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1
Nira
“Isn’t it romantic?” I gush, my enthusiastic hand gesture taking in the lit candle on the table and the snow falling gently outside the window.
My dinner companion’s only response is a grunt. Seeing as how he’s not even paying attention to me, I’m not sure if the grunt is one of agreement or related to his own thoughts. He’s been periodically eyeing the woman sitting alone in the middle of the room, and now he can’t seem to keep his eyes off her.
Joe gets up and places his napkin on the chair. “Back in a minute, Short Stack.” He strides over to the stranger without waiting for my reply. He leans over her, whispers something in her ear. She licks her lips and nods briefly. He stands up and I hurriedly turn my attention to my phone. The only reason I post anything on social media is so I have an excuse handy when watching Joe. Now he’s standing by my side.
“Ready to call it a night, Nira?” He’s already sliding out my chair so… clearly I am. He escorts me back to the suite we’re sharing. Unfortunately, it’s not a one bed scenario, more like three with a central office/living room.
“Joe?” I turn to him in the elevator on the way up to our floor.
This time I have his attention, at least. “Hmm?”
“Am I trying too hard?” That takes him by surprise. His craggy face softens slightly as he says gently, “Maybe a little.”
A lot then. My heart sinks mournfully. I’m sure he thinks I’m referring to my new job as social events manager for my dad’s company. The same one he works for as head of security. If I’m trying too hard there, attempting to get people to take me seriously and prove I can do the job, then I’m definitely overdoing my attempts to get his attention in a more personal way.
“I have to step out for a bit, Nira. I’ll let you know when I’m back,” he announces abruptly after unlocking the door to the suite and doing a quick security check. I nod, my heart sinking down to my toes. He’s going to meet that woman. He won’t bring her back here. That would be a security risk with all the wedding planning out on tables in the central room. But he’s a grown man with needs and he’s clearly not about to look to me to satisfy them.
Despondent, I retreat to my bedroom and get ready for bed. Then I stuff earbuds in my ears and turn the music up as loud as I’m able to stand, so I won’t be tempted to listen for his return. That way lies torture. I pull out a notebook and start making rigid rules for myself so I can get over him once and for all. No more lingering in the office, so he’ll be the one to walk me to my car. No more bringing him cookies, letting me chat for a few minutes. It all has to stop. Now.
I’m deep into rearranging my life sans Joe when the door to my room flies open. Naturally I scream. Until I see it’s Joe who’s now eyeing me like a crazy person, until he must spot the earbuds because he rolls his eyes and gestures. Reluctantly, I take one out.
“Jesus, you scared me, Joe.”
“I was only gone ten minutes. I’d have been back sooner, but she objected to being referred to as paparazzi. Took longer to get rid of her. And how do you think I feel after I knocked three times, and you didn’t answer,” he responds dryly. “Hey! Is that my old practice jersey? I’ve been looking everywhere for that.”
I glance down, forgetting I had it on. It’s my favorite nightwear and I’ve been extremely careful up until now not to let him see me in it on this trip. “Maybe,” I say slowly, not meeting his gaze.
“I want it back, Nira. Now,” he growls.
Something devilish takes over me and I slowly lift the hem, curious to see how far I’ll get before he stops me. Well below the knee, apparently.
“Cut it out, Short Stack. I expect that washed and folded and on my desk Monday morning. Clear?” Once again, he doesn’t wait for me to reply, just swivels on his heel and shuts my door behind him, leaving me feeling like a chastised child.
2
Nira
If you didn’t figure it out already, Joe is a lot older than me. His name isn’t really Joe either. It’s Josef Heller with the J pronounced as a Y. Only I can get away with calling him Joe, which I’ve been doing since I was thirteen. I thought it made me special, but lately I’m thinking it simply means he thinks of me as a child and lets me get away with things he wouldn’t otherwise.
He used to be a professional hockey player on the team my dad owned briefly. When he was both injured and suspended, as punishment, my dad made him my bodyguard. Which I didn’t really need, despite my dad’s political ambitions at the time. Nobody was stupid enough to think that kidnapping the illegitimate child of a candidate that was polling that badly was going to do them any good. But Dad liked to be able to say that he had a security detail on his children. So I got Joe driving me to and from school every day and hanging out with me at the library on the weekends. I’m sure he hated it, but I enjoyed having someone around to talk to, even if it wasn’t completely voluntary. I also learned Joe wasn’t the dumb jock my dad called him. He has surprising skills in calculus and French.
A few years later, when another injury took him off the ice entirely, he leveraged that prior experience to start working for my dad’s corporation. Thankfully, the political stuff died an early death. I might have entertained a few fantasies about Joe sticking around waiting for me to grow up, but even my subconscious was laughing at that one.
I’m the illegitimate daughter because, after my dad divorced Selena’s mom, he had an affair with his housekeeper — my mom. That apparently went on for several years, but then they split and she took the payoff he offered rather than have her spill all his secrets to one of his ‘friends’. Part of their deal was she would relocate to Cancun and I would be sent to boarding school, which I actually enjoyed. I haven’t seen my mom in ages though, we don’t exactly see the world in the same way.
The drive back to the city the next day is quiet. Joe’s not much of a talker on a good day. When he’s feeling ornery (probably over his damn jersey) he might as well be a stone statue. But there’s something about having to work for every word from him that makes me shiver with delight.
No more shivering,I remind myself sternly and force myself to post something nauseously uplifting on social media instead.
“How can you kids spend so much time on that crap?” Joe growls unexpectedly.
I lift a superior eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to get off your lawn too, old man?”
He gives me a short bark of laughter in reward. “Yes, Short Stack. Definitely stay off my lawn.”
