It’s hard to hide the horror on my face as I enter Zaid’s posh office in the Meatpacking district. The commute from Queens sucks major balls, rush hour zombies packed wall-to-wall drinking coffee and pretending they’re not in a living hell. I thought arriving would give me a little relief, but I’m worse than before. My wet palms press against my black skirt, a hair away from being too tight. My silky, emerald blouse brings out the undertones in my golden eyes. My high heels feel like a modern day corset, but I look the part: receptionist at a New York City advertising firm.
Or so I thought.
Everyone else is wearing jeans and sneakers. I’m dressed like Iwork behind the hotel concierge desk, not in a creative office with wide open cubicles. A dude with thick hair and even thicker glasses zooms by me on a scooter. I step backward out of his path and run smack dab into something. More like, someone.
Zaid steadies me, my ankles teetering on my three-inch heels. The minute his skin brushes mine, tingles erupt everywhere. My center ignites and wetness drenches my panties. How can such a simple, innocent gesture send me into a desire overload? My brain’s a Rolodex of all the naughty ways Zaid can scratch this increasing itch I have for him.
“I must be in the danger zone,” I say, its double meaning not lost on me.
“Not to be too much of a stickler,” he says in that impossibly deep, gravelly voice of his. “But you are standing in the scooter path.”
“Huh?” I say, and Zaid points down. He’s right, I’m standing on what appears to be, a fake roadway spliced through the middle of the carpet.
“I’ll keep an eye on that.” Again, I tug at my skirt. Zaid’s eyes go straight to my hips. I ignore the heat flushing in my cheeks. I was never skinny in high school, but I wasn’t this big. Not that it matters. When I sentViv a text last night, I told her she had nothing to worry about. But that was a blatant lie. Just being around Zaid sends my body into fuck-me mode.
The whole commute home, my brain swam with images of Zaid, hot, naked and ready for me. I had to lock my door and relieve my ache, running my fingers into my panties. I stroked myself in gentle circles, imagining it was Zaid’s hot, hungry mouth. Thirty-seconds later, I came harder than I have in a long time. So much so I had to change my sheets.
After that, I texted Viv as guilt wound its way through me. I had to remind myself that it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not the kind ofwoman Zaid would ever go for. Look at him, a dead sexy, successful business man in Manhattan. Who am I? His little sister’s chubby best friend.
Only in my dreams…
“I think I overdressed,” I say.
Zaid leans in closer. “I think you look great.” His lips graze my ear, sending another wave of heat expanding through my core. I wiggle my hips for a moment of traction, to ease the increasing pulse between my legs. Zaid pulls away, clearing his throat. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
He doesn’t take my hand or place his palm on my lower back. I didn’t expect him to, he’s my boss, but I won’t pretend I’m not a little disappointed. To say Zaid’s office is trendy and chic would be a wild understatement. The free snacks and Nespresso machine alone are something to write home about. Add in the game room, the media room, and the meditation station, and The Zarin Group feels more like a retreat than a place of work.
“It’s important for creatives to have spaces that clear their minds,” he tells me, as I grab a packet of M&Ms for the walk.
“I totally get it.” I tear the pack of candy open. “It’s like stepping away from a puzzle so that the solution can present itself to you.”
“Exactly,” he says, then with a furrowed brow. “Are you in a creative field?”
“I went to school for social media management.”
“Oh,” he says. “That’s so Millennial of you.”
“I’m on the cusp.”
“No, you’re not.Iam. I got the Millennial entrepreneur brain and the Gen-X, whatever attitude.” He holds his fingers up in a “W” shape, via the movieClueless.That dorky part of him never went away. Damn, if that doesn’t make him even sexier!
I suck air through my teeth. “Fine, you’re right. I’m a total millennial. Don’t hold it against me.”
“Your generation gets a bad rap.” I shake a few M&Ms into Zaid’s palm. “If it weren’t for social media managers, advertising would be close to dead.”
“This is true.” I pop a candy into my mouth and smile as I crunch into its shell. “So you have a digital department, obviously.”
“I do.”
“And maybe I could get an interview in that department instead of at the front desk?” A bold move, I know. My confidence is soaring. At least it was, before I notice the look on Zaid’s face.
“Actually we’re not hiring right now. But I could definitely consider youin the future.”
“I get it,” I say a bit too quickly. “Besides, I’ll probably find something soon.”
Zaid presses his lips together after a quick inhale. “I’m sure you will.”
When we’re back at the front desk, Zaid shows me the binder that the temp’s been using to navigate reception. I sit in my chair and smile up at Zaid. My boss, and my best friend’s brother. I still can’t believe this is the same guy. That’s probably what this little crush is all about, he’s familiar. In a city of eight million strangers, I found a familiar--well, familiar-ish—face. “You think you’ll be okay? I have a meeting in fifteen.”