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I rolled my eyes as I stood to hang up my coat. “A, his name was Trevor, not the name of a shitty one-hit wonder. B, I have no idea, as I went home after leaving the bar. And C,counselor,even if I did, it’s none of your damn business who I do or do not go home with!”
Steve rubbed his face with a “Touchy!” under his breath. I smoothed the lines of my favorite suit as I sat back at my desk, careful to avoid his sad eyes. Steve’s crush wasn’t exactly a secret; I felt a pang of guilt at the insinuation that the reason I didn’t reciprocate was because of his background. I had felt that kind of classism myself more than a few times at Harvard once people heard what my father did for a living.
“I couldn’t bring a guy like that home anyway,” I said more generously. I pointed at myself with my thumb. “Garbage collector’s daughter. Trust fund brats need not apply.”
In return, I got a grin and a wink. “Ha! Good for you, Crosby,” Steve chortled before ducking back down into his cubicle, dignity intact.
I couldn’t quite cop to the lie. In all honesty, I had to admit that I’d put in slightly more effort than usual getting ready that morning. I had just “happened” to wake up an extra fifteen minutes earlier than normal, and just “decided” on a whim to straighten my wayward red waves down my back instead of tucking them into a practical twist. I wore my favorite gray herringbone suit, a crisp white shirt, and emerald studs that matched my eyes. The cut of the ankle-skimming pants flattered my swimmer’s legs, and the matching jacket complemented my waist with a trim, yet professional hourglass shape.
Deep down, I knew what it was for. Or whom. Though it was extremely unlikely that I would run into a certain devastatingly handsome boss of mine, I couldn’t help but daydream about what might happen if, say, I ran into him in the elevator. Where he might shove me against the wall. And kiss me. And maybe rip the buttons off my jacket as he tore it from my heaving body.
Okay, so I hadn’t spent my entire weekend reading. Not even close.
“I heard you met Sterling on Friday.”
Eric’s voice shook me out of my daydream, and I swiveled around to see him shaking snow off his overcoat. He sat down in his own chair, and I scooted close so I could speak without anyone else overhearing us.
“Hey, be quiet,” I said. “I’d rather the peanut gallery next door didn’t know I ditched everyone to gallivant all night with our boss.”
“Gallivant, huh? And all night? Damn, Crosby, you must have some serious game. Not to mention stamina,” Eric teased.
I play-kicked at his chair. “You know very well that isnotwhat happened. I’m sure Ana filled you in.”
Eric shrugged and gave me a sly grin. “All she knows was that you had breakfast there in the morning. Somebody helped you work up an appetite, huh?” He started grooving in his seat to self-made porn music, which earned him another kick. “Okay, okay!” He stopped, stifling chuckles. “She might have also mentioned that you slept in the guest room, all right?”
“Exactly,” I hissed. “Did you know that was his place? Tell me the truth.”
Eric shrugged again. “Sure. Probably.”
“‘Just some rich guy.’ Right. And you didn’t think to tell me that before I went wandering around?” I leaned back in my chair and shoved my hands through my hair, mortified all over again by the memory of being caught sitting in the window, all Little Miss Muffet on my very own damn tuffet.
Eric smiled that devious grin that I knew had caught countless other girls’ attentions over the years; as usual, it had no effect on me. Even though Eric had grown up in a classic six on the Upper East Side and attended some of the best private schools in Manhattan, a far cry from my family’s shabby house in Brooklyn, the carefree demeanor with which he approached women reminded me of the boys who hung out on the steps in my old neighborhood, catcalling girls as they walked by. If they didn’t know you, you weren’t much more than a piece of meat; if they did, you were practically a sister. To Eric, I was apparently the latter.
I stuck my tongue out, and he laughed.
“Hey, Crosby, no one told you to start playing Goldilocks up there. Besides, you wouldn’t have come if you knew,” he said simply. “And Ana wouldn’t have let me stay unless you did.”
“You are so gross,” I informed him.
“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
Eric winked and grabbed the coffee canister he had set on the desk when he arrived. He pulled a Dixie cup out of his desk drawer and poured a small cup, which immediately filled the air with its aroma. Eric was an unbelievable snob when it came to coffee, claimed that the stuff the firm provided was basically battery acid. He came in every morning with a thermos full of some locally roasted, French-pressed brew.
“Anyway, of course I wouldn’t have come,” I said. “It’s a freaking name partner’s house! And I was just wandering around the first floor like a drunk college kid!”
Eric chuckled. “Yeah, that’s pretty classic. You sure you only stayed in your own room? Or maybe you wandered up a few stories…”
“Oh my God,no!” I hissed. “And I said keep your voice down! Nothing interesting happened besides me embarrassing myself, thank you very much. He chased me down the street after I ran out of there like a banshee. Then he polished my shoes and put me up in his guest bedroom. Probably more out of guilt than anything else.”
“Jesus Christ, Crosby. Only you would turn a potentially priceless networking opportunity into a way to turn one of the most powerful people in Boston into a shoeshine boy.” Eric shook his head.
“Yeah, that would have been super classy,” I replied. “‘So, Mr. Sterling, now that I’ve trespassed on your property, would you mind giving me, some strange girl whom you couldn’t care less about, a huge career boost despite the fact I’ve already turned down a job at your company?’”
Eric pursed his lips thoughtfully, inhaling deeply from his coffee before taking a sip. “I hate to tell you this, Crosby, but guys aren’t just naturally chivalrous—not these days. Ana said he put out your breakfast, not her. Doesn’t sound like a guy who isn’t interested to me.”
I shook my head fervently. “He wasn’t even there in the morning. I doubt he remembers who I am.”
My vehemence was rewarded by another chuckle from Eric, but our conversation was halted as Ben, one of the junior associates, wheeled a dolly carrying five cardboard boxes into the room, a smaller box perched atop the others.
