Chapter Four
Izzy “This isn’t something you’ll normally be involved in, but since you’re shadowing me, it’s your lucky day.” Izzy grabbed a notepad and her coffee before following Pam toward the conference room. “Boring?” “If you make it to lunch without nodding off,” she said, giving Izzy a look, “I’ll be surprised. Be sure to bring a large cup of coffee with you.” Izzy wasn’t looking forward to sitting through a boring meeting, but she was a little interested in the process. It was the annual benefit renewal strategy session, where their current insurance advisor would be reviewing their options for the upcoming year, which Pam would in-turn review with Ellis’s board of directors, who would ultimately finalize the plan. Exciting? No. Interesting? Izzy kind of thought yes, but she’d always been into administrative red tape; as a kid, Businesswoman With Many Files was her absolute favorite game of pretend. Pam introduced her to the advisor - Kelli - who would be presenting before they took their seats around the huge conference table. They were early, so Pam chatted with people as they filtered in while Izzy doodled on her notepad. Just before the meeting was about to begin, she heard his voice. He was talking quietly, but her ear definitely picked up the Blake in the room and it took every bit of discipline she had not to turn and look toward the doorway. She’d texted back and forth with him for a couple hours the night before, nonsense texts about TV shows and house pets, but she was Izzy in HR now, not Amy from Starbucks, so there was no point in even looking his way. Kelli launched into her presentation, projecting slide after slide of workplace trends, benchmark data, and cost analysis of what their plans had cost the year before, as well as projections for the upcoming year. Izzy took copious notes at first, but after a couple hours, she lost her verve and switched to mere listening. Pam’s advice regarding the large cup of coffee was now making more sense. Just when her eyes were getting heavy, a question came from the other end of the conference table. “Do those numbers reflect the mid-year change? I didn’t see that in the data.” Since everyone looked at the question-asker, Izzy allowed her eyes to seek him out. She turned her head toward Blake’s voice, and her stomach dropped when she looked at him. Awwwww, geez. What was he, the freaking king? He was sitting in a conference chair, just like everyone else, but there was something about him that just screamed LEADER. Maybe it was his posture, the superhero-esque girth of his stupendous chest, or the confident intelligence in his stare; she didn’t know what “it” was, exactly, but the man held the room. He was dressed impeccably again - perfect suit (charcoal this time), pressed shirt, tie - but he was wearing glasses that day. A pair of stylish frames sat atop his strong nose, making him look like the most intelligent human hottie in the cosmos. He looked smart and so sexy that she wondered how many women in that room were fantasizing about him that very minute. She would guess all of them, and could definitely confirm one (her). As if hearing her thoughts, his eyes locked on hers. Kelli answered his question, and he appeared to be listening, but his eyes were just a little to the left of Kelli’s location, wholly focused on Izzy while his jaw did that little flex/unflex thing. Whoa. If the man was intriguing when he was being charming in an elevator, he was downright mesmerizing when looking at her as if a myriad of thoughts he was unwilling to share were being tossed about in his mind. Izzy rolled in her lips and met his gaze, lifting her chin a little just to make sure he didn’t think he intimidated her. “Does that answer your question, Blake?” Kelli asked. He gave a nod. “Yes - thank you, Kelli.” Izzy looked back at her notepad before picking up her pen and going back to note-taking. She had to do something, anything, or else she’d probably just stare at Blake until someone confronted her for the harassing implications of her licentious stare. When the meeting finally ended, she followed Pam out the door, wondering how many people were exiting between her and Blake. Was he still lingering in the back of the conference room, discussing data with the people who cared about data, or was he exiting right behind her, his big body mere inches from hers? A tiny shiver slithered down her spine at the thought, and she rolled her eyes at her idiocy as she headed back toward her office. Unfortunately, the tie on the back of her straightjacket sweater caught on the door hinge, jerking her backward. “Gah!” She looked down at where she was connected to the door just as Blake was approaching the doorway, talking to two other well-suited executives. She looked over her shoulder, reaching a hand around to un-tether herself as quickly as possible. “Izzy?” Pam said, stopping and turning around. Blake and his cohorts reached the doorway at that moment, and Izzy watched