Page 7 of Yours Temporarily

She deadpans me. She knows my schedule. She puts it together.

“Only one person is permitted to interrupt me today. Around lunchtime.” Everyone has a different lunchtime, and Clarissa wasn’t specific when she said lunchtime.

Jill waves her cup at me, her expression playful. “Oh, look at you, social butterfly. Since when do you attend parties and allow interruptions at work?”

I lower my voice as the elevator dings open, revealing an empty space. I’d best describe Clarissa, though I’m not good at painting pictures with words. “She’s strikingly beautiful, poised, and stands out. You’ll recognize her immediately.”

Jill shakes her head, lifts her drink to her mouth, and sips it. “All right, Mr. Mysterious. How long have you known each other?”

I ignore her question to stress one more instruction. I can’t afford to slack off on a Monday. Otherwise, the rest of the week will get backlogged. “Just check the camera when Naina buzzes up for anyone looking for me.”

Jill nods, still chuckling. “Must be someone very unusual for you to invite her here.”

I wave her off and head toward my office. Nature-inspired art adorns the walls above a seating area outfitted with white linen sofas and a glass table. The mountain landscapes evoke memories of my childhood home. Adjacent to the seating area, a bookshelf houses my research materials alongside frames showcasing the awards and medals I’ve accumulated over my eight years at Stone Financial. This space is more than just an office. It’s a reflection of my journey and motivating passions.

The city skyline, buried in fog, stretches out beyond the panoramic windows. Fog or sunshine, the view never gets old.

I settle into my chair and boot up my computer. Entering my password brings up today’s updated agenda by Jill. She cheekily added “Jeremy’s date between 11–12:30.” She even highlighted it in yellow and added a tongue-sticking-out emoji. The agenda also includes virtual meetings with branch managers across the country and at several international branches. While I don’t plan to tackle all these calls in one day, I have a virtual meeting with executives at eight—just thirty minutes away. This leaves me ample time to review the agenda once more.

***

The morning vanishes in a flurry of activities, including two scheduled meetings and two unexpected calls. One call is from a vendor seeking to renegotiate their contract terms. The other is from a new, demanding investor eager for updates on our strategies for the upcoming year’s company performance.

I catch a break as I scan the list of the project steering committee, determining which branch needs my immediate contact.

Then Jill’s voice cuts through the intercom. “Your lunch guest is here.”

It’s eleven fifty-five.

“Send her in.” I shift in my chair, now second-guessing this engagement.

My heartbeat accelerates when a soft knock sounds at the half-open frosted-glass door. I clear my throat, then call out. “Come in.”

The door swings open, but it’s not Clarissa.

“Zuri.” I stand from my swivel chair. My heart kicks up another beat as she meets me with a sheepish smile. “Hello.”

In a navy-and-white-print maxi dress, she’s even more striking than Saturday night. The daylight streaming through the windows enhances her natural beauty, catching her curves and the glossy spirals of her curls. She looks taller today. Apparently, those heels peeking out beneath her hem are adding to her height. Her hoop earrings dance against her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle with guilty mischief.

“I thought I’d stop by.” She hefts the bags in her hand, and an unmistakably savory aroma wafts my way. “I, uh, brought you some food. Felt terrible about the door incident. I hope this makes up for it.”

Frozen in place with no idea what to do or say, I clear my throat and grip the back of my neck. Why are my palms sweating? I wipe them on my pants and move around the desk.

“If food is what it gets me, then I’m glad you slammed a door into my head.” Besides the bruise, I can barely feel the pain. “What do you have there?”

Zuri saunters toward my desk—her skirt swishing with her languid movements and drawing my attention to places I shouldn’t be looking. Then she unloads containers from the insulated bags. “You said you love spring rolls, so I got carried away and made some dishes to accompany them. I had to throw in a salad and jalapeno poppers for good measure.”

My stomach rumbles. I move close and lift the lid off one container. “This is quite a salad.” meat, greens, peppers, and an array of colorful vegetables form a visual masterpiece. Also, enough to feed at least four people. “An apology feast? I won’t say no to that.”

I carry the salad and another container, slightly warm in my hand. “I hope you’re staying to feast with me,” I say without hidden intentions because I enjoyed her company. “I’m not eating all this food alone.”

“I’d hate to interfere with your work. I’ve already interrupted when I made this surprise visit.” She carries two other containers and joins me in the seating area. “I won’t stay long.”

“You got blog posts to upload?” I shift further into the chair.

She sits on the loveseat across from me, smooths her dress, then eases her red handbag to the empty white cushion next to her. She hands me a fork from the tote bag, a real one, not disposable.

“I’m only posting one recipe a week, rather than daily.” She pulls a spoon from the tote bag. “I’ll use a spoon.”

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