Chapter Six
Blake Blake’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Izzy: Running late - SO SORRY! Blake wanted to laugh as he responded with: Yes, I’m aware. We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago. When he’d arrived at Starbucks, he’d briefly considered ordering a PSL for her but thought better of it. The whole point of this meeting was to discuss whether or not they could be friends outside of work, so buying her things probably wasn’t a good idea. Izzy: I thought I could ride a bike faster than I actually can. 5 more minutes. Blake texted: Wait. Are you texting and pedaling? Izzy: Not really. Every time you text me I have to stop and respond. You’re making me more late. He pictured her stubborn face and responded with: Nah. Izzy. In fact, even though we just started this text conversation, I’m sure the whole reason I’m late at all is because of you. Now leave me alone so I can pedal. Blake set his phone on the table and lifted his coffee to his mouth. In the short time he’d known her, Izzy had consistently surprised him. And that was putting it mildly. Less than 12 hours before, when he’d called her after their unexpected night, she’d ignored his call and sent him a text, instead. Blake picked up his phone again and scrolled through the exchange (for probably the tenth time) as he waited for her to arrive. Izzy: I’m not answering because I need to think. Blake: Um…? Izzy: Imma b honest w/u. I like u and want 2 b ur friend. Blake: Wtf happened to your texting? Are you a middle schooler now? Izzy: I’m trying to jot down some ideas before I lose them so that was my attempt at quick-texting. Blake: So I repeat my original Um…? Izzy: I’m preparing some notes on how we can be friends without jeopardizing your career. Would you be interested in meeting at Starbucks tomorrow morning to review? Blake: 8am? Izzy: Perfect. Our Starbucks? Blake set his phone down again. Our Starbucks. At that moment, he saw her through the front window. She was bent down, locking up an old, ugly bike that looked to be something she might’ve picked up at a junkyard. She was wearing a black pullover with black leggings, and she had a messenger back slung across her body. When she straightened and took off her helmet, the sight of her face made him feel something in his stomach. Holy shit, were those fucking butterflies? They were - they were fucking butterflies. God help him, he was now the equivalent of a hormonal adolescent.
Izzy Izzy could barely walk as she entered Starbucks, her legs like jelly. Since her car was currently impounded because the city had towed it before she’d had a chance to get it towed to a garage, she was currently car-less. She’d foolishly thought no big deal, I’ll borrow Daphne’s bike. Theoretically, she ran five miles every day so riding a bike would surely be easier, right? Wrong. She didn’t know if it was the bike, the hills, or her pathetic thighs, but she’d almost given up three times during her wayward journey. It was only Blake’s villainous eyes and hilarious texting that forced her to power through the wicked leg shakes. She ran a hand over her ponytail and ordered a PSL, refusing to search for Blake until she caught her breath and had her drink. She needed to focus on her goal and not be distracted by his ridiculous good looks. Side note: Freaking Blake had been in her dream last night, wearing long flowing robes and a dangerous vibe that made her wake up empathizing with Bella Swan's vampirious propensities. WTF, right? Her goal that morning, in truth, was lame. Like, so super lame that she felt, well, pathetic. Because her goal, in a nutshell, was to convince him to be her friend. That was it - please be my friend. Hello, first grade Isabella - some things never change. “Izzy?” The barista yelled, reading the label. “Thank you.” She grabbed her drink and immediately saw Blake, sitting at a table in the back. Daaaaamn, that man was ridiculous. He was wearing a black hoodie, which should’ve made him look casual, but something about him just screamed important. The watch, the good haircut, the big hands - well, okay, the big hands didn’t make him important, per se, but her eyes sure enjoyed them; the whole package just shouted successful. “Good morning.” Blake smiled up at her in a way that made her smile back, and she was glad he wasn’t one of those guys who stood up for a woman. She knew the gesture came from a traditional, respectful place, but it always made her feel awkward and like she was a little less of an adult than the man. “I am so sorry I’m late.” She pulled off her bag, set it on one of the extra chairs at the table, and sat down. “As it turns out, I’m a terrible cyclist.” “I could’ve picked you up,” he said, his dark eyes warm as he wrapped a big hand around his cup. She really had to force herself to stop thinking about those big hands on her face as he’d kissed the everloving shit of her mere hours before. “Nope,” she replied, reaching over to unzip her bag. “Against the rules.” “We have rules?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. “The most important part of my plan, actually,” she said, taking out her laptop and turning it on. “Are the unflinchingly rigid rules.” “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked. Izzy looked up from her computer, and he was asking it so sweetly - paired with such a concerned look - that she swallowed hard. Good lord, questions like that - from him - could totally destroy her. She looked down at her computer, feeling a little shaky, and said, “Yeah, I only need four hours so I’m good.”
