Text Me, Maybe Page 9

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t ask for specifics—just reached out a hand and covered hers, his fingers caressing her skin in a pattern of light, soothing circles.

  Lexie stared at her Playbill. All she’d ever wanted was a love like her parents had. She’d searched all through high school and college, but she’d failed to find her fairy tale ending. Then she’d moved to New York and met her hunky trainer. Because of him, she’d experienced hot yoga and Starry Night and VIP treatment on Broadway. Warmth flooded her. Wonderful experiences—well, except for the awful hot yoga. She could’ve skipped that particular joy.

  She so wanted to give love another chance. Not with just anyone, but with Matthew. Sipping her punch, she fantasized about grabbing her modern, surprisingly cultured Thor by the tie and kissing him full on the mouth. She stifled a groan.

  I’m so screwed.

  Or was she? At least the man next to her liked her for her and was available. A mix of confidence and hope budded in the region of her heart, tempered by hard-earned caution. “I liked that last song. Empowering message.”

  He rubbed the scruff on his face. “I thought it was sad. Glinda insists on Elphaba changing while Elphaba asks her to leave behind her glam life. Both want to be together, but not enough to change.”

  “But Elphaba can’t change, even if she wanted to.” Just like me? “Elphaba is different to her core, with her green skin and her allergy to water. Glinda could leave, but she chooses her lifestyle over their friendship.”

  Matthew inched closer. “Isn’t Elphaba’s only true difference her skin color?”

  He smelled so incredible, his scent an aphrodisiac.

  “Some would say that’s a surface difference,” he continued, his expression thoughtful. “That she could choose to not let it define her. But others might see it as a fundamental difference she can’t overcome and must recognize and embrace before she can move forward. Everything else—her rebellious attitude, her clothes, the characters she hangs with—all are hers by choice. I think it’s more that she and Glinda have different life goals.”

  Lexie sucked in a breath and stared at the man who had become her friend, the man she wanted to climb onto and hug and kiss. Sure he was sexy, but more than that he was kind, funny, accepting, and smart. She was out of willpower and out of reasons not to taste his lips just once and see where it led. Dreams could become reality in the backseat of their limo…

  When we’re no longer surrounded by two thousand strangers.

  “Guess we’ll have to see what happens in the second act.” In desperate need of air, she rose from her velvet seat and stepped around him. “Where’s that fancy VIP Only restroom, again?”

  “I’ll show you.” His voice was strained.

  “Thanks,” she croaked, her synapses exploding in response to his nearness.

  A splash of cool water and fresh application of makeup in the upscale ladies’ room recaptured her clarity—if not her calm. Humming one of the play’s songs, Lexie returned to their secluded section.

  He wasn’t there.

  She shrugged off the sinking sensation in her middle and looked over the balcony to scan the theater below.

  People talked, ate, drank, checked their phones, or looked at their Playbills in seats scattered throughout the orchestra and mezzanine sections. Nothing new or inspiring there in regard to her playwriting aspirations. She leaned forward, arms crossed over her chest. One day, she’d sit in a grand theatre like this, and watch people enjoying her imagination come to life on stage. Her stomach fluttered, and she had to catch her breath. She just needed to keep working hard, and it would happen.

  The lights flickered to signal the second act.

  Souvenir bag in hand, Matthew slipped between the curtains and into his chair. “Hey, got you something.”

  “You didn’t need to.” She sank onto her velvet chair, staring at the mug she pulled out of the bag.

  “I figure you for a coffee drinker, but if not, maybe use it as a pen holder.”

  She smiled. He was so thoughtful. Did he have any idea how much he’d restored her faith in men with his unassuming generosity? A shudder ripped through her.

  I trust him?

  “Uh, thanks. For the mug, and for everything.” She’d kept her eyes open, and he’d proven he was a man who deserved a shot. She turned away for a moment to wipe at the corner of her eyes, then sat back in her seat.

