“I’m a walking cliché, Sof.” I fall to the chair beside me and lounge haphazardly, like a distressed old-time movie star.
“What happened? You left here, looking like a million bucks.”
My hand falls to the side and dangles like a pendulum. “I mustered the courage. I walked up, looked into those blue eyes, and told him we should get out of there. And we did … just with other people.”
She rubs her hands together and then holds her pointer finger up, almost like she’s twirling it, as if something doesn’t seem right. “Before we get all melancholy, let me ask you this. Did you actually say, Let’s go out together because I like you? I want to be with you? Branson Ford, you are the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I want to have wild, crazy, passionate sex with you?”
I give my best scowl. “No.”
Her laughter is loud. “You are so … you!”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult,” I say sarcastically.
“You told me this summer that you think he’s attracted to you. That there’s this thing between you guys. Katie, he’s your boss. He is never, ever going to make the first move. The man has a shit-ton on the line. If he were to make the first move and you didn’t reciprocate, then he’d have a lawsuit and all other nonsense to worry about. But if you want him and you really don’t care what the consequences are, then you’ve got to go for it. You can’t harbor feelings for the man forever. Eventually, you have to seize your chance to make a move or get over him.”
“Get over Branson? That’s rich. I’ve been idolizing him for so long that it almost feels like it’s part of my personality.”
“All right, then you have to stop being a doormat and tell the man how you feel. Use that hot body of yours and that gorgeous hair. Flaunt those boobs!”
“Now, you sound like Hunter.”
“Who’s Hunter?”
I lick my lips at the mere mention of his name. “He’s no one. Well, he’s someone.” With a hand on my cheek, I feel my skin warm. I suddenly have a need to take off my clothes. I get up from my seat and walk toward my bedroom. “Hunter is my co-worker. My very charming co-worker. We went out tonight, and he gave me tips on how to be more seductive.”
“Ohhh.” Her elongated use of the simple word has me stopping in the hallway and peering around the corner, back toward the living room.
“What do you mean by ohhh?”
She shakes her head and gives a closed-mouth smile. “Just … oh.”
Ignoring her cleverness, I go to my room and flick on the light. Mittens is now sitting on my bed, taking over the duvet like it’s his personal full-size mattress. I unzip my dress and hang it in the closet. What a beautiful dress it is. I bite my lip and let my fingers run over the fabric. If only Branson appreciated it the way Hunter did. If only Branson gazed at me as sinful as Hunter did.
“So, this Hunter person, is he single?” Sofia asks from the hallway, knowing I’m changing.
“Very,” I say as I slide on my pajama pants.
“Is he hot?”
“Very,” I say rather quickly and admonish myself. Sofia is going to be all over that, I’m sure.
“Is he a good kisser?”
“Very,” I say even faster and rush out of my room before she can muster another word. My pajama shirt is now on along with a scrunched-up don’t you dare say a word expression on my face. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Your shirt is on backward,” she observes with a mischievous grin.
Looking down, I see she’s right. I pull my arms through the sleeve holes and rotate the shirt around my body, righting it. “I was distracted. It was like Twenty Questions out here.”
She holds up three fingers. “It was three, and the last answer was fascinating.”
“It’s not what you think. Hunter was just giving me pointers on how to seduce Branson. I got carried away and kissed him. Yes”—I hold up my hand before she can ask the question—“I kissed him, not the other way around, so don’t go reading too much into it. It was a mistake.”
She cocks her head while raising a brow. “All right, fine. I won’t press but only because I know you’re a private person. I’m just curious.” She takes a purposeful pause before asking, “Do you still want Branson now as much as you did before you kissed another man?”
Looking down, I try to think why she’d ask such a question. “Of course I do.”
“You hesitated.”
With a heavy breath, I lean into the doorframe and admit to my best friend, “Because it was a really good kiss. But good kisses don’t equate to love. I just wish Branson would kiss me that way.”
With a kindhearted smile, she puts her hand on my shoulder and pulls me into a hug. “He will, sweetie. You know, for a girl with a ton of pictures of castles on the walls of our apartment, it’s a shame you haven’t had your own happily ever after. I’m rooting for you to get that and more.” With a pat, she pulls away and adds, “You just have to kiss some frogs before you get your prince. Tomorrow’s another day. If it feels right, tell him so.”
“Tell who?” I ask absentmindedly.
“Branson,” she answers like I have seventeen heads. “Man, that was definitely some kiss, huh? Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep? That dazed head of yours needs some z’s for sure.”
“I’ll agree to that. You’ll be up for coffee in the morning?”
“You know it.” She walks into her room, and I close the door to mine.
Sleep is what I need. I just hope my dreams are about the right man. The one I want to have kiss me tomorrow.
Chapter Four
“Branson Ford’s office,” I say as I answer the phone.
“Morning. It’s Nigel Vargas,” he speaks loudly on the other end of the line.
I grab a pen and notepad, ready to jot down a quick note. “Morning, Mr. Vargas. Did you have a good time at the holiday festivity last night?”
“Empire Media knows how to throw a party. You scurried out of there early,” he says, and I’m surprised he noticed.
“I had a drink with a co-worker.”
My hand brushes my lips as I remember the kiss Hunter and I shared at the bar. I lay in bed last night and played it over and over in my head.
That kiss and his desire to walk me home made me temporarily forget about Branson, and that’s just silly. You don’t harbor a crush for a person for as long as I have and then just cast aside those feelings because of another person’s strong lips and magnetic gaze. Especially when it’s coming from someone who vocally says they don’t believe in love.
Mr. Vargas says something on the other end of the line, snapping me from my thoughts. I’m about to reply as Branson opens the main office door, drawing my attention. He gives me that million-dollar smile as he walks in with his briefcase in hand and his coat covering his forearm.
With my palm over the receiver, I whisper to him, “Vargas is on the phone.”
Branson makes an X with his full arms and shakes his head. I nod, and it earns me a wink.