“You cannot be serious,” I blurt out a moment before he starts to laugh.
He winks at me and pinches my ass, letting me know he’s teasing. Thank fuck. I’m so turned on from that make-out session on his desk. I haven’t had sex in a few months. I wasn’t dating anyone during my ‘make Finn fall in love with me’ campaign this fall, which is probably why I’ve been behaving like such a nut job.
Sandra is outside the office, leaning against the edge of her desk, looking like she’s ready to start biting her nails from nerves when Sawyer opens the door to his office. She straightens, concern crossing her face. “Mr. Camden, they’re quite anxious to wrap up the meeting…” She trails off as the phone on her desk rings. Her eyes dart to the phone and back to Sawyer.
She is way too young to be so wound up.
“Tell them I’m on my way,” he says, not seeming the least bit bothered that people are waiting on him. He rests his hand low on my back and guides me through the door. His hand is large and firm on my back, the heat of his skin pressing through my sweater, and I want to push him back into the office and tell Sandra to hold all his calls. But Sawyer has already murmured, “Tonight,” in my ear and disappeared down the hallway. Damn, can he wear a suit.
“They can’t even finish the meeting without him, huh?” I say to Sandra once she finishes with her phone call. I flash her a grin and roll my eyes in jest.
She looks startled by my joke, then shakes her head. “Well, no, not really. He doesn’t attend every single meeting, obviously.” She smiles, but I’m starting to remember something Chloe said—
“Oh! I almost forgot.” Sandra pulls open a drawer in her desk and slides something out of a tray inside. It clangs like coins do when you drag them across a desk top and scoop them into your hand, but what she holds up is not pocket change. It’s a shiny silver keychain, with keys dangling. Sandra reaches them out to me, dropping the key ring in my palm.
“What are these?” I ask her, holding the keys up for closer inspection. They’re identical. Three of them.
Her expression falters a bit, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Sawyer’s keys. Well, his key, really. He asked me to give them to you. It’s all the same key. He said you’d need three,” she adds, as if it’s that last detail that threw her.
I want to throw back my head and laugh, but she has no idea I don’t even know where he lives, I realize. She obviously thinks I’m his girlfriend. I mean, I guess everyone does, since he announced it on Facebook. But she thinks it’s real. Like I’ve been to his place and left shampoo in his shower. Like I know when his birthday is. Not like we’re going on our first date tonight.
Sandra says goodbye to me at the elevators, waving with a friendly smile as if she’s just made a new friend, and I step into the car alone, my mind whirling.
Chloe had commented on their names, Sawyer and Finn. “Parents had a Mark Twain thing going on, huh?” she’d said. Mark Twain, which, if I’m remembering my high-school reading assignments correctly, was a pen name. A quick look on the internet via my cell phone confirms it. Mark Twains’ real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens.
The elevator opens at the lobby and I step out, phone still in my hand, and make my way to the lobby entrance. CLEMENS CORP is attached to the wall in glossy three-foot letters over the security desk, matching the giant sign attached to the top of this building, and all the pieces fall into place.
This is Sawyer’s building.
Twenty-Five
“I cannot believe I didn’t Google him this week.” I’m at my desk typing away while Chloe grins at me from across the room. I’ve showered and shaved my legs, moisturized everywhere with a sugar-lemon body lotion, and blow-dried my hair. Now I’m stewing.
“Why didn’t I Google him?” I’m incredulous. I am the queen of invasiveness. I Googled Sophie’s boyfriend before she did. I set up an internet dating profile for Chloe without her knowledge and sent her on a date. Yet I was so distracted I didn’t even think of Googling Sawyer once this week. I’m slipping. I’m twenty-two years old and I’m already losing my touch.
“On the plus side, it probably made barging into his office today easier, not knowing who he was,” Chloe says, trying not to laugh, so it turns into a snort.
“No wonder the security guard thought I was an idiot,” I grumble, dropping my chin into my hand. “They tried to direct me to customer service, Chloe.” I’m mulling over my embarrassment when an even worse thought occurs to me. “He probably has sex with supermodels,” I say, my eyes widening.
“So what? Isn’t there a saying about that? Show me a supermodel and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of fucking her?” Chloe asks, flopping onto her bed. “Something like that?”
“Um, I think so. But how is that helpful? Wouldn’t he just move onto the next supermodel?”