Tonight You’re Mine, page 10
I try to ignore my gut reaction—which is to do the opposite of anything Roxy would approve of—and respond to her high-five.
“That’ll put a tingle in his dongle.”
“I mean. If he doesn’t want to date me, then I’ll have to move on and find someone who does. Right?”
“You don’t actually believe he doesn’t want to date you?”
“You don’t actually believe he does, do you?”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “First of all, you look so hot in that dress I think I might want to date you. Secondly, it’s like you need to be hit over the head with an erect penis before you understand how a guy feels about you. He never told you he doesn’t want to date you, dummy! If he didn’t really care about a future with you, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep his hands off of you when that other guy’s around.”
“Then why doesn’t he want to see me at night or on the weekends?”
“Because that would make it even harder for him to keep his hands off of you at the office.”
“I thought you wanted me to give him blue balls.”
“I do. I’m not saying I approve of his behavior; I’m just saying I understand it. It’s like when you’re trying to do a juice cleanse. You can’t lick the junk food in between juices to keep from eating it, cuz if you lick a potato chip you’re gonna eat that whole bag of chips. Just go to work with the same attitude you had yesterday, only not in an outfit that makes people want to vomit.”
I hate it when I realize this woman is, in fact, more rational than I am. I hate it every single time I realize it. And now all I want to do is lick Chase McKay and eat a bag of potato chips.
“It’s only three more weeks,” she continues. “Less than that. Even I can keep it in my pants around a guy I’m attracted to for that long.”
Before I can laugh in her face and demand examples, I have to answer a call from my mom. I’ve been talking her through a minor annoyance that has been slowly becoming a minor crisis. Apparently, no one in the Gilpin family is good at dealing with problems head-on lately.
By the time I get to the office, I’ve been ogled countless times, whistled at twice, and offered one marriage proposal from a construction worker. I’m feeling pretty good about things, until I catch sight of Chase McKay.
Today, he’s wearing a button-down shirt, classic-fit vest, blazer and belted trousers, with beautiful cognac leather Oxford shoes. His hair is up in a loose man bun and he’s wearing glasses. It actually feels like I’ve been punched in the heart. He looks like a cover model for Professor Man Bun Quarterly. I don’t know if that’s a real magazine, but if it is, sign me up.
He’s standing next to Greg Lee, reading something on the iPad that Greg’s holding up for him. When he sees me staring at him, he grins. I guess he took my suggestion to try harder to look so sexy that I’d throw myself at him. I also think he may be trying to kill me.
Lady blue balls are real.
My poor parents will have to explain to people that their daughter passed away after her vulva exploded in a freak workplace accident.
I wonder if my life insurance covers that.
Keaton isn’t in his office when I pass by, but Nora is watching me like a hawk. She might have seen me eye-boning Chase McNotOkayToDressLikeThatUnlessYouFuckMeDammit. She gives me a little nod, like she knows what’s up. She doesn’t know what’s up. I give her a casual wave and keep walking.
Almost as soon as I’ve signed into Slack—the team messaging software that they use here—I receive a direct message from Tyler, the VP of Sales. I’ve been working with him quite closely on this project, and I get about twenty direct messages from him a day, and even more on the group channels. Tyler is very single, incredibly flirtatious, and totally harmless. I think. He’s so flirtatious that surely no woman can take him seriously.
TYLER: Gooood morning, Red Dress! I’m so flattered that you dressed-up for my b-day. You and that dress better be here for my lunch party later.
I forgot about the birthday lunch party, but if Tyler wants to think I dressed-up for him, so be it.
AIMEE: Happy birthday to you! My dress and I have every intention of attending your lunch party.
AIMEE: I’ll have that report on flexible subscription pricing and distinct offerings to you tomorrow morning, FYI
TYLER: As long as that distinctive red dress is part of the offer!
AIMEE: Get back to work, Tyler
Seconds later, I get a text on my personal phone, from Keaton. I look up and see that he’s in his office, looking out at me. He walks away from his window as soon as I see him. This is the first time he’s texted me since the day I told him I didn’t want to date him.
KEATON: Hey, I’m hearing nothing but great things about your work here, FYI. You gonna be here for the birthday lunch thing later? It’s someone’s birthday, idk who, I’m just paying for it.
Well, that’s a fairly harmless text, I suppose.
ME: Hey, thank you so much for telling me that! I’m really enjoying it here, you guys have a great company. Yes, I will be here for Tyler’s party.
KEATON:
Still within the bounds of propriety.
KEATON:
Ahh, the winking face emoticon. Always a difficult one to read when received from a straight man. I don’t respond.
My Slack app alerts me that I’ve received a direct message from Chase. Just seeing his face on the tiny icon gives me shameless butterflies.
CHASE: I followed up with all of the customers we spoke with yesterday, btw. All good. Thx again for your help with that.
AIMEE: My pleasure! It’s what I’m here for.
I’m certainly not here for you to bend me over your desk or take me back up to the roof deck and make out with me again. Unfortunately.
As soon as I’ve sent my response, I receive a message from him on one of the group channels, regarding customer support.
I reply immediately, drag and drop my generic report on the subject, and several others join in on the conversation with questions for me.
