He rolls his eyes and puts cream cheese on a bagel. A few other people shuffle in, grabbing donuts and fresh coffee before starting the workday. I make small talk and eat a donut, yawning the whole time, then retreat to my desk, talking with Mariah as I work. I keep Facebook open, chatting with Erin as I answer emails and convert codes for clients, and then help Mariah with a snag she hit in one of her projects.
At lunch time, Cameron comes and takes a seat at the table next to me. He doesn’t have food, or his phone.
Crap.
“Unless you have Comic Con tickets, no,” I say.
“A little presumptuous, aren’t you?”
I stab a strawberry with my fork. “Am I wrong?”
He sighs and laughs. “No. I just got off the phone with that gallery.”
“Not doing it,” I say. He doesn’t know about Mindy, and I really don’t want to bring it up.
“On come on. The owner bought all new computers. Brand new and ready to be played with.”
“I don’t want to play with his. I like to play with my own, thank you very much.”
Cameron’s lips push together as he tries not to laugh.
“You know what I mean. Please don’t make me.”
“You are so stubborn, you know that, right?”
I shrug. “I prefer strong willed.”
“Call it what you want. But I already said you’d be there to help set shit up.”
“Fine,” I huff. If I never see Mindy fucking Abraham again it would be too soon. “When do I have to be there?”
“Half an hour.”
I nod and get back to my food. “I’m only doing this because I love you. And you told me my ass looks good today.”
He stands with a smile. “Thank you, Felicity. Seriously, this saves me so much trouble.”
I quickly finish my food, refill my Little Mermaid travel coffee mug, and stop at my desk to get my purse. I yank the band out of my hair and let the wind loosen the tight ringlets the bun created. I’m halfway to the gallery when I realize I left my coffee at my desk. I debate on turning around, but don’t have time. I might, just might, be able to run across the street to the Starbucks by the gallery and hit up the drive through. I yawn. Yep. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to get me through the rest of the afternoon with Mindy.
A text comes through from my brother, saying that Danielle is working on “tightening the guest list” and needs to know if I’m bringing a date. I pick up my phone, dangerously reading the text while driving. I won’t actually text while driving, no sir, not worth the risk. Besides, what am I going to say? Chances are I won’t have a date, and that makes me feel all sorts of low.
Fuck it.
I can have fun on my own. And Erin makes a pretty great date. I’ll think of a response later. Right now, I need coffee. Of course, the drive through line is a mile long. I park, hoping I can quickly run in and get my order. Luckily, the inside line is nothing compared to the dozen cars lined up around the store. I put on lip gloss and rake my fingers through my hair then hurry into the cafe.
I order an iced mocha and a brownie with chocolate frosting that looks way too good to pass up. I pay, then stand to the side and wait for my drink, feeling the panic start to build as each minute passes. I check the time on my phone. Yep. I’m officially late.
I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, and that I probably won’t need the whole appointment time anyway. Still, it bugs me to be unprofessional. If Cameron gets a complaint, he will get it from his boss and will be forced to handle it. Plus, after hearing how particular this Ben guy is, I can’t imagine he’ll be too pleasant when I walk in ten to fifteen minutes late. I need him there for part of the time to let me in his office and to put in passwords. And I’m sure he’ll need step-by-step instructions on how to do pretty much everything.
Finally, my drink comes and it’s a balancing act to hold my brownie, phone, wallet, and vente mocha. Somedays I really question my own judgment. This would have been exponentially easier if I had brought my purse in. I gather everything up, take a step, then stop, knowing I have to rearrange something or everything is going onto the floor.
The man who’d been behind me waiting on his drink grabs his coffee from the counter and abruptly turns around, probably thinking I was long gone. Yet there I am, just a foot from where I’d been.
He collides with me, smashing my brownie against my phone and sloshing my cold coffee down the front of my shirt. My mind whirls, going from what the fuck, to holy shit this is cold, to noticing that he’s impossibly gorgeous. He’s well over six feet tall, with a shock of thick, black hair that matches his dark eyes. Stubble covers a strong jaw and tattoos peek out from the sleeves of a black T-shirt that’s filled out by strong muscles. His jeans are washed out and tight in all the right places, and I find my eyes trailing down his body on their own accord. That’s one hell of a bulge he’s got going on.