his eyes absorb her situation in a split-second. He almost looked like he was going to smile - almost - before he said, “Hang on.” He stepped closer, his cologne swirling around her sensibilities like some kind of olfactory roofie, before he said, “Looks like you’re stuck.” “Little bit,” she said, feeling like an idiot. “Here.” If it were anyone but Blake, she knew she wouldn’t have felt his fingertips. He unhooked her tie from the hinge in a half-second, freeing her; his touch was purely utilitarian. But his left hand - just the tippiest tips of his fingers - had rested on her lower back for the millisecond it’d taken for him to disengage her from the door. And now she’d be reliving that tiny bit of fingertippy non-foreplay for the rest of the day. “Thanks,” she said, smiling politely before taking off in the closest thing to a sprint she could manage while wearing three-inch pumps. The rest of the day was blessedly uneventful, with nary a Blake sighting, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Pam had intimated on Izzy’s first day that they didn’t see him very often in their department, and even though he was droolworthy eye candy that made her fantasize about hot sex in storage closets, she was glad to hear it. Because men like Blake turned women like Izzy into bumbling idiots, and she had no interest in playing that part. She felt as if Ellis could be a career launchpad for her, a place for her to build her professional foundation and begin her climb, and she wasn’t going to let AVP Blake’s hotness screw it up for her.
Blake Blake pulled out his phone and texted: I just finished cleaning up cat vomit, in case you’re wondering how my night is going. He sat down on his sofa, feeling restless. He wasn’t sure if it had to do with seeing Izzy/Amy at work, not hearing from her since he’d gotten home, or the real-life reality that he’d just cleaned up four separate spots of disgusting cat vomit, but he felt like he needed to do something. His phone buzzed. Amy: Take solace in the fact that I am wildly jealous that you’re in your warm abode right now, cleaning up yack. That sounds heavenly. He texted: Where are you right now? Amy: Let’s just say I’m taking a walk. He glanced toward the wall of windows on the back side of his condo and texted: In the rain?? In the dark?? Amy: It wasn’t my number one choice, but I’ll be home soon and will probably drown to death in the hot shower I will refuse to ever leave. Thunder rumbled, and he watched lightning flash through the sky. He messaged: Are you serious right now? Amy: It’s no big deal. My car died, but I’m almost home. Not only was it pouring, but it was kind of a violent electrical storm, and she was out walking in it? Alone? In the dark? He texted: How close are you? Amy: I’ll be home in twenty. He responded with: Twenty minutes? He grabbed his keys off the coffee table and stood. Texted: Drop me your location. Amy: No - I’m fine. He went into the hall and grabbed a couple towels from the linen closet, and a hoodie from the coat closet. I’m headed out already so it’s NBD. Just drop me your location. Amy: AVP Blake cannot give Starbucks Amy a ride. I’m almost home - no worries. Thanks, tho. He didn’t know why, but his stress was through the roof at the thought of her out in the storm, all alone. He texted: Blake from Starbucks is going for a drive, dumbass. Tell me where you are. Amy: My hero! You know that Burger King that’s right off the interstate on Dodge? Blake: You’re at the BK? Amy: I should be there in ten minutes. Blake: Where are you this second? Amy: Walking on the side of the interstate, somewhere between the Dinkers exit and Dodge. She dropped her location, and she wasn’t very far from his place. He got in his car and flew in that direction, struggling to see through the deluge, even with his wipers on high. I can’t believe she’s walking in this. Why wouldn’t she have called someone? He squinted, searching everywhere for her when he got close to Burger King, and then he saw a blurred silhouette in the darkness. She was walking on the side of the interstate, a dark, huddled figure barely visible on the freeway shoulder. He threw on his hazards and slowed, rolling down his window so she could see it was him and not some creeper as he stopped beside her. “It’s me - get in!” he yelled. He couldn’t see her face through the rain, but she must’ve seen all she needed because she ran - literally - at his car. She threw open the front passenger door and looked ready to jump inside when she stopped short. Her eyes looked down at his seat and she yelled over the sound of the storm, “I’m soaked - I don’t want to ruin your nice seats.” “Get in,” he shouted, wanting to grab her arm and jerk her into the dry car. “They’ll be fine.” She got in the car and slammed the door, and as she sat, he saw just how drenched she was. Her hair was dripping and her clothes were saturated and her face was wet as she wiped it with wet hands. She was shaking - her body