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3
“Good morning, Ms. Walker.”
The usual morning doorman, Paul, waves at me as I exit the building. Meanwhile, I’m suppressing a mixture of frustration and relief. Half of me wanted to see Zayne this morning. Catch one more glimpse of his sexy grin, his piercing blue eyes.
The other half is relieved that I don’t have to walk past him right away. Not after last night. And especially not with how I’m looking this morning—like I just rolled out of the wrong side of the bed and face-first into a pot of coffee. There are bags under my eyes that my makeup is straining to conceal, and my hair is a mess because I didn’t have time to shower.
As it is, I just wave back at Paul as I jog out the door, hurrying toward the train in my flats, because no way can I run as fast as I’ll need to in heels.
Half an hour later, I roll into my office five minutes before our first meeting is set to begin. Just enough time to pour myself a large cup of black coffee in the break room before I sidle up to the office where we meet every Friday morning to review our campaigns from last week and plan for the next.
One girl at the back of the room, a new hire I don’t know very well, Hannah-something, is staring at me blatantly. I do a quick check, but no, I remembered to button all my buttons. Huh. Weird.
I shake my head and zone back into the meeting.
Even though it’s business as usual, it’s still impossible to concentrate. I stare blankly at my manager, my mind still stuck on my text exchange with Zayne last night. The image of his cock, the knowledge that he was touching himself, masturbating in the break room thinking about me.
Before long, I have to cross my legs and clench them tight, my panties already feeling worryingly damp.
Naturally, that’s the moment when my boss calls my name. I focus on her, then the PowerPoint slide on the wall behind her. But it doesn’t help me figure out what she just said.
“Sorry, what was that?” I wince.
My boss’s annoyed stare says it all. Normally she and I are on good terms, but the rest of the day pretty much goes like that. No matter what she asks, I need her to repeat it multiple times because I can’t keep my head on straight.
Then a few of the results from previous campaigns come in abysmally low, coupled with one of our vendors trying to renegotiate a contract we’d already signed, and by the end of my very long Friday, I am in desperate need of a stiff drink.
To top it all off, none of my usual post-work happy hour buddies are free tonight. Andy has a hot date with this new guy she’s been flirting with nonstop all week, and Celeste has some birthday party for her aunt to go to. Which leaves me stranded in midtown with nowhere to go.
I heave a sigh and start heading for the train when my phone buzzes. Another message on the app. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before I tap it open.
It’s Zayne.
My stomach flips, the sensation both nervous and pleasant at once. I open our conversation, my face flushing as I remember just how hot and heated this got last time.
But if I’m expecting just another sext, that’s not what I find.
AtYourService: Hope I didn’t keep you up too late last night. How’s your Friday going?
CallMeClove: To be honest, not great. Work was pretty shitty. All kinds of projects exploding at once.
AtYourService: Would coffee cheer you up? I know a great little place not far from the building, over on Madison. And I happen to be free this evening.
I smile. Sure, the bad idea alarms are still going off, but they’re buried deep in the back of my mind now, under a few layers of my crappy workday, my friends all being busy, and, admittedly, my hormones still in full-on raging after last night’s photo exchange.
CallMeClove: Actually, yeah, coffee sounds great. Meet you there?
He sends me the address and I get onto the subway train with a renewed pep in my step. I check myself out in the mirror and fix my hair, add a touch of lipstick. My favorite distraction when I feel tired—bright red lipstick because then people won’t notice your other flaws.
I actually don’t look too bad by the time I step off the train at the other end. I guess an overdose of coffee and stress is a decent remedy for sleepless bedhead after all.
The coffee shop Zayne picked turns out to be a cute place a few blocks from my apartment that I’ve been eyeballing for months. It opened last summer but I hadn’t made it over here yet. It’s funny how you get set in your routines. You don’t even know that they need breaking until someone comes along and smashes them.
And hell if Zayne isn’t doing a damn good job of that right now. The moment I step through the front doors into the cozy little café, I spot him. He’s impossible to miss now that I’ve finally tuned into his frequency. His eyes catch me from across the room and nearly pin me to my spot in the doorway. My heartbeat speeds up and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything but the extremely hot man standing up, drawing out a chair for me, eyes locked on mine all the while. In the warm café lighting, his cheekbones stand out sharper than ever. He looks sexy as hell in jeans and a T-shirt, relaxed and off duty, like a completely different person from the uniformed hottie who saved me last night.
Was it only last night? It feels like so long ago now. Like so much has already changed.
For one thing, I finally woke up to notice the guy I’ve spent the last two years walking right past, blind as a bat.
