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Since Chase’s assistant, whose name my fogged-up brain can’t seem to remember, is down the hall and Benji and I are alone, I don’t censor myself while trying to regain control. I take several deep breaths—enough that I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for the entirety of the oxygen-carbon dioxide exchange on the planet—until I’ve melted back into a semi-recognizable version of the woman I aspire to be.
Come on, Brooke. You’re acting a little immature right now, don’t you think? Adults can have crushes without melting down, for heaven’s sake.
There she is—the voice I paid one hundred dollars an hour to find in post-divorce therapy.
And even better, she’s right. Sure, I find Chase Dawson dreamy in the way that suggests I should participate in a sleep study or two, but as a rational, professional, compartmentalizing-capable adult, there’s no reason I can’t find a way to be “Work Brooke” for the next thirty to forty-five minutes. She’s a badass. She knows her worth. She, unlike the anxious me, sometimes recognizes how meaningful it is to have landed a Netflix deal and live in an apartment in Lenox Hill that doesn’t inherently smell like moldy cheese and farts.
Newly pepped, I straighten the line of my spine and sit up tall in my chair. Benji notices, giving me a canine nod of pride.
We got this. I wink at him.
I fold my hands in my lap and try to position myself in my chair until my legs are crossed and I look like a professional woman who isn’t at all on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I am victorious.
Squeaky wheels chatter with Chase’s assistant Dawn’s—go me, remembering her name and everything!—return, the chocolate cookies atop the cart she’s pushing harkening my mental win like a siren on a slot machine in Vegas.
She smiles politely, parking the catering rollaway right in front of me and locking the wheels. “I thought you might want to go ahead and have a cookie or two while you’re waiting—though, he shouldn’t be long.”
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice belying my now obvious affection for Dawn. She’s, like, really nice.
With a quick nod and a wink, she returns to her desk and dives right back into work. I’m almost astonished. I mean, she didn’t even pick up her phone and scroll TikTok or anything.
If only you had her willpower, maybe Garden of Forever would’ve ended up good and you wouldn’t be here stressing—
I squash that thought before it can even grow legs.
I look down at Benji and note that he is studying Dawn too, and I’m sure it’s because he’s never seen such focus before. Her fingers roll across her keyboard like they’re one memo away from solving world peace, and I’m convinced the modern me would never make it in a job outside of writing.
Thanks to my fascination with Dawn, I don’t realize that Chase has opened the door until he’s standing right next to me, his smile nearly all the way wound up.
“You ready?” he asks, causing a jerk in the muscles of my neck so violent that a shooting zing of pain rolls up the side of my face. No doubt, I’ll be working out that new kink for the next week.
“O-oh,” I stutter. “Y-yes. Let’s do it!” My fist pumps in the air as though it has a very Jersey mind of its own, and Chase laughs. Like, throws back his head while his chuckles make his vocal cords pump at the line of his sexy throat.
By God. No wonder I wrote a book about this guy.
“Fantastic!” he cheers then, holding out a hand to help me out of my chair. “I love the enthusiasm.”
It’d be so easy to get embarrassed again right now, but thanks to all the willpower I can fit inside my five-foot-six body and desperation born from years of dealing with my own awkwardness, I manage to place my sweaty, clammy hand into his completely dry one and stand. Benji pushes to his feet at our sides and follows us into the office obediently.
I don’t realize until we’re entirely through the door that I’m still gripping his hand and drop it like it has the power to burn my skin right off my bones. But Chase continues to maintain so much nonchalance that I’m honestly not even sure if he noticed.
The door falls closed behind us, its path still creepily slow, and Chase rounds his desk to the other side, all while holding out a hand to the chairs at the front.
“Take a seat,” he suggests warmly, tucking his tie close to his abdomen so that it doesn’t get caught on his desk as he sinks into his chair.
He’s a professional suit guy, but not in the way that’s boring. Of course not. He could never be boring. Everything he wears, every pair of dress pants and every collared shirt and suit jacket, fits his body like a glove. I’m certain he gets his clothes tailored. It’s either that or he just has one of those perfect bodies where everything fits him.
