“Catarina, I don’t appreciate you accusing me without merit. You’re busy. I’m busy. We’re working professionals who care about our jobs. If I had a spare moment to sleep with anyone it’d be you—not two people. Use your head, sweetheart.”
I wince when he touches his lips to my temple. That was too close to being called stupid— and I didn’t accuse him of anything.
I regroup. Take my own article’s advice. If you want sex, be bold. Don’t ask.
“We’re not busy tonight.” I leave my wineglass on the counter and go to him, draping my wrists on his shoulders. He’s much taller than me, and I suffer a little crick in my neck if I stand this way for too long, but he’s worth it. We’re worth it.
“What do you say we fool around?” I tug the knot on his tie and then drag my fingers down his crisp dress shirt as his phone buzzes behind me.
He unceremoniously brushes my arms aside and checks the screen of his cell.
“Who’s that?” I ask, stung. Whoever it is, they’re apparently more important than me or what I’m offering. Frankly it’s pissing me off.
His noncommittal utterings leave me with no clue of who the caller might be. He declines the call and pockets his cell.
“Who was that?” I try again.
“Maria.”
“Maria who?”
“My associate. We’re working on closing the apartment building sale and it’s been a real bitch.” He straightens his tie, and since I was the one who tugged it out of place that also irks me.
Is she pretty? I want to ask but don’t. It’s not like me to be needy.
“I’m going to have to cut our evening short. Looks like they’ve asked for another clause in the contract. The seller is fit to be tied.” He grabs his suit jacket off a chair and shrugs into it.
“You’re leaving?” My dwindling control of our evening together has evaporated completely.
“We spent yesterday together.” He lowers his lips to kiss me, but I turn my face so that his lips collide with my cheek instead.
“Catarina.” He lets out a sigh of frustration. So what? I’m frustrated, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Lock up when you leave.”
I fold my arms and refuse to look at him. He leaves anyway.
This time when Barrett rounds the corner, I’m ready for him. I arrived an hour early and set up my desk to ensure I’ll see Fox coming.
“Morning, Kitty Cat.” He surveys my new setup. I turned my desk 180 degrees so that it faces the window. “You do this by your pretty little self?”
“You can’t sneak up behind me and I don’t have to look at you while you’re in your cubicle. Win-win.” I shoot him a sardonic smirk.
“Yes, but you also have your back to the rest of the office. Which means if Mills says anything funny, you’ll miss the joke.”
“I don’t find Mills funny.”
“Do you find anyone funny?” Before I can get offended he adds, “Is North’s middle name East? ’Cause that’d be funny. Something like that might manage to crack that façade of seriousness you wear like a second skin. Especially if his last name is Southwest.”
I tongue my cheek, not quite laughing, but decently amused since North isn’t my favorite person of late.
With a satisfied smile, Barrett heads to his cubicle. I realize my mistake as I sit down at my desk—now not facing his. I can’t keep an eye on him. Yet I feel the weight of his stare on my profile.
I whip around, prepared to admonish him. He’s bent over his laptop and ignoring me completely. Seems to be a pattern with the men in my life.
Sigh.
Well, whatever. I have a job to do.
I finalize our reservations at La Petit France, which is a fancy French restaurant. According to their website they require a jacket, only serve dinner, and every menu item is pricey and à la carte. Fine by me. Mia is paying.
I’m scrolling through the menu when Guess Who walks up and blurts, “Do they have French fries? It’s a staple of my diet.”
“I highly doubt your chiseled body sees an ounce of saturated fat.”
“You think I’m chiseled?” He pulls a hand over his button-down white shirt and stands taller, puffing out his (very well-built) chest.
“You know you are.”
“Judging by those legs, Kitty Cat, you do your fair share of working out.” He glances down at my legs, crossed beneath a modest black skirt. I practically feel his gaze like a touch before his blue eyes snap up to mind.
“Runner?” he asks.
“Sometimes,” I answer, willing myself not to feel flattered.
“Those are some seriously hot shoes. How come you aren’t wearing them?” He’s referring to my Jimmy Choos—the same pair I wore for my date with North last night. The shoes lay on their sides under my desk as per my habit to kick them off while I’m working.
“They’re terribly uncomfortable, so I always take them off. I’m not even aware of it when I do it.”
“You have attractive toes, so it works. The Tiffany blue polish is a nice touch. What time is our first date?” he asks.
I’m still reeling from comments like “hot shoes” and “attractive toes” and “Tiffany blue” which, if I’m not hallucinating, just came out of the mouth of Barrett Fox.
“Uh, eight o’clock Saturday night.”
“Cliché but I’ll allow it. You sure South by Southwest is okay with us sharing an intimate dinner?”
“North isn’t the least bit intimidated by you. He has your number, Fox.”
Barrett only smiles. “Okay, but no phone calls after midnight. A guy’s got to get his beauty sleep.”
Chapter 5
Catarina
“Tell us about your assignment, darling. Your father mentioned a football player of some sort?”
A forkful of spring greens salad is hovering at my open mouth. I set it aside without taking a bite. My father lowers his cellphone—where he was reading the Wall Street Journal—and looks in my direction.
He knows about my assignment. I told him about it in detail earlier in the week. I also asked him to keep it to himself.
“You’re an awful secret-keeper,” I tell him with a frown. He only smiles, which pops a dimple in one of his cheeks. Insufferable old man.
“How do you tolerate him?” I ask my mom.
“You don’t want to know, Catarina.” She sends Dad a wink. I make a gagging gesture, but I love them. I love that they’re in love, too. If they weren’t I don’t know what I’d do with myself. They keep me sane.
“Mia, my editor, wants a schlocky puff piece about dating bad boys, and she nominated me because it’s so apparent I’m into bad boys.” I roll my eyes. “It’s all for show.”
Mom laughs. “Sounds exciting. What does Northrop think?”
“He knows it’s for work and couldn’t care less. I’m not sure he has a jealous bone in his body.” I take a drink of my iced tea and consider that I’d like it if he had a jealous bone in his body. He’s so damned pragmatic.