Meanwhile, I receive a text from Chase McKay on my personal cell phone. It’s the first time he’s ever sent me a text from his personal phone. I stop what I’m typing on my laptop so I can read it.
CHASE MCKAY: Nice dress. In case you’re wondering, you’re still going to have to work a little harder to make yourself unattractive to me.
No ellipses. No emojis. Just that.
Lifting my ass up from my chair, I check to see if he’s even looking at me from his office. He isn’t. I can see the top of his man bun. He appears to be talking on his office phone.
I text him back, knowing that if he had any idea his text came in after one from Keaton, he would stop texting me immediately.
ME: Nice everything. But in case you haven’t noticed, I still haven’t thrown myself at you yet.
Shit! I hit send before realizing I shouldn’t have typed the word “yet.”
CHASE MCKAY: “Yet?”
ME: That was a typo. I meant “yep.” As in: Yep, that’s right. Still not throwing myself at you.
I look up at my laptop screen and see that Chase has sent me another message on a group Slack channel, about marketing.
I respond with another question.
He sends back a Slack message that says: Yep.
I get an iMessage from Foxy Roxy and open up my Messages app on my laptop so I don’t look like I’m constantly texting on my phone. Fortunately, there’s no one seated behind me at this office.
FOXY ROXY: How many penis dragons has the red dress slayed so far?
AIMEE: I AM NEVER TAKING YOUR ADVICE ABOUT ANYTHING! EVER AGAIN! I MEAN EVER!!!
TYLER: Whoa! Calm down, Red Dress! Who was that directed at?
GREG: If a woman is yelling, she’s yelling at you, @Tyler.
JULIA: Word. Although, @Chase does give pretty bad advice about work/life balance.
CHASE: Yep.
AIMEE: I am so sorry, you guys! That message was meant for someone else.
TYLER: Aww, her emoji matches her dress today.
CHASE: Get back to work, Tyler.
TYLER:
I get a text from Chase McKay on my phone.
CHASE MCKAY: Let me guess. Roxy dressed you again today.
ME: You don’t know me!
ME: I’m really never taking her advice on anything ever again ever, though.
CHASE MCKAY: And I’m still a big fan of her work.
I look up when his door opens. He walks out and over to Greg’s office, without glancing over at me. He’s just grinning and shaking his head.
Yep. He’s trying to kill me.
Once again, I should have brought an alternate outfit. It’s not even lunch yet, and this red dress is wearing me out. I was a lot more productive yesterday.
15
Chase
I’ve learned a lot in the past week.
I’ve learned that Aimee Gilpin is hot as hell, and I have to fight every urge to rip her clothes off, even when she’s dressed like my nonna. I’ve learned that refraining from saying or doing the things that I desperately want to say and do to her does absolutely nothing to curb my intense physical attraction to her, but I’ve become a world class champion at hiding it.
I’ve learned that she’s one of the best and most reliable business consultants I’ve ever met, and despite the very unprofessional circumstances we’ve found ourselves in, she is every bit the professional we need her to be. I’ve learned that if I stay at the office after she’s gone, I can still smell her when I walk past her desk, and I am an asshole for sitting at her desk over the weekend while thinking about our night together and stubbornly refusing to call her.
I’ve learned that seeing her in a red dress is just as arousing as seeing her naked and knowing that other men are seeing her in that dress right now makes my blood boil.
The catering that I ordered from Tyler’s restaurant of choice is set up in the center of our office, and he’s already suckered Aimee into singing “You’re the One That I Want” with him on the karaoke machine. I need another drink. I may have to break my “one beer per person” rule for this lunch party. I may have to break the karaoke machine. And I may have to fire Tyler.
Keaton brings his sushi plate over to sit next to me. With his wide eyes staring at me, I know exactly what he’s thinking: “Fuck me, how am I supposed to stay away from that woman?”
I pat him on the knee. I don’t know, just stay the fuck away from her, my friend, so I don’t have to punch you.
“How’s it going with Quinn?” I ask, as if it’s easy to maintain a conversation while Tyler’s doing a shitty John Travolta imitation and Aimee’s being sexy in a completely adorable way twenty feet from us.
“Good! Great. She wants to meet you.”
“Yeah? She met your parents yet?”
“Not yet. Dinner at Per Se soon.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
He sighs. “Having to cross the bridge five times a week is a pain in the ass.”
“You thinking of moving back to Manhattan?”
“No.” He shifts around in his seat. “Maybe.” He drops his tuna roll back onto the plate. “Where’s this sushi from? It’s sub-par.”
“KanaHashi. They’re clients. We love them. You don’t like anyone’s takeout.”
“I like your mom’s takeout.”
“That’s because she gives you free panna cotta.”
“We should only order from your mom for these things.”
Neither of us has taken our eyes off of Aimee this whole time.
“The sight of Aimee holding a microphone up to her mouth while absentmindedly licking her lips is what finally killed him,” is what they’ll carve into my tombstone.
Keaton groans, quietly, and lowers his voice. “I only want her because I can’t have her, right?”
“Without a doubt.”
“I think I’ll go grab a bite somewhere else. Is that rude?”