  Matthew was sipping a new cocktail, his eyes locking on hers, then he was setting down his drink and shifting closer, his arm wrapping around her as the theater lights dimmed. “Thanks for telling me about your dad,” he whispered, then rested his other hand on his lap, palm up.

  Lexie reached out and completed their embrace, eyes on the stage but heart in her throat. She was on a precipice, and soon…there’d be no turning back.

  Could she do it?

  Curtain call forty minutes later found her smiling through happy tears, clapping until her hands were red and stinging. Without thinking, she turned toward Matthew and stepped into his embrace. And then she was thinking, but his arms were too warm, too soft, too inviting to resist. He felt so good, so strong and sure. “This was awesome,” she breathed, tilting her head back to gaze at his face.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that the Flying Monkey Punch talking, or you?”

  She jutted out her chin. The evening had been pure, unadulterated fantasy. “What do you think?”

  He squeezed her close, his head dipping toward hers…

  “Meet and Greet time, folks,” their attendant announced, head popping in between the curtains.

  Matthew jerked back. “Guess we should go.”

  Lexie followed as they sped through a narrow hallway with black walls and floors, then past a doorway labeled No Admittance and into a flurry of color, movement, and excitement. Photos snapped and she fangirled, grinning the whole way through the actors’ reception line. The mega-production’s cast was out in full force. Then she was stepping onto the city sidewalk crowded with fans, and sucking in the cool night air. “Wow. My face hurts from smiling so much.”

  “Kiss to make it better?” The softness in his voice added to the surreal quality of the night.

  Cool lips pressed against her left cheek, then the other.

  “Limo’s here,” he said. Smiling down at her, he held out his arm.

  Ah, a gentleman. Lexie smiled and set her hand on his forearm. Romantic…moving to the curb…ducking down and into the toasty limo…sliding across the plush leather seat.

  Alone at last. I’m ready for this. For us.

  Rubbing excited goose bumps, she gazed back.

  But he was stepping back.

  What the hell?

  The door closed with a click of finality, snapping her out of her sensual fog.

  She jerked forward and powered down the window. “What’s going on? You’re not coming?”

  Matthew’s voice floated in on the night air. “Had a wonderful evening. Tell the driver your address, and he’ll take you home.”

  “What are you talking about? Don’t be silly. Get in the limo and—” She stopped. Had the alcohol clouded her judgment? It must have, or else she’d have caught on that he’d changed his mind somewhere between the balcony and the street about wanting to be with her? After getting caught up in her feelings for him, after throwing caution to the wind, she was going to end up watching him walk away from her anyway. This was exactly why she didn’t open herself up to this sort of thing. Throat tight, she nodded. “Uh, yeah, okay. I understand.” She flashed a smile in his general direction. “Thanks again.”

  A few seconds later, a rap sounded on the roof above her, and the limo pulled into traffic to whisk her away, the replay of the Wicked soundtrack in her head her sole companion on the lonely drive back to her Bowery apartment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Night.” Sam stood in the doorway to her bedroom, stifling a yawn. “Feeling better?”

  Lexie put on a brave face and nodded from wh
ere she lay in her lumpy bed. “Thanks for listening.” No need for both of them to lose sleep because her fantasy date had ended so abruptly.

  “Look at all the good that came out of it. You took a risk, and for the most part, it was a wonderful, romantic evening.” Sam tilted her head. “How many guys would’ve made out with you in that limo without a care for how you might feel the next day? That’s the difference between a man like Matthew and the selfish boys you fell for at college.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She sighed.

  “Either that or he’s gay.”

  “Yeah, that crossed my mind, too, but he’s a hell of an actor if he is. Oh well. Night.” No sooner had Lexie turned off the light and slid under her covers than her phone signaled a text. Glancing at the screen, she cursed. Can’t you wait twenty more hours? Ms. Swann’s seeing you tomorrow.

  Another notification.

