With a parting smile, he departs my apartment leaving me unsatisfied, confused . . . but utterly happy.
Chapter Eighty-Five
DOTTIE
What’s this? I’ve never seen this picture before.
I lean in closer to my computer, observing the treasure I’ve come across during my daily cyberstalking of the man who kissed me last night. Backward baseball hat, shirtless, bat in hand, him staring at the camera as his muscles ripple like a beast.
This picture is deliriously hot.
This one’s being saved to my personal file.
Yup, that’s right, Dorothy Domico, the power-suit princess, the ruthless boardroom ball-buster, has a file on her computer under the name “Eggplant” with pictures of Jason Orson. A variety of photos at that. Some shirtless, some not, some casual, some in a suit, and then of course, the picture of them all, the center of the collage, THE towel picture.
I’m in the midst of saving when there’s a knock at my door. Hunched over, I quickly pop my head over my computer screen to see Jessica standing there with a smile. Must have had a good night’s sleep, as her smile is rare.
“Miss Domico.”
This time I don’t fumble to close out of the screen, I just open up Outlook to cover up my obsession. “Yes, Jessica?”
“Two things. Madison in finance asked if you could push her meeting to tomorrow. She got a call from her son’s school. He’s throwing up and she needs to get him.”
I cringe. Gross. Details I didn’t need. “Yes, that’s fine. Tell her to work from home for the next few days and we can do a conference call tomorrow same time.”
“Will do. And you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” I ask, perking up.
Jessica smiles even wider, causing a wave of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Is he visiting me at work?
I swear to God if this is Lindsay or my dad, I’m going to scream.
“Okay, send them in.”
Jessica practically giggles on her way out my door and I stand from my desk, flatten my skirt out, and fold my hands together in front of me, then release, then fold, then—
A bouquet of flowers enters my office, red roses—red, eep—held by a very tall, very strong, and very beautiful man. My heart soars as I mentally thank Cupid himself for sending this man right now.
I spent the entire night reliving his kiss, letting my lips marvel in the feel of his mouth on mine, his possessive grip on my face, the way he was soft and rough all at the same time. Searing and passionate, it was the best kiss I’ve ever had.
And then he left.
I labored over why last night—why he just disappeared—and by two in the morning, I finally let my mind relax. Maybe it will come in time. Maybe this is the pace he likes. And then, as I recalled his words—“I didn’t kiss you in the cabin because I was a goddamn idiot. Forgive me, Dottie.”—I fell asleep. Yes, Jason Orson, I will forgive you. I woke this morning with an extra pep in my step. It was incredible.
I curled my hair rather than put it up in a ponytail or bun, giving me a much softer appearance. And instead of a suit, I wore a pencil skirt, but paired it with an ice-blue blouse that has a deeper neckline than I normally wear at work. In the off chance I ran into Jason in the hallway, I wanted to make sure I looked how I felt . . . beautiful.
Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him in the hallway, I didn’t hear from him all morning, and when lunch rolled around with no surprise or text or call, I started to worry. Three o’clock hit, and I succumbed to filling my soul with pictures of him instead of the real thing.
So you can imagine how giddy and excited I feel right now with Jason standing in front of me, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black button-up shirt, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“I hope this is okay,” he says, stepping forward. “I know you’re busy with work, but I thought I’d stop by and give you these.”
I move around my desk and meet him in the middle of my office. I gratefully take the flowers and give them a sniff.
“Of course, this is okay. Thank you.”
And then we just stare at each other like two besotted idiots not knowing what to do next. We kissed last night, so do we kiss again? Do I hug him? Do I ask him to sit down?
Should I ask him out?
I’m so bad at this, so out of practice, and from the looks of it, so is Jason.
“Do you want to sit down?” I ask, gesturing to a chair.
He sticks his hands in his back pockets and shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m off to another meeting but wanted to swing by your office this afternoon to give you these and to, uh”—he grips the back of his neck—“to see if you wanted to go out to dinner with me tonight?”
I can’t contain the giant smile that pulls at my lips. “I would love that.”
“Yeah?” he asks, almost looking surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.” He nods and backs away. “Cool, yeah, so uh, pick you up tonight? How about seven?”
“That works.”
“Cool,” he answers looking adorably awkward. He checks behind him and laughs. “Just want to make sure I don’t stumble over any furniture again.”
“Smart.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at seven. Bye, Dottie.”
“Bye, Jason.”
He shuts my door behind him and I sigh out loud while clutching the flowers to my chest. I have a date with Jason Orson. Maybe I’m not unwantable.
He likes me.
Jason Orson likes me.
Finally.
I’d like to say I knew exactly what to wear tonight and that I spent the last hour relaxing and making sure my legs were lotioned and as silky as possible, but that would be a lie.
A giant lie.
I got home from work late, leaving me forty-five minutes to get ready. During the drive home I had an idea what I was going to wear but when I put it on, it looked terrible. From there, it was like a tornado hit the bedroom. Nothing looked right, everything felt ill-fitting, or made me look washed out. There are clothes flung all over the room, and in this very moment, I wished I was at my place rather than Knox and Emory’s. If I was in my apartment, I would have so many more options.
With five minutes left, I throw on a simple black dress that I normally wear a blazer with, slip on some pumps, put on a bright red lipstick, and call it a night. Thankfully my hair is still curled from this morning and my makeup is decent. I lotion quickly, spray some perfume, brush my teeth and just as I finish, a knock comes at the door.
Clutch in hand, I give myself one more look in the mirror. The dress really is flattering with its sweetheart neckline and tight-fitting bodice. I just wish I had some jewelry or something to pair it with.
It’s fine, he won’t notice.
I say that now but knowing Jason and how detail oriented—read quirky—he is, he’ll make some offhand comment about not having the right accessories for my outfit.
Nervous and excited, I open the door and there’s Jason on the other side looking beyond yummy. He makes jeans and a blazer look hot, especially when he’s sporting that wicked smile of his.
“Damn, Dottie,” he says, taking my hand in his and making me spin. “You look gorgeous.”