was all mine.
I loved it. I hauled my one suitcase into the space and did my best to make it my own. I had been able to get some cheap bedding and some drapes for the windows. Luckily, the place was furnished with a proper full-sized murphy bed in a nice cabinet and tiny two-seater sofa and coffee table. There was a small table against the wall with two chairs.
Really, it felt like a mansion compared to the Airbnb. I went out that night and bought some groceries, and had my first home-cooked meal in my new apartment.
I was in seventh heaven. Now, if only Josh hadn't been so deceptive about his real identity, I might have been in bed with him and we would be enjoying each other's bodies the way we should have been.
The next week passed pretty slowly, and although I was glad I didn’t have to face Josh and be tempted by him, I felt a little sad that he hadn't persisted. But it was probably for the best that I didn't become involved with him. The last thing I needed was to get involved with my boss. Josh was the kind of man I could fall for and who would probably throw me over for someone more beautiful – a better catch than I was.
When Friday night rolled around, I was sitting on my bed, my laptop open, and was reading my Twitter feed when my cell pinged, indicating an income text. I took it out and checked my messages.
Speaking of the devil, the message was from Josh.
JOSH: I'm going to be sitting in the restaurant waiting for an order of the best damn meatballs in all of Manhattan -- perhaps the world – Saturday night. Say, around seven o'clock. If you're interested, I'll be waiting. But I won't wait too long. Nothing worse than cold meatballs! Seriously, Ella. Please meet me there and eat some meatballs with me. We could set some rules governing our relationship if being boss and employee really bothers you. Then, whatever you decide, I'll be happy to accept.
There was even a pasta emoji at the end of his message. It was so cute with the tiny fo
rk rolling spaghetti that I was almost won over.
Almost.
But if you didn't have standards, what did you have?