  Apparently not. She kicked off the suddenly stifling covers and read: ‘Don’t wait to strike when the iron is hot; make it hot by striking.’ What did Yeats have to do with her boss and the mystery guy? Rubbing her temples, she read the next: Sorry for the late night text, but I can’t stop thinking about you. In the mood to talk?

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her muscles to relax. Did Ms. Swann have any idea how lucky she was to have a man like Steel? And why couldn’t his words for her boss be Matthew’s to her? She jerked upright.

  Shit. I’ve been projecting my attraction for Matthew onto Steel.

  Another bubble of text appeared. Did you have a good day?

  She swiped at her eyes, sat up, and tapped. It was wonderful. Until it wasn’t. You? Damn Matthew for leaving her tied up in knots.

  Happy yours was nice. Makes up for any frustration on my end. But hey, look at the time. :) TGIF.

  She’d better get some sleep. See you at Lynda’s. Eight. Until then. Big day for Steel and Ms. Swann…and if she was brave, a real turning point for Matthew and her. Phone powered down, she reached for the Steel journal. For better or worse, her matchmaking assignment was coming to an end.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Isabella popped her head around the cube. “Everything set?”

  Lexie nodded. All the painstaking work was behind her. She’d impersonated Ms. Swann accurately and followed through on all of her boss’s date night instructions.

  But the task hadn’t been without its pitfalls. She’d never figured out his true identity, and more importantly, whether he was playing Ms. Swann or not.

  What else am I not seeing?

  “You’ve done the impossible.” Her coworker wiggled her hips. “This is Happy Dance worthy.”

  Her stomach filled with rocks, she forced a smile. “I hope they have a nice time.”

  That isn’t the problem.

  Last night, long after she’d finished her Steel notes, she’d lain in the dark and mentally replayed her Broadway date, ending with the crushing suspicion that she’d been the one to push Matthew away because of her hang-ups. Her emotions ran hot and cold, so why shouldn’t his?

  “Something happen with your trainer last night?”

  “Maybe I’m better off without him in my life.” Lexie stared at the typed notes in her hands. “Too distracting.”

  “Come party tonight,” Isabella cajoled. “You can bring Sam.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She stifled a yawn as her coworker disappeared into the maze of cubes. But first, she needed to finish her coffee and put the Steel nonsense to rest.

  After a Wicked mugful of caffeinated focus, she smoothed her skirt and was about to bring the papers to Ms. Swann when her desk phone rang.

  “Ms. Swann’s office. How may I help you?” Lexie straightened as the caller gave his name. “Of course, Mr. Jacobs. Right away.” She pressed the hold button, then hit intercom. “Neil Jacobs on line one.” At Ms. Swann’s acknowledgment, she punched the intercom button again. Folding her hands so she wouldn’t fidget with the items on her desk, she stared at the phone and waited for the lit line button to go dark.

  “Is the rumor true?”

  “Huh?” She turned to find Isabella behind her once more.

  “Did the Neil Jacobs, the CEO of our firm, call her?” her coworker stage-whispered, a manicured thumb hooked over her shoulder toward Ms. Swann’s door.

  Wow. The gossip girls of J&C sure are on fire today.

  She glanced at her desk phone. “The two are talking now.” At Isabella’s wide-eyed expression, her caffeinated heart raced faster. “Think she’s in trouble?” If Ms. Swann’s job was in jeopardy, wouldn’t that mean hers could be, too?

  “Alexandra?” Ms. Swann called.

  She jumped.

  “Jacobs only talks to staff about good stuff.” Isabella gave her a quick hug, then stepped back. “I hope you join us. Texted you the info.”

  “Alexandra?”

  “Thanks for the invite.” She grabbed her notes and sped to the office. “Yes?”

  “Get the Henderson files.” Ms. Swann glanced up from the paperwork scattered on her mahogany desk. “Everything from last quarter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Guess the Steel speech will have to wait.

  “Oh, and one more thing.”

  The hitch in Ms. Swann’s voice sent a warning chill through her.

