Dazed (Connections, #2.5)(23)

Jagger’s depiction of the woman and the story itself has me in stitches as he pulls up to my office building. I think to myself there’s nothing vanilla about him as I lean over and grab his face to kiss him goodbye. I don’t even care that my lipstick is smearing. I want him to think about me today the way I know I’ll be thinking about him.

“Stay there,” he says taking my umbrella from my hand.

Getting out of the car, he pops my umbrella, and proceeds to walk me to the door.

“You can’t just leave your car there.”

“I think it will be fine,” he winks. “And besides, I’m right here, what’s going to happen?”

The look on his face melts me and what else can I do but get up on my toes and wrap my arms around him. I want to give him another unforgettable kiss. But when his hands clutch my hips and his body aligns with mine, I get lost in his hypnotic stare. But he doesn’t falter like me. His lips touch mine and a thrill runs down my spine. He uses his tongue to part my lips and I open my mouth with greed. Our tongues dance and when he pulls back—we are both breathless.

“Wow,” I say lost in the moment, left completely dazed.

He give me a breathtaking smile and turns back toward the car and I remember I wanted to be the one to leave him with a kiss to remember all day. With my heart pounding, I step inside and pause a moment near the glass to watch him as he heads back to the car. I’m looking for any sign of runway swagger. The thought of him getting paid in “trade” for his runway gigs intrigues me. A free sweater, sneakers, jeans, credit at a trendy store—payments that have all lent to his amazing wardrobe. I told him how much I would love that. He laughed and said the clothes were cool, but it was hard to pay the rent with a wool coat. Then I told him that I really liked that coat and he just grinned at me.

I hit the elevator button just as he nears his illegally parked car, and notice a woman using her purse as a shield over her head is approaching him. He stiffens, as they seem to have an animated conversation. I wonder if she’s yelling at him for parking there. A few moments later, she scurries through the rain and in the door. The elevator arrives and just as I hit my floor, the same tall, slender woman who looks about my age yells, “Hold the elevator, please.”

I catch a glimpse of her through the closing door. Her hair is an understated red—a cross between a copper and a strawberry blonde. It’s curled in loose waves, she has high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. I quickly press the open button. As the doors begin to reopen, I see my reflection in them. I’m off my game today, but I don’t care. My makeup is in my bag and so are my heels, I didn’t want the calfskin to get wet from the rain. I straighten my gray pencil skirt as the woman enters.

I look at her, intrigued. She has one of those haunting faces that look like it should be gracing magazine covers. She’s wearing black lace-up pants, a completely sheer blouse, and a killer raspberry leather jacket with raindrops dripping from it. The raspberry color of her coat accentuates the red highlights in her blonde hair. I feel like I’ve seen her before, but can’t place where. A pang of jealousy hits as I glance down at my corporate attire. She exits the elevator on the ninth floor and I stay put riding to the tenth.

As I exit the elevator, Shelly rushes up behind me. “Ms. Daniels, Mr. Wolf is waiting for you in the conference room.”

I look at my watch—8:05. Crap, I completely forgot about the summons he left me yesterday afternoon. I hand off my things to Shelly. “Will you put these in my office?”

She nods and as she walks away I call, “Shelly, wait. My shoes are in there.” I put my hand on her shoulder and remove my flats, replacing them with my wedges. Shelly looks at me with admiration. “Ms. Daniels, you have the coolest wardrobe.”

I beam at her. “Thank you.” A compliment is just what I needed.

Shelly’s an intern working for us full-time while Megan, my assistant, is out on maternity leave. She’s doing a fabulous job and I hope to hire her full-time when she graduates this summer.

The conference room is on the eleventh floor and by the time I enter it, it’s almost 8:15. Damon is sitting in there looking through some ads I know I have already approved for this month. He glances up, and in a deep voice he says, “Ms. Daniels, you’re late.”

I see that Kimberly Hudson hasn’t arrived yet but rather than be on the defensive, I apologize. He sips his coffee and I cross the room toward the credenza and place a teabag in a porcelain cup. As I pour the hot water I say, “Damon, please call me Aerie. Ms. Daniels isn’t necessary.”

“Of course, Aerie.”

The door opens and a woman carefully carrying a tray of coffees enters. “Oh, Damon, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says placing the tray on the table. “My sister unexpectedly stopped by. She’s meeting with a director to discuss a role she’s dying to play and wanted to make sure she looked the part. She moved to LA with me and we’re both loving it.” She hands him a coffee cup. “With sugar,” she says smiling. “And then I decided to take the stairs up the two flights. Not a smart move with a tray of hot liquids in hand.”

He waves his hand in the air. “Relax, K, it’s fine. Ms. Daniels only just arrived herself. And if I can help your sister in any way, you let me know.”

Now I have to wonder if he will call me A or if he doesn’t remember her name. I want so much to assist him but I’ll let “K” have that privilege. Her outfit—black lace dress, leather biker jacket, and heavy dark eye makeup—seems very cosmopolitan.