Not Sorry

Part I

1

Sean

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I promised I would never come back to Chicago. It’s too damn cold here. Still, I find myself stepping off a plane at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago. Why?

Because I’m an idiot.

And, when Jamie Parks calls me, saying she needs help, I come running. I would do anything for that girl, and she knows it, including marrying her, if she would only say yes. But I know that’s not in the cards for us. It’s been over a year since the last time I saw her. I’m just hoping she’ll let me take her on a date after I help her save her real estate company.

I wheel my carry-on bag through the airport and out to Arrivals where Jamie said she would pick me up, but I don’t see Jamie waiting for me anywhere. I sigh. Jamie always used to run late.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and get started on answering emails and returning daily phone calls to check in with my company. I pace back and forth as I talk, trying to stay warm, which is impossible due to the snow and cold wind that are whipping around the side of the airport and hitting me straight in the face over and over again.

Fuck this.

I head back into the airport to wait for Jamie. I text her that I’m just inside Arrivals and then continue doing work until she gets here.

I hang up on my latest call and glance at the time. She’s over forty minutes late. This is getting ridiculous. I should have just taken a cab to her office.

The doors slide open, letting in another burst of cold air that I’m getting more than annoyed with, but there isn’t anywhere else for me to wait. I glance at the woman standing in the doorway, hoping it’s Jamie, but I immediately realize that it isn’t.

Still, I continue to stare at the woman in the doorway, transfixed with how much of a giant mess she is. She’s wearing dark snow boots that look white from the snow that is covering them. Her legs are shivering because, for some crazy reason, she decided not to wear pants or tights or those yoga pant things women usually wear. And she is wearing the smallest yet puffiest pink coat I’ve ever seen. In her hand, she is carrying a cup of coffee from what I assume is a local coffee shop because I don’t recognize the brand on the side of the cup.

She nervously glances around the room and then smiles when she sees me. She walks over to me, and I think she is going to ask for directions or how an airport works because she looks completely out of place here. Hopefully, she is traveling someplace warm, which would explain her bare legs. I will admit, those legs do look hot—long and lean, just like I like. I guess it would be a waste of good legs if she covered them.

“Are you Sean?” the woman asks.

My eyes widen a bit in shock, partially from the fact that she knows my name and partially when I see that she is wearing makeup on only about half of her face. I laugh a little at the sight. I can’t help it. But then the door opens, and another breeze of cold air pushes through us. Her long, frizzy dark hair blows in her face, and my nose breathes in her sweet smell. Apples and cherries maybe?

This woman is clearly having an off day. I hope it’s an off day because I can’t imagine anyone going through life every day like this. But, underneath all of the mess, something has me intrigued.

“Yes, although no one calls me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Jamie didn’t tell me that you went by a nickname.”

I shake my head, chuckling a little bit. “I don’t go by a nickname.”

“Oh.” She frowns, unsure of what I mean.

“I go by Mr. Burrows.”

She bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Burrows. I’m just so happy I found you. You have no idea about the morning I’ve had.”

I snicker as I look her up and down and cock my head to one side. “I have a pretty good idea.”

She blushes. “Anyway, I’m Olive. I’ll be driving you to the Parks Real Estate office.”

I frown. Jamie couldn’t even bother to come pick me up.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Burrows,” Olive says as she leans forward.

I have no idea what she is doing. I assume she has to tell me something privately, so I lean forward a little, too, and the next thing I know, her lips graze my cheek before brushing against my lips.

I smile when her soft lips touch mine. I assume she is passing along a greeting from Jamie, and her lips are very nice. I will never turn down a kiss.

But, the next moment, I feel hot coffee all over my body, and I look up to see a blushing Olive with a cup of coffee in her hand that I’m sure is empty now.

“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to spill coffee on you. I bought it because I figured, with your early morning flight, you would need some coffee to get through today. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kiss you. Um…I’m sorry. I’m not used to the two-cheek-kiss thing you do in Europe. I’m sorry.”

I look down at my light-blue shirt and black slacks that are now covered in coffee. It’s just not as visible on my pants as it is my shirt. I packed lightly. Everything I brought with me is inside a small carry-on. I doubt that I’m going to be here very long. Jamie just said she needed some help. I’m sure I can have her company headed in the right direction in no time.

“It’s fine. I’ll just need you to point me in the direction of a dry cleaner later.”

“When you get to the office, you can change, and I’ll have this dry-cleaned for you by the end of the day.”

I nod. “Lead the way.”

I follow Olive outside and am thankful that she parked against the curb even though I’m sure it is breaking the rules. You aren’t supposed to park your car against the curb.

A security officer is standing outside of Olive’s Mercedes.

“Is this your car, miss? It’s a no parking zone,” the security officer says.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll move it right now,” Olive says, climbing into the driver’s seat.

The officer gives her a stern look but then nods. I toss my carry-on into the backseat and then climb in the front seat, next to Olive. She immediately pulls out and begins driving.

I glance around the interior of her car. It’s nice, really nice. “Your car is nice. Jamie must pay you well for you to afford something this nice.”

Olive blushes. “It’s not my car. It’s Jamie’s. She gave it to me to come pick you up since I don’t own a car.”

; I look around now, more amazed with Jamie. She’s doing well for herself if she can afford this.

“So, what do you do for Jamie?”

“I’m her assistant,” Olive answers.

I nod. It makes sense, although I’m not sure Olive is doing the best job she could as an assistant. Maybe that’s what Jamie needs me to do. Prune the employees who aren’t doing so well to help her continue to grow.

Olive surprises me with how she manages Chicago traffic for someone who doesn’t own a car. She drives efficiently and safely but quickly gets us to the office.

“Thanks for picking me up, Olive,” I say as I climb out of the car.