Crossing Paths (6 page)

Ma’am? Do I really look that old…or unattractive?
Now, I only have ten minutes until the meeting begins. My feet are already aching from faltering in these heels, and the sun is glaring down on the pavement.
Place a big fat checkmark in the unfriendly city column.

When I take off down the block at a quick pace, I realize that construction has also blocked off the next two cross streets. I become aware of the fact that if I don’t start running, I’m going to be late to this meeting. Regretting my decision to wear heels, I take them off and start a slow jog with the sunlight hitting my face.

After I finally come around the block, glad to have the sun on my back, I start up the steps to the front doors of the Truman building. All of the sudden, I run smack into the back of a man in an expensive business suit. I fall awkwardly against a railing to the side of the doorway. Feeling a sharp pain around my ribs, I know I’ll have some serious bruises later today.

“I am so sorry. I’m running late, and I just didn’t see you.” I peer up at the man, but I can’t make out his face. The glare of the sun reflecting off the glass door behind him is making it hard for me to keep my eyes open.

“No, no. It’s my fault. I stopped too quickly as I came up to the door. Let me help you.” He gently moves toward me, his body blocking the sun’s reflection and bringing his face into view.

When I see his beautiful hazel eyes, I know he has to hear me gasp.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t recognize the stranger you threw a magazine at.” He laughs gently. “By the way, my name is Cohen.”

Although my face is already heated and likely red from my last-minute jog, I feel it going another shade deeper.

“Um, I’m so sorry. My name is June.” Placing my hand in his, I allow him to pull me back onto my feet.

“Well, June. Are you here on business?”

“Yes, I’m going to a meeting in the Rousch conference room.”

He tilts his head slightly, grinning down at me. “Let me show you the way. Maybe we can discuss your frequent need to assault me after the meeting, but first, you might want to put on your shoes.”

Embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover the emotion I’m feeling right now. I pay careful attention to make sure my heels end up on the right feet. Placing his hand on the small of my back, his touch is slight but present as he leads me through the large glass doorway and then over to the elevator. Looking up at him, I smile timidly.

When we reach the conference room without further assault, I turn to say good-bye.

“Thank you for showing me where to go. I’m running a little late, so I better get in there,” I say, pointing at the doorway behind me.

“Oh, I’m not leaving. I’m attending the meeting, too.” He walks through the door, heads over to the refreshment table, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

I take my seat, which happens to be the only empty seat remaining, and then I watch as Cohen takes his place in the front of the room. This situation is getting worse by the second. My sophomore year experience was trivial compared to the fool I just made of myself.

Cohen leads the meeting without any hint of awkwardness. I shamelessly stare at him although no one notices because they are all staring, too. Thank God staring is normal when intently listening to someone.

I force myself to pry my eyes away for a quick review of my notes. Throughout the meeting, I gather myself at the appropriate moments, and I respond based on the guidance my boss has given me, using a couple of points from my personal notes along the way. And then, too quickly, the meeting is over.

I take off for the restroom, which seems to be my hiding place lately. When I look down at my feet, I notice a few scuff marks on the side of the left shoe. Taking it off, I can see that the red interior of Caroline’s shoes is covered in black. Taking off the other shoe, I notice that the bottoms of my feet are also black from running down the streets, and they’ve ruined the interior.
I have no idea how much these cost.
Caroline is probably going to kill me when she sees these shoes.
I exit the stall, and I wet a few paper towels to clean the bottom of my feet.

I clean the shoes as best as I can and then peek my head out the restroom door. I can’t see anyone in the hallway, so I leave the restroom and take the elevator downstairs. When the elevator opens on the ground floor, I exit and look toward the lobby doors, preparing myself for the push and shove of the foot traffic on the sidewalks outside.

“June, wait.”

I am halfway to the front doors when I turn and see him. I want to run away like I used to run in high school track—without abandon and with stamina. I bet he wouldn’t chase me, not with all these people around. They’d probably think he was trying to hurt me, and they’d stop him from reaching me. Instead, I smile and put my shoulders back.
This should be good. He probably wants to talk to me about my unprofessional behavior during the plane ride and on the building steps. I’ll be lucky to have a job when I get back to Texas.

“Let me take you to lunch.”

He smiles when my brows furrow in confusion.

“What?”

“Let me take you to lunch. We can eat at the airport if you’re flying back today.”

“Um, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Are you planning to beat me with a spoon?” He smirks. “Listen, I’m flying out later today, so I just thought if we’re going to the same place, then maybe we could grab a bite together.”

I give in, and we agree to have lunch at the airport.

