No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(14)

“Was?” he asked, his tone hesitant.

“He died in a plane crash when I was twelve. He was the pilot.” I had no idea why I admitted that to him. I could have just shrugged, claimed it was a random number, but something about Aidan made me feel too raw to lie. Like with the phone itself—why had I passed it to him so easily? I was standing right there, so it wasn’t like he could search my phone, but a person’s phone was a sacred thing. Home to friends and family, embarrassing texts and photos that should have been deleted the moment they were snapped. Yet I had passed mine to him without hesitation.

It took me a second to realize that he was watching me. I looked up, unwilling to show too much emotion. My dad died. It was a long time ago, and while I would always feel that ache in my chest, more than anything I just wanted to be the daughter he raised. To make him proud. I expected Aidan to say he was sorry or ask more questions, but he simply nodded, typed in the password, and then began reading the notes I had up on the screen. My ideas for the campaign.

He didn’t speak as he read them or nod or give any indication that he had any opinion at all. But then he set my phone down and leaned back in his chair, his hands linked behind his head as he stared past me. I turned around to see what was on the wall behind me, the same wall I’d seen him focused on the night before. It was a painting of a young man with a toy train facing a man who was attempting to pull a locomotive with a rope. I studied the painting for a long time, then glanced back at Aidan to find him watching me.

“It’s a Pawel Kuczynski piece.”

“It’s deep.” I eyed the painting again.

“His work is very satirical. A different look at the world. That’s what I try to do here. I want our ads to be different, to take a different approach to advertising. It isn’t enough to catch the consumer’s attention. You have to make them never forget.”

The passion in his voice made me want to sit and talk to him for hours about work, to pick apart his brain and discover how he’d risen in the company in such a short amount of time, but I knew I shouldn’t. Aidan had already made an impact on me.

I focused back on our campaign. “Is that what you’re trying for there?” I asked, pointing at his screen. The ad was horrible, but maybe he saw something in it I didn’t. After all, he was the expert.

He laughed, the effort completely changing his face. It made him look younger, more relaxed. “You’re joking, right? This shit makes me want to send Alan home for the day in hopes that he returns tomorrow with something more inspired.” Alan was one of two senior graphic designers for the agency, and clearly he’d misunderstood Aidan’s vision.

“Well, maybe…” What could I say? He was right—it was crap.

“There’s a team coming from Blast this afternoon. I want you to take your ideas to creative and ask them to come up with three mock-ups. Tell Alan to pack up his things if he hands over another ad like this one.”

I stared at Aidan. “I’m not telling him that. I barely know him. Shouldn’t you be the one to take the ideas over?”

His mouth twitched, and the warmth in me reignited. Why did he have to be so sexy? “You do realize you work for me, don’t you?”

“Technically, I work for Gayle.”

“Who works for me.”

He cocked his head slightly, daring me to argue. I had no idea why I was arguing with him. He was my boss. For all the convolutedness of our situation, that detail was perfectly clear. But ordering the senior designers in creative to do something for me, an entry-level nobody, ranked high on my I’d-rather-scrub-toilets list.

“Don’t worry, they won’t bite.”

Snatching my phone off his desk, I started for the door. “Fine, but I’m not telling them the firing bit. You can do that yourself.” I could almost hear his smile from across the room as I slipped through the door.

…

I stood in line at Starbucks an hour later, desperate for a pick-me-up after my attempts to explain my ideas to Alan and Trent, the designers on the campaign, who did little more than stare at me while I spoke. I still wasn’t sure they understood a word I said. Regardless, the Blast Water people would be at our office at one for a lunch meeting, and I wanted to be on my game, show that I was an active part of the team.

My thoughts drifted back to Aidan and his words from his office. I tried not to dissect every moment, but something about him put me on edge. I wanted him to like me, in more ways than I should.

“What do you suggest?” a voice asked from behind me, yanking me from my thoughts. I turned around to see a man dressed in the sort of suit that could max out a credit card. He had deep brown hair and olive skin and a flashy smile that said he knew exactly how he looked and planned to use his looks to their full potential.

“It’s Starbucks,” I said, teasing. “Something tells me you know how this works.” The barista asked for my drink order and I called out my regular grande vanilla latte and motioned for the guy to place his order. I waited for him to say something like venti, double shot, blah, blah, blah, but instead he flashed me a grin again and said to the barista, “I’ll have a coffee. Black. Whatever size you think is fine, or better yet, let her decide.” His gaze swept from the barista to me, where it held.

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “Wow, you really are a Starbucks virgin. How does that happen, exactly?”