  “I need you to reschedule my evening appointments.”

  Lexie clutched the papers. “All of them?”

  The woman gave a slight nod. “See if another Thursday or Friday works. Send my regrets, but I’m sure he’ll understand that a project takes precedence.”

  “But your eight p.m. appointment’s really looking forward to seeing you. And I’ve set it all up. The reservations at both—”

  “I know, I know. Look, I don’t like that it interrupts my plans, either, but work comes before play.” Ms. Swann shrugged. “Let him know I look forward to seeing him soon.” A soft smile spread across her lips as she turned back to her laptop. “I’ll need the stress relief.” Then she turned, her shiny blond hair swinging and settling back into smooth perfection.

  As if all was right in the world.

  Like she hadn’t just canceled a date that had required Lexie’s Herculean efforts to arrange. I don’t think so. “That’s it?” Lexie rose and folded her arms across her chest. “You still have to eat, right?”

  Ms. Swann glanced up, a sudden glimmer in her eyes.

  “The car service can arrive here at seven forty-five and get you to the steakhouse, and then return you here instead of the Ritz.” Who knew the lowlight of her night with Matthew could inspire such genius? She’d save Steel and Ms. Swann’s date yet. “He’s excited about seeing you, and he seems very nice.”

  “Thanks for all your work.” Ms. Swann smiled and turned away, without so much as a peek at the pages Lexie had labored over.

  “Well, I’ll get those files.” She backed slowly out of the office then race-walked down the hall to the files room, a hand pressed to her stomach. Steel was a man with hopes and dreams and insecurities. He wasn’t stress relief, quickly replaced by work.

  She had yanked open a drawer and was leafing through the files, muttering to herself about TKOs and punches that hit below the belt when Isabella joined her.

  “I overheard Mr. Roberts talking about a situation.” Her coworker bent her fingers into air quotes for the last word.

  Lexie slid the drawer shut and crouched to open another.

  “And that he needed to put the best people on this problem because it might take all weekend.” Isabella crouched next to her. “Is Swann involved?”

  She absorbed the new details. “I’m pretty sure she’s one of the people in charge of cleaning it up.” Lexie slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut and scooped the requested files into her arms. “As for her date, she thanked me for my work, which I’m pretty sure is code for ‘mind your own business,’ but I’m choosing to take it at face-value.”

  Isabella grimaced.

  “I hope I can do this
. I’m exhausted and running out of good quotes.” She hid a yawn behind the files in her arms as they paused outside the ladies’ room.

  “I’ll buy the first round in your honor tonight.”

  “If I’m still awake after my workout, I promise to make the trip.”

  “Workout?” Isabella smiled. “Or Friday night hookup?”

  The idea of playing under the covers with a certain someone entered her mind and lingered as Lexie sauntered back to her cube. She’d plopped onto her chair in a happy daydream when Ms. Swann called her name. Crap. She’d forgotten to bring her the files. Blowing out a breath, she headed into her boss’ office.

  The workday flew by. Lexie chased down dozens of files, fetched coffee and office supplies, placed and answered dozens of phone calls, and canceled all of Ms. Swann’s evening appointments.

  Well, all except for one.

  Shortly after four, she leaned into Ms. Swann’s office, unable to summon the vigor to fake a smile. “Figured I’d check one last time. Are you absolutely certain you want to reschedule your eight o’clock?”

  Ms. Swann set down her pen and threaded her fingers through tousled hair. “I’m afraid so.” She rubbed her eyes. “Thanks for double-checking, and for all your efforts. I notice all you do and appreciate it.”

  With her boss’s praise to fortify her, she powered through the final, dreaded chore of the workweek. Fifteen minutes later she’d drafted and revised the text message. All she had to do was hit send. I did my best, Steel. Sorry.

  And she pressed the button and sighed, feeling like that final action had depleted her remaining one percent of energy. All she could think about was finding a comfy place to rest her head.