I couldn’t even manage to say goodbye. In fact, I couldn’t manage to do anything but stand there and watch the man of my dreams vanish down the hall.
A little gasp trembled through me as I stared after him. I certainly didn’t expect to see him anywhere but my dreams after the night we’d spent together. At the time, that fact nearly broke me, but in some way, bumping into him at work all the time would be much worse. Seeing him again when he didn’t even remember me was like a death sentence I didn’t deserve.
Again, my hand drifted absentmindedly to the delicate necklace hanging above the collar of my blouse. I rubbed the red stone between two fingers as I stared at him. A plan was forming in my head all the while, one I was just becoming aware of myself, and a little smile played up the side of my face as it occurred to me, as my fingers grazed the jewelry Mr. Forgetful had given me.
I guess I’ll just have to make him remember my first night in London too.
* * *
“Dear, I must ask you a personal question, and I do hope it will not anger you.”
The clock ticked loudly on the wall as I stared across the desk and into the shrewd face of Madison Montgomery, who was staring just as intently back at me.
“Are you bad in bed?”
After a beat of silent disbelief, I slammed my hands down on her desk. “What?! No!”
The tealights flickered tenuously between us as she lifted her hands and shook her head, feigning innocence. “It is just that... Well, if he doesn’t even remember—”
“Okay, first, I am most certainly not bad in bed. I just so happen to be great in bed. Second, we weren’t even in bed. We were on a blanket on some rooftop, covered in pastry and bits of whipped crème.”
Her face screwed up into a thoughtful frown. “Yet, it would be tough to forget that.”
Silence resumed, as we each pondered the events of the previous evening, both wondering how it might affect the next few months.
“It amazes me that you didn’t recognize him when you met at the pub,” Madison said suddenly, sounding a bit accusatory, whether she meant to or not. “The man is basically an English prince. I think he was even knighted a while back.”
“I don’t know, Madison!” I shot her a withering glare. “Maybe it’s because I spent the last few years at Harvard Business School instead of reading the London gossip rags!”
“Harvard? Pssh,” she scoffed and leaned back in her chair, her face now adorned with a smirk of superiority. “Wasn’t there an opening at Oxford?”
I rubbed my eyes and released a longsuffering sigh. “Not everything good in this world comes from Britain, you know. We Americans have—”
“You take that back right now!”
“Or what?” My face lightened into a sudden grin. “Are you going to castrate me in the middle of the conference room, perform genital mutilation in front of the entire staff?”
“Oh...that.” She snorted out a short laugh, then returned to her task of rearranging the piles of useless clutter atop her desk. “Henry and I have an understanding. He doesn’t give me any shit for the crazy way I choose to live my life, and in return, I don’t axe murder him in the conference room.”
I shrugged casually. “Makes sense, I guess.”
She nodded firmly, then returned her focus to the problem at hand. “However, this isn’t about Henry and me. This is about you and what the hell you’re going to do about the fact that you and our boss had the world’s most erotic food fight last night.”
I slumped over her desk and freed a quiet groan, unable to come to grips with the surreal ridiculousness of her words. Of all the times to have my first one-night stand. Of all the countries in the world and all the people in those countries! I swear, I’ll never eat a French pastry again!
“What can I do?” I asked miserably. “I basically confronted him in the hall, and he flat out denied it. What options does that leave me with to make him remember?”
“As you said,” Madison said, not missing a beat, “you must make him remember.”
It seemed like a brilliant plan, but as I thought it over, I began to second-guess myself. “What if he doesn’t want to remember?” My throat tightened as I recalled the way he’d looked at me by the elevator, the way he’d basically snubbed me, written me off, and backed away like I was the one with the mental disorder. “Sure, maybe we had some sort of spark or chemistry or something last night, but trust me, no connection remains today.”
“Do you want him to remember?”
Our brisk back-and-forth came to a sudden pause as I considered it or at least tried to consider it. It only took a second for me to realize there was nothing that required consideration.
Yes, of course I want him to remember. Yes, I want to relive the magic of that night. Yes, I’d happily climb to any rooftop with him again.
As a slow smile decorated my face, Madison literally clapped her hands together in delight. “Perfect! Then here’s what we’re going to do.” Then, with the grace and skill of a seasoned negotiator, she broke it all down. “First, we simply must undergo a bit of a makeover. Yes, you’re already gorgeous, but you lean a little too much on the cliché professional appearance, a little too Girl Friday and not enough...sexy. A quick trip to my closet will sort that right out. Second, you must think of anything and everything you can do to jog his memory, any little quirks, tells, or details you can remember.”