head.”
“Lori, you don’t need this job. You’re not trapped. You have a lot of options. You’re only twenty-four, you have skills, you’re gorgeous, you’re going places.”
I shook my head, forlorn. “The only place I’d be going without this job is back home.”
“Is that really so terrible?”
“I could never go back,” I said, wondering if I sounded as desperate as I felt. “My mom was so certain I’d fail here. I can’t prove her right.”
Every time I talked to my mother on the phone, she made it clear that she thought my living in New York City was extremely temporary, like it was some phase I had to go through before I could “come to my senses and come home”. Nearly every conversation included that exact phrase. I was ready to be on my own—I craved it. But it wasn’t temporary. I was a young adult with my future ahead of me. How could I be anywhere else other than New York City? I knew if I moved back home, my mother would try to manage every aspect of my life. She’d probably leap at the chance to arrange a relationship or, better yet, a marriage for me.
“Then I guess you’re going to have to find a way to cope with your sex-crazed boss,” Sam said cooly. She was nothing if not practical. Ever since high school, she’d let me vent until she thought I’d gotten all the essentials out of my system. Then, she’d offer me straightforward, no-nonsense advice. Most of the time, just hearing her opinion on the situation made me realize that I’d known the answer all along. I sat up and threw my arms around Sam. She gave me a crushing hug in return, rubbing my back soothingly.
“I guess that’s what I’m going to have to do,” I said. “Make the job work for me.” I pressed my lips together, already dreading what the next day would bring.
***
Walking across the lobby the next morning, the ruby-veined marble took on a sinister hue. Despite Sam’s advice and all of my own pep talking, I couldn’t help but be nervous about what was awaiting me in the office. I rode the elevator up to the 26th floor, trying to mentally slow the car down, wishing more passengers would get on to escort me to my destination. Maybe I’d feel better in a crowd of people.
As the elevator doors chimed and rolled open at my office level, I wished I could simply close them again and ride back down to the lobby. I could call Susan and tell her I wasn’t feeling well. But no—that would be giving in. If Trevor didn’t see me today, I might as well forget about living in the city.
Mustering all the bravado I could, I walked casually across the office. I certainly didn’t feel brave smiling at anyone who looked up at my passing.
The dry cleaning ticket in my purse felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It served as a constant reminder of what had happened yesterday. If only I could forget about the entire incident, maybe I could go on about my day—no, my life—normally again.
I had just sat down at my desk and silently thanked whoever was watching out for me for keeping Trevor away during my gauntlet through the office, when my phone rang.
“This is Lori,” I answered, putting my tote into a desk drawer and pushing it shut with my foot.
“Lori, it’s Jordan.” Hearing Jordan’s voice over my phone almost made me drop it. The other brother. Did he know what had happened with Trevor? I gritted my teeth, willing myself to get a grip. I felt like one enormous raw nerve ending, buzzing and out of control.
I took up my cloak of professionalism. “Good morning, Jordan.” I wondered if I could hide my anxiety and arousal under it all day. Hopefully. “What can I do for you?”
“Please step into my office for a moment.” He hung up with a click.
Although the hang up was abrupt, his voice had been pleasant. I let my breath out with a whoosh and grabbed my notepad and pen. Holding them, I couldn’t help but recall staring at scribbles on the pad before crashing into Trevor in this very
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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