Page 117 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I try to figure out something quick to make for dinner. Loud music begins as soon as I set the mustard on the counter.

Surely, playing music that loud is against the rules, especially after eleven. This wouldn’t fly in the building where I lived in LA. It was filled with lawyers, doctors, agents, and even a few celebrities, looking for peace from the outside world, not to have it shattered. That’s why I lived there. If I wanted to party, I would have lived on Sunset or in The Hills.

I finish making my sandwich and eat while I move from vent to vent, listening with the rapt attention I usually reserve for my work. I’m quick to narrow it down to three vents in the living room as I eat. Tomorrow, I intend to find out who’s at the other end.I don’t need another stress. Not. Here.

The kitchen only takes a minute to clean, and then I make my way to the bedroom. In the bathroom, I stare into the mirror, not recognizing myself as easily these days. I’ve aged beyond my years, the stress of building a family empire wearing into my skin. I run my hands over my jaw, feeling how the long hours add to the growth. I didn’t shave every day in California because I didn’t have to. But from what I’ve seen of this city, even from my brother, the professional community takes a more formal approach.

I pull out my razor blade and set up for the morning. Organizing things now feeds my need to control things. I brush my teeth, floss, and then climb into bed. After a day of being surrounded by TV screens blaring while watching the stock market, this is much-needed peace.

I’m not that lucky, though.

The upbeat melody from the offending neighboring apartment sneaks in. I bury my head under a pillow.Shit.Seems to be a running theme today.

4

Juni

What if Iget there early? Do I stay and wait to order? Or do I order and then take the coffee, telling Barry the bill will be paid as soon as a certain man who lost a jinx shows up with the money?

Oh wait, they won’t even make the coffee until it’s paid for.Hrm . . .I could arrive fashionably late, but that would be rude. I have no idea what to do. It’s been a long time since I met someone of the opposite persuasion for coffee. This flirting-dating business has me feeling woefully unprepared for this meetup. And with someone I find extremely hot, in spite of his ever-changing moods.

I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s coffee.Nothing more.

Anyway, a molehill is all it can be since I have a job today. I grab my bag and hurry downstairs.

Pete is helping Mrs. Smith to the curb. The door closes behind them as I cross the lobby, determined to ignore the wilting row of variegated snake plants against the far wall. I lose. Again.

Pushing the door open, I hear Pete say, “Sorry about that, Juni. I didn’t see you coming.”

I never mind opening the door for myself. It always makes me feel too pampered when I leave it to the doormen, but they don’t appreciate me stealing their job.

“No worries, Pete. I can handle the door.”

He tips his head. “We’re always looking for help if you want to cover a shift or two.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I reply. “I’ll keep that in mind.” As he helps Mrs. Smith into a taxi, I stroll the block, admiring the trees blooming in their large planters and the birds flying with a blue sky as the backdrop.

When I turn the corner, I spy Andrew pacing the sidewalk with a phone to his ear. The tips of my fingers run the length of the smile he brings to my face before I bite my lower lip. I shouldn’t fixate on such shallow things like his looks or the way his suit hangs on his body just as nice as yesterday's did. And my tummy definitely shouldn’t tighten when I eye that cliff dive of a jaw on full display. But I’m pretty sure I’m not alone, nor the first one to admire this man for his physical attributes.

Men like him get plenty of attention. The last thing he needs is mine.

But that smirky grin he’s wearing when he sees me also doesn’t help settle the butterflies flapping around my stomach.

Keep your eyes on the prize, Jacobs.Coffee, that’s it.Nothing more. The last thing I need in my life is some guy who has me imagining growing a garden, barbecuing on the weekends, strolling through Central Park, or dining out. Nope. I don’t need any of that. . . that . . .fantasy stuff in my life.

I’m not interested in changing. Cut bait and get out is working just fine.

“Hello, Juni,” he says, a grin so devilish that my knees weaken, causing me to stumble over my own feet in my stride.

My arms fly into the air as a high-pitched squeal escapes my throat. “Oh my God!” I exclaim, catching myself. Technically, my face stopped the momentum against his chest, but we don’t need to get caught up in the minutia of the details.

Fortunately, he’s quick with his hands and also stopped me from plowing into him . . . well, any more than I did already. Pushing off him, I try to catch my breath, which was also lost in the fall. I straighten my skirt before brushing my hair back from my face and failing to keep the embarrassment from heating my face.

A small section of hair falls from his prior-to-seeing-me perfectly coiffed hair, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”And utterly mortified.But I swallow down that admission.

His kind smile quirks up on one side. “If it makes a difference, you saved it at the end.”

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