Connected (Connections, #1)(20)
The sunlight streaming through the cab window is reflecting off the diamonds of my bracelet. As I look out onto the street I see a man dressed in a suit, walking while checking his phone and I can’t help but think of Ben. Ben was always multitasking, able to accomplish more in a single day than I ever could in a week. Today these thoughts aren’t sad thoughts. Instead I smile at the memory they provoke of the man that was so driven and so successful at such a young age. Taking deep cleansing breaths, I look at my bracelet again and remember the reason I will never take it off. The promise I made to myself to have no regrets. Those thoughts are what I will take with me as I interview the one man I had an almost dalliance with once, a long time ago.
The taxi is approaching the office building located on East Harmon Avenue, just a few blocks east of the Hard Rock Hotel where I will be staying. Since I’m running short on time, I decide against dropping my bags off at the hotel first.
I hop out of the cab and I hear my phone’s familiar ringtone. I answer it while grabbing my suitcase and messenger bag to make my way into the building. With my shoulder holding the phone to my ear, I open the large double doors to the building that houses Sound Music’s office. The lobby is quiet; it’s Friday afternoon so I suspect many employees are gone for the weekend. Aerie is on the other end of the phone frantically screaming that I’m late and telling me to get up to the seventh floor immediately because River is already there. After reassuring Aerie that I’ve arrived and am on my way up, I exit the elevator and hit the end button on my phone.
Practically running to get to the conference room, I trail my suitcase with my messenger bag on top of it behind me. I turn the corner and start down the hallway where I can see through the conference room’s glass wall. There he sits, River Wilde, looking down at his phone. My heart is pounding at the mere sight of him, and the feelings of the young girl crush I had on him five years ago come flooding back.
I slow down my pace, take a few deep breaths, and pause to straighten my jacket. The shift of my body weight causes my messenger bag to fall off the top of my suitcase, making a loud noise on the marble floor. Looking around the empty hall, I pick up my bag and continue walking, but as I lift my eyes and River Wilde comes into view, he’s no longer looking at his phone. He’s watching me instead. He’s still just as captivating as he was so long ago, but this time the word ‘dangerous’ no longer applies.
My legs are shaking and my stomach is doing flip-flops as I make my way to the conference room. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but the fact that I asked myself, ‘Could love at first sight be real?’ when I met him that night makes me nervous as hell. The silence in the office adds to my anxiety; the only sound that can be heard is that of my shoes clicking across the tile floor.
As I approach the door, I can see him running his hand through his hair. He’s walking around the conference table towards the door, and we reach it at the same time. With a nervous grip, I grab the door handle, dropping my eyes from his as my Cartier bracelet hits against the glass, causing a sharp pain to radiate through my wrist.
I wince as I stumble into him. Once our bodies meet, my nervousness evaporates and it is replaced by a bevy of heightened senses. I’m so close to him. I can smell his soapy, just-showered scent that I remember so well. I can feel his hard body, and as I look up, I can see the smoothness of the skin on his face, which makes my knees buckle beneath me.
Goosebumps run up my arms and down my legs. Our collision has awakened something in me. It’s something as simple and pure as desire. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Gaining all of my composure I look up into his gleaming green eyes, the intensity is still so powerful anyone looking into them might never get out. I already know I don’t want to get out. I’m sure I’m staring as I continue to gaze into his eyes searching for that same look he gave me long ago, but before I can find it our contact is broken.
He takes a step back and I notice his gleaming eyes studying the length of my body. Remembering I am supposed to be Dahlia London, the interviewer, I try to push the wanton girl aside and replace her with the professional one. However, trying to manage multiple personalities has never been easy for me. I drop my eyes to escape his power and begin to speak a mash of garbled words that make very little sense even to me. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, thank you, and oh shit.”
Shifting my gaze into the room, embarrassed by my lack of professionalism, I somehow manage to look at him again. I take in his faded jeans, black Doc Marten boots, and gray t-shirt with the word Fender scripted across in black. He’s still so overwhelmingly attractive. He looks just how I remember him; no, he looks even better. The guy I had talked to one night at a bar five years ago is now a man.
Still grinning, he chuckles and crosses his arms. “No apology necessary, that’s the kind of crash I wouldn't mind having every day.”
Giving him a polite nod, I continue to stand there, and I’m wondering if he really doesn’t remember me.
“Let me get your bags for you,” he says as he takes hold of the items in my hand. Crossing into the room, he sets my black messenger bag on the table in front of us and then, picking up my suitcase, he casually walks to the corner of the room and sets it next to his guitar case, which is leaning against the wall. I can’t help but notice his walk is still a sway and still full of confidence.
Turning around, he strides back to the conference table, showing no sign of recognition and I begin to feel a little deflated. He stops at the table where I first saw him and we stand across from each other, the table as our divide.