Page 89 of Lucky Puck

I nod. A smile grips my face and my soul because I love the sound of those words. Way too much.

His mouth twitches in a smirk. “I thought so.” Then he walks away.

But he stops at the bedroom door. “How about if I come home for lunch, lover?” He watches me with the look of a predator, and the familiar fluttery whoosh commences in my belly, reaching my chest where my heart clamors like it wants to leap out and latch onto him.

Opening my mouth to say yes, I almost abandon my plans to go to the office, but I clamp down on all the crazy feelings as my last hold on reason and rational, logical decision-making leaps into action—never mind that we just made love and stayed up half the night…

“I’m going into the Boston office today. They’re expecting me.” There’s an apology in my voice, but that doesn’t prevent the shuttered expression on his face telling me he knows it’s a half-truth at best.

“See you later then.”

He walks away, and when I hear the condo door close, I blink away the inexplicable tears that spring up. I must be getting my period or something because this is a ridiculously emotional reaction. It’s not like I won’t see him again soon.

Then maybe I can make up for disappointing him.

The errant thought alarms me because that’s not our arrangement, not how this is supposed to work between us. And it’s the exact reason we shouldn’t have become lovers.

After trying to read the same contract for the better part of the morning, I give up. Switching to making phone calls should make me more productive, but I’ve only succeeded in agreeing to review two more proposals, both of which may as well be written in Hungarian based on how much I retain.

One of the proposals is a sponsorship deal with a men’s hair product company for Brody. I know he won’t like it. He didn’t like the last male grooming product deal I brought to him, and I understand why.

He’s holding out for a sporting goods deal or, failing that, a brewery sponsorship. I told him to wait and buy a microbrewery and put his own label on it. He acknowledged it was good advice, but he’s impatient.

Standing, I pace around the office trying to decide whether his impatience is a flaw or the secret to his success.

Checking my watch, I decide it’s time to quit. I can be this productive from home—or rather at Brody’s condo, which is technically not my home. All the same, if I get there in time for lunch, maybe Brody will be there too, and we can have our assignation after all.

Assignation? Really?

Grabbing my coat and bag, I say out loud, “Yes. Really.” Stowing my laptop in my bag, I close my office door behind me and give the receptionist an extra sunny smile. “I’ll be working from home this afternoon, Alice.”

She rolls her eyes. “I bet. Don’t think I don’t know about sneaking away from the office for a little newlywed nookie when I see it.”

Laughing, I pick up my pace before she sees my blush. I can only hope for some of that nookie.

Parking in the expensive garage because I’m throwing caution to the wind in my rush of excitement and anticipation of some pretend newlywed nookie, I hurry to the elevator and wait forever until it opens on the penthouse floor to Brody’s condo.

My heart beats against my ribs faster and faster, like it’s reaching a dramatic crescendo as I open the door.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Walking inside, I listen as I hang up my coat and put my things on the kitchen island.

All I hear is the drumming of my heart blocking out the silence of the condo. Moving down the hallway, I push into the bedroom to find it exactly the way I left it: bed made, everything in order.

My disappointment is disproportionate to what it should reasonably be because I’m the one who said no to his invitation for newlywed nookie. But logic doesn’t stop the crushing sensation of disappointment in my chest as if my heart is spent from expending all that anticipation with no reward.

At the same instant I plop down on the bed, my phone blasts loudly. “Shit.” I bounce up from the bed and rush back to the kitchen to answer it, senselessly thinking it could be Brody.

“Hello?” I answer, out of breath.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” It’s Delaney’s voice, and I let out a whooshing sigh that sounded too much like disappointment.

She says, “Never mind, forget I asked. I don’t want to know⁠—”

I laugh in spite of my letdown, finally letting go of my fantasy of a stolen afternoon with Brody as if I really were a newlywed. “No, you’re not interrupting anything. I had to run for the phone.”

“Aah. I bet you were hoping I was someone else. I can hear it in your voice.”