Page 1 of Kisses and Paperclips

Chapter 1

Serena

Ihad two rules for walking Atlanta’s streets: Keep your head up and your phone down. Simple, right? But when an email notification popped up with the subject line: Important CEO, let us say I didn’t follow my advice. I should’ve. Especially downtown. After work hours, the streets buzzed with a rhythm that could sweep you up or swallow you whole.

I was starving after a long day and craved a satisfying meal, anything but my sad, frozen dinner. One would think that being thirty-something, educated, and independent would translate to self-control, but it hasn’t been for me. My phone buzzed. Already distracted, I swiped open the message before I could think twice. It was from Stephen, my assistant, and in classic Stephen fashion, the email was as dramatic as he was: a riddle wrapped in a mystery and dusted with unnecessary exclamation points.

Serena, we need to talk ASAP about CEO shenanigans. And no, I can’t say more over email. Brace yourself.

Brace myself? For what? I frowned, my pace slowing while I tried to decipher his cryptic message. Stephen loved his theatrics, but this felt different. For starters, he sent it to my personal email. My gut twisted—nothing to do with hunger. I was so busy trying to figure out what he meant; I didn’t see someone walking toward me until it was too late. I collided with a wall of muscle, my phone wobbled in my grip, and my purse slipped from my shoulder and spilled its contents across the pavement. Lipstick rolled one way, my wallet another, and I crouched instinctively, trying to gather the pieces. But it’s not the sidewalk that threw me off balance.

“Take it easy, baby,” a deep voice rumbled.

Baby? I blinked, then blinked again. I found it annoying when people used pet names for strangers. I bet he wouldn’t use any pet names if I were an elderly lady hunched over with a cane. “Sorry,” I managed, still startled by the collision. My voice came out softer than I intended, and I hated it. Why was I apologizing? He was the one who’d materialized out of nowhere like a brick wall with a voice. I took in his stance, how his enormous frame crowded my space, and remembered one hard truth: out here, you met three kinds of men. Most barely looked twice, unless they had already decided you were worth another notch on their bedpost.

First, there’s Mr. Creepy, who made everyone uncomfortable in high school. He would win an award for “Most Likely to Give You Serial Killer Vibes.” You sense him before you see him. He is the one who makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, activating your inner survival mode.

Then comes Mr. Indifferent. He is your safest bet, so lost in his world that he’s been unaware his zipper has been down all day. He is the one who might notice you struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf in the grocery store, but only after you have practically climbed the shelves. His offer of help seemed to carry a subtle “Did you see that?” seeking approval for his good deed.

And finally, there’s Mr. Polite. Oh, he has all the moves. His chivalry and choice of words are always perfect. He will hold every door with a smile that says he’s a gentleman, but make no mistake, that charm is just as much about him as it is about you. Behind that “kindness,” he’s already plotting his next move, smooth and sweet as pie, with one-minded goal: to charm you right out of those panties.

And there it is. In the end, every one of them wants something. That quiet assumption in their gaze, that spark in their eye? It is a sense of entitlement, an unspoken expectation that they deserve something. To them, it is a game where showing up guarantees a reward.

But just like that, there he was. All tall and too close, tossing out “baby” like we have had history. Mr. Creepy arrived on time, as if following an unwritten sidewalk rule.

“Typical.” I crouched to gather my scattered survival kit: lipstick, loose change, and a rogue tampon that had made a break for it under the bench. I stuffed everything back in my bag, desperate to escape.

“What’d you say?” His tone shifted enough to make me pause. Not hostile, but laced with an edge that lifted the hairs on my neck. A quiet challenge. I dare you to repeat it.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, plastering on the polite smile every woman knows is as much a shield as an act. My whole body was on high alert, every muscle coiled tight like a spring. It had been a long day, and I only wanted to make it home without incident. Was that too much to ask? He stood there, looming, his presence like a shadow stretching too far. I could feel his heavy and lingering gaze, even without looking up. It was not a look that asked permission. He had his eyes on me, like he owned the sight of me. I sat back on my heels, keeping my back straight, my posture firm. It was a silent message; one I had sent a thousand times before: I see you. Back off. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. As I scooped up the last of my things and stood, I could already feel the chill creeping up my spine, the kind that told me I needed to move. Now. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, my instincts screaming to escape.

“Aye, why you in a rush, shorty?” He stepped closer, his voice too casual and familiar. I did everything but scream, Leave me alone! To show I wasn’t interested. I didn’t answer. Instead, I power-walked, my heels clicking on the pavement—an obvious message to stay back. But of course, he didn’t.

Here we go.

“I’m running late,” I said over my shoulder, keeping my stride, but he kept pace, his breathing getting heavier with each step. “Meeting my boyfriend,” I lied, smooth as silk. A fictional man had gotten me out of worse situations than this. “Boyfriend?” he scoffed, leaning in closer, the smell of cigarettes hitting me, followed by heavy cologne I hadn’t noticed before. “What kind of man lets a fine-ass woman like you walk around here all alone, anyway?” Of course, he thought another man dictated what I did.

I kept quiet.

Something about his low chuckle felt menacing, making my heart race. As I approached the outdoor grocery shop ahead, my eyes landed on a man holding a bouquet. In hindsight, I should have assumed those flowers were for someone special, a girlfriend or a wife. At that moment, I didn’t care. My focus was getting away from this stranger who would not let up.

Standing near an outdoor flower shop just up ahead, surrounded by roses and lilies, was a tall, dark man with broad shoulders. God, that man has the build of a linebacker. The calmness in his movement made him seem safe enough, at least for a moment. He looked lost in thought while the florist finished wrapping his order.

I acted before logic could catch up. Brushing past the clueless man, I strode toward the guy holding flowers. Instinctively, my hand went to his waist, my fingers touching the firm surface of his stomach. Chestnut eyes snapped to mine, wary, darkening with something hotter. When his gaze dropped to my lips and lingered, every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire.

The thing about throwing yourself at a stranger and kissing him like your life depends on it? You pray, no, you beg, that he gets the message and doesn’t shove you into oncoming traffic.

I barely breathed the words. “Just go with it.” A whisper. A prayer. A last effort to escape whatever turn this night was taking.

The stranger hesitated. His brows pulled together, the briefest flicker of confusion passing through his gaze. And in that instant, I think this is it. This is how I die. Not from a tragic accident, not in a cinematic, I Know What You Did Last Summer slasher way. Nope, death by embarrassment when this man tells me to get my crazy ass away from him.

But then, something shifted. His sharp gaze softened just a fraction, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. A silent understanding passed between us, heavy and unspoken. I don’t know what made him change his mind, but he did. And just like that, I could breathe again.

So, I went for it.

I gripped the collar of his jacket and pulled him down to me, my lips crashing against his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mouth tasted like mint and cinnamon, like a man who either prepared for moments like this or just had an inherently sexy breath.

I expected resistance, a pause, even for us to stumble a bit since we are strangers. Instead, his lips brushed mine, light at first, almost hesitant, like he was giving me a moment to back out.

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