Window Shopping(34)

He doffs his hat, pressing it to his chest. “I just want to quench your thirst, my queen.”

“Oh my—” Jordyn covers her face with her free hand. “Fine. Go. Just go. It’s a lemon drop martini.” She pins me with an incredulous look when he walks away, moving triumphantly through the crowded rooftop on the balls of his feet. “I can’t even deal with that kid.”

I make sure no one else is paying attention before I speak. “You like him.”

Jordyn does a double-take.

“You. Like.” I pause for effect. “Him.”

“I take back what I said about you being wise.”

“What is holding you back exactly? From giving him a shot, I mean.”

“I’m sorry…” she draws out. “Did you miss the fact that he’s a baby compared to me? And hello, he is the weird friend from every sitcom you’ve ever watched.” She makes a show of crossing her legs. “He doesn’t get to date the main character.”

The act of grinning reminds me of Aiden and I get a little twinge in my throat. He won’t be here tonight. I mean, I highly doubt it. The general manager doesn’t come out with his employees. There’s probably something in the handbook about it. I should probably get to perusing more than the non-fraternization policy. Anyway, he’s not going to be here and that’s a good thing. We are boss and employee moving forward. That’s all.

I glance at the door before I can stop myself. Looking for his big shoulders. That bow tie.

Dammit.

“Stella.” Jordyn waves her hand in front of my face. “We were talking about me.”

“Right.” I breathe a laugh, realizing I’m being somewhat of a hypocrite. “Forget I said anything. I’m not telling you who to date. If you’re not interested, there’s a good reason.”

Jordyn nods. “That’s right. I’m just, you know…he’ll lose interest. Men always do.” Some of her usual self-assuredness slips. “My ex-boyfriend sure did. A day before our wedding.”

A weight drops in my belly. “Oh. Jordyn, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m better off,” she says quickly, shrugging. “But if a man with a 401k who wants children can’t even commit for the long term, Seamus sure as hell can’t, either. He’s still wet behind the ears. A caretaker is what he needs. And I’m not here to check some older woman box for him, you know?” When I start to respond to that, she slashes a hand through the air to signal a close to the discussion. “I don’t say this very often, but enough about me. Have you got your eye on anyone?”

That grin.

The Tennessee drawl.

How he holds me.

How easy it is to talk to him.

“No,” I say gruffly, surprised when it hurts to deny a bond with Aiden. Stomach plunging hurt. “Nobody yet. Maybe in the new year.”

She hums, scrutinizing me a little too closely. With an exaggerated movement, she turns toward the entrance of Monarch. “Totally unrelated, I wonder if Mr. Cook will actually show up this time.”

I choke on a sip of my drink. “Totally unrelated. Sure.”

Jordyn pats my knee. “Don’t worry, I’m the only one who saw you two in the backseat of his car this morning. I distracted the other managers by telling them I saw Michael B. Jordan on the street corner.”

“Thank you.” I have no idea where to start explaining this, but oddly, I find myself mostly concerned with how this will reflect on Aiden. He’s right. As the one who holds professional power, he’d be ten football fields further into the wrong than me if word got out. “Look, it’s complicated. It can’t go anywhere obviously. And…I just don’t want you to think I got hired because there’s something going on between us. He wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t—”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Stella. Your work speaks for itself. And I’m not judging, okay? Whatever your secret is, it’s safe with me.”

She holds eye contact until I nod and finally let out the breath I’m holding. “What did you mean about him actually showing up this time?”

“There’s nothing going on between you and Mr. Cook, but you want to know more, right?” She tosses back her head and laughs. “Classic.”

Wincing, I hide behind my martini glass.

“I just meant I always invite him to happy hour, but he never shows. He’s…” Absently, Jordyn glances over at where Seamus is standing near the bar, her spine snapping straight when she sees a woman approach Seamus with a flirtatious smile, trailing a finger down his shoulder. “Excuse me? Hold that thought.”

I have to press my fist to my mouth to keep the laugh from bursting out. Because Jordyn is on her feet and on a mission, maybe even an unconscious one. A moment later, she’s tapping Seamus on the shoulder. He looks relieved by the interruption, then full-on shocked when Jordyn pulls him away from the other woman and out onto the dancefloor.

With a kick of hope in my chest for the lovesick custodian, I take my half-finished apple pie martini and stand, crossing to the other side of the enclosed rooftop. There is a break in the heated tent leading out into the open air and I step through it now, resting my elbows on the wrought-iron barrier that runs the perimeter of the roof. I forgot to put on my jacket, but the cold air is welcome on my skin, overheated from the crowd and, let’s face it, being called out by Jordyn. I sip my drink and watch 35th Street bottlenecking below with Friday night traffic, the top of the Empire State Building peeking out over the buildings, lit up in red and green.