I refused to call it an obsession.
A whistle pulls me out of my thoughts as I make my way into the kitchen, and I glance up to see Enzo making breakfast at our small stove. “Looking sharp.”
I glance down at the button-up shirt and slacks and feel a blush creep onto my neck.
“Just normal work clothes.” Kind of true, I did often wear a button-down shirt, only to keep a semblance of professionalism, however, it was usually paired with jeans and sneakers, not slacks and leather loafers.
“I don’t know about that,” Enzo replies as Archer comes into the kitchen, wearing gym clothes and drenched in sweat. I grimace thinking about my own exercise routine, one that has lacked in the last few weeks.
Archer looks at me knowingly. “You’ve missed our last few runs.”
Translation; you’ve been lazy for weeks. Lacking inspiration for my art has also affected other areas of my life including eating and exercising.
I give him a nod and say, “I’ll probably hit up the gym after work.”
“How is the new job?” Archer asks, leaning against the counter and chugging a bottle of water.
“It’s fine.”
“More than fine,” Enzo says, flipping an omelet. “You have to dress a little better, huh?”
I shrug. “I have to head up to the higher-ups, managers, the CEO, people like that.”
“The CEO? That Jane chick?” Enzo asks. I nod in confirmation. “She’s freaking hot. Have you seen her? She’s come into the restaurant a few times.”
I clench my teeth at the comment. “I wouldn’t really know.”
Silence falls between the three of us, only the sound of sizzling eggs fills it. “You’re acting weird,” Archer comments and I look up.
Ignoring their stares and off-putting comments, I head to the cabinet and pull out a to-go coffee cup, striding to the coffeepot behind Archer who moves out of the way and fill the cup to the brim before capping it.
“Well, see ya,” I throw over my shoulder and head for my bag.
“You’re not off the hook, man,” Enzo calls in warning and I just smirk as the door slams behind me, all the while my brain wandering to the woman who’s taken over my thoughts.
And she doesn’t even know my name.
This was probably a really bad idea. Actually, no, itwasa really bad idea. No “probably” about it. I was breaking rules by slipping this into the pile of mail, I’m sure of it.
I stare down at the small envelope, Jane’s name scrawled across it and let out a sigh. I was being a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I just talk to her instead of slipping her some creepy note?
Well, it wasn’t a note. It was a poem. One that had kept me up all night until I finally gave in to the desire and wrote the damn thing.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head.
Stupid. Very dumb.
I set the envelope on the cart again and decide against it. Even if I did decide to give it to her, I wasn’t stupid enough to sign it, so she wouldn’t know who it was from.
Still, not giving it to her would be for the best.
Her assistant is gone again when I stop by and I look at the gold-plated nameplate and give myself a little pep talk.
Don’t fall.
Don’t trip.
Don’t stare.