“Nawww. If anything, everyone will be glad you spared them your Jay-Z impression.”
“I get no respect around here,” he says as he stands up.
I tear my eyes away from Aimee one second too late. He catches me gazing at her, and frowns. He gets that flash in his eyes, the one I first saw back at Wharton when he started to suspect that his girlfriend had a thing for me. Denial would be the wrong play here, so I shrug my shoulders and mouth the words, “red dress.”
He half-smiles. “What’re you gonna do?”
“Yep. Go call your girlfriend. Be back for our two-thirty meeting.”
Keaton has mastered the art of leaving a party early without drawing attention to himself. Now, if I can just get that fucking birthday boy out of here, I might be able to enjoy my lunch. Mercifully, the Grease song ends, and I join my employees in applauding the performances.
Nora gets up to sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” as usual, before anyone can stop her. Greg comes over to chat with me, a welcome distraction. I manage to look away from Aimee only five brief times—each time I feel her turning her attention towards me. It’s perfectly clear to me that she’s not interested in Tyler, and she’s just as gracious and subtle in her way of handling this as she was with Keaton, but it’s bugging me to see him dance around her like an idiot. He’s one of the few other totally single guys here, but the only one who’s shamelessly hitting on her. I hate that no one knows how I feel about her, and I hate that I’m the one who’s ultimately responsible for this.
Just as Nora is wrapping up her trip down agony lane on the karaoke machine, I excuse myself from Greg and tell Julia to get the cake ready. She dashes into the break room, and I stand by the Yamaha keyboard that stays set-up in a corner 24/7 for our spontaneous office happy hours, birthday lunches, those long work days and nights that require a little tension-breaking, and weekends when I’m here alone playing Al Green to an empty room instead of serenading the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
I hoot and holler when Nora finally shuts up as I take a seat at the keyboard. Not everyone has finished eating sushi yet, but it’s time for Aimee to witness another one of my talents. I play the intro to “Bohemian Rhapsody” as a lead-in to “Happy Birthday,” to get people’s attention. Stealthily glancing over at Aimee as everyone crowds around, I notice her angrily biting her lower lip while staring at my fingers.
Trust me, Aimee, these fingers would rather be celebrating you right now.
When Julia wheels in the birthday cake on a little cart, I start singing the birthday song. I’m not saying I’m necessarily a good singer, but the McKay family has its share of Irish baritones who’ve had their pick of the lasses once they’ve taken over the pub piano. It’s how my dad won my mom’s heart, so the story goes. It’s not like I’m trying to torture Aimee right now—it’s just “Happy Birthday.” I think of it more as a promissory note with a high interest rate and an unspecified maturity date.
I resist the urge to play “No Scrubs” by TLC after Tyler blows out the candles, because he didn’t try to hide that he was wishing for Aimee. Instead, I get up and stand between them when Tyler’s cutting and passing out the cake.
“Mmm, you know what would go great with this?” Tyler says. “An espresso.”
Aimee sticks her tongue out and makes a face, much like she did the first time she tried Irish whiskey. “Blech!” she says. “I hate espresso.”
“Aw come on! You just haven’t had a good one. I should take you to Seven Point, on Washington. Australian-style espresso. So good.”
I snort. “Please. All due respect to Aussies, but if it ain’t done Italian-style, it ain’t espresso.”
“Still,” Tyler says, “it’s a cute location. You’d like it.”
“I’ll definitely check it out if I’m ever in the mood for something incredibly bitter that sticks to my tongue and makes me gag,” Aimee mutters.
While Tyler is still recovering from the mental image of her gagging on something bitter, I grab Aimee’s arm and drag her sweet body into the break room. “Somebody needs to set you straight,” I grumble. This is who I am now—the guy who grumbles and yanks her away from other dudes. She allows me to pull her, but as soon as we’re inside the only room in our unit that actually has four walls and a door that you can’t see through, she releases herself from my grasp.
I don’t bother to look back, because I know she’s scowling and frustrated with me. If I see that pouty mouth, I will make a very bad executive decision right here on the counter. I roll up my sleeves and start working the espresso machine and slamming espresso glasses like a boss. Like a jealous, possessive, sexually frustrated boss. I am the near-boiling water being forced over that ground coffee at nine times the normal amount of atmospheric pressure.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her hushed voice is deep and raspy, like after she’s come five times. She doesn’t sound angry, just genuinely confused.
“Pulling you a shot of espresso. I overheard you talking to your mom earlier. Everything alright?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. She’s got sort of a stressful situation brewing. Nothing dangerous or anything. But it will be fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She is quiet for a few seconds. “You can’t do this. You can’t ignore me and not call me and then flirt with me whenever you feel like it and drag me off like a caveman when your employees are being friendly with me and then ask me about my mom.”
“Oh yeah? How should we deal with this? What are your suggestions? You want me to take you up to the roof deck and fuck you on our lunch break and then pretend I barely know you when we’re in the office surrounded by all of my employees and my best friend who’s still hung up on you?”
“Yes!”
“Beautiful, I want that too, believe me. But I know I won’t be able to hide anything if we play it like that, and neither will you.”
