Drew

PS - Try not to feel too guilty if I don't survive. Really.

That last batch was delivered forty-five minutes ago. Now I’m just sitting at my desk, waiting. Waiting for what, you ask? You’ll see. Kate may be stubborn, but she’s not made of stone.

My office door slams open, leaving a dent in the drywall.

Here we go.

“You are driving me crazy!”

Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing’s fast, and she’s got murder in her eyes.

Beautiful.

I raise my brows hopefully. “Crazy? Like you want to rip my shirt open again?”

“No. Crazy like the itch of a yeast infection that just won’t go away.”

I flinch. Can’t help it.

I mean—Christ.

Kate steps toward my desk. “I am trying to work. I need to focus. And you’ve got Manny, Moe, and Jack playing every cheesy eighties song ever written outside my office door!”

“Cheesy? Really? Huh. I so had you pegged for an eighties kind of girl.”

Well, you live and learn.

“I’m serious, Drew. This is a place of business; I can’t be the only one this noise is bothering.”

Good. We’re back to Drew. Progress.

And as far as disturbing the rest of the staff? I thought of that. I spoke with most of the people on this floor and gave them a heads-up about the entertainment for the day. They didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m serious too, Kate. You shouldn’t be working. You should be listening. I chose this playlist myself. It’s my grand gesture. To show you how I feel.”

“I don’t give a shit about how you feel!”

“Well, that’s harsh.”

She crosses her arms, and her foot taps on the floor.

“You know, I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. You’re obviously too immature to handle this like an adult. So…I’m going to tell your father.”

Right.

She’s the one who’s going to tell Daddy on me, but I’m being immature.

Of course.

And I thought of that already too. “My father’s in California for the next two weeks. I’m not overly concerned about what he might do to me via telephone.” She opens her mouth to try again, but I continue. “You could try talking to Frank. But he’s in the Hamptons, at that year-round golf course Trump just opened. George is in his office.” She turns, but my next words make her pause. “I should warn you, though…he’s got a real soft spot for romantics. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. And he’s my godfather.”

She stares at me a minute. She’s trying to think of a comeback. I’m just glad I cleared all the heavy objects off my desk.

You know, the ones she probably wants to chuck at my head right about now.

“You can’t do this. This is sexual harassment.”

I stand up and lean across my desk. “Sue me.”

Her mouth opens to spew what I’m sure will be a tirade of volcanic proportions. But I cut her off. And my voice is calm. Rational.

“Or, you can save yourself the trouble and just go out with me on Saturday. One date. One night, and all this goes away. After that, if you still don’t want to have anything to do with me, I’ll leave you alone. Scout’s honor.”

Technically, this isn’t a lie. We’ve already established Boy Scouting was not my thing. Loopholes, remember?

Her face contorts into a mask of disgust. “Absolutely not. I won’t be blackmailed into going out with you.”

I sit back down. “That is the strong choice. The feminist, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar decision. I’m proud of you, Kate.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

Smart girl.

“Plus, I can’t wait for you to see what I have planned for tomorrow. I wouldn’t schedule any meetings, though. Might be too loud.”

Her voice rises with every word. Like thunder from a storm that’s moving closer. “You are a manipulative, childish, vindictive bastard!”

“I’m not trying to be.”

She makes her way around my desk, and I stand up to meet her.

“A selfish, self-centered, egotistical son of a bitch!”

“I know.”

She hits me on the chest with both fists.

Whack.

“I wish I’d never seen you at that stupid club!”

Whack.

“I wish I never got this job!”

Whack.

“I wish I never met you!”

I grip her wrists and pull her close.

Now here’s when we usually start kissing.

Were you looking forward to that part? Sorry. Not gonna happen. Because this isn’t just about me and my raging hard-on. Not anymore. And I have to prove that to Kate.

So I hold back. But don’t think it’s easy, ’cause it’s not. There’s nothing I want more than to mold my mouth to hers and remind her of how good it was between us. How good it can still be.

I lean in and rest my forehead against hers. She closes her eyes. I brush my nose against hers and inhale, needing a fix. She smells even better than I remember. Like warm cookies in the Garden of f**king Eden.

And then I whisper, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single goddamn word. Please believe that.”

Kate opens her eyes. There’s surprise in those brown beauties. And fear, like a deer that just caught a hunter’s scent. Because she wants to believe me. And she knows I know that.