Page 15 of Dangerously Tempting

I have other priorities right now, but when I get my dad all squared away I’m damn well going to track her down and make sure she knows that I want more. Even if one more night is all she’s willing to give me, I’ll take it.

I’ll take it, because I know that I can convince her to pursue more if I try hard enough.

9

Amelia

Playlist: "Boom," Anjulie

Once I finally finish making the drive home, the rest of the weekend passes in a blur that consists of pints of ice cream and hanging out with my bestie, Katherine. Far too soon, it’s Monday morning and I’m slapping my alarm to silence it, wishing I could sleep for at least another hour. The one benefit is that I’ll be so busy that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get Jameson off my mind.

Kat and I spent all of Sunday evening going through every interaction I’d had with him, sparing no details, as besties do, and she is now just as enamored with him as I am. For her, it was his ability to read me like a book and meet me at every turn that had her giggling. For me, it was the magic ability he had to use his body to make mine explode over and over again. It was a level of skill I didn’t want to question too much, and I wouldn’t so that the memories of him could be locked in my spank bank forever, untainted by trivial bullshit and a fit of jealousy I had no right to.

I pushed him from my mind, running through what the day would hold as I went through the motions of getting ready. After showering, blow drying, and curling my hair, I pinned half of it up and slid into a pair of black slacks that fit like a second skin, a turquoise blouse that accentuated the girls and drew the eye directly to them, and my favorite heels.

The key to working as a financial analyst as a woman is to play into their expectations. You have to straddle the line of professional and sexy so that they are too busy concentrating on your assets to realize you took them through the wringer. It has always been satisfying when they are completely caught off guard.

It has taken me some time, but now I’m a master at putting on my protective layer to go to work. It isn’t just the clothes, the makeup, or the hair. It’s like I have to put up a barrier around myself, and add a layer to my personality, too. To some, it might seem sad or fake, but the reality of it is that if I have to be a chameleon to survive in my field, it’s the problem of the others working in it, not mine. They’re the ones that need copious amounts of therapy to get over their toxic masculinity, not me.

By the time I’ve grabbed my purse and locked my door behind me, my shields have slid into place and I’m prepared for the day. The only thing missing is a hit of caffeine and I grab that at the neighborhood coffee house before I make my way toward our office building.

I used to take the subway, but in the business world there’s a lot of standing in one place or sitting and I like to eat. One of the joys of getting older is that everything I eat likes to settle around my stomach or my ass now, and I hate it. It was an easy choice to start walking a few blocks vs packing on the extra weight and I haven’t come to regret the decision yet, even in the winter months.

Exercise isn’t the only added benefit. I’m an avid people watcher and the things that you see on the city streets in the early morning light will oftentimes keep you laughing for the rest of the day, or at least have your faith in humanity squashed or restored. I don’t know if there’s a study behind why people who live in the city are just a little crazy, but if there is, I’d be really curious to know what they discover.

Before I know it I’m walking up to our building and the doorman greets me with a wide smile. He’s worked at this building since before I managed to wedge my foot in the door, and if the wild people on the streets don’t brighten my morning, he often does. He pulls the door open, tipping his head to me as he dramatically motions for me to enter

“My lady,” he greets, and I can hear the humor in his voice even though I can’t see his face with his head tilted downwards.

“Thank you, kind sir,” I respond, and when he finally flicks his eyes up to me I offer him a curtsy that would not at all pass the vibe check anywhere else. We share a laugh before I move through the door, calling back over my shoulder, “You have a fabulous day, Hank!”

“You too, young lady,” he calls back and I snort. He refuses to stop calling me that, even though I’ve already kicked the door down and waded into my 30s. It does things for my ego though, so I’m not about to stop him.

I sip my coffee as I shoulder the door to the stairs open, and almost plow into a man coming out. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, hooking the door with my foot to hold it open for him. His hands are full of trash bags and I already almost took him out, so the least I can do is hold the door.

“No problem,” he responds, offering me a flirty grin. I drop my eyes to the safety vest he’s wearing and instantly know he must be from the construction crew working on the floor beneath where our offices are. No offense to him, but blue-collar workers don’t really do it for me. I still smile back as he moves through the door, but my full wattage isn’t behind it.

I turn and make my way up the stairs, downing the rest of my coffee as I go. Years of this walk have made it where I could walk these stairs with my eyes closed. I wouldn’t, but I probably could. I tuck my empty cup under my arm, fishing my phone out of my purse with the other so I can make sure I’m not running late or missing any important emails. A door shutting echoes down from above me so I make sure to flick my eyes up every few steps so that I don’t nearly take out another unsuspecting bystander.

I can hear the clump of boots and, assuming it’s another of the workers coming down, I shift so I’m walking almost against the railing of the stairs so I’m easier for them to go around if they need to. I drop my phone back into my purse, no missed emails or emergencies to be found. A certain improvement on the start of some days, and I’ll take it, no complaints.

Someone wolf whistles as I step onto the landing, and I scoff while rolling my eyes, but throw a bit more swing into my hips as I walk on by. This has become our morning ritual the last several weeks, their boss always yelling at them to cut the shit and get back to work as soon as they start up. I’m so used to it now, I don’t even bother to look at them as I wave over my shoulder and head up the next set of stairs.

It occurs to me, as I get up to the landing where our offices are, that there was no yelling to knock it off today. Maybe the big boss man is sick today. The rest of them obviously don’t know how to behave of their own accord, but at least they’re good entertainment. There truly is nothing like a good ego boost first thing in the morning.

I take one more deep breath in before I square my shoulders and push through the door, into the pool with the sharks.

Playlist: "Bad Liar," Selena Gomez

A week later

I’m sporting the hangover of all hangovers this morning as I rush to throw together an outfit and get ready for the day. I spent far too long in bed trying to make my aching head stop its pounding to no avail. All it did was waste enough time that I’m throwing my hair into my best ‘skipped a hair wash day’ updo as I stare at myself in the mirror wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.

I let Katherine convince me to get shit faced on a Sunday to drown my sorrows, and instead, all it did was drag them into Monday with a raging headache and puffy eyes to match. “You’re an absolute stunner this morning, darling,” I grumble at my reflection as I snatch up my toothbrush and rush through the rest of my morning routine.

Jameson hasn’t called me, and it’s throwing me off my game. I keep trying to convince both Kat and myself that it’s just his dick I miss, but I’m not at all convincing. I don’t know what I expected, but falling apart at the seams over one night with a man was not on my bingo card.

I’m angry at myself for letting it get to me this much. Not only that, but I’m mad I haven’t just bucked up and called the man my damn self. Kat almost did it in our drunken stupor last night, and I snatched my phone away just in time to keep her from calling. I think she took at least five years off my life.

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