wracked with tremors, and he reached between the seats and grabbed a towel and the hoodie out of the back, handing them to her. “Ohmigod, I love you so much,” she breathed, taking the towel and rubbing it over her head before just wrapping it around her like it was a blanket. “Thank you.” “No problem,” he said, concerned that she kept shivering so violently. “Maybe you should put on the hoodie.” “I’m fine,” she said around chattering teeth, “My apartment is on 50th and Sullivan. Thank you again, by the way.” Blake put his car in gear and pulled back onto the road. “So where exactly is your car?” “Probably about a mile back,” she replied. “I got it mostly off the interstate, so it isn’t a hazard.” “You’re soaked to the bone,” he said, worrying about her tremors. “You need to take off your wet shirt and put on that dry hoodie.” He expected a smartass comment, but she was clearly in the throes of hypothermia because all she said was, “Keep your eyes on the road or I’ll kick your ass, Chest.” “You have my word,” he said, relieved she was willing to take his suggestion. He cranked up the heat as he drove toward her neighborhood, ignoring the shirt removal that was going on next to him. Obviously she was so cold she no longer cared about privacy, because she wasn’t even trying to duck down or hide herself from other vehicles’ line of sight. Not that anyone could see anything, between the darkness and the downpour. He drove a little faster, desperate to get her home before she froze to death, but his peripheral vision was picking up on her hands, wrapped around her back and unhooking her bra. What the hell is wrong with you? Focus on the road, dipshit. “Turn at the light,” she said, pulling the hoodie over her head. “And then take your first right, onto Price Avenue.” “Got it,” he said, hitting his turn signal and clearing his throat. “My building is the red brick four-plex, way down on the corner; it’s about a block up.” She pulled her hair out of the hoodie and leaned forward to hold her hands up to the dashboard vent. “I didn’t want you to come but I’m so incredibly happy that you did.” “Why didn’t you call someone?” he asked. “I can’t believe you didn’t just sit in your dry car and wait for help.” “I tried my brother and he didn’t answer,” she said, putting her face mere centimeters from the vent. “And I wasn’t that far from home.” “Not that far?” It was unfathomable that she’d been strolling alongside the interstate where anyone could’ve run her down. “It would’ve taken you forty-five more minutes to get home, if you didn’t get hit, murdered or struck by lightning first.” “Hey. You’re not allowed to scold me unless you know my middle name.” There was a teasing in her voice when she said, “Since you don’t, Mr. Chest from Starbucks, you should--” “Clarence.” He heard her gasp, and she was smiling with her mouth wide open when he glanced over. She said, “I forgot that you know that.” “This it?” he asked, pulling to a stop in front of an apartment building. It looked old but well-maintained, surrounded by a lot of tall trees, and for some reason, he could picture her living there. “Yes.” She reached for the car door with shaking hands. “Thank you so much for coming to get me.” “No problem,” he said. “Do you want to come in for a slice of the hot pizza I will be ordering the minute my fingers thaw?” No. NO. Of course no, the only answer was no. He set the parking brake and killed the engine. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and said, “I’ll order while you drown in the hot shower. Deal?” “Deal so hard,” she replied, sounding pleased with his idiotic answer. They made a run for the door, which seemed like a moot point when she was already drenched. He took the keys from her shaking fingers and unlocked the building door for her. “Okay.” The dim light in the building entryway seemed brighter than the sun after so much darkness. She looked up at him through a wet face of smeared mascara and said, “Don’t judge me for my furnishings.” “I would never.” “You say that now,” she said, opening the obviously unlocked first door on the right, “But wait until you see it.” When she pushed open the door, it was like walking into someone’s grandmother’s apartment. She had a pink sofa, two matching pink and gold velvet side chairs, and a huge painting of a garden scene hung on the wall behind the couch. Crochet doilies sat on both end tables, and he was honestly surprised to see a normal TV on the other side of the room, and not a big 70s console with old school rabbit ears. “You’re into retro,” he said, looking around at the turn of the century décor. “You’re kidding, right?” she said, dropping the towel on one of the chairs and turning on a floor lamp. “When I moved in here, my grandma surprised me by furnishing the entire place for me; it was her gift.” “Wow.” “Right?” She crossed her arms, looking tiny in his XL Bears hoodie, and said, “I’ll tell you the whole story after I shower. Remote’s on the coffee