He fakes falling asleep as his knuckles rap on the door, and I chuckle under my breath. Viv looks up from her desk through the glass—there’s virtually no privacy in this office, save for the tinted windows in the conference room—and waves us in.
“Your date is here,” Sandy announces. “She’s cherubic, cute, and too good for the likes of me. I trust you two will be very happy together.”
“Thanks, Sandy,” Viv says with a laugh. He rushes back to his post to pick up the ringing phone. “I really like him.”
“Told you.” I buff my nails on my dress. I was the one who suggested Sandy work for Vivian instead of Owen Construction proper. His resume had hit Benji’s inbox as Vivian was saddling up for her new position and was worried she’d never find good help.
“You ready to do this?” She stands and rubs her hands together. Her slimming plum skirt is fitted, her silk blouse a paler shade of purple bedazzled with winking rhinestone buttons. She’s both professional and beautiful. I glance down at my plain dress and feel a stab of envy. I stepped it up today—I typically wear jeans to work—and I still can’t touch Viv’s fabulous style. Don’t get me wrong, my clothes match, but I’m not winning any awards for costume design. Which is exactly why I called her.
“I’m as ready as I can be,” I tell her as we exit the office. I wave goodbye to Sandy upon my retreat.
“I’ve chosen three boutiques to check out.” We take the stairs, her incredibly tall high-heeled shoes ticking each step. I’d break my neck if I attempted stairs in shoes like hers. “Two of them are here, the other right up the road.”
“I’m in your capable hands.”
“It’s not going to hurt to go on a date. A few dates,” she says as if I’d argued instead. She flips her dark brown hair over her shoulders and slips a pair of sunglasses onto her nose, hiding chocolate brown eyes a few shades darker than Benji’s. “If anything, maybe Benji will voice an opinion about who his life assistant coach is dating. And wouldn’t that be fun to hear?”
He’d have to notice me as a being with two X chromosomes to comment. Which would be different, but I don’t know if it’d be fun.
She spares me a grin as sunlight hits her hair and highlights the delicate freckles on her cheeks. You’d never know it now, but she was cagey and nervous after being outed as Walter Steele’s daughter last year. Yes, that Walter Steele. She’s not a criminal like her deceased father, but I could understand why she was worried about what others would think. Who among us isn’t?
“Benji wouldn’t notice what I was doing if I was doing it on his desk while he was typing up an email.” I snort. The truth is always funny.
“We’ll see,” she promises. “We’ll find you the perfect date ensemble and then grab lunch and martinis. I can have you back to your office by, oh, say six o’clock?”
“No can do.” I turn her down with regret in my heart. Martinis and lunch sound amazing. “I promised Benji we’d jog at five. As his coach, part of my job is to keep him fit for his myriad girlfriends.”
She hums, no longer looking pleased. “Who is she this time? Blonde? Redhead? Brunette?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I frown as that fact hits me square in the solar plexus. Since I’ve worked for him, Benji has had a revolving door of dates on call. Last year he was in a semi-serious relationship with a tall, leggy blonde named Trish. She was smart and nice, which sucked because I really wanted to hate her. Vivian met her and agreed we couldn’t hate her. She also agreed that not being able to hate Trish was a bummer.
“Well, who cares.” Viv waves a hand. “Time to move on. Or at least sideways. Take it from me, Cris, life has a way of working out the way it’s supposed to. Especially when you least expect it.”
Easy for her to say, I think without animosity. Vivian and Nathaniel are in love, and it’s adorable and beautiful and enviable. As a closet romantic (though I came out to Vivian), I watch them together and internally swoon. I want that someday. Not with Nate, obviously, but with someone.
Time to go into the big, bad world and find him.
Chapter Two
Benji
Each pounding footfall thumps in my ears, my heart keeping time like an orchestra conductor. I hear my own steady, rhythmic breathing over the sounds of my steps and heart.
Thump, beat, puff. Thump, beat, puff.
The day is mild, warmish, but a cooler breeze keeps me from sweating too much. The park is moderately occupied, but it’s also large, so there’s plenty of room on the path for us to run. Cris is ahead of me wearing a pair of hot pink shorts and a white T-shirt with the words “my favorite brother gave me this shirt.” The first time I saw it I had to smile, not because of its outwardly snarky message but because there is zero chance she could pick a favorite brother out of the three her mom stuck her with.
Stuck is a harsh word. I didn’t mean it that way. Let me explain.
Cris’s mom, Selina, bailed on her daughter and co., aka her three bros, when Cris was eighteen years old. Selina, who I’m told goes by Lina, moved to Vegas to marry a guy she’s since divorced three husbands ago. I think she’s on marriage number seven, but it’s been four or five months since Cris mentioned her, so who knows if Lina has moved on to number eight by now.
So, Lina went to Vegas and Cris stayed here in Clear Ridge with her brothers, who at the time ranged from ages seven to twelve. This was while she was grinding out a college education and working part-time. Talk about a full schedule. Cris said her mom promised to send money regularly when she left, but only ended up sending it semi-regularly. Like sending cash was going to make up for not being there. I know firsthand how nice it is to have money, but it’s no substitute for a parent.
When Cris turned twenty, she started working as an intern for William Owen, better known as “Dad,” but he’s not my birth father. Sadly, my birth father (and birth mother) are no longer alive. It’s not a circumstance I like to think about, but there’s no escaping it. They’re gone and have been since I was ten years old. I’ve missed them every day since.
Anyway. We’re talking about Cris.
I remember the first time I saw her. Spunky, adorable, blond. I thought she’d come and go as most interns did at Owen Construction, but she stayed on full-time, working for my dad before I hired her myself. I had taken to working at my home office more often than not. Traveling to headquarters is a drive to the tune of ninety minutes on a light traffic day which allows me to get almost nothing done, so I limit my visits to the big HQ. Plus, I like my home office. And my home gym. The in-ground pool in my backyard is heated. I’m not trying to sound like a dick, just illustrating how everything I need is at my fingertips. Including my life assistant coach.
It’s a title I made up. I needed an assistant, but I also needed a life coach. Her position is bespoke. I’m thrilled she was willing to mash together two seemingly random job titles into a Franken-position we could stitch up or bolt together as I saw fit. We were acquaintances at best when she worked for William. Our friendship grew once we started spending a lot of time together. Now I don’t think I could do anything without her. At least not well.