Owen Wolfe, Owner and Founding CEO of Lone Wolfe Pictures.
On the other side is the Post It I stuck on the card after he left.
I take a deep breath and look out the window. We’re heading through the Holland Tunnel. This gives me the exact amount of bravery I require in order to punch in the numbers to his private line. I hit dial right in time for us to resurface on the other side, in Manhattan.
Once we’re back under the exposure of direct sunlight again, I take an action that, before today, would require much contemplating, in-depth overthinking, and a million brain cells of analyzing before coming to a decision.
Yes, I know I’m a dorky basket case, you don’t have to tell me.
In fact, don’t fucking tell me if I’m making a huge mistake by dialing Owen. That’s not part of the deal. You’re just supposed to sit there and listen to my life unravel?and if it derails into a train wreck, then it’s all on me.
There’s ringing in my ear on the other end of the line.
Shit! I can still hang up…should I hang up?
No, I’m not supposed to take advice from you, remember?
Owen answers on the third ring.
“Owen Wolfe,” he spurts out, sounding in a hurry.
“Um…hey…its…Molly. You know, Molly Quinn? Um, you were in my office this morning.”
I’m rambling like a fucking idiot. He’s going to think I’m a spastic loser, and I don’t fucking blame him one bit.
“Oh, hi, Molly.” His voice changes instantly and becomes more approachable, smoother and sexier than fucking possible.
I try to take even, measured breaths so that I won’t have a panic attack on the phone with him. I remind myself that I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and become more daring. Convincing myself will be half the battle.
“Hi,” I say, and wonder if he can hear the grin in my face.
In this moment, I commit to myself that this isn’t about trying to score a date or a free dinner from Owen, or any man for that matter.
This
is about me deciding at the last minute that I’m going to bite the bullet and call Owen. The risk is what I’m chasing, not me falling for those cheesy, bullshit classic attempts guys use in order to scoop up women.
I sigh with whimsical delight. “I’m just calling to take you up on your offer,” I say.
“You are?” His voice is surprised, but he also sounds confident, there’s no fucking doubt about it.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
I’ve gotten through the hard part, the calling and actually speaking to him. Now it should be effortless and smooth sailing from here on out…I hope.
“That’s great,” he chimes with sincere enthusiasm.
“My schedule is free now. I almost can’t believe it,” I chuckle. “You’re lucky.”
“I’ll say,” he responds. “You may as well be telling me I hit the lottery jackpot,” he croons.
“Oh, please,” I snort. “No cheesy lines.”
“Okay, I can agree to that.” He chuckles, low and rumbling.
Fuck, even his damn laugh is sexy.
“Um…so where are you at the moment?” I ask and bite my lip.