Page 11 of Strictly Yours

She looks around with her arms up. “Where are the decorations?”

“We don’t do that around here.”

“Right,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Because balloons wouldn’t be businessey enough. Whose birthday was it anyway? Did you reward them by letting them leave at eight o’clock?”

I tense. Just for a second.

But she notices.

“Wait… it’syourbirthday, isn’t it?”

I go still.

“Oh my god. It’s yourbirthday. And you’re still working! You’ve been here all day. Alone. Working. On your birthday?”

“I like working,” I mutter.

“On yourbirthday?!”

I let out a long sigh. “It’s just a day.”

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Her hazel eyes go all wide and crazy.

“It’s not justa day. It’s yourbirthday. The day Logan Strickland burst into this world and graced the universe with his presence. It’s the first day you took a breath. The first day your mother smiled at you. The first day some lucky doctor smacked your cute little tush. If that’s not worth celebrating, then what the hell is?”

I can’t help but smile as I watch this girl. We couldn’t possibly think any differently, but for some reason, I’m inexplicably drawn to her. I can’t look away.

“We’re going out,” she says, reaching forward and tapping the elevator button continuously with her finger. “We’re celebrating.”

“We are?” I say, my smile turning into a grin.

“It’s your birthday,” she says. “We’re in New York. We’re friends. We’re going out.”

“We’re friends?”

She looks at me and gives me a firm nod. “I’ve decided it. Sorry, but you don’t get a say.”

If I had a say, we’d be more than friends. I do have a lot to say on the matter, but for now, I’ll take what I can get.

“You don’t have to—” I start.

“I know,” she says, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “I want to.”

And just like that, she’s in charge.

The elevator doors open and she steps in like she owns the damn building, her suitcase rolling behind her with a cheerful little squeak.

She’s so confident. So sure of herself. There’s no hesitation even though she just arrived in this city. It’s like dragging strange men out into the night is just another thing she does between breaking and entering and feline medication schedules.

I wonder if she knows she just tilted my life on its axis. That she’s shaken me to my core.

“Coming, Mr. Birthday Boy?” she asks as she holds the door open.

“I like that better than your last nickname for me.”

“You have three seconds to join me or we’re back to Mr. Cranky Pants.”

I grin as I step in.

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