Page 2 of I Won't Be In On Monday

He blinks. "You should get out more, Juniper."

"Yes. Well, I seem to always be at work, making appointments for my boss," I say, and he bursts out laughing as if I'm joking.

"Oh, you're funny. You should have your boyfriend or someone take you out to see some movies." He pauses. "Or your girlfriend. Whatever floats your boat."

I press my lips together and nod, but inside, I'm seething. He doesn't even know me well enough to know whether I am gay or straight. I'm offended. Not by the fact that he thinks I could be a lesbian, but by the fact that he doesn't know, and he doesn't even care to actually inquire so that he can get an answer. I am annoyed with this man. "I'll try my best, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No," he says, walking to his office. "I'm going to be heading out in a little bit. I have a partners’ meeting with Max andGabe. Maybe Kingston, too. He is supposed to be taking Skye to Sweden or something in the next couple of days, so he may not make it."

"Switzerland," I correct him.

He blinks. "What?"

"They're going to Switzerland because she told him she liked Swiss chocolate, and he wanted to get her Swiss chocolate in Switzerland as a special treat."

"Oh, yeah," He shakes his head. "Craziness. I never thought I’d see the day where Kingston Chase acted like a pussycat for a woman.”

“I guess that’s because he loves her.”

“I guess.” He wrinkles his nose. “I can’t believe both Max and Kingston are in relationships now.” He shudders. “Oh, well. At least I know that Gabe and I are heading up the solidly single front in the office.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Though, technically, you have multiple girlfriends."

"I have zero girlfriends, Juniper. Zero. Remember that." He taps his nose and holds up his fingers in a 0 shape. “I have zero girlfriends.”

"But I just sent three ladies roses."

"Three friends who I occasionally grab lunch or drinks or dinners with." He grins. "I'm a bachelor, a man of the millennium. I cannot focus on just one woman." He pauses and glances down at me, a furrow in his brows. "Wait, does that make me sound like a dick?"

I want to say yes, but I don't. Instead, I just shake my head and grab a handful of files and look down. He grins at me again and runs his fingers through his short dark hair, then straightens his power red tie against his crisp white shirt, while I try not to admire his physique.

I know that he works out every day. I manage his calendar, and I know that he works out every morning for an hour to an hour and a half, and on the weekends, he works out twice a day. He certainly has the physique to prove it. Unlike me, who works out for a week at the beginning of every new year.

Remington Parker is the picture of good shape. His arms are buff, his chest is ripped, his legs are muscular, and he's more handsome than sin. He really does have it all, and he can get any woman he wants. I don't know why that makes me annoyed. It’s not like I want him. But if I did, it's not like he would ever want me, even if he wasn't as ridiculously handsome and built as he was. No men look at me. I'm a bit of a plain Jane. I've been that way my entire life, and, for the most part, I'm okay with it.

Or at least I was. I had my books. My dad. Strawberry ice cream. Now, if I’m being honest with myself, I want more.

And hopefully, soon, I will have more. My coworkers and friends, Lila and Skye, have agreed to give me a makeover, and they are positive that it will change my life. Though I’m not sure I fully believe them.

For once in my life, I want a man to look at me differently. To really see me and find me attractive. Just once, I don’t want to be invisible or the friend they talk to when they're trying to chat up my prettier friends.

I hear my phone beep and look down at the screen and it's my dad. I look over at Remington. "Hey, do you mind if I take this? It's my father, and..."

"Oh, go ahead. Feel free to leave early today, as well. I know you’ve had a long week.” He sounds proud of himself for being generous, though I can see the nervous energy in his stance.

“Thank you,” I say, looking at my watch. It's 6:00 p.m. on Friday evening. Technically, I should have left at 5:00 p.m. I don't know if he's being facetious or if he actually thinks he's being charming and kind, but I'm not going to say anything.

I watch as he enters his office and closes the door, and I pick up the phone. “Hey, Dad, what's going on?"

"There you are. I was wondering if you'd like to come to dinner this evening."

"Oh, I’m going to go for drinks with my friend Lila, but..."

"Oh," he says in a disappointed tone. "I was hoping that you'd come home and try my lasagna."

"Dad, I've had your lasagna many times," I say, trying not to be mean. My father has raised me himself since I was six, after my mother passed away in a car accident. He'd been the best father a girl could have ever asked for, but unfortunately, he knew nothing about the ways of women. He knew nothing about clothing, fashion, makeup, or hair, and he’d never dated another woman since my mother’s death. At least not that I knew of. So I’d never had a mother figure in my life.

“Dad, what about I come over tomorrow?” I suggest, wanting to make him happy.

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