Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(47)

I watch as the high heel hits the ground and slides after the couple.

As they reach the door, the woman turns to Josh, holds up her hand in a phone gesture and mouths, “call me.”

Unbelievable.

“Not a boy toy,” I shout.

The door slam shuts after them. The security guard is out the door a second later.

I turn back to Josh, my chest heaving and my face hot.

He’s still kneeling on the ground, trying to get the painting off. He looks up at me, takes in my expression, then looks down at the blooming “flower” around his neck.

He lifts his eyebrows, then he says, “Do you think there’s a metaphor here?”

I bite my lip and try not to laugh at how ridiculous he looks. I shake my head and say, “No, but forevermore, if I ever get chocolate or flowers, I’m going to think of you.”

He grins. “Exactly what I was hoping for.”

I walk over and help him tug the painting over his head. He stands up and together we hold it out in front of us. There’s a circular head-shaped rip in the middle.

“You’re going to have to pay for that,” says Joy from behind her desk. She’s peering over her partition at the damage.

I turn and scowl at her. “Are you kidding? The other guy swung it at him.”

Joy shrugs. “Yeah. But his head broke it.” She says this with utter seriousness.

I look back to Josh and I’m not surprised to see his eyes light up with humor. “In that case, I’m taking this baby home. I’ll hang it above my bed. I’ll call it Boy Toy and the Venus Fly Trap.”

I let out a shocked laugh.

Then Josh pulls out his wallet and tosses cash on the counter.

We leave the office, the large painting held between us. As we walk down the sidewalk, avoiding the crowds, I say to Josh, “You really did jinx us.”

He looks back at me and lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously, Gemma? Today’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”

He turns back forward and by silent agreement we keep walking toward my place. But all the while I stare at Josh’s back and think me too.

Which scares me.

A lot.





19





So, Josh and I are officially “friends.” He confirmed it when he left the other night. He made sure I got to my place safe and sound and when I said thanks he said, “What are friends for?”

“Friends?” I’d asked, like the idiot I am.

He just grinned at me and said, “What else, Gem?”

I scowl at my computer screen and put the finishing touches on the latest marketing campaign. What else is right.

The quote on the screen blurs together until the words are all jumbled up. It’s not yet eight in the morning, but I’ve already been at work for two hours since I need to leave early for my retrieval. I stopped all the medications and took my hCG nearly thirty-three hours ago for my 10:30 am retrieval, aka egg collection.

Or, as Josh dubbed it in honor of Dr. Ingraham, the Easter egg hunt.

I take a long sip of my decaf coffee and close my eyes. I’m not going to get any more work done, I may as well head out. Maybe Josh will be here early.

“You got coffee without me?”

I jump a little in my seat. Jeez. I’d thought the office was empty. I swivel my desk chair around.

“You scared me,” I say.

Ian is only a few feet behind me. He’s wearing a trendy suit and an open cashmere jacket dusted with melting snowflakes. “Did I?” he asks, then he gives me a smile full of simmering heat. “I was hoping you’d be here early.”

His long, elegant fingers stroke the open length of his cashmere jacket as he stares at the low vee-neck of my dress shirt. I get warm at the look in his eyes and wonder if he’s about to ask me into his office.

For some reason, the thought gives me a funny feeling in my stomach.

“Did you…want to talk about something?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “I always like talking to you. Do I need an excuse?”

“Um, no?”

He chuckles and tosses his head so that the last drops of snow spray out of his hair. For years, I’ve idolized Ian and fantasized about dating him. For crying out loud, he’s Ian. But now, when he’s standing in front of me, looking like a male cover model, giving me a look that could ignite wet wood, all I can manage is “um…no?”

It has to be the hormones, they’ve been so crazy all over the place that I can’t trust anything I think or feel anymore. Exhibit A, for the last two nights I’ve had erotic dreams about Josh involving weird combinations of shoes, flowers, and cosmic orgasms. Exhibit B, I’m not over the moon that Ian Fortune is pursuing me. I mean, I should be over the moon.

He’s a saint. He’s a superstar. He’s gorgeous. He’s kind. He wants me.

Okay, that one is a little weird. I’ve worked for him for nearly seven years, so why is it that he’s only noticed me now? Were my “juicy” breasts really that enticing?

“Why do you like me?” I ask.

But at the same time he says, “Will you go with me to the Hamptons for Valentine’s weekend?”

I stare at him in shock. “The what?”

He smiles his bright white smile. “The Hamptons. I have a little cottage there and I thought you might like a romantic escape from the city.”