The One I Want

I shouldn’t be doing this. Sleeping with my receptionist is not only a cliché but could also end badly. I need to drop her off and go home alone.

The neon signs from outside pass in a flash, leaving shadows in their wake. We stop at a light, and I look over at her. “Juni?”

“Drew?”

We speak at the same time. Laughing, we both reply, “Yes?” in unison.

“Jinx,” I add, which makes her smile. “You go first.”

As I work through her body language, she appears to be relaxed. There’s no tension found in her shoulders or anywhere else, but then she asks, “Are we doing the right thing?”

“I was just wondering the same.” I reach over and take her hand. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship. I enjoy our late-night adventures and seeing you at work. If we do anything, that would all change.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I promise you it’s not from lack of attraction or wanting to be with you sexually.”

Her fingers wrap around mine, holding tight to my hand. “That’s just it. I feel the same. Doesn’t that mean it’s already too late?”

“That’s a fair point.” I’m not sure what else to say.

But she does. Leaning forward, she tells my driver, “Mr. Christiansen’s place, please.”

My driver knows what this is but doesn’t judge from the comfort of the driver’s seat. He replies, “Yes, ma’am,” but his eyes never leave the street ahead. It’s a first for me having company come home as much as it is for him to witness it.

She sits back again. This time, a little closer. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but I’m not going to complain. The car pulls to the curb, and Gil runs out. He opens the door and says, “Welcome home, Andrew.”

I slide out and then bend back to help Juni. Gil’s reaction is strange when he sees her, words escaping him. So her feelings aren’t hurt, I say, “Gil, this is Juni,” hoping he’ll show her the same courtesy he always shows me.

“Uh . . .”

Juni smiles, and though it seems a little tighter than usual, she’s still so beautiful. “Hi, Gil.”

“Hello,” he replies, curt in a way I’ve not heard him before. His departure is just as abrupt.

I glance at her, and quietly say, “He’s usually friendlier.”

“He was perfectly cordial. What do you expect? A lifelong support system? Someone who will lie for you even if they promised their mom on her deathbed not to? How can you possibly expect a man to have your favorite donut on hand just in case you had a bad day or need a sugar pick-me-up?” She releases my hand as if that will win her a point and then raises her voice. “Geez, Andrew. Give the man a break. That’s a lot of responsibility to put on the shoulders of the doorman.”

I force myself to blink because I can’t make any sense out of how this turned into an argument between us. “I don’t expect anything of him,” I reply like I have to explain I’m not a total asshole to Gil. “Just opening the door is great. But if I’m being honest, I don’t need someone to open a door for me. I know having a doorman is a thing to brag about in Manhattan, but I’m perfectly capable.”

I’m poked in the chest, and then she wags her finger at me. “Well, keep that to yourself, mister, or you might risk his job, and he has a family to support.”

“What? I’m—I, uh. I’m not reporting him.” I spy Gil out of the corners of my eyes, and now I’m thinking about his life outside this building, and his daughter, Izzy, his wife, and the girl he considers his daughter. He gives us privacy, keeping his gaze aimed straight down the avenue. More importantly, how did I manage to upset her? I’m beginning to think we’re not going to make it upstairs.

Remembering a time when my dad sat Nick and me down for a heart-to-heart, I didn’t understand what he meant back then. Now I do and say the one thing he told us to say if a woman is ever mad at us. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter what we did or didn’t do. Take the blame, pay the price, but always apologize.

Juni drags her hand down the side of her hair, taming flyaway strands, but the puzzled expression aimed at me is unmistakable—narrowed eyes and pushed-together brows form a little line in the middle. “Why are you sorry?”

“For upsetting you.”

“I’m not upset.” The scowl on her face tells me otherwise.

Scratching my head, I stand there watching her walk toward the door. I’m so lost that I don’t think I can get this train back on track when it comes to her, but I’ll make the effort and follow her.