Before I Ever Met You

“It’s pretty cool,” I tell her, looking around. A few people look up at me but quickly go back to work. “Everyone looks so young.”


“Median age is twenty-nine,” she says. “Your father is the oldest, which makes sense since he started the company. The LA office is a bit older, which is probably why he’s started traveling down there more often. I think he feels like a grandpa here.”

“Well he is a grandpa,” I tell her.

“Oh that’s right,” she says, giving me a sheepish smile and briefly putting her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, I forgot. He’s been excited to have you and your son back home. You have a little boy, right?”

“Yeah. Tyson.”

“How old is he?”

“Turned seven in November,” I tell her, waiting for the inevitable but you look so young, you must have been a baby when you had him, etc.

To Alyssa’s credit she doesn’t say that. “A Scorpio. He must be a feisty one.”

“Actually he’s pretty quiet. Just likes to read. And he’s currently obsessed with dinosaurs, so he’s a bit jealous that I’m working here now. He knows Grandpa is in charge of all the dinosaur cartoon movies.”

“Shhh,” Alyssa says sharply, putting her finger to her lips. “You call them cartoons and you immediately get tossed out the door by the artists. Animation. Always animation.”

I raise my brow. “Even if it’s not animated?”

“Yes. Just to be safe. The artists are touchy.”

“Good to know. So how does the table set-up work here? Where do I work?”

“Oh, well,” she says, gesturing to picnic tables. “A lot of people don’t have permanent desks or offices. They just work wherever they want.”

I frown, not too thrilled about it. “Where do they keep their stuff?”

“They have lockers in the back, and under the table there’s a drawer for stuff they need on hand. We just like to keep it flexible. But you have a desk right across from Will’s office. This way.”

I sigh with relief, following her along the row of offices, doors all closed. I read the names: Alyssa Martin, Darlene Birch, Bob Cantu. “This is your father’s,” Alyssa says, gesturing to a large one in the corner that says Ted Phillips, President, on a gold plate on the door, then the office right next to it that says William McAlister, Vice President. “And this is obviously Will’s. They like to both be tucked away in the corner and away from the riff-raff.”

“I’m guessing my father is the one calling them riff-raff?”

“You got that right.” She turns around and splays her palms out to the cubicle across from the offices, split into two with a partition between. “This is your desk. Patty is on the other side.”

It’s a nice sized desk, wrap around style with lots of room for folders and files, with both a MacBook and a desktop Mac as well. The partition between Patty and I is frosted, so it provides a bit of privacy too and I won’t have to feel like someone is breathing down my neck.

I’ve just put my bag on the desk and am about to ask Alyssa where the restrooms are, when she puts one hand on her hip and says in a coy voice, “And here comes the man of the hour himself. Late as usual.”

I look over to see a tall, broad-shouldered man stride into the office, briefcase in one hand, and leashes attached to two dogs in the other.

The dogs take me by surprise.

As does the man’s hulking silhouette.

Alyssa goes on, whispering to me, “There’s no excuse for him being late though, he lives just around the corner. You should see his place. Heard it costs three million. Wait, I forgot to check, you’re okay with dogs right?” she asks me quickly.

“Huh? Dogs? Yeah,” I say absently, unable to take my eyes off him—my boss—as he approaches, walking toward us with the two dogs, one a small Pitbull type, the other a scruffy thing. Both extremely cute.

I don’t really get a good look at him until he’s just a few feet away. A few feet away, stopped, and staring at me with a wry grin on his face.

Holy shit. Is this really Mr. McAlister?

The Mr. McAlister I remember from when I was a teenager was tall, dark, and handsome, his voice and furrowed brow reminding me of Gregory Peck. A total old-fashioned movie star. Now he’s all those things magnified. Age has made him one hell of a sexy beast dressed in a sharp navy blue suit, his dogs now sitting politely beside him.

“You couldn’t possibly be Jackie,” he says to me, looking me up and down with the kind of wonderment that nearly brings heat to my cheeks. His voice is stronger than I remembered, shoots some kind of electricity through me. It’s as deep as sin, smooth as scotch, the kind of voice that should do voiceovers for car commercials.

“That’s me,” I manage to say, straightening my back and trying to look professional, even though this whole exchange is unraveling me for some weird reason.

“You were just a kid when I saw you last,” he says smoothly. “You look like your mother now. Thank god because I couldn’t stomach someone else looking like your father. Getting a bit sick of his mug already.”

Alyssa breaks out into a nervous hyena-like laugh. I frown at her, wondering what her deal is.

“So,” he goes on, ignoring her, that distinctive voice drawing my attention immediately back to him, and he stares at me for a moment. I can’t help but stare right back, marveling at the color of his eyes, green-blue, like a lagoon, the bare masculinity of his wide jaw covered with a five o’ clock shadow, the dark swoop of thick black hair off his forehead.

How the hell am I supposed to work with a man—for a man—who looks like he could be the next James Bond?

It could be worse than having daily eye candy, I quickly remind myself. When I worked at Safeway, my manager had ear and nose hair you could braid.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, glancing down at the dogs. “They tie me up most mornings. This is Sprocket,” he looks at the scruffy one, then to the Pitbull. “And this is Joan of Bark.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Joan of Bark?”

“We call her Joanie for short. I don’t always bring them in, but the dog-walker cancelled today. God, I hope you’re a dog person,” he says, running his long, tanned fingers over his stubble as he seems to ponder the consequences.

“And what if I wasn’t?”

He grins at me, a smile that lights up the space around him. “I’m sure Joanie would make you a believer. Maybe not Sprocket though. He can be a little dick.” He looks to Alyssa. “Are you done giving her the tour?”

“We were just getting started,” she says.

“Good, give me a bit to get ready,” he tells her before he winks at me. “See you later, kid.”

He takes the dogs into his office and shuts the door.

I look at Alyssa. Did my new boss just call me kid?