I pretend to ignore her and the dangling cup of coffee, but there is no ignoring Jamie McQuiston. She’s over the top, in your face, and a presence that takes up all of a room. She’s personable, beautiful, a force that cannot be ignored. Plus, that coffee smells delicious.
I swivel in my desk chair and sit back, my shoulders slouching. She pushes the cup of coffee toward me and I take it.
“Details. All of them. The Cliff Notes version. We have to be in the conference room in twenty minutes.” She looks at the watch on her wrist, that I guarantee cost more than my entire college education, before scanning the nearby desks around us. Our nosy co-workers would get off on the gossip of last night’s escapades, especially because it is one-hundred percent not like me to do what I did. I don’t do casual. I don’t do one-night stands with strangers in hotel rooms, or even shitty New York apartments. I do relationships. At least, that was what I did until last night. She whispers, “Tell me everything.”
Blushing, I take a sip of my coffee, cradling the cup in both hands before I look up at her. What do I tell her, the truth? He rocked my world. He was kind and considerate and the ultimate gentleman. A man I could see myself falling in love with. I swallow down the emotion I feel rising from the pit of my belly, and I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “He was nice.”
“Nice?” she whisper-yells.
I shrug. “Yes. Nice. He was a gentleman.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want nice. I want wild. I want raucous. Did he twist his fists in your hair and spank you—”
“Jamie!” I look around the office to see if anyone is listening and hold up a hand to stop her right there.
“Tell me you at least—”
“Yes,” I shush her. “We did. It was great—”
“And much needed. You look like a new woman.” She rawrs at me and giggles.
I roll my eyes at her. “Yes, it was needed; he fulfilled a need.” He actually broke an eighteen-month dry spell, thank the good Lord. “He scratched an itch, and I’ll never see him again. Thank God,” I mumble under my breath, not sure if it’s relief or guilt I’m feeling.
Jamie smiles widely. “Was it worth it? I mean, I know you were hesitant…”
Was it? I’ve asked myself the same question over and over this morning.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, turning back to my keyboard. Part of me is proud I let go of my inhibitions, and another part of me is ashamed I was so careless to go home with a stranger.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Gracie,” Jamie says, sliding off my desk. She knows exactly where my mind is. “You deserve to let loose and have a little fun.” She picks up her purse and takes a drink of her coffee. “You’re the most serious person I know—”
“Because I have to be,” I interject, reminding her of my reality.
She smiles compassionately, my pathetic life a total conversation downer. “I know. But it’s also okay to have some fun once in a while. You’re the best person I know, and if enjoying a romp in the sheets with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen is the worst thing you do, consider yourself Mother Teresa.”
I close my eyes and choke down the sudden lump growing in my throat. Guilt hits me like a brick wall and shame fills me. For one night, it was nice to forget my money problems or the fact that I can’t get a guy to even go on a date with me. Every man wants something I’ll never be: pussy he can hit when it’s convenient for him, a cover model, or a wealthy Hampton’s girl like Jamie that they can marry and proudly display as arm candy. None of those are me.
I nod my head, unable to speak.
Jamie pauses, seeing my mood shift. “Don’t beat yourself up,” she nudges me with her shoulder, “but fix your hair. That bun isn’t working.” She winks at me, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood before she saunters away, giving me time to collect my thoughts.
“You clean up good, kid,” Jamie says, sliding into the chair next to me. I'm sitting along the long side of the giant conference room table, and I have my notebook, pen, and coffee placed right in front of me. Everything perfectly in its place. It’s how I operate. I’m timely, efficient, and the most Type A person you’ll find east of the Mississippi. Everything has a place and a purpose. Routine is what keeps me sane. I run my hands over my dark hair, which I untangled from its bun fifteen minutes ago in the bathroom. It now hangs in long, perfect waves just past my shoulders. I also touched up my makeup and suddenly felt more put together.
“Thanks.” I roll my eyes at her and she lets out a little laugh.
She hands me a small box and I look at her funny. “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you, bestie?” I thought that that was what we were celebrating last night, but obviously, that wasn’t enough. A couple of other co-workers filter into the room, and having overheard Jamie, offer up their own birthday wishes, so I thank them. I open the box to find a pair of gold filigree hoop earrings and a matching bracelet. Classic and beautiful.
“Thank you,” I tell her, choking back another growing lump in my throat. I can’t remember the last time I got a birthday gift. The best my mom could do for me was a homemade vanilla cake, and that stopped when I turned ten. “It’s beautiful.”
Jamie reaches over and squeezes my hand when she sees me get emotional.
A man clears his throat behind me, and suddenly, the room falls silent. Jamie’s eyes grow wide like she’s seen a ghost, and she turns away from me, folding her hands in her lap. Just as I’m about to turn around, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.
“What do we have here?” A hand reaches over my shoulder and picks up the box. I’d recognize those long, perfectly manicured masculine fingers anywhere—because they’ve been everywhere—on me, in me, holding me.
Drew.
My heartrate spikes and I can feel my entire face burn with embarrassment, or maybe lust, or perhaps a combination of both. Whatever it is, I can feel that burn crawl from my face to my chest, and suddenly, my lungs constrict. What in the hell is he doing here?
He’s bent over my shoulder, holding the box Jamie gave me, his hot breath hitting my ear as he whispers, “Nice shirt.”
I sit up taller as I remember that I’m wearing the shirt I stole from his bathroom this morning. “It’s Gracie’s birthday,” Jeff from accounting says from across the table as Drew stands back up, the box still in his hand.
“Gracie.” Drew says my name like it’s the first time he’s ever heard it.
“Grace.” Slowly, I turn in my chair to face him. “You can call me Grace. Only my friends call me Gracie.” I do my best to still my voice and calm my racing heart. What in the actual hell is he doing here?
Our eyes meet. His smoldering blue to my green hazel. Eyes I spent all of last night peering into. Eyes that have seen every part of me. I shake the thought away and notice the vein in his neck pulse before he swallows and his head tilts ever so slightly. His eyes narrow and his lips tighten in what looks like a mischievous smile that he’s trying to hold back. I’m thankful I’m sitting down, because my entire body is shaking from the intensity of his smoldering stare.