“I’d be livid if you ever tried to repay me for it,” I reply. She chews on her bottom lip, clearly not getting any reprieve from my words.
“It just feels weird for you to buy me all of that. Some of that stuff was so expensive.”
I shake my head at her. “The price doesn’t matter. I’ve got enough money to go around, trust me.”
She tucks her hands into the large pocket on the front of her sweatshirt. “Well, I tried choosing the less expensive things, but it’s hard when most items don’t have their price even listed. What’s the point of that, anyway?”
I watch Ezra close the trunk. He nods at me, cueing me that we’re good to go. He steps around us and opens the rear passenger door even though neither one of us steps to get in. “Most people shopping there don’t necessarily care about the price,” I offer. It feels weird coming out of my mouth. She does have a bit of a point.
I turn to slide into the backseat of the car, but she stops me by grabbing my sleeve. My head turns, watching her curiously wondering what she wants to add. Taking a deep breath, she watches Ezra get into the car before she focuses on me once again. “I just wanted to say thank you. Really, truly,” she emphasizes. “No one has ever done that much for me, and I know it’s because you have to be seen with me at work and don’t want to be embarrassed by my clothes, but it still means a lot. I would’ve been fine just getting clothes at Target or wherever.”
My lip twitches in amusement. “Yeah, but are Target dressing rooms so…fun?”
Her eyes get wide. The slight chill in the air isn’t what’s causing the tinge of pink spreading over her cheeks.
I leave her with a smile, hoping she’s replaying our kiss in her head like I’ve been doing all morning. My body glides over the leather seat as I climb in the back of the city car. It takes a few moments before Margo follows suit, a dazed look still on her face.
She’s silent the entirety of the car ride. Not that I had time to talk with her much, anyway. My phone rang with constant calls, people needing me nonstop.
Margo looks at me confused when Ezra pulls up to a large building, the top of the sky-rise building appearing to kiss the clouds all the way from the bottom.
“Where are we?” she asks, looking through the window.
I tap her thigh with my knuckles moments after Ezra opens the door. "We’re looking at your new office, Violet. Scoot. I’ll give you a tour of the place.”
Her eyes go wide in horror as she looks down at her body. “You didn’t tell me we were going into work!” she hisses, pulling on her baggy sweatshirt. “I would’ve worn one of the countless new outfits if I knew someone would see me.”
The panic in her voice is quite obvious—and totally adorable. I give her leg another shove. “Go, Margo, it’s fine.”
She shakes her head furiously, looking at Ezra with an apologetic look. “I’m not going in there looking like this,” she demands. Her body settles deeper into the seat. The tantrum reminds me of a toddler, but she does it way cuter.
“Margo,” I warn, sliding into her space and getting her body to move an inch just by pressing my thigh against hers. “You can get out of the car or I can make you. I can’t get out on my side without risking a crazy New York driver ramming into me, so I cannot get out until you do. Sooo, get out.”
Her fingernails attempt to dig into the leather to keep herself planted.
“I can’t have the first time all of my coworkers see me be in an old NYU sweatshirt.”
Ezra and I share a look of humor. I shrug. “Why? Are you scared they’ll think you’re a tourist?”
She scoffs. “I bought this on campus when I attended there, thank you very much.”
I push my hips into her harder, making her body move a few more inches until she’s basically hanging off the side of the seat. People walking by give us curious looks, but none of them stop to say anything. The fact that some people have even noticed us is shocking enough in a city so busy.
“No one is going to see you,” I reassure her.
“You don’t know that,” she argues.
I tilt my head back and forth, pressing my lips into a thin line. “Actually, I do. I’ve made it an unspoken company policy that no one is supposed to come into work on Sundays or holidays. Work life balance and all.”
My words seem to take her off guard. Her head swings my way in shock. “You did?” This disbelief in her voice should offend me.
I nod, nudging her until she finally obeys and climbs out of the car. At the last minute, she almost trips over the curb. Ezra and I both reach out to catch her at the same time.
Once she’s steady on her feet, I finish climbing out of the car, Ezra closing the door behind me. “Typically the only person ever there on the weekends is me. I promise you.”
Her teeth dig into her lip like she has something else to say, but at least for the time being, she keeps it to herself.
No longer putting up a fight, she tilts her head up to look at the building towering over us. “You own this?”
I chuckle, laying my hand on her mid-back to guide her toward the entrance. “No, we rent the top seven floors.”
We leave Ezra back at the car as we walk to the revolving door entrance of the building. Stepping inside, I give Tom a friendly smile as he sits at his desk, looking to be enjoying a calm Sunday here. On a weekday, this floor would be packed full of people coming and going. We share the building with some very well-known companies and law firms. This floor is usually full of people going about their business during and after normal working hours. I’ve learned over the years that Sunday is the safest day to come into work if I want to be around the least amount of people possible. I’ll still share the elevator with the occasional person or small group, but it’s nothing like the typical work days where it takes ten minutes just to catch an elevator.
Any other day I’d walk right past Tom, scanning my badge as I walked through the metal detector, but today I bring Margo and I to a stop in front of it.
“Good afternoon, Tom.” We share a familiar smile. It’s hard not to return his smile. We’ve developed an unlikely friendship, even though he’s old enough to be my father. You’d never know his age because his jokes and spunk remind me more of an eighteen-year-old frat guy. Plus, not being a prick to him like some of the other people who pass through these doors every morning gets me some VIP perks. For example, sometimes he gestures for me to take the employee stairs so I can climb to the second or third floor and catch an elevator that way instead of waiting in line in the lobby.
Tom gives me a knowing smile before he pins his attention whole-heartedly on Margo. I don’t blame him. Even in an old college sweatshirt, her beauty captures anyone’s attention. “Mornin’ Mr. Sinclair.” His voice is gravelly. My guess is from his fondness of getting home from work and smoking a cigar. I’ve given him a few rare cigars over the years, grateful for his familiar smile even when I come into work a brooding dick because some new investor has pissed me off or someone thinks they can take advantage of me.
He gives Margo a wink. “And who is this nice young lady you’ve brought in this morning?”