Crush (Crash #3)(45)

As I waited for her reply, I hoped it would be more the cotton-and-wrinkle-free kind of workplace.

As I was hooking my bra into place, my phone chimed.

I frowned when I read her reply. ANTON'S AN OLD-SCHOOL, MAD MEN STYLE CHUMP. AS YOUR FRIEND, I HAVE TO ADVISE YOU TO DRESS UP. BUT AS HIS SISTER, I REALLY WANT YOU TO SHOW UP IN CUTOFFS AND SANDALS JUST TO PISS HIM OFF.

I sighed and pulled my black pencil skirt from the hanger. As I was stepping into it, my phone chimed with another message from India. GOOD LUCK. GIVE 'EM HELL.

I typed DITTO and hit send before pulling my white button-down blouse out of the closet, along with my black heels. Once I was changed, I hurried out of the apartment. Although, thanks to the tightness of the skirt, "hurrying" anywhere was a joke. The fastest I could go was a shuffle.

Once I was in my Mazda, it took me only ten minutes to get to the office. As I passed a familiar building, I realized my new job had yet another perk-my dance studio was close by. Time would be in short supply this summer, and if I wanted to keep dance a priority, I'd have to come up with some creative scheduling. Maybe I could squeeze in some mornings before work, or during a lunch break, or whenever I could carve out an hour or two after work. Thankfully, my summer class was an independent study, so as long as I clocked four hours of studio time every week, I'd pass the course.

After double-checking the address on the outside of the building with the address and suite number I had in my phone, I found a parking spot and headed to my first day on the job.



       
         
       
        

I was always nervous on a first day of anything, but this morning I was all butterflies. I would have thought I'd be more chill, since I kind of knew Anton, but that seemed to create the opposite effect. Maybe because he was India's brother, and I didn't want to put either of them in an awkward position if things didn't work out, or maybe I was nervous because administrative assistant sounded like a pretty professional job for a college student.

As I was heading through the revolving door, my phone chimed. I slid it out of my purse. I stopped in the middle of the foyer so I could admire the picture. Jude was in his gym gear inside the locker room, extending a handful of roses. Red roses. The text read, sORRY I COULDN'T BE THERE TO HAND THESE TO YOU IN PERSON.

Just like that, the nerves were gone. One picture and a handful of words from Jude and I was calm as calm could be. Before heading toward the elevator, I texted back, I'M ONE LUCKY BITCH.

I was lucky for so many reasons. All of those reasons starting and ending with Jude.

Once inside the elevator, I couldn't resist checking out the picture again. When I looked away, a few of the people around me were staring at me like they couldn't possibly imagine why I was beaming on a Monday morning.

If only they knew.

The doors whooshed open on the fifth floor and I headed down the hall, still running on grins and giddiness. When I came to the door that read, XAVIER INDUSTRIES, I ran my hands down my skirt, rolled my shoulders back, and only once I was sure I looked what I felt like an admin assistant should did I open the door.

The office wasn't huge, nor was it exceptionally welcoming, but it was how I envisioned a cubicle city – type office would appear. It smelled like copy machine, and there was even a rubber tree plant stuffed in the back corner where the watercooler stood. It looked like I was the first one here, because I didn't see a single top of a head over the maze of cubicle walls, or any computers humming to life.

The lights were on, though, and someone had to have unlocked the door, so I couldn't be the lone ranger at Xavier Industries. Taking a few more steps inside, I saw what I guessed would be my desk, situated outside a large enclosed office.

I didn't know this because of the nameplate in front that read, LUCY LARSON; nor did it have anything to do with the nameplate on the door behind the desk that read, ANTON XAVIER. I knew it was my space because there were a dozen vases dotting the desk, brimming over with red roses.

That beam that was starting to hurt my smile muscles burst again as I reached for the white envelope on one of the arrangements. So maybe I could kind of be there in person. The note was signed with an, XXXO, Mr. Amazing.

Talk about a great way to start a first day at a new job. 

Plus Mom and Dad had left a voice mail for me on the drive over, wishing me good luck and a great first day.

"I wish I could say I'd come up with the idea," a voice sounded behind me.

I spun around, my mouth dropping. I could have been looking at a male India, only a couple inches taller, maybe a shade darker. I would have mistaken Anton and India for twins if I didn't know Anton was a few years older.