Page 22 of Meet Me at Midnight

I’m not self-centered enough to think I’m vastly important to the operation of Banks & McKenzie as an intern, but I definitely take a chunk of busywork off everyone else’s plates that would lower production at least a little.

“What?” Avery questions, rounding the thin wall and jumping up to sit on my desk. It’s justPretty Woman-toned enough to make me worry she’s going to unzip her over-the-knee black Prada boot and start pulling out condoms. “You must be living under a rock if you don’t know who the hottest guy in the company is!”

I snort. She would be horrified if she knew who I think the hottest guy in the company is.

“Anyway,” she continues, immersed in her own story enough to carry the conversation herself. “I saw him in the elevator, after I ran to Starbucks to get a coffee, and let’s just say, he’s a really good kisser.”

“Avery!” I chastise, dropping my voice to a whisper. “You do realize this is your father’s company, right? You can’t just run around kissing employees in the elevator.”

“Oh, relax. I didn’t kiss him in the elevator,” she retorts. “I kissed him in his office on the eighth floor.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I say, leaning back in my chair to stare at her. “You stayed out late, woke up late, went to Starbucks, and then kissed Luke whatshisface in his office on the eighth floor, and I got Chris McKenzie’sMen in Blackface.”

Avery covers her mouth and giggles. Because of Beau’s friendship with Seth in college, I’ve known his father Chris much longer than any other intern would. I know the quirks of his attitude and what drives him nuts, and I know, when he’s really angry, he looks like Vincent D’Onofrio inMen in Black. This morning, on the call with London, he was full-on alien.

Beau does a great impression when he’s off the clock and you get a few beers in him, but the real thing is much scarier.

“I keep inviting you to join me. There are a lot of certified foxes on the eighth floor. We could have found one for you,” she counters.

I roll my eyes. “Remind me again why you wanted this job.”

“Because I love working with my best friend.” She nudges me with her knee.

“It’s funny when you say working… Is it a code word for something? A secret message? Please, help me understand.”

“Okay, fine,” she replies. “I lovehanging outandwatchingmy best friend work.”

I laugh at that. “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you.”

“It’s part of my charm, you know? I’m irresistible.” She winks. “Just ask Luke Harrington.”

“You do realize that if your dad knew you were hooking up with his staff during office hours, he’d lose his shit, right?”

She shrugs. “He’d get over it.”

“But would he?” I question, but her response is interrupted when the phone on my desk starts ringing. I shove Avery’s hip out of the way so I can answer it, and she jumps down and waves goodbye with wiggly fingers. “Hello?” I say into the receiver as Avery heads off to do anything but actual work. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back to my cubicle in an hour to tell me she let some hot dude in HR touch her tits.

“Juniper, it’s Steve down at reception. You have a delivery.”

My eyebrows knit together. “A delivery?”

“Yes. Do you want to come down and get it?”

“Uh…sure. Be down in a sec.” I hang up the phone and stand up, and a quick crane of my neck shows Avery has Houdinied completely.

I’m not expecting a package. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I beat feet from my cubicle to the front of the floor, past the reception desk, and over to the elevator to call the cart.

The most pathetic part of me wonders if Beau figured out who I am from our chat last night and has decided to start a mystery romance.It’s not likely per se, but fairy tales are built on exceptions to the rule, aren’t they?

The elevator ride to reception is a balloon of wild thoughts. Somehow, I even manage to squeeze it through the doors without popping it when I get down to the lobby. Right in front of Steve sits a giant bouquet of pink roses, and my heartraces, daydreams of a Beau and June love story sending it into overdrive.

“Are those for me?” I question tentatively, bringing Steve’s head up from the desk at the sound of my voice.

He looks down at his notes and then back up at me. “Are you Juniper Perry?”

I nod and flash him my badge.

“Well, then, yes, these are for you,” he says and leans down to pick up a white box wrapped with a Tiffany-blue bow from where it sits beside his computer screen. “And this too.”

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