Blake As he watched her unlocking her laptop and clicking into files, Blake thought it was cool that she wasn’t wearing makeup. Not in a sexist “she doesn’t need it” or “I like the natural look” way - hell, he didn’t give a rat’s ass who wore what - but he was glad she didn’t feel compelled to put it on in order to meet him at Starbucks. It made him feel like she was comfortable with him. “Okay. So.” She turned her laptop so he could see the display and said, “Scooch closer.” Blake wanted to laugh when, after he followed her directive, she said, “Good boy.” She opened a PowerPoint file and started talking. “As we both know, you are my boss at Ellis, which means we cannot have any sort of romantic relationship - or contact - whatsoever.” “Correct,” he said, even though he didn’t like the way it felt in his mouth. He did like the big red X she'd put over their names on her slide, though; that was pretty funny shit. “Since that is non-negotiable,” she said, advancing to the next slide, “We can never be alone together.” Blake coughed out a laugh. “That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?” He regretted it the instant he said it, because she looked embarrassed. But before he could backtrack, she said, “Do you trust us to finish this meeting in your car? Or at my apartment?” Holy shit, she was right; they could never be alone together. He’d been staring at her mouth since the moment she’d sat down, remembering the way it’d felt to kiss her. “Touché,” he said. “You’re right.” She nodded very seriously. “So rule number 1 - we’re never alone.” “Okay,” he said. “I read the entire Ellis employee handbook last night,” she said, rubbing her lips together like she needed Chapstick, before adding, “And there is no rule that says an executive cannot be friends with a subordinate outside of work.” Blake tilted his head and watched her resolute face. I read the entire handbook. Thirty seconds ago he would’ve made a joke about it being her job to read the handbook, but now it sunk in – she’d read the entire handbook to prepare for this conversation. “So if you’re interested in pursuing a casual friendship - and it’s totally fine if you’re not - I have some ideas on how we can keep it within the rules.” Her blue gaze moved from her computer to his face, and he wondered if it were possible for him to say no to her, when she was giving him that eye contact, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.
Izzy Izzy looked at him, feeling like a total derp. She felt like she was begging him to be her friend, and as much as she didn’t want to do that, she also knew she’d regret not throwing it out there. Just in case he did. Because the truth of it was, Izzy felt like she didn’t know how to make friends. Maybe she had at one time, but she clearly didn’t know how to do it as an adult. In high school, she had the friends that she’d always had, since kindergarten. In college, she’d immediately started hanging out with her dorm-assigned roommate, who’d been her bestie for all four years. But when she moved to Omaha after graduation to take a grown-up job, things were different. She had a lot of nice co-workers, but she’d never put herself out there to make those relationships anything other than workplace acquaintances. Like, how did that work? Hi, can I play with you guys? The idea of doing that made her too anxious, so she’d just said goodbye to those people every day at five and went home. Rinse and repeat until now. Thank God her cousins were fun. It was pathetic that at the moment they were her only friends, but that was, in fact, her reality. But she’d connected with Blake in such a natural way. She was totally herself and had a blast with him, and she didn’t want to lose that. His eyes were on her face, intense enough to make her nervous, and then he said, “Keep talking, Iz." Iz. Oh, God. She cleared her throat and said, “I come to this Starbucks every morning. Mostly at seven, if I wake up on time. So if you ever want a coffee on a weekday and happen to be here, and we run into each other, it’s totally acceptable to sit down and have a coffee together, right?” His mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, but he gave a nod, instead. “Now,” Izzy said, encouraged that he was staying with her. “I go to The Bookworm after work every Tuesday to look at new releases. If I ran into you there and we happened to chat while book shopping, well, that would be absolutely above-board.” “Agreed.” “This way, nothing is a lie. If we see a co-worker, we actually did run into each other so it’s completely legit.” Blake did grin, then, and said, “They have an incredible happy hour at Upstream that I often hit after work on Thursdays. I usually belly-up to the bar and have a pizza for dinner, and if you happened to show up on the stool beside me, also eating, that would just be a wild coincidence.” Izzy couldn’t be cool - she beamed at him. “I love Upstream!” He grinned back. “Same.” They spent the next ten minutes sharing their habitual schedules, tossing out a handful of occasions where they might possibly run into each other. Izzy created a spreadsheet and added them all, emailing a copy of it to Blake (his personal email, of course), just in case he wished to reference it at a later