Beautiful Distraction (29 page)

“Sure. Want me to—”

I held up my hand to interrupt whatever half-hearted offer
he was about to make. “No, I’m fine. And congrats on finding a sponsor. It must
have taken you weeks, if not months of hard work.” Hard work he failed to tell
me about.

He straightened to kiss me on the cheek. I somehow managed
to dodge him, grabbed my bag, muttered a ‘see you around’ and ran for the door,
eager to get away from him as fast as I could. I didn’t hate him, but I also
didn’t feel the way I knew I should have felt.

Once I reached my car and I dared take a deep breath of cold
New York air, my heartbeat slowed down, and my hands stopped trembling. I drove
home more carefully than usual. My cell rang once, and then beeped a few times
with incoming messages. I looked at the caller ID and switched it off. I
couldn’t blame Sean for following his dreams, when I was about to do the same.
But I sure as hell couldn’t bear listening to him talking about it the way he
did—with that sparkle in his eyes that told me he had found a passion
greater than our relationship. My insides felt numb, but my brain was
surprisingly lucid. So this was it. A year with Sean wasted, gone in the blink
of an eye. The pain might come later. Right now I felt stupid for ever
believing we had a future together. This job couldn’t come at a better time,
and I was determined to get over Sean by focusing my whole energy on it.

Sylvie wasn’t in, for which I was grateful. I didn’t feel
like company and even less like bitching about Sean, which was the only way
Sylvie knew how to get over a breakup. I locked myself in my bedroom and texted
Mom, telling her I couldn’t make it tonight because of my new job, and promised
to call her as soon as I landed in Italy. For a minute I considered texting
Sylvie in case she didn’t make it home before I left for the airport. It wasn’t
unusual for her to find some guy and then spend the next forty-eight hours
shacked up with him, oblivious of the world outside their bedroom. Eventually I
decided to wait until ten p.m. in case she found her way back home after all.

I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and settled on my bed
to flick through my contract. So far it looked better than expected. Great
perks like health insurance, a brand new smartphone with two lines, one being
mine and one belonging to Mr. Mayfield, and even a bonds package. A ten per
cent pay raise once I got through the initial trial period of three months,
company traveling with all expenses paid, and even a Christmas bonus. I liked
what I saw and signed it right away, then spent an hour flicking through my
wardrobe to choose what to take with me. I had clothes, lots of them, but I
didn’t feel they looked like something a senior assistant would wear. Living in
New York wasn’t cheap. After nine months of unemployment right before I landed
my job—previous job, I reminded myself—my credit cards were maxed
out, and I was still repaying my debt, so getting out there to buy new stuff
was out of the question.

In the end, I borrowed Sylvie’s navy
Jil Sander
suit, and from the same collection a tailored,
long-sleeved dress that ended just above the knee. They were the least
expensive clothes in Sylvie’s stuffed-to-the-brim wardrobe, so I knew she
wouldn’t mind me borrowing them. She usually preferred a riskier style anyway,
think short and sheer, so she’d probably not even notice them being gone.

I was still flicking through Sylvie’s wardrobe when her key
turned in the lock, and she walked in a few moments later.

“Are you ransacking my stuff?” She lifted the navy suit I
had decided on earlier and smirked. “You could have picked something
less—”

“Boring?” I prompted.

“I was about to say
matronly
,
but boring will do.” She tossed the suit aside and sat down on the bed, tucking
her naked legs beneath her. Her skirt was so short I could see her frilly
Victoria’s Secret
panties.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Actually, you’re doing me a favor.” She shot the suit a
dirty look like it was about to steal her purse.

“I got kicked out of the department,” I said, ready to share
my big news.

“What? Was it that prick, James?” She inched closer and
wrapped her left arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Brooke.” I could tell
by her excited expression that she wasn’t. “But seeing the bright side: now
we’re two unemployed chicks with the margarita world at our feet.”

I smirked.

