She’s so wrapped up in her own excitement that she doesn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm. I don’t want to burst her bubble, but if this is true, it’s even worse for me than if he was angry at me. Because I don’t want to date Ethan Frost. I want to work for him.
It’s not that I have anything against him per se. It’s just that I don’t want to date anyone.
Oh, Tori’s been after me for years to go out more. To meet some nice guy and do the fun hanging-out thing. She’s even set me up on numerous blind dates—
without my permission—then not told me what she’d done until it was too late for me to get out of them. But she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know that I don’t want to go out with a guy. I don’t want to casually date. And I sure as hell don’t want a relationship.
Just the thought makes me shudder. My own parents’ relationship is a walking advertisement for what not to do, and my own past—the past Tori knows very little about—makes the very idea unfeasible.
The last thing I want to do is deal with being pursued by a man like Ethan Frost. All that money, all that power, all that privilege…just the thought makes my stomach pitch and roll.
She reaches for the card, which has been resting—discarded—on the table for the past hour. “You should totally call him. ”
I look at her like she’s insane. Which I’m becoming more and more convinced she is. “I’m not going to call him. ”
“But you have to. You should at least thank him for his very generous gift. ”
I should, but I don’t want to. Truth be told, I want nothing from him but the internship provided me by his company. Not the blender. Not the strawberries, which I admit are a charming gift. Not his attention. And definitely, absolutely, not the unsettled feeling I got when I was around him earlier. The butterflies in my tummy that were somehow both more and less than simple nervousness, as they came with an awareness of him—and myself in relation to him—that continues to be beyond nerve-racking.
“I’ll drop him an email. ”
“But there’s no email addy on the card. ”
“Then I’ll write him a letter. It’s not like I don’t know where he works. ”
“A letter?” She looks at me like I’m insane.
“Yes. A letter. ” I’m warming to the idea. “I can return the blender at the same time. No fuss, no muss. ”
“No fuss, no muss? Are you ninety?” Tori looks thoroughly disgruntled. “No offense, but trying not to make a fuss is not the way you keep the attention of a guy like Ethan Frost. Neither is returning his gifts. ”
Exactly. My plan is sounding better by the second. “I don’t want Ethan Frost’s attention. I’m not interested in him. ”
My roommate lets out an exaggerated sigh as she throws herself into a supine position on the couch. “You do realize that you are the only woman in the history of the world to utter those words. Ever. ”
“Surely not. Think of all the lesbians out there. ”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, then. The only straight woman. ”
“And yet, somehow, I’m okay with that. ”
“All right, all right. ” Grabbing her champagne flute, she waves it under my nose. “If I’m supposed to watch you throw away a golden opportunity like this, then the least you can do is keep me well-liquored. Fill ’er up. ”
I laugh, because she expects me to. I even pour her more champagne, though part of me thinks she’s had more than enough. But in my head I’m already composing the letter to Juice Guy. Ethan. Mr. Frost.
Yes. “Mr. Frost” will do quite nicely.
Chapter Three
Dear Mr. Frost,
While I am quite touched by the thoughtfulness of your gift, I am unable to accept it. A fine blender such as this—
Dear Mr. Frost,
While I appreciate the thoughtfulness of this lovely welcome gift, I feel it would be inappropriate to accept it. As an intern, I am not to receive any sort of payment—
Dear Mr. Frost,