At 5:55 I make my way to the lobby. Emily smiles at me and I smile back. Do I have the spring in my step—the someone special is picking me up glow that I can easily spot in other women from a mile away? I hope not.
I stand outside the lobby and I still can't see a fancy schmancy car, which means he's running late. It is exactly 6, I should cut the guy some slack. We are in New York for Christ's sake.
"Nobody told me the new girl is so cute!" a guy in ripped jeans, white shirt, and beachy blonde hair says as he walks towards me and I can't help but notice how freaking cute he is. He is holding a camera in one hand and a can of coke in the other.
"Hello," I wave at him to take away from the awkwardness of not being able to shake hands.
"If I didn't know better, I would think you're a model," he says as he flashes his contagious dimpled toothy smile. It's the kind of smile you can't resist but smile back at and I do.
"Well, what if I am one?" There is no way I could be a model, I am too short and fat for that but I want to fuck with him.
"If you were, you'd know who I am," he shrugs his shoulders in an awkward, dorky way and I can see why some people would find him adorable.
"Okay, you got me! I am the new sex and relationship writer at substance."
"Oh, I know." He giggles as he shakes his dangly shoulders. He takes a sip of the coke, holding the can too high and drops of it spill from his mouth, travel down his neck and stain his white shirt. He shrugs self consciously and closes his eyes to show his embarrassment for being this clumsy. I can't help but find his boyish tactics endearing. Maybe I should do something to ease his discomfort.
"You do?" I wish I too could raise my eyebrows because this is the perfect moment for such a thing.
The inner voice does a fully arched Anastassia sculpted eyebrow lift with a "Do you now?" saucy reaction in my head.
"Everybody in the office has been talking about you," he says and covers his lips with his fingers to suppress another giggle. Why are people talking about me? What are they saying? Does everybody know I was late on my first day?
"Who is everybody?" I ask, my interest piqued.
I see Kent's black Bentley pull up and it is just bad timing. I am not ending my conversation with this — whatever his name is just yet. I have to know why people are talking about me?
"Mostly the guys," he says and a hint of color kisses his cheeks. Is he blushing or is it the breeze?
"What are they saying?" I dig for some dirt. Give me the tea while it is still steaming. I smile when he doesn't answer, hopefully, my smile will sweeten the deal and he'll spill. He scratches his blonde hair and tilts his head to the side as if he is taking a picture of my face but with a better angle. He shrugs his dangly shoulders again and dammit — can he hurry the fuck up?
I hate to keep Kent waiting.
"They are trying to see who will be the first to ask you for lunch," he almost whispers and licks his lips. On any other day, I would call it a sultry gesture but this man right in front of me is not a seductress. He is just embarrassingly gawky and if he thinks it's charming, he might as well be right.
I can't help but feel flattered.
"So, would you like to get lunch tomorrow at around 1?" He finally spits out and I can tell how much courage it took for him to ask me out.
"Sure, I'll meet you in the lobby at 1, I am Mia by the way," I say as I beam at him. I can't remember the last time a guy asked me out for lunch. Wait — no guy has ever asked me out on a lunch. Is that tragic? I am 22 years old and I have barely had an official date.
"You need to go for lunch with all the guys that want to take you out hunty," inner bitch instructs me and I wholeheartedly agree.
"I am Nathaniel but you can call me Nate," he smirks and then grins toothily at me to cover up the smirk. Does he think his sneaky flirting will make him more scrumptious? Because he is absolfuckinglutely right on the money. His eyes almost completely close when he grins at me and I can't help but feel gooey on the inside. I grin back at him, in the same toothy way as him.
Hopefully, I look one third as cute as him. Maybe today doesn't have to be so bad after all.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I turn around to see him. There he is, dressed in an all black suit and slicked back hair, looking arrogantly fierce and mouthwateringly sexy. He has one of his hands in his pockets and the other one is gently touching my shoulder. He is glaring at Nate and me.
I grin at him—the just learned and hopefully infectious Nate grin to diffuse the tension pulsating from his body. His eyebrows scrunch up further together and the frown lines on his forehead are now prominenter, if that's even a word!
"Let's go." He harshly roars at me and I feel my heart sinking in the pond of sadness. What is wrong with Kent? What crime could I have committed to encounter such wrath from him?