“See, I don’t get it. Why do you always have to be so
conventional
?” She emphasized the word
like it was a bad thing. “You don’t slack off at work. You don’t sleep around
for the sake of it. You’re just—” She waved her hand in the air, looking
for the right word.

“Dull?” I prompted, smiling.

“Responsible.”

My smile turned bitter as I looked away. She had asked me
the same question many times during our friendship. I always avoided giving her
an answer because I knew she wouldn’t understand. No one would. The world
didn’t like to hear about that part of my life. Luckily Sylvie knew me well
enough not to press the issue.

“Let’s have another drink,” Sylvie said. “Knowing you it’ll
be a brief stint, so I say we make the best of it.”

I hated to shatter her alcohol-fueled dreams, but someone
had to do it. I owed it to mankind. “I wasn’t sacked. James signed the company
over to Mayfield Realties, and Mayfield promoted me to senior assistant. I’m
leaving for Italy tomorrow.”

“Hell, no.” Sylvie’s jaw dropped. For a moment she looked
disappointed, until she realized as my best friend she was supposed to be happy
for me. “Yay! Well done, you.” She didn’t mean one single half-hearted word of
it. Her expression was as enthusiastic as a salmon about to be fished out of
the water.

“Save it. Gee, you’re pathetic.” I rolled my eyes and
snorted. “You’d rather have me home with you, picking up guys and getting to
bed when others wake up for work.”

She laughed that tinkling laughter of hers that only managed
to confirm my suspicion. “A promotion is almost as good as running around in
PJs all day long. This calls for a celebration.
Vixen’s
in half an hour?”

“It’s four p.m.”

“You’re right. It’s getting kind of late. Let’s make it ten
minutes.”

I stared after her open-mouthed as she grabbed a handful of
stuff from her wardrobe and headed for the bathroom to change.

To call Sylvie’s patch of fabric a skirt was an offense to
whoever invented the skirt. It was nothing more than an over-sized belt and
barely covered her modesty, let alone provide any protection from the cold and
damp New York air. I tried my best to persuade her to wear something else,
something with more length, but she wouldn’t have it. So I clamped my mouth
shut and let her dress in the clothes—or lack thereof—of her
choice.

She downed a glass of red wine before we even left the
apartment, then another as soon as we hit
Vixen’s
.
By the time our usual clique arrived a few hours later, we were both
intoxicated and having a good time slagging off Sylvie’s ex. I didn’t see the
mop of dark hair and green eyes until Sylvie pointed, slurring, “Isn’t that
your guy?”

“What?”

“You know, your
plan
cul
. Bed candy. Fuck buddy.” She collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Oh, gosh.

If it was him I could only hope he couldn’t lip-read. My
vision blurred as I turned my head. I narrowed my eyes to focus, but the only
things I caught were broad shoulders and a strong back heading straight for the
door.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so drunk you’d mistake Bruce
Willis for a girl.”

“Who?”

She seemed genuinely confused, so I mumbled, “Never mind” as
I waved my hand and signaled the bartender to get us another round of shots.
That sparked instant recognition.

“You’re the best girlfriend in the world,” Sylvie slurred,
and placed a wet smooch on my cheek.

I forced another shot down my throat, then another. The room
began to spin until it looked like a giant merry-go-round of laughing people,
clinking glasses, and ear splitting music. Something about a job and a new boss
briefly popped up at the back of my mind, but it all got lost in the
alcohol-induced sense of freedom that was beginning to wash over me. I felt as
though I had no care in the world, and I intended to keep it that way until
strong arms wrapped around me, and I was tucked into something warm and fluffy.
I opened my eyes to peer into the most electrifying green gaze reflecting a
dark puddle of annoyance.

“You have the most gorgeous eyes. I could stare into them
forever,” I mumbled giggling.

And then I passed out.