Two hours later, I exit the cab at the airport and roll my luggage behind me. I enter through a set of sliding doors and I see Cohen sitting on a bench near the check-in desk. I catch his attention with a small wave hello, and he smiles. We both check in at the kiosk and make our way through security. Being a gentleman, he lifts my luggage onto the security belt, not allowing me to put forth any effort. I catch myself staring at him as he bends to take off his shoes. I linger on his messy dark hair, his shoulders, his arms, his hands, and his shoes. Every part of him is interesting.

We reach the first busy restaurant, and I stop at the hostess stand.

“June, would you mind if we ate somewhere else?”

“Sure.”

He leads us to a small sandwich shop tucked in a quiet corner. We make our food selections and choose a table in the back of the seating area.

“Is this against company policy?” I ask.

“What? Eating lunch with a business associate? I don’t think so.” He smiles.

Right, June. You are just having a business lunch. Stop taking yourself so seriously.
I smile back with some reserve.

“So, June, do you make a habit out of throwing things, including yourself, at other people?”

I feel my entire body heat as embarrassment washes over me again. “Not usually. I believe you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

“Oh, have I? What would it have been like if I caught you at a good time?”

“First of all, I would have said hello instead of throwing my magazine at you, and then we would have had a wonderful conversation about some mutually interesting topic. Second, the stupid construction worker would have let me through, so I wouldn’t have run into you on the steps. I would have beaten you to the conference room, and then I would have impressed you with my knowledge of media accounts.”

“I guess I would have been okay with the hello and the conversation, but I rather like the fact that you ran into me.” He pauses, looking down as he twirls his fork between his fingers. “And I was still impressed with you.”

When he glances back up at me, my heart stutters as I catch a light in his eyes.

We continue talking about his life back home and our college years. I try to avoid any topics that might bring up awkward stories, which is pretty challenging for me. I’m amazed at how easily our conversation transitions from here to there. He begins telling a story about his dad and a runaway golf cart. About halfway through, I laugh so hard that I have trouble catching my breath.

A man who can make me laugh—now, that is an important trait.

Here we go again, June. An important trait for what? A friendship? A business relationship?
Obviously, this could never be any other kind of relationship. He is a business associate from another company who lives across the country. Of course, he also happens to be really good-looking, and he seems to have every trait on my secret perfect-man checklist.
Maybe I should look on the bright side.
At least I am making friends in the industry, which couldn’t be a bad thing.

After we finish eating with about thirty minutes left until my flight leaves, he walks with me to the gate.

“It was really great having lunch with you, June.”

God, I love the way he says my name.
“Thanks. I enjoyed it very much.”

“Here’s my card. Call me if you’re ever up in the Seattle area.”

I take his card, reach in my purse, and then give him my card as well. We smile at each other, not knowing how to part ways.

“Do you text?” I sound stupid, but I want to linger in the conversation.

He nods.

“We can keep in touch then.”

He nods again with a slight smile this time.

“Okay, bye.” I turn and walk toward the gate with my carry-on in tow. It feels much heavier than it did before as the weight of possibilities to come presses for me to stay in this moment.

After a few more seconds, I turn to watch him walk away. Instead, I find him still facing me, standing in the same spot. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and waves. I return a small wave and head back in the opposite direction with a huge smile on my face.

When I make it to the gate, I take out my phone and save his number before my clumsiness finds a way to lose his business card.

Tuesday

Sleep didn’t come easily last night, and as always, morning came too quickly. Still lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, going over my current work project.
Who am I kidding?
I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking of Liam—sexy, funny, and incredibly off-limits Liam.

I’ve been trying to think of anything other than him since I got his text message yesterday. I grab a magazine off my nightstand and flip through pictures in the “Sexiest Man Alive” article to try and get him off my mind. It doesn’t work. Unfortunately for me, Liam is hotter than most of these guys, and he doesn’t come with a bunch of celebrity baggage.

How am I going to face June when she gets home?
She knows me too well to think I would be worthy enough to date her brother. I mean, we are best friends, and she loves me, but she knows my dating record. She wouldn’t believe for a second that I could be serious about a real relationship.

Truth be told, I’m vain and sometimes selfish. I want a guy’s life to revolve solely around me. I can’t cook, I hate to clean, and I have always maintained that it would take one hell of a guy to convince me to have children. I’ve seen what a kid can do to a woman’s body in less than a year. I’m not even sure why I am worried about it. There’s no way I am going to tell June about my lunch date with Liam. His text last night had to have been out of kindness to the new girl in town.
Wait, did I just say date?
Oh well, I don’t think inner monologue counts.