He went to shut the door as she called for the elevator. Then stopped. It would be rude to shut the door. On the other hand, she looked desperate.
He split it down the middle. Left the door ajar, but walked away. To the kitchen. He didn’t breathe until he heard the ding.
Holy crap.
BREE SAT IN HER CUBICLE, shuffling papers from one stack to the next. She’d been at the office for two hours and she hadn’t accomplished a damn thing. Most of the morning had been spent rehashing last night, analyzing to death every single thing Charlie had done or said. Sneaking peeks at the picture she’d taken, of his trading card.
In the harsh fluorescent lights of BBDA, the events featuring Charlie seemed more like a dream than something that could have happened to her. But there was an ache in her body that wasn’t a result of working out at the gym. She’d tensed her arms so hard gripping the headboard that her muscles had burned as she’d showered this morning, and there was that thumbprint bruise on her hip. Plus her memories, of course.
She had no business thinking about him. The night. Him. Really now. It was over. Done. A recollection that should bring her pleasure instead of this sense of loss. How could she have lost something she’d never had? Never could have?
God, the whole morning sucked. Her thoughts had been wild enough before she’d seen that he hadn’t posted his blog yet. He should have. His routine was like Old Faithful, like atomic time. Instead, three other people had posted—one fashionista, one celeb tracker and one foodie.
So in addition to obsessing over the fact that sex had been no more than a part of the overall standard package rather than a romantically wonderful moment between the two of them, now she was pretty convinced that she had somehow jinxed Charlie. And she had a headache.
Surprisingly, Rebecca hadn’t called yet, which was fine because Bree hadn’t figured out how much she wanted to tell her and she wanted to be careful about that conversation, not dead on her feet. In fact, she seriously thought about sneaking in a nap today in place of lunch. She needed sleep more than food.
Her cell dinged and when she saw the name flash, she nearly choked. She clicked on the icon.
How are you feeling? CW
Bree stared at his initials, completely stunned. Why was he texting her? Good manners? Had she accidentally taken something from his apartment? She hit Reply then forced herself to think, not text, not yet.
This was silly. She shook her head as she used her thumbs.
Fine. Thanks.
You get to work okay? CW
On time and everything.
I’m glad. Also lunch? CW
What? Lunch? Was he asking her to lunch? Nope, no, that couldn’t be right. Not after this morning. She stared at the gray panel of her cubicle for a moment, then looked once again at her message. She hadn’t read it wrong. It simply made no sense.
Now her gaze lifted over the cubicle wall, but all she could see was the top of the heads passing by. There wasn’t a single person at BBDA she could pull aside for advice. None of them knew about her date with Charlie. Or really anything about her except that she tended to keep to herself.
She quickly typed BRB letting him know she was away from her keyboard, and grabbed the landline. Screw not telling Rebecca about what happened. Bree needed help. Fast. She dialed, praying her friend would answer.
The second Bree heard “hello,” she launched. “Last night was the most fabulous night in the history of earth, but this morning was completely weird and now he’s …”
“Bree—”
“Oh, God, you’re busy. Please don’t be busy because I don’t even—Wait. He’s texting me now, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Texting you what?”
“He wants me to have lunch with him. Today.”
Rebecca laughed. “Then go!”
“We both freaked out this morning. He offered me a hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“For a taxi.”
“Oh. Then I repeat. Go.”
“But—”
“Trust me on this. I know him. Really well. Lunch is huge.”
“Huge? Huge isn’t good at all. It’s over now, right? He doesn’t do repeats, and I’ve got a plan, and it doesn’t include liking anyone. Huge can’t be the thing that comes next.”
“Listen to me,” Rebecca said, her tone one she surely must use when she was negotiating with billionaires or friends having panic attacks. “Go to lunch with Charlie. Eat food. Listen to what he has to say. You might be surprised. Then call me after.”
Bree touched her hair and her face as her stomach flipped from excitement to dread and back again. Damn, she’d done almost nothing with her hair, and her makeup consisted of mascara. Period. She’d had barely enough time to shower and change, and then she’d had to scramble to make it to the office. “You’d better be right, Rebecca.”
“I am. Good luck.”
Bree hung up, then got her thumbs in position.
Where? When?
Bistro truck? CW
Um …
Mediterranean CW
Okay.
Sending map. U say when. CW
1?
C U there. CW
Her cell let her know the map had arrived, and the Bistro truck was only a block from her office. She typed the name into her search engine to check out the menu, wanting to be prepared and avoid anything messy. Figured she’d go with the phyllo-wrap veg and the Belgium fries, assuming she could eat anything. Even if meeting him turned out to be a horrible mistake, fries would soothe the wound.
After closing her phone, she stared at the paperwork she had to finish before noon, her vision blurring on the words. He wanted to see her again. Why? Why? And why was Rebecca so sure she should go?
New York was confusing.
CHARLIE STOOD ON A CEMENT bench on East 14th Street, searching the lunchtime crowds for Bree. Despite her little black dress last night, he remembered Rebecca’s comment about Bree’s affection for colors, so he zeroed in on anything that wasn’t black clothes, which eliminated around seventy percent of the women. It helped that today was unseasonably warm, so that most of the coats were
