Page 6 of Flirty Thirty

“Those lids are unreliable at best,” he teases, tossing the soppy tissues into Phil’s trash can. My ability to humor him has flown out the window, along with any professionalism I may have possessed.

“You… you’re the…”

“Cooper,” he finishes with a heart-melting smile. He sticks his hand out to shake only to realize it’s gotten a bit moist from clean up duty. A low chuckle shakes his shoulders, and he wipes the tea residue onto the butt of his jeans. “By any chance do you know where Garrison Parks’ office is? He said it was right off the floor, but… obviously…” He waves a hand around at the clutter of agent desks. His eyes indicate no familiarization, absolutely nothing to the fact that he’s face to face with the woman he’s been jogging past every day for the last month, not to mention, the woman he kissed on his morning runyesterday.

The skeptical part of me perks up, knocking at the corners of my brain. Maybe I’m seeing things. “Two floors up,” is all I can mutter, pointing one finger sky high. My brows knit together, studying his features as thoroughly as I can before he’s back on the elevator. Maybe it’s a totally different man. A doppelganger at the least. Does insanity come standard at thirty? I was told it only creeps up on those with “Mom” brain.

He nods, taking a long step backward into the elevator and pressing the button on the side. I tilt my head, noticing how similar in body type, the hair, the smile lines—I won’t ever forget those smile lines.

“Thanks,” he says. The doors start to close, his face morphing from casual to apologetic in the last second. “And I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

The relief I feel in the realization that I’m not losing my mind is short-lived, quickly replaced by irritation. His apology is the last thing I see in his blue eyes before he’s on his merry way to the correct floor.No, wait!I have questions. Many, many of them.

My reflexes certainly aren’t what they used to be—by the time I scurry over to the up button, the elevator has already ascended. I let my head fall against the metal doors and bang it a few times. What just happened was definitely not one of the steps.

4

Backfire Hire

Improvisation is my forte, and you bet your bottom dollar I play it to my advantage. But Cooper Sterling has thrown me a massive curve ball, one I can’t seem to recover from even an hour after our encounter.

“It was a level beyond awkward,” I tell Sarah, pacing behind my desk in my bare feet. “There’s not a chance I’m getting that commission.”

Sarah bites her lip, most likely masking her amusement at the disarray of my appearance. The hour has given me ample time to pull my curled hair from its up-do, leaving it frayed and haggard. I’ve talked my lipstick clean off, my once crisp business look is now hanging loose, my top buttons undone in an attempt to breathe. This is how I deal with embarrassment, confusion, and when things do not go according to plan—destroy the wardrobe!

“Well, you’ve got the open house,” Sarah attempts an encouraging sort of smile. I’m sure she’s pinning my reaction as anoverreaction, but she doesn’t have all the information. Losing a big client happens every day—that’s not what I’m concerned about at the moment.

I blow out a breath, setting my hands on my waist as I study the view from my teeny tiny office window. I used to have a direct line to the city park—trees, joggers, birds, a pond. It was all very cathartic until they built Almonte’s, a Mexican eatery that, while very delicious, doesn’t give off the same vibe.

I tilt my head and snatch my cell from my desk.

Any chance we can move the date to tonight? I can meet you at Almonte’s after work.

It may not be the ideal place to woo a potential suitor, but it will ease my mind if I have plans tonight instead of dwelling on this insanity. I send the text off to Julie and then let the phone drop back on top of my messy desk.

“Should we do lunch?” Sarah asks, dragging her finger across her open iPad. “We have a bit of time between 1:00 and 3:00.”

“I thought Thomas was taking you out.”

She laughs me off. “I eat with my husband every day.”

I let out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm to ditch her hubs. Sarah’s in the honeymoon stage of her relationship as far as I can tell, even with the three kids—two with other men and the baby with Thomas. He slipped a ring on her finger late last year. He’s currently out of work, which is why Sarah finds herself with me more than him—she’s running herself ragged here—and I’m about to point that out when line one on my phone lights up.

“Maya?” Garrison’s voice comes from the speaker. My eyes turn to full moons, and I flick them up to Sarah donning an equally moon-struck expression.

“Um, yes Mr. Parks?”

“Are you available to run up to my office?”

Why?I feel like squeaking out at my boss. Instead I answer with a not-so-suave, “Sure thing,” and then the line goes dark again.

“Maybe you were more memorable than you thought,” Sarah says, excitement making her spine straighten in her seat. My stomach feels like it’s about to drop straight out my ass.

I take a deep breath and start toward the elevators when Sarah clears her throat and nods to my lack of footwear. Right… even if the boss wants something as menial as paperwork—which I doubt—I should probably show up in shoes.

After slipping on my heels, I clack my way to the elevator, heart thumping in a cadence much faster than my gait. Perhaps Mr. Kissy Face has already left—meetings like his rarely take longer than an hour, and it’s the only thing somewhat calming the jitters crawling under my skin.

The metal elevator doors shut me in, and a jolt runs through my stomach when I catch my reflection. I look as if I’m about to travel down the street in the infamous walk of shame. My fingers fumble around the hem of my shirt as I attempt to tuck it back into place, shakily trying to smooth out the fabric bumps in my pencil skirt. There is no hope for my hair. My stomach dips as the floor numbers tick upward, and I yank the pins from my frayed bun, bending at the waist and flipping my hair back and forth like a maniac, hoping that when I rise it gives off a wavy, relaxed effect. I only end up with a “just out of bed” version… which is a tick worse than where I was before.

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