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I scroll through several emails that can wait for my response until later, then I see a text from Mrs. Mackenzie wanting to know where to send Tessa’s dry-cleaned clothes. She’s asking for her address.
Finding out where Tessa’s staying in the city isn’t smart, especially since I’m resolved to go cold turkey once she’s out of this car. But she does need her clothes back.
I turn toward Tessa in search of the answers Mrs. Mackenzie needs, and get sidetracked by her shapely legs. I caress them with a slow gaze, then follow a curvy trail up to her eyes, imagining her without a stitch on. This time, I’m the one with the dirty thoughts.
16
Tessa
The way Barclay looks at me leaves me breathless and tied in knots. My skin feels so on fire under his gaze, I want to unbutton my coat and let out some steam. But I only have on my bra and panties, so I spread the collar open wider in hopes of getting a little air on my overheated skin. Nothing helps.
Barclay swallows. “Where are you staying in the city?” His eyes search mine.
“The Hammond Hotel. Room six-seventeen,” I breathe. He frowns, and I have no idea why.
“Lawrence,” Barclay calls out in a firm voice. “We need to drop Miss Holly off at the Hammond first, then my office.”
“Yes, sir,” Lawrence replies, facing forward, his hands gripped firm on the steering wheel.
“Mrs. Mackenzie will send your clothes to your hotel room. You can leave her coat at the front desk.”
Like he’s checked off a task from a list, Barclay returns back to his phone and types away on the screen. And me? Well, I try to process why he just called me Miss Holly. Maybe it’s because he’s speaking to his driver.
Either way, I can’ help but worry and feel restless the closer we get to Manhattan. There’s no guarantee I’ll see Barclay again once I exit this car.
My unease started back at Don’s when Barclay hesitated to get in the car with me. He walked by the passenger door several times, worry lines crossing his forehead and creasing at his eyes. He seemed at war with something.
It doesn’t take a membership to Mensa to know what it is either. My virginal status spooks him. His reaction is nothing new to me.
Guys either run for the hills when they find out, or pursue me as a selfish challenge, hoping they can add a special notch to their bedpost.
I’ve yet to find a guy who sticks around for the right reason, or one I’d even consider the right one for me—until yesterday. One look from Barclay Hammond across the restaurant, and my body was turned on without even a touch. I was a smoldering mess last night. Today, I’m more of a hot mess, which leads me to the impossibilities of us being together.
He’s the kind of guy who deserves his own lifestyle spread in GQ magazine. I can see the caption for his story. Meet Barclay Hammond, New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelor. They’d ask him questions about what he’s looking for in a woman. He’d say something like beautiful, accomplished, and experienced. She’d have to be someone worthy of his sophistication.
Why would he want me, some virgin college graduate, when he could have any woman in his bed? Being around him has made me hope for the impossible. It’s time to virgin up and forget my silly fantasies. He and I just aren’t going to happen.
I glance over at him, and he’s still on his phone, conquering the publishing world. I let out a long sigh and lean against the door. Gazing out my window, I watch the Manhattan skyline move closer. My time with him is almost up.
Who knows how many silent minutes later, Lawrence enters the busy streets of the city, and a lump forms in my throat. I want to say something to Barclay, like, “What are you doing for the rest of your day? Any more authors you need help with?” but I don’t want to interrupt him. His brow creases in concentration, so whatever he’s working on must be important.
“Check your phone,” he says in his usual bossy tone. I turn from the window and find him assessing me with his dark eyes.
I do as he asks, and there are several unread texts from a phone number with a New York City area code. It has to be him.
I open up the first text and glance over it. He’s sent me the name and email address of a human resources manager. They also work for a company on my list of potential dream employers, but the address is different than the general one I’ve sent scores of emails to. I view all the other texts, and they’re all similar. He’s been working on his phone this entire time to help me find a job, and here I thought he was just ignoring me.
