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Authors: Christine Brae
Tags: Contemporary
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the different colors and styles. The one I can’t stop staring at myself in is a corset-type outfit in a gorgeous plum color. I peek out from between the curtains and motion for Leya to come inside.
“Holy shit, Jade! Are you sure you’re 42? That body. You are smoking hot!” Leya exclaims. “He’s never going to stand a chance with that one. Sold!” She laughs heartily.
Leya’s thundering voice causes Pat to come barging into the fitting room.
“You think?” I slip another see-through nightie over my head. “What about this one?”
“That’s definitely you,” Pat declares proudly. “It brings out the color of your stunning eyes.”
That settles it. Flattery gets Pat everywhere, and I walk out of that store with a thousand dollars in beautiful outfits and a priceless infusion of self-confidence and hope.
By six o’clock that evening, he hasn’t called. I stay in the office, not knowing whether I should go to my hotel to freshen up or remain there in case he wants to see me earlier.
Who am I kidding? I can’t work.
I find myself glancing at my window repeatedly to check out my reflection in the glass. Why would he want to hang out with someone as old as me? I don’t blame him for not calling. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Two hours later, I finally give up. I take my suitcase and trek to my hotel feeling stupid and rejected.
He doesn’t call.
I order room service, drink two glasses of wine, and fall asleep.
I’M CRANKY ON Tuesday morning. All-out, full-on temperamental. Everyone stays as far as possible from me at work. I keep my door closed for most of the day to complete a pressing project. I want to schedule a trip back to La Perla to return everything I purchased the day before. What was I thinking? I start to analyze everything that has transpired between where we are today and his phone call about his upcoming visit. One night? He was going to try to see me for one night?
I muster up all my energy to think clearly about this situation. Where have I been for the past few weeks? I need to get a grip on this now. It ends right here. I’m too old for this shit.
Or not.
“Hello?” I answer on the third ring.
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not. Why should I be?” I fiddle with my pens and doodle on the pad of paper in front of me.
“We ended up working until past two and I didn’t want to wake you in the middle of the night. I couldn’t break free to sneak a call without everyone being in the room with me.” His voice is gentle and conciliatory.
“That’s fine,” I reply, though my tone is in direct conflict with my words.
“Well, it’s not. I can’t take being this close to you without seeing you. I’m going to wrap up by eight this evening. Where would you like to meet?”
“Why don’t you just finish what you’re doing and I’ll see you some other time?”
“What? No, Jade! Tonight. Please see me tonight,” he insists.
I pause for a few seconds. So much for ending this.
“Okay. Nine?”
“Where?”
“Somewhere far away from this office.”
“Why don’t I meet you at the place a block away and we can just decide where to go then?”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
DESPITE ALL THE outfits I brought over with me for the week, I decide not to bother changing into something more appropriate. I’m wearing a casual pair of leggings, a long sweater, and some flat riding boots. All he’s seen me in are work clothes—even those leather pants that one day were matched with a business jacket—so this one should turn him off, I tell myself. The fact that I’m not going to get all gussied up to see him puts us in the friend zone.
The bar across the street is unusually dark and full of people. By the time I arrive, he’s standing by the door, waiting for me. I want to run into his arms, but obviously, I don’t. All I can think about is the fact that there might be people from work who will recognize us.
“Hi.” He steps forward and
“Holy shit, Jade! Are you sure you’re 42? That body. You are smoking hot!” Leya exclaims. “He’s never going to stand a chance with that one. Sold!” She laughs heartily.
Leya’s thundering voice causes Pat to come barging into the fitting room.
“You think?” I slip another see-through nightie over my head. “What about this one?”
“That’s definitely you,” Pat declares proudly. “It brings out the color of your stunning eyes.”
That settles it. Flattery gets Pat everywhere, and I walk out of that store with a thousand dollars in beautiful outfits and a priceless infusion of self-confidence and hope.
By six o’clock that evening, he hasn’t called. I stay in the office, not knowing whether I should go to my hotel to freshen up or remain there in case he wants to see me earlier.
Who am I kidding? I can’t work.
I find myself glancing at my window repeatedly to check out my reflection in the glass. Why would he want to hang out with someone as old as me? I don’t blame him for not calling. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Two hours later, I finally give up. I take my suitcase and trek to my hotel feeling stupid and rejected.
He doesn’t call.
I order room service, drink two glasses of wine, and fall asleep.
I’M CRANKY ON Tuesday morning. All-out, full-on temperamental. Everyone stays as far as possible from me at work. I keep my door closed for most of the day to complete a pressing project. I want to schedule a trip back to La Perla to return everything I purchased the day before. What was I thinking? I start to analyze everything that has transpired between where we are today and his phone call about his upcoming visit. One night? He was going to try to see me for one night?
I muster up all my energy to think clearly about this situation. Where have I been for the past few weeks? I need to get a grip on this now. It ends right here. I’m too old for this shit.
Or not.
“Hello?” I answer on the third ring.
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not. Why should I be?” I fiddle with my pens and doodle on the pad of paper in front of me.
“We ended up working until past two and I didn’t want to wake you in the middle of the night. I couldn’t break free to sneak a call without everyone being in the room with me.” His voice is gentle and conciliatory.
“That’s fine,” I reply, though my tone is in direct conflict with my words.
“Well, it’s not. I can’t take being this close to you without seeing you. I’m going to wrap up by eight this evening. Where would you like to meet?”
“Why don’t you just finish what you’re doing and I’ll see you some other time?”
“What? No, Jade! Tonight. Please see me tonight,” he insists.
I pause for a few seconds. So much for ending this.
“Okay. Nine?”
“Where?”
“Somewhere far away from this office.”
“Why don’t I meet you at the place a block away and we can just decide where to go then?”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
DESPITE ALL THE outfits I brought over with me for the week, I decide not to bother changing into something more appropriate. I’m wearing a casual pair of leggings, a long sweater, and some flat riding boots. All he’s seen me in are work clothes—even those leather pants that one day were matched with a business jacket—so this one should turn him off, I tell myself. The fact that I’m not going to get all gussied up to see him puts us in the friend zone.
The bar across the street is unusually dark and full of people. By the time I arrive, he’s standing by the door, waiting for me. I want to run into his arms, but obviously, I don’t. All I can think about is the fact that there might be people from work who will recognize us.
“Hi.” He steps forward and
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