On Second Thought
Page 82

I held up the paper. Bliss Bridal Shop needs flower girl models for Saturday at 10.
He scowled at me. “No, Lydia, I can’t get you a puppy.”
I shook the paper and pointed to the phone. Realization dawned on my boss’s face.
“Hold on, Lyddie. Do you remember Ainsley? The fairy house lady? She wants to talk to you.”
I grabbed the phone. “Hi, Lydia! How are you, honey?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, her sweet voice so small.
“Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor on Saturday. Do you know what a model is? A lady who puts on fancy clothes and gets her picture taken?”
“Like the ladies on Project Runway?”
I was glad to hear Jonathan’s daughters weren’t being raised only on Dickens. “Exactly. Anyway, there’s a store that needs little girl models, and I thought you would be perfect. You’d have to wear a couple of very fancy dresses and be with a few other girls and look cute and smile.”
“What kind of dresses?”
“The extremely beautiful kind. Like flower girls wear. Or princesses.” Jonathan smiled at that, and my ovaries swelled.
“Really?” asked Lydia.
“Really. Will you do it? Pretty please?”
“Okay! Yes! That sounds like so much fun!”
“Great! I’ll see you Saturday, then. I’ll be at the store.”
“Say thank you, Lydia,” Jonathan said, raising his voice.
“Thank you, Amy!” the little girl sang. “Mommy, guess wh—”
I smiled at my boss. “She hung up,” I said, handing the phone back to him.
“I’ll call her later.”
“Mean-girl troubles, huh?”
“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, looking at me directly for the first time. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Kent.” I closed the door behind me. Reached up and undid a button on my blouse.
“You planning on seducing me in my office?” he asked, his voice low, eyes on my fingers.
“Yes, Mr. Kent,” I said.
“I see lawsuit all over this.”
“Deal with it.”
I went behind his desk and straddled his lap, held his face in my hands and kissed him.
“Ainsley,” he said.
“Check the thing I signed,” I said. “It specifically allows workplace nooky if no one else is here.” I paused. “You haven’t dated at all since your divorce, have you?” I asked.
“Are we dating?”
“Yes, Jonathan,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You take me out to dinner, we talk, we sleep together. That’s dating.”
He took my hands in both of his and studied them a few seconds. “And you’re not dating anyone else?” He looked up at me, and there it was, that little speck of gold in his clear eyes.
“No,” I said. “And neither are you.”
His smile started in his eyes, and another good bit of my heart was his.
Then I kissed him, and he surprised me by standing up and laying me on his desk. Papers went everywhere, and the phone fell on the floor.
He didn’t seem to mind.
No, he was a little too busy taking off my panties.
* * *
Jonathan followed me to Kate’s house afterward. She wasn’t home, but Ollie seemed quite happy to see my guest. He put his paws on Jonathan’s knee and used his beautiful brown eyes to good effect until Jonathan picked him up.
I started cooking—chicken piccata, because Kate loved it. I texted her that Jonathan was here and we hoped she’d make it home for dinner. She said she probably wouldn’t be back in time. She was in Brooklyn, seeing Daniel the Hot Firefighter, I surmised.
“She’s out with friends,” I told Jonathan, getting out the flour and bread crumbs. “Have a seat. Would you like some wine?” It was nice, having him here, my goofy little dog sitting on his lap. Ollie was already fast asleep, snoring slightly. He missed male company.
I busied myself with dinner prep—sliced the lemons, gently pounded the chicken breasts.
“This is very different from your place,” Jonathan commented.
“Yeah, well, Nathan was an architect.”
“Will Kate stay here, or will she sell the place?”
I lay the chicken in the frying pan. “I don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned moving.”
“It must be hard, being in Nathan’s house. His family lives just up the road, don’t they?”
“Yeah. Hey, speaking of family, I met someone recently.” I covered the frying pan, adjusted the heat to low, washed my hands, then came over to sit with Jonathan. “Your brother.”
He barely blinked. “Where was that?”
“My dad and I had lunch at Hudson’s. I didn’t know it was his place.”
“Yes.”
“He came out to press the flesh, and lunch had been very good, so I suggested that we review it. Then he told me who he was.” Jonathan’s face was tight, but unreadable. “He asked me to tell you something,” I added.
“And what is that?”
“He’d like to see you.”
He bent down to put Ollie on his blanket, then sat up straight again. “I’d prefer not to have this discussion with you,” he said. “I—Yes. I’d prefer not to.”
“Okay. I felt like I should mention it.” I bit my thumbnail. “Um, I saw him again today.”
“Really.”
“Yes. When I was getting stuff for the Saturday stroll, he came over to me, he must’ve seen me through the window, and—”
“Did you tell him we’re dating?”
“No.”
“I don’t want my children to know about you. And he would tell them.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I thought so, anyway. No, I was sure.
Jonathan stared out the window. His jaw looked like I could hit it with a crowbar and end up with a broken piece of metal in my hands.
The mood was broken, that was for sure.
He turned to look at me. “Maybe we should talk a little bit. About...us.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to bring my children into this. They don’t need to know I’m seeing someone until...quite a long time from now.”
“Well, they do know me.”
“They’ve met you. They don’t know you. You work for me, that’s all they know.” He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “You’re fresh out of a relationship. It could very well be that I’m just a rebound for you.”
“I can think of easier men for a rebound.”
“I don’t want my daughters to get attached to you if things don’t work out. They’ve been through a lot of change in the past two years. I won’t do what their mother did and shove a new relationship into their lives.”
Couldn’t fault him for that. Still, his verbiage could’ve been a little nicer. “I understand.”
“Good.”
I waited for him to say something nice to take the edge off.
He didn’t.
“Okay. I’ll check the chicken.”
I got up and went to the stove, shoved the chicken around a little, turned it. Didn’t really feel like cooking for him anymore. In fact, I felt like being alone.
Then his arms were around my waist, his mouth at my ear. “I’m sorry,” he said, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s complicated.”