Julian's Pursuit (2 page)

Beneath that reserved and icy exterior, Sadie was a hot, sexy little kitten just waiting to purr. And I couldn’t wait to stroke her.

“What do you want, Julian?” she asked impatiently, as if I were some bothersome gnat. “I’m very busy and can’t waste time with idle chatter.”

The sound of loud snorting wafted over from Tim’s desk.

“I was just wondering…” I cleared my throat twice. “If you’d like to go out for lunch today?”

She looked at me, her eyes slightly widening in surprise before she resumed her cool, disdainful expression. “No,” she said in clear dismissal.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained
. So I ventured. “How about coffee later on?”

“I’m busy.”

With the determination akin to a mating salmon, I hardened my resolve and said, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“I would mind that very much.” An edge of rancor slipped into her voice.

“It was just
one
question.”

“Well, I have about two hundred, but they’ll have to wait.”

The icy mockery in her voice was enough to strip the flesh from my bones.

Enough. But not
nearly
enough.

“Look,” I said. “Can I be perfectly honest with you?”

Her mouth pinched in annoyance. “Is it necessary to begin your conversation with, ‘can I be perfectly honest’? Does that mean everything else you say is a lie? Or a half truth, since you are just now being perfectly honest?”

“Wait—what?”

“And I’m sorry.” Her voice was drier than leftover biscotti. “What was it about me sitting in my office, ignoring you, that signaled you to come over and speak to me?”

Unblinking, I stared at her. Hard. “I think I’m hearing you say that you wish to be left alone.”

Narrowing her gaze, she stared back even harder.

I stared back. Extra hard.

She stared back. Extra,
extra
hard.

What the fuck is this, a staring contest?

Sadie continued to stare, holding my eyes firmly until I gave way and blinked. “That is precisely what I’m saying, yes.”

“Okay.” I gave a curt nod, then walked away, leaving what was left of my scrotum on the floor.

Nevertheless, I grew a brand new pair the next day and tried again.

And I tried the next day. And the one after that.

And day after day, she sent me a searing glare that would have shriveled a lesser man.

On day seven, I asked, “How about drinks after work?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I like to go straight home after work.”

Not to be deterred, I said, “Instead of lunch, how about we get some fro-yo?”

“Fro-yo?” Her eyes flickered toward me for a brief moment. Then she resumed working on her computer in silence as if I weren’t even there.

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Fro-yo, you know… frozen yogurt.”

“I know what fro-yo is,” she said brusquely. Under her breath, she seemed to mutter to herself, “Fro-yo. Yolo.”

“What’d you just say?”

“No-nothing.” She paused a moment, then shook her head. “That’s just something my son always says.”

I stared at her in surprise. No one at the office had ever mentioned anything about Sadie having a kid.

In the ensuing silence, I caught her staring at the stacks of Rainbow Loom bracelets on my left wrist.

“Shelby, my niece, she made these for me because she loves me,” I explained. “So now I wear something hideously ugly to proclaim I am loved.”

Her delicate brows arched in a question. “And you don’t think you’re too cool for Rainbow Looms?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have a style worth worrying about losing, so the rubber bracelets are probably an improvement.”

The briefest smile strained the corners of her lips and she held up her left hand.

Multiple Rainbow Looms adorned her slender wrist. “I can relate,” she said.

But she still hadn’t answered my question.

“So…” I persisted. “Would you like to go? For some fro-yo?”

“You sound like Dr. Seuss,” she pointed out.

I gave a half laugh. “And you’re deflecting my question.”

“Well…” she trailed off.

As her hesitation stretched, I added, “We can discuss the Aleshead Pilsner account.”

Her answering sigh was a slow, tired rasp. “Sure,” she said at last. “Why not?”

“TCBY down the street. My treat. I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon. I’ve got back-to-back meetings with my team, but I’ll be there at twelve on the dot for our lunch date.”

“It’s not a date,” she corrected.

“Right.” I nodded. “See you at noon.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she directed her gaze to her computer screen, my sign that I was dismissed.

