I smiled. “Should we hire an HR person next?”
She scrunched her nose in distaste and shook her head. “How about we hire a personal chef instead?”
“I like your moxie. You’re hired. Now go make us some manicotti.”
She playfully dusted her nails on her blouse. “You couldn’t afford me.”
I laughed and she bent forward to grab her coffee cup off the table. Another few inches of blouse spilled over the top of her computer screen. It was a cream silk top that brought out her recent tan. For just a moment, I let my gaze follow the elegant curve of her neck, down over her collarbone, and then lower. The top button of her blouse was open and the few inches of exposed skin there made it perfectly clear why Josephine was quickly becoming my favorite fantasy.
I’d just pulled my gaze away when her phone vibrated on the table beside mine. I glanced down and read the caller’s name as it flashed across the screen before she snatched it up: Forest Financial.
“Feel free to take it,” I offered.
She shook her head and dropped her phone a few feet away from her on the couch, well out of her reach.
“It’s okay. I’m right in the middle of setting up a Facebook page for the brand and I want to get it finished before lunch.”
“I thought Lorena already had one,” I protested.
Josephine turned her computer so I could see the screen. “She did, it’s just that she never finished setting it up and she hardly ever posted. No one even knew that it existed. I want to revamp it and then post some promotional content so we can start to build her presence there. I redid the top banner and added professional photos of her last line. We should be posting everyday so that everyone can stay up to date with the brand.”
I mentally high-fived my past self for hiring Jo. Sure, she was funny and interesting and gorgeous, but also in just three weeks she’d managed to completely overhaul Lorena’s online presence. I knew the business side of things, but the creative end of the company was beyond my scope. We needed to hire a full marketing team, but for now Jo would work just fine. Besides, I kind of liked it being just the two of us.
“What do you think?” she asked, hope brimming in her eyes.
“It looks great,” I said, truly meaning it. The old version versus the new version was like night and day. The new version actually looked like a real brand. “Do you do the graphics for your blog as well?”
She smiled wide and then glanced down to her computer. “Yeah. I took classes for it in college. I’m not a graphic designer or anything, but I know enough to get by.”
I nodded. “I can tell. Your blog looks really professional.”
She flicked her gaze up to me and then offered up a crooked smile. It was the sort of smile I gave my mom when I was about to beg for something.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
I tilted my head, interested in what she was about to ask for. The last time I’d mentioned a “favor” around her, it hadn’t gone so well. This time I was going to wait for her to speak first.
“Would you mind helping me take a few photos for my blog? I want to do a few photos in Central Park.”
Oh.
That’s it?
I opened my mouth to agree, but she spoke up quicker.
“I promise if you help me then I’ll get you another one of those ice cream cones from the stand near the subway station.”
Her pale green eyes looked so earnest. I’d have been a fool to say no.
“Of course.”
She smiled.
“Really? That’d be so helpful—”
She’d barely uttered the words before her phone started vibrating on the couch beside her. I wondered if it was Forest Financial again, but I was too far away to read the caller ID. She cursed under her breath, tossed her laptop aside, and stood to retrieve it.
“I guess I should take this,” she said, shaking her head as she headed into my room.
The door closed behind her and I went through a mental checklist of the embarrassing things she could find in there. I thought I’d picked up my dirty clothes that morning, but I couldn’t recall. Not to mention, there was about a fifty-fifty chance that I had a box of unused condoms sitting out on my nightstand. Yeah, that’s right. Unused. Fuck. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a dry spell last this long.
Back in Boston, this never would have happened. My “Little Black Book”—aka my iPhone—was jam packed with women that would have been enough for one night. Now? Now I had Josephine hijacking my every thought so that there wasn’t room for any other woman.
I heard Josephine’s voice drift through the bedroom walls and I did my best to ignore it. She deserved some semblance of privacy.
“Hi Ms. Buchanan—Yes, I did receive your message.”
La la la, not listening.
“No. No. I’m getting paid in two days and I will put all of that money toward this month’s payment. That’s the best I can do right now—”
I paused my typing, too curious to pretend I wasn’t listening at that point. Was Josephine in some kind of money trouble? I tried to hear the remainder of her conversation, to decipher if she was talking to her landlord or someone else, but she must have moved away from the door.
It didn’t matter. I’d heard enough.
When she walked out a few minutes later, her paycheck was sitting inside an envelope next to her purse. She’d find it when she packed up for the day and I’d offer some excuse about needing to pay her early.