“Yes, sir.”
I gather my things and call my mother, who’s ecstatic to have me home and can’t wait to see me. I’m not exactly a momma’s boy, but she and I have always been close. When I was younger and got into trouble—which happened most when I was around Armstrong—she was always the one to come to my defense. I think she felt some level of responsibility for always throwing us together, even though we didn’t always get along.
Since my mother won’t be available for a while and the jet lag is starting to catch up with me, I pack my bag, tell my assistant I’m leaving for the day, and head out. I need some coffee if I’m going to make it through this day.
There’s a nice little café a couple of blocks down and the walk will do me good. I can stop and grab a bite to eat before I call the car. The café is busy, the smell of fresh-baked bread and coffee making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. I join the line, pull out my phone, and check emails out of habit. There are fifteen new ones since I left the office. I review them as the line inches forward, slipping the phone back into my pocket when I reach the counter.
“Hi, Jennie.”
“Lex! It’s been forever! Have you been somewhere warm? You’re so tanned!” She’s in her early twenties with dreads and more piercings than I can count. I like that she doesn’t treat me differently than the bearded hipsters.
“Away on business. Nothing like a beach and a laptop.” I wink.
“So jealous, except the laptop part. The usual?”
“That’d be great. Double espresso, I need the caffeine today, and the Coronation Chicken wrap with the soup of the day, please.”
“Good call. The coconut pumpkin curry is to die for.”
“Everything’s to die for here.” It’s not a chain, which is why I come here.
I pass over my credit card, drop a tip in the jar, and move aside to wait for my order. I scan the tables, there doesn’t seem to be an empty spot in the place.
And that’s when I notice the cascade of blond hair across the room, close to the window facing the street. I know that hair. I’ve had it wrapped around my fist. I’ve had my nose in it, buried my face in it, touched it countless times. I know how it smells and how it feels on my skin.
Her elbow is propped on the table, coffee cup held in one hand. Long legs are crossed over each other, her foot bouncing restlessly, a red heel lying on the floor. The jolt in my chest is echoed in my pants. The chair across from hers sits vacant, a jacket draped over the back. A coffee cup indicates that someone has been sitting across from her recently. I can’t tell if it belongs to a man or a woman. Electric jealousy propels me forward before reasonable thought allows me to better assess my actions.
She doesn’t look up right away as I move into her personal space. I step closer, until my shadow crosses the papers scattered before her and her toe brushes my pant leg. Her head lifts slowly, her coffee cup held daintily in her hands. Her nails are pale pink. The same color they were in Bora Bora.
A thousand images flash through my mind, all of them lurid, all of them making the sudden stiffness in my pants that much harder to control. She sucks in a quick breath and nearly drops her cup. As it is, the contents slosh over the side, onto the papers scattered on the table. The cup rattles against the saucer as she sets it down and lifts her fingers to her lips.
Her eyes, those blue, fathomless eyes, widen as they move over my face and then down my chest before they come back up. She can’t see that I’m hard. My coat covers that issue.
“Lex.” It’s barely a sound in the noisy, crowded café.
I gesture to the empty chair. “Lunch date?” Bitterness serrates the words. It’s an emotion I have no right to.
She glances at the void space, confusion knitting her brow. “What?” Her fingers drift down her throat.
I follow them to the open buttons of her blouse. It’s white, crisp, now dotted with coffee stains. I wonder what kind of bra she’s wearing under it. I wonder if it’s pale satin, or lacy. I wonder if I’ve seen it on her before. If I’ve taken it off her body.
Before I can say anything else a tall man, likely in his mid-to-late thirties, approaches the table. I size him up. He’s average, at best, with a receding hairline. He looks at me uncertainly and then turns his questioning smile on Amie. The color has drained completely from her face.
“Everything okay here, Amalie?” He glances my way briefly.
She forces a tremulous smile. “Yes. F-fine. Norman, this is Lexington Mills, my um, best friend’s boyfriend’s brother, who is also . . . a friend of mine.” She laughs breathily and shakes her head at her explanation. “Lex, this is my colleague, Norman. We were having a working lunch.”
“Your colleague?” The tightness in my chest eases a little. What the hell is wrong with me?
She nods. “Um, yes. Norman has been very helpful showing me the ropes while I settle in at Williams Media.”
Norman’s answering smile is one I want to erase with my fist. “You’re a quick study. It really hasn’t been work at all.”
“You have a new job.” Of course she does. She was working for one of the Moorehead magazines.
“I do. It was a necessary move, all things considered. And more in line with my interests and strengths.” The color rises in her cheeks.
Norman, being the gentleman he apparently is, picks up his jacket. “I’m uh, going to head back to the office and uh, leave you two to catch up, unless . . .” It’s phrased in such a way that he leaves it open for her to join him.
“That would be great. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Take your time. We’ve accomplished about four hours of work in one, so don’t feel rushed.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He holds out his hand to me. “It was nice to meet you, Lexington.”
I take it because I don’t have another choice, squeezing back harder than necessary. “Likewise, Norman.”
I watch him leave before I turn my attention back to Amie. Amalie. I don’t know who I’m getting right now.
Her fingers flutter close to her lips, lingering there before they drift lower, down to the open buttons at the collar of her shirt. “How”—she has to clear her throat before she can continue—“are you? When did you get back?”
I avoid the first question, because I don’t have an answer to it yet. “Just yesterday.”
She motions to me. “How is it possible you can look this good with jet lag?”
I huff a laugh. “I’m hitting a wall. I’m here for the intravenous caffeine drip.”
“I’d like to hit your wall.” She closes her eyes and cringes. “That came out wrong.”
My name is called, breaking the tension. “My lunch is ready.”
“Do you want to sit with me?” She gestures to the now empty seat.
“Do you want me to?”
Her smile is small, nervous. She nods once.
“I’ll be right back.” I take the empty coffee cup and plate across from her to the counter and grab my lunch, returning to the table, which Amie has cleared of papers.