The Lineup(48)

“Very,” I say, thinking back to last night and how scared he looked at my advances. “God, what do I do?”

“Well, you have two options.” Lindsay casually takes a sip from her iced tea. “You can either tell the Carltons you just broke up with Jason Orson and risk the deal, or you can actually try to pursue the man on a less crazy scale.”

“I don’t want to date him,” I say, groaning.

“Why not? He’s so perfect.”

“Exactly,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “He’s perfect. He’s kind and sweet, and extremely good-looking. He has a weird sense of humor and makes me smile with most of the stupid things he says.”

Lindsay looks at me as if I’m crazy. And right then, I decide that I really am crazy, because I just described the type of man I’d want if I was wanting to date. I no longer think that what I’m feeling is simply leftover lust from college. The guy is a dork, such a goof, but there are so many qualities I actually like about him. He made me dinner last night, for fuck’s sake. Didn’t order takeout. Didn’t grab a meal from the freezer. He cooked. A whole meal. For me. Even though I was so rude to him the night before and then in the morning. Who does that? Why would he do that . . . for me? Because that’s the man Jason Orson is. He goes the extra mile for a friend . . . or in my case, a friend of a friend. And then it hits me. My very real concern.

“I’m scared, Lindsay. I’m scared I’m going to fall hard for this guy, really hard and then what, the season starts up again, he’s surrounded by all these opportunities with women, and he goes off and finds someone with a softer personality, someone who won’t spend late hours in their office, someone who can be at his beck and call. I can’t take that. My heart can’t take that.”

Lindsay softens and leans forward, placing her hand on mine. “Sweetie, I know you’ve had a rough go of it in the dating world, but I truly think Jason is different.”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head.

“Well, just think about it, okay? It’s not like you have many options. You put yourself in a really tough spot. Maybe next time when you’re making up a fake boyfriend, don’t say someone who’s famous. Maybe try a classic John Smith.”

Advice I wish I’d heard a little earlier.





After lunch with Lindsay, I spent the rest of my day in my office, doing God knows what. I’m on autopilot, getting work done even when I don’t think about it. I hate working on the weekends, but my neighbor isn’t someone I prefer to look in the eyes at this moment, so I’ve stayed as far away as possible.

Now that it’s eight, my brain is fried, and I can barely hold my eyes open—and all I want is to climb into my silk pajamas—I find myself climbing the floors in the elevator I was stuck in with Jason. The space is pretty big, but when he was in it, shirt off, it felt exponentially smaller.

If I really concentrate, and take a big whiff, I feel like I can smell him . . . that or it’s my imagination.

The elevator dings, the doors part, and there he is, standing in front of my door, about to knock on it.

Ugh, this is exactly why I wanted to stay at my office. The easy access is killing me.

“Oh, hey.” He smiles sheepishly and I want to die inside as humiliation from last night consumes me. But like always, I put on a strong face and give him a small wave.

“Hey.”

He steps away from my door, allowing me to unlock it.

“I uh, was hoping I could apologize.”

The door to the apartment is halfway open when I turn around to stare at him, confused. He wants to apologize?

“Why?” I ask, completely questioning this man’s sanity. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did.” His hands are in his pockets, his hair styled to the side, his beautiful green eyes reflect sincerity and remorse. I have no idea why. He’s positively gorgeous. Just standing in front of him is putting my stomach into knots and making my heart pound faster. “I shouldn’t have asked if you were high or drunk. That wasn’t cool on my part.”

I shake my head. “It was a valid concern. I was a little weird last night.” Dropping my head, I stare at the keys in my hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He lifts his hand to my chin and gently encourages me to look him in the eyes. When I do, everything around us fades to black and all I can see is this strong, confident man who should not be talking to me right now.

In that moment, with his eyes locked with mine, his expression soft and concerned, I realize, even though I’m terrified and nervous of what might happen, I don’t think I have any other option than to want Jason Orson.

“Don’t apologize, I was in the wrong. I pushed you and I shouldn’t have.” But I like when you push me. “I shouldn’t have invited you over for dinner or forced you to come over.” But it made my day when you pinned me against the door. “I shouldn’t have forced the date on you for your donation.” But seeing you in my office, with food, made me happier than I’ve ever been. “I’m sorry for everything and I hope we can be friends.” What? No. I know now that I want so much more than that. He nods into the apartment. “I can take care of the plants so you can go back home. No need for you to stay here.” I don’t want to go back home, not now that I want to see you when I arrive home from work. He takes the key from my hand. “I’ll water—”