table, beer is in the fridge, and my credit card is in my purse if you want to order the pizza.” “I’ve got it.” Did she usually make a habit of not locking her front door and letting people she just met rifle through her purse? “Go shower.” “God bless you,” she said, and then she disappeared down the hallway and into the back of the apartment. “What toppings?” he yelled. “Anything but pineapple.” “Combo?” “Yes, please, but no mushrooms. And don’t pick a bad pizza joint.” Blake flipped on the TV, turning to an NFL game before walking into her kitchen. He pushed an order through on his favorite pizza app, and he heard the shower start as he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Mich Ultra. How could someone function with only condiments, chocolate milk, diet soda and beer in their refrigerator? He went back into the living room, and was about to sit down when a guy walked through the front door. A guy with a bushy beard, Adidas joggers, no shirt and no shoes. He stopped short, looking surprised to see Blake. Then his eyes went down to Blake’s beer and he said, “You drinkin’ my beer?” Blake opened his mouth to respond but the guy laughed and said, “Just messin.’ Where’s Iz?” “Shower,” Blake said, wondering what the dude would make of that. “Good - I need to steal a few things. Don’t tell.” Blake watched as the guy went into the kitchen, grabbed three beers and an unopened bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, then turned and headed for the door. “Is she okay with this?” Blake asked, feeling like he should step in or something. “Yeah - she owes me,” the guy said, smiling like it was no big deal. “Tell her The Darkling puked on my bed today, so I’m collecting.” What the hell had she named after General Kirigan? “And you are…?” “Oh, my God, clearly an asshole,” he said, and shifted the stolen items to his left hand. He extended his right and said, “I’m Josh - her cousin. I live upstairs.” “Blake,” he said, hating the relief he felt that the guy who was clearly very familiar with Izzy was family and not something more complicated. “Her car broke down on the interstate--” “I told her!” Josh shook his head and said, “I told her, after her starter caught on fire, that she needed to get a new car before she got stranded. But you know how she is.” Blake actually had no idea. “Maybe now she’ll listen.” “Maybe,” Blake agreed. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Josh said. “Hey - will you come grab The Darkling?” Blake was pretty sure the answer was a hard no. “I’m sick of her cat,” Josh said, walking toward the door, unconcerned with Blake’s lack of response. “Please come gather the beast.” Blake felt like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone as he followed the guy up the stairs and was handed a cat. The cat scaled Blake’s chest with all of his claws – dick move - but by the time she (he still couldn’t think of her as Izzy or Amy, so she was She at that point) came into the living room, the cat was purring on his lap. She stopped and looked at him, eyebrows crinkled together. “The Darkling is sitting on your lap.” “Why does that conjure the unfortunate image of Ben Barnes reclining on my thighs?” She smiled. “He hates everyone - even me, half the time.” He wasn’t sure how she managed to look hot in sweats, wet hair and fuzzy socks, surrounded by gaudy retro furniture, but he was uncomfortably attracted to her at that minute. She just looked so…at home, like she was freshly-showered and ready to settle in for the night. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking idiotic thoughts like that? “Josh said you owe him because this guy puked on his couch.” “That mooching dick.” She shook her head and said, “If Josh didn’t feed him sushi all the time, The Darkling wouldn’t puke. Did he take my beer?” “Only a couple. Does he babysit the cat for you or something?” Blake asked. The door buzzer buzzed, and she held up a finger. “I’ll tell you the whole story of this building after I get that.” “The tip’s already been charged to my card, so we’re good, by the way,” he said. “First the ride, now this. Thank you,” she said, opening the apartment door and going out to the stoop to meet the pizza guy. Blake heard her say hey, Austin, and he shook his head as he heard the pizza delivery driver talk to her like they were lifelong friends. He wondered why - what the hell was wrong with him - her unorthodox everything was charming the hell out of him. Shouldn’t he be annoyed, or at least marginally put off, by half-dressed wandering cousins and antique store furniture? Why did those things just make him hungrier to learn every little thing about her? He needed to get his shit together and get the hell out of there. He’d given her a ride to be nice, and because he was worried, but nothing good could come from hanging out at Isabella Shay’s apartment. He was going to get in his car and forget that he even knew where she lived. Just as soon as they finished the pizza.