Page 169 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

Oh great! No pressure.Just me and Natalie St. James, now Christiansen, former Manhattan socialite who never much cared for the spotlight. I’ve readPage Sixa few times over the years.

I’m close to asking why he wants me to meet his wife, but with eight people standing like sardines in this tin can, I think silence is best.

The doors open, and a guy announces, “You can fit two more,” before he and another guy push their way onto the elevator. The rest of us take a step back, making room we didn’t have to spare.

I hadn’t wanted to look around. Making eye contact in a confined space is one of my least favorite things. It becomes awkward quickly. Do I make small talk? Or pretend the other person doesn’t exist? Acknowledge them and then move on like they’re dead to me? Elevator etiquette is so confusing.

But in this frenzy of what to do, I hadn’t noted that Drew was behind me, taking up the back corner.Until now.One step back has my back pressed to his chest, his body so close that I can feel him breathing, almost certain that his heart is pumping as hard as mine.

When the elevator jolts to a stop on the eighteenth floor, it causes us to shift with it. Sometimes, I regret wearing my nicest heels, four and a half inches of black leather Louboutins.Not today.When I’m thrown off balance, his hand catches the underside of my arm, and his other hand steadies my hip closest to the wall. No one knows. No one but him and me. My arm is released although his other hand lingers a few seconds longer.

My heart’s been racing since the moment I touched him, and my body’s temperature is rising. It’s stuffy in here.Just me?I run my finger under the collar of my sweater and look around.

Everyone looks uncomfortable and ready to be out of this hot box. I’m not sure most of their faces would be any different if we were in the fresh air. Dipping my head forward, I swipe the hair from my neck, pulling it over my left shoulder. I close my eyes and swear I feel the ghost of his hand caressing my skin.

The pressure of his fingers dragging straight down my spine. His lips a breath away. “Ahh.” The sound escapes without permission, and my eyes snap open again.

Nine sets of eyes are staring at me. I’m feeling confident to include Drew, though there’s no way I’m turning around to verify. I find my safe place in Nick when he grins sympathetically. The doors open to the lobby, and then he moans loudly. “Thank God we’re here. I hold my breath, too.”

While I stand in awe of what he just did to cover for me, a few chuckles are heard. But the rest rush forward. Only the three of us are left then, and Nick and Drew both wait for me to exit first.