I wasn’t a wallflower when it came to partying and having a
good time, but I didn’t usually have more than two glasses. So two nights in a
row drinking my head off with Sylvie hadn’t been a wise decision. I opened my
eyes groggily and blinked against the bright sun spilling through the window.

Good grief.

My head felt as though someone was pounding it with a
sledgehammer and my tongue was stuck to the back of my throat. At least I
didn’t feel sick. I sat up and placed my naked feet on the rug in front of my
bed, testing the ground. It felt a bit shaky but otherwise okay. I walked to the
kitchen for a glass of water when I remembered the green eyes from last night.

Did I have sex with him again? Or had I been imagining him?
No idea what might be worse.

“Sylvie?” My voice sounded so hoarse it made me cringe. I
called out louder but got no answer. She was probably still sleeping off her
hangover. I padded through each room, looking for a sign that I brought a man
home, but found none. Eventually I knocked on Sylvie’s door and entered. Either
she left early, which couldn’t be since she would have left me a note, or she
never accompanied me home. The stack of clothes she had tossed on the bed while
rummaging for something to wear last night persuaded me to go with Option B.

So the guy had been just a figment of my imagination. I
couldn’t help the sudden disappointment grabbing me.

Why did I even care whether I ever saw this guy again? Sean
had just split up with me, and I had barely wasted a minute obsessing over it.
Yet Jett and I had talked for all of five minutes, and I was all but planning
out our future together.

Because no one’s ever
made you feel this way. Sexy. Confident. Wanted.

I groaned at the thought, even though I knew it was true. He
wasn’t just hot; he had something about him that turned my insides all mushy
and made me want to do stuff. To him. With him.

Get your head out of
the gutter, Stewart.

I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed a piece of dry toast,
and sat down at the kitchen table overlooking the busy street below. But it
wasn’t old ladies and moms holding onto their kids that I saw.

My mind could only focus on one thing: smoldering eyes and a
hard body leaning over me. I sighed and let my imagination roam freely where it
wanted to go.

***

Late afternoon, Sylvie was still not back, probably busy
hooking up with last night’s conquest. In case she worried or needed me, I left
a note on the kitchen table with my new number and the promise to call her as
soon as I arrived in Italy. Half an hour later a cab pulled up in front of the
building, and I drove to the airport with the setting sun behind me.

Once at JFK and waiting in the boarding area, I switched on
my smartphone. The plan was to transfer my old cell’s contact list, excluding
Sean’s number, to my company phone. Instead, I was instantly awarded with a
long list of redirected calls and text messages. I knew nothing about my new
boss, so I figured flicking through his messages would help me paint a picture
before I met him in less than nine hours. I took a sip of my water and almost
choked on it. He sounded businesslike and curt. While I understood that smileys
and kisses were to be avoided in business correspondence, Mr. Mayfield also
seemed to harbor a great aversion to saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I frowned
as I made a mental list of his favorite words:
great, okay, fine, yes, no way, done
. His longest sentence was:
If you need to talk, my assistant will be
happy to assist you.

I sighed and rubbed my still throbbing forehead. James
hadn’t been the greatest boss in the world, but he didn’t seem allergic to
talking. I certainly liked engaging in dialogue every now and then, so my new
job might turn a bit challenging, and not in a good way.

I was about to switch off the smartphone when an IM from
Sylvie came through. Glancing at the clock to make sure I wasn’t late, I opened
the conversation and quickly skimmed through to the bottom. There was a brief
mention of a letter and some guy with a strange and (according to Sylvie)
extremely sexy accent calling to talk to me. I was listed in the public phone
directory and was used to the usual financial and insurance companies
soliciting me, so the information didn’t bother me. Maybe the fact that I had
other things on my mind further contributed to my lack of interest. Switching
off the smartphone, I headed for the gate to board the plane, wondering for the
umpteenth time why a headhunter would headhunt
me
to work for someone like Mayfield. Judging from his brisk tone
and my fondness of human conversation, we sure weren’t a match made in business
heaven.