was mostly due to the prospect of seeing Rafe soon. They’d spent a cuddly night together the evening before, and she’d slept better than ever, wrapped up in Rafe’s arms as he stroked her back. No dreams had come to her—she’d been so exhausted that she had been too tired to dream. Unfortunately, she’d apparently been too tired for anything else, as well.
When she’d awakened, Rafe had been propped up in bed, fully clothed, reading. He’d had shadows under his eyes, and she knew he hadn’t slept. For the first time, she’d realized the extent of his problem—people talked about losing sleep, having insomnia, but she realized that Rafe really was awake, all day and then all night, unable to sleep. She couldn’t imagine it. How did he maintain any energy at all? Yet he’d gotten out of bed and had gone for a run as she’d left for work. Astonishing.
He’d left her with a kiss so hot she could still taste him; she closed her eyes and relived the moment. She wanted to rock his world, to ride him into exhaustion and give him the best night’s sleep of his life—it had become a personal goal.
She grinned secretly as she played out the naughty fantasy in her mind, imagining what it might take to exhaust Rafe. When a vibration buzzed softly in the pocket of her suit jacket, she jumped, emitting a little squeak of surprise, her face flooding with heat as everyone turned to look at her.
She plucked the cell phone out, smiling in apology and peeking at the most recent hot text message from Rafe. He’d been sending them all morning, part of his “all-day foreplay” plan. It certainly had spiced up her day, that was for sure.
Reading the current message, she wiggled a little in her chair, completely blanking out on the fact that she was being addressed.
“Joy? Are you with us?”
She blinked, setting the cell phone down on the table. Then realizing the people next to her might see the text message, she quickly snatched it up, fumbling it in her fingers, nearly sending it spinning across the table. Holding her breath, she managed to finally stick the phone back into her jacket pocket as it started vibrating again.
When she looked up, she saw that Ken was watching her impatiently.
She hadn’t been caught in a situation like this since she’d been bold enough to pass notes in fifth grade and had had hers read aloud to the class. She wondered if Ken would have read her text message aloud if he’d grabbed her phone, and her naughty smile twitched again.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Ken cleared his throat. “I know it’s the holiday and everyone is distracted, but I asked if you had worked out the media campaign for the Pearson project?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, pulling herself together and distributing her copies around the room, then quickly starting to review the main points, when Ken interrupted her.
“Joy,” he started, and she looked up quickly.
“Yes?”
“What is this? This isn’t the right paperwork.”
She glanced down and realized that she’d made copies of the party-planning list for the shelter, not her media plan.
“Oh, I’m sorry—this is for another project….” she apologized, her naughty humor disappearing as she gathered the papers. “I can go over the budget verbally, I know it like the back of my hand, I’m so sorry for this, there’s a lot going on this time of year you know—”
“What project is this? I didn’t know we were planning a Christmas event,” he inquired.
“It’s pro bono work for a homeless shelter on the north side.”
Ken looked completely baffled. “Pro bono? What do you mean pro bono? We don’t do pro bono.”
“It’s a personal project.”
“How much time have you been putting into it?”
“It’s on my own time—I’m running event organization for them. It hasn’t cost you anything,” she reassured, trying not to sound too biting.
“Apparently, it costs us your focus on our work, and the projects we’ve put in your lap, I’d say,” Ken offered, and she sighed, having no real answer to that.
“You’re right. Sorry.” Yet was she? She didn’t feel sorry. She felt annoyed. She irrationally wanted to tell Ken to cram it, but she knew he was right.
“Well, mistakes happen. You can tell us the high points of the media plan, and we’ll want copies directly after the meeting.”
She didn’t know how she managed to do it, but she did, and when the meeting was over, she couldn’t have been more relieved. Ken didn’t leave the room, however, but went over to the door, closing it before she had a chance to escape. Shit.
“Ken, really, I’m sorry but—”
“Joy, you’re one of our best. Maybe the best among your peers at the moment.”
She hadn’t seen that coming and blinked. “Um, thanks.”
“I mean it. You’re a strong contender for the new position, certainly the most qualified, but the question I need to ask you, is this the best job for you?”
“What?”
“There’s no debating you’re good at this work, Joy, but do you really want to do it for the rest of your life? The new position will take up even more of your time and energy, and while I don’t doubt that you have the mind and the talent for it, I do wonder if you have passion.”
“Passion?”
“Yes. You’re good at what you do, but I don’t often see you excited about it. Lately, that’s even more evident. I’ve worked with you for a while now, and you’re competent, efficient, but … it’s like you’re still holding something back. Honestly, if I had to choose, I’d go with someone who had more passion and fewer qualifications, because passion is what takes you the distance.”
She tensed at the criticism. “I didn’t know passion was a requirement.”
“It’s not, but it’s something we all think about when we’re hiring someone to join the executive staff. A passion for the job, the company, the product. A personal connection. If you want this job, Joy, before we make a final decision, I need to know you really want it, and for more than the bigger paycheck. If this is what you want to do day in and day out for years to come. If you have—”
“Passion,” she finished for him, flatly.
“Yes. Exactly.”
Joy withered, sinking back into her chair, thanking Ken as he left. What could she do? It seemed passion was the thing lacking in her life overall, and she had no idea if she’d ever had it, or how to find it.
RAFE WAS GRINNING ear-to-ear as he pulled into Warren’s driveway. He stepped out of the car to see Bessie getting out of her own car across the street, starting to take out sacks of groceries from the trunk. Rafe trotted over to give her a hand. He liked Bessie, and she always fed him when he came over—it reminded him of his own neighborhood back home, where someone