date. “So we should probably cover texting next,” she said, taking a drink of her PSL. “You have texting rules. Of course,” he said, and his small smile reminded her of Edward in Pretty Woman when he was negotiating Vivian’s payment. “Well, I think that if we both agree to never discuss work, never discuss people from work, and never text during working hours, then texting is probably a feasible form of communication.” “And phone calls?” he asked, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. Izzy was happy he had asked, because she really liked talking to him on the phone. Which was weird because she was an avid phone-talking-hater. “I think the same rules would apply, don’t you?” “Same rules,” he agreed, nodding yet again. “So,” Izzy said, closing her laptop and resting her chin on her hand. “Did we just become best friends?” “Depends,” he said, giving her a smirk. “On?” “On what it means to you.” His hands were wrapped around his cup, and Izzy noticed he had nice fingernails. He said, “If you want someone to bail you out of jail or be your blood brother, I’m not the guy.” “I’m not that guy, either,” Izzy agreed. “But if it means I get to come get you when your car breaks down in the rain, then yes, we are.” “Nope - sorry buddy. Can’t be alone together.” “Come on - there have to be exceptions," he said, his eyebrows going down. “I don’t think that’s wise,” she reiterated. “Are you sure?” he asked, mimicking her by putting his chin on his hand. “Because a best friend who can give you and your landfill bike a ride home would be pretty handy right about now, wouldn't it?"
Blake Blake watched as her eyes got soft, as she smiled a dreamy little smile. “That would be nice, but I think we have to keep these lines clear.” “You’re telling me that if I called you, stranded on the side of the road, you wouldn’t save me?” She rolled her eyes and said, “You have a very nice car, Blake. You don’t need me because you have roadside assistance.” He pursed his lips and tried again. “If I called you because I was too drunk to drive…?” “I’d get an Uber for my bestie Blake." He sighed, irritated, which didn’t make a damn bit of sense because she was right. “Fine. You can ride all four miles on that garbage bike.” “You saw it?” She sat back in her chair and gave him an embarrassed grin. “It’s pretty bad, right? I’ll probably walk it half the way back, to be honest.” “Izzy--” “Nope.” He clenched his jaw, not used to feeling powerless. “There’s no convincing you?” She shook her head and said, “Afraid not." “Well, what if I drive your bike home and call you an Uber?” The obsessive part of him that always needed to find the solution to a problem was spinning in circles. She looked like she wanted to say yes. She asked him, “Would you mind dropping the bike at my building and I’ll just run home?” “Deal.” “You’re such a great best friend,” she said, grinning, and he wondered why he was playing with fire while at the same time knowing he wasn’t ready to stop anytime soon. “So about this friendship.” He reached for his cup and said, “Is it something we talk about?” “What’s the first rule about Fight Club?” Izzy asked. “In my case, it would be to watch Fight Club.” She squinted at him and said, “You haven’t seen Fight Club? Isn’t that in the man charter or, like, pledge you take every day?” “I know of no such charter or pledge,” he said, trying to remember how many days it’d been since they met. Because somehow, just like that, he felt like he’d known her forever. “Well, everyone knows the first rule of fight club is not to talk about it.” “Don’t you think, since it’s a fight club, that the first rule should be something savage like there are no rules, or maybe the only way out is through death?” “Blake. Focus,” she said, feigning exasperation as she slowly shook her head. “What I’m suggesting, clearly with the wrong analogy, is that we probably shouldn’t talk about it at work.” "Agreed." They relaxed a little after that and had another coffee, discussing the NFL matchups that day and discussing potential fantasy trades they each might make. Ironically, they both had teams in Ellis fantasy pools, just different leagues. When it was time to leave and Blake was loading her bike into the trunk of his SUV, he heard himself say, “Izzy, what if you sit in the back seat?” “What?” She set her messenger bag in the trunk, since she couldn’t run with it, and gave him a look. “What do you mean?” “If you sit in the back seat, nothing can accidentally transpire between us.” She furrowed her brows and tilted her head, considering the idea. “Hmmm…I’m not sure.” “For the love of God, Iz,” he said, slamming the back door closed and looking down at her like she was a child. “Get in the damn back seat.” Her eyes narrowed and he thought she was going to debate yet again and make him lose his mind, but then her mouth - goddamn, that mouth - slid up into a sexy grin. She gave her head a shake, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “My best friend makes me sit in the back seat of his car like I’m a little bitty baby child. Nice.” She walked around him, opened the passenger-side back door, and climbed into his car. And all he could think, as he got in and buckled his seat belt, was I fucking love my new best friend.