“I’m available weekends,” he teased. “This one, in fact.”
“Sounds good.” I ducked to the right.
“You have plans with François?”
“No plans,” I called over my shoulder and finally took cover in the restroom.
I locked myself in a stall, leaned back against the door, and exhaled a breath. It wasn’t as if I owed Sebastian anything. Not an explanation for considering the position, or exploring the idea that I might want it.
It wasn’t the first job offer I’d ever gotten from a client, but it was the first that would be such a big step up. And the only one I’d taken seriously. I’d loved reconfiguring Modern Man because I was passionate about problem solving, but neither the magazine’s content nor its message inspired the same excitement in me. If the publication continued on the path I’d set, I’d remain a casual reader, but at the heart of it, I wasn’t the director the team needed. One of the best parts of my job was that no two days were alike, and once I started to get comfortable in an assignment, it ended for another.
At the same time, I knew firsthand that the creative director position regularly presented unique and complex problems. Regardless of how I felt about coming in to the same office each day, it wasn’t a dull job by any means. I hadn’t gotten this far in my career by walking away from challenges—or opportunities to advance. I prided myself on being a smart and savvy businesswoman with more drive than the person behind her.
And then there was the money. I could hear Neal in the back of my head . . .
“Who in their right mind would walk away from double the salary? You’d be stupid not to take it, and you’re not stupid, Georgina. Are you?”
His condescension was still, at times, too loud to ignore. I had been stupid for all the times I’d second-guessed myself around him, even though this was one of those times.
If I wasn’t moving forward, though, was I going backward?
15
Georgina
Bruno did not respect hangovers. Or late nights chasing Turkish dramas and delights with wine, which was what Luciano and I had done until he’d fallen asleep on my couch around one.
Schlepping down the block with Bruno’s leash in hand, I thanked the powers that be for oversized sunglasses to block harsh sunlight and for hats to hide unkempt hair. Sebastian’s hat, to be exact. I’d meant to return it to him after the game, I really had, but he hadn’t asked for it, and it smelled so good—like him. And me. Us, if such a thing were to ever exist.
Bruno perked up and took off, pulling me after him, but this time, it wasn’t a squirrel that’d caught his attention, nor the UPS truck, or even the neighbor’s ugly-cute French bulldog that drove Bruno wild. It was a man tall enough to high-five the changing leaves and sexy enough to stop traffic with tousled dark hair and muscles that stretched his charcoal-colored sweater—and to top it all off, he sported not only a wide, devastating smile but two Dunkin’ Donuts coffees.
“Finally,” Sebastian called as he headed in my direction. “I’ve been wandering the street for fifteen minutes. You didn’t pick up your phone.”
No no no. He had to be a mirage.
I was braless under my sweatshirt.
With pimple cream on my chin.
And sleep crusting the corners of my eyes.
And him? His smooth-shaven jaw looked sharp enough to cut glass, and his easy, confident energy justified his swagger. If he was a mirage, he was a pretty attractive one.
Bruno wagged his tail as he ran over to Sebastian. Was it too late to pretend I hadn’t seen him? Was I clever enough to convince him I was not, in fact, Georgina but her doppelgänger? Could I escape into a manhole like a comic book villain?
“I have a mocha latte with your name on it,” Sebastian said when my gaping became uncomfortable. “Literally.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He thrust the drink at me. “It’ll get cold.”
There wasn’t much sadder in this world than cold coffee, so I took the latte, which had either been very hot, or had been kept toasty by Sebastian’s sizeable hand. “Um, thanks,” I said, looking up at him from behind my sunglasses. “But why are you here?”
“What do you mean? I told you at the office I was coming over to help walk the brute . . .” He paused, glancing over my head. No, at my head. More specifically, at my hat.
Oh, no.
I was wearing his baseball cap like a lovesick schoolgirl. By the way his mouth slid into a knowing smirk, he obviously took pleasure in busting me, but at least he had the decency not to mention it.
“But how do you know where I live?” I asked.
“Pineapple.” He nodded behind him. “It’s not a very long street, so I took my chances. I told you I was coming, remember? For muscle?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I had no idea you were serious.”
“I was. I am.” He glanced at my sweatpants. “I assumed you’d sleep in, which is why I came at eleven.”
“I’ll have you know I was up at six this morning.”
“To take Bruno out?”
That, and to see Luciano off to work. “Yes, but—”
“Did you go back to sleep afterward?”
I scowled. Since when did he know my address, habits, and the exact time to catch me at my worst? “You live thirty minutes from here. You’re a bridge and a subway stop change away. We’re not even in the same borough. There’s no way you came all the way here to walk Bruno.”
He squinted down the block. Sunglasses stretched the neckline of his sweater. I sipped my mocha. It was just the right temperature, damn him—not scalding, not lukewarm. Some people, like Sebastian, led that easy life. I could only imagine I’d surprise someone with coffee the same day they’d sworn off caffeine.
Bruno finished peeing on his usual fenced tree, then started toward the next block, where he’d sniff and mark his other spots.
As we walked, Sebastian cupped his coffee with both hands. “Actually . . . I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“The mocha latte tipped me off.” I sighed. “Go ahead.”
“I want to run a story idea by you.” He paused. “I mean, I guess I have to run it by you.”
That made me think of brainstorming sessions, which turned into the memory of Vance’s offer. Luciano and I had spent half the night weighing the pros and cons. The offer was tempting, but the job itself wasn’t something I would’ve sought out. Not to mention it belonged to Sebastian. When I’d brought that up, Lu had reminded me of how putting Neal’s dreams before mine had resulted in a broken heart, a pile of debt, and a serious confidence problem. The creative director position could be a chance to mend at least two of those issues. If my breakup with Neal had taught me anything, it was that I had to put myself first.
I tuned out my unsettling thoughts. “Okay,” I prompted. “What’s the idea?”
“Since the common interest date worked out so well for you—”
I did not appreciate his sarcasm. For all he knew, François and I were getting serious.
“—let’s try it with a spin. I want to demonstrate how a guy can use a hobby to get the attention of a girl who wants nothing to do with him.”
I twisted my lips. I couldn’t really knock the common interest thing after the way I’d sung its praises. And it wasn’t a bad idea. Industries had been built on the underdog trying to win over his dream girl.
“Who’s the subject?” I asked.
“Me.”
I tried not to laugh. “Is rejection a problem for you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Give me one example of a woman who didn’t surrender to your charms.”
“Well, gee. There’s . . .” He raised his eyebrows. “You.”
I pulled back. “Me?”
“You told me yourself—you’ve never seen me flirt successfully.”
Well, sure, I thought, that’s called a white lie.
“The article has to be convincing, and who better to give me hell than you? I just have to do my best to win you over. All for the article, of course.”