Chapter Two

“So…” I gave Sadie a lazy grin. “Do you think I’ll get arrested if I hold my head under the spout and let the yogurt gush into my mouth like a river?”

She just shook her head slightly as if to say,
Stop being an idiot
.

“Hey.” I shrugged. “It’s not my fault they give me full control of the levers.”

Pointedly ignoring me, Sadie adjusted the bag on her shoulder and said decisively, “Well, I’ve been here for thirty seconds. I say it’s time for some free samples.”

“Free samples!” I exclaimed. “You may have just uttered my two favorite words.”

Looking around and noticing the absence of any sample cups, Sadie frowned. “I guess we’ve gotta go up to the counter and ask for sample cups.”

“What!” I feigned outrage. “No sample cups laid out for the customers?
Rude
. And c’mon, do we really have to ask for them?” I gestured toward the man-boy behind the counter. “Now, you know that
he
knows we want some free samples, so why make us go through this whole charade?”

Sadie managed a micro-smile and even nodded a little.

“Hi,” I greeted the young man behind the counter. He was sixteen at the most, but he looked like he could bench-press five times his bodyweight. “Could we have some sample cups?”

The meathead handed me three measly cups. Three.

Fucking fro-yo Nazi.

“Could we have a couple more sample cups?” Sadie asked politely. “Please.”

The kid just stared at her with a sort of dazed expression on his face, like he was all scrambled inside his head.

Must be the protein shakes
, I surmised.

Meanwhile, Sadie saw an opening and acted on it. Stepping up to the counter, she swiped a mountain of cups out of his hand and smiled her thanks.

When we were out of earshot, I said, “That kid has a crush on you. His heart was going a hundred miles per hour when you were next to him.”

“Nah.” She waved my words aside. “If his heart were racing, it’s probably the steroids.”

A slow grin began to spread across my face… Already I felt like we were in sync.

We spent the next several minutes sampling all the flavors without the tiniest bit of shame. “We’re in luck today,” Sadie remarked. “They have
all
the flavors. Every time I go out for frozen yogurt, they’re out of five flavors, and it’s seriously distressing.”

I studied her with a glint of amusement. “You go out for frozen yogurt pretty often?”

She shrugged. “At least once a week.”

Once we were satisfied with our choices, we grabbed giant cups the size of bathtubs and went to town.

Out of left field, a teenage girl with Kardashian-levels of glamour shouldered past me and walked up to the register. “That’ll be $1.97,” the kid told her.

Turning to face Sadie, I said, “Really? $1.97? What’s her cup filled with? A spoonful of sprinkles and a splash of yogurt?”

Sadie met my gaze, the corners of her mouth lifting as if sharing a private joke.

And I was proud of Sadie. Her cup was brimming with so much yogurt it was practically the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“You know,” I went on. “I don’t understand people who get $2 yogurts when all they really want is a tub full of yogurt, a mountain of brownie bites, and diabetes. So why not just listen to their hearts?”

In the meantime, while I’d been talking, Sadie was busy listening to
her
heart.

She tossed a lychee and five scoops of raspberries over her mountain of Reese’s peanut butter cups, crushed Oreos, gummy bears, and Fruity Pebbles.

Not to be outdone, I shoveled some strawberries over my brownie bites, M&Ms, and Skittles. “The fruit toppings help me retain the illusion that this is a healthy dessert,” I explained.

The look she leveled at me could have frozen the Pacific Ocean. “This
is
a healthy dessert.”

“Say no more.” I held up a hand in mock surrender. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

The moment of truth soon arrived.

Dun, dun, dun, DUN
. It was time for the weigh-in.

“Oh! Hell no.” I glared at the kid when he tried to add the spoons before our weigh-in was complete. “Don’t you dare!”

Sadie’s eyes grew wide, though a smile played behind them. “Yeah,” she said, backing me up. “Don’t you dare add those spoons! We’re not splurging an extra half a cent for spoons we are entitled to.”

I nodded sagely. “You heard the lady.”

The kid rolled his eyes and rang up our order. “That’ll be $25.95,” he announced.

Outside, we found a vacant bench and sat on opposite ends, turning to face each other. As we enjoyed our frozen yogurt, conversation naturally veered to the one thing we had in common—work.

“How’d the meeting go with your team?” she asked.

“Good,” I said. “The usual—client wants a bigger logo. You know what they say,” I added dryly. “Drink the blood of the creatives and you can make bigger logos. And since Budweiser did that puppy ad, now Aleshead Pilsner wants a puppy ad, too.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, her lips quirking slightly. “Sounds like the Pilsner account is going just
swell
.”

“It’s not that bad, really.” I stretched an arm over the back of the bench. “Sure beats working on the Daisy Diaper account.”

She spooned some yogurt into her mouth. “Isn’t Tim managing that account?”

“Yeah, and he’s not too thrilled, either. I’d take a microbrewery over baby diapers any day.” I paused. “Hey, if you ever need diapers, I have boxes of free samples.”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I only have one kid, and he’s out of diapers.”

“How old is he?”

“Evan turns six this month. In exactly two weeks, actually.” She dimpled prettily at this, making her look impossibly young, the warmth and affection for her son plain on her face.

“What’s he like?” I asked.

“He’s fun and curious and messy and smart,” she said, and I saw the love in her eyes and the change in her voice when she spoke of him. “Sometimes he can be fearless.”

“Does he play any sports?” I asked casually.

There was the slightest hesitation before she answered. “He would like to, but at the moment… um, he can’t.” The fleeting tenderness of just a moment past was gone and she became guarded, defensive even. “Are you always this nosy?”

I laughed. “Only curious.” After a quiet heartbeat, I asked, “So why can’t he?”

“Why can’t he what?”

“Play any sports.”

“He just can’t.” She seemed agitated by my question, so I didn’t press further.

“My niece, Shelby,” I said, “she loves sports; basketball, soccer, volleyball—she plays them all. Can’t sit still, that little one. Always bouncing around like Tigger.” I continued to talk easily about myself, sharing stories about my family, hoping she’d respond the same way, but she didn’t.

There were so many layers to Sadie. I knew she wasn’t married. I knew she was single. And just today, I found out she was a single mom. But I wanted to know more. “Tell me,” I said. “Some of your likes… or some your pet peeves.”

“Okay.” She paused and seemed to consider my question for a moment. “How about I start with some of my pet peeves?”

“Fire away.”

“All right,” she said. “I can’t stand people who say they don’t have time to hate because they’re too busy loving people who love them.” Her lips curled faintly. It was a semblance of a smile, and I realized it was her attempt at making a snarky joke.

I made a show of gagging. “Me, too,” I agreed whole-heartedly. “And I hate it when people don’t hate the people I hate.”

“Liar.” She smirked. “You’re one of
those
people. You seem to like everything. And everyone.”

“Not true,” I said. “I hate texting people who don’t use emojis. It makes me feel like I’m texting an emotionless droid.”

“I don’t use emojis,” she deadpanned.

“Well, I take that back, then,” I said with tremendous charm and quickly changed the subject. “You know what else I can’t stand? People who romanticize Scotland.”

“Hey!” she squawked. “I happen to love Scotland. I’d love to go there someday, live in the Scottish Highlands, and speak nothing but Gaelic.”

“Gaelic, huh?”

“Gaelic.” She gave me a half smile, as if daring me to contradict. “It’s a beautiful language,” she insisted.

“Oh-
kay
.” I struggled but failed to keep a straight face. If she liked Scottish Gaelic, who was I to argue? “Ya know, I can speak some Gaelic,” I told her. “Och, wee lassie, dinnae teach yer granny tae suck eggs.” I paused. “I think it means don’t try and teach me something I already know. Oh, and I also know some random words like: loch, aye, ach, bairn, eedjit, didnae, ye ken, noo, oot, verra, sassenach, and skinny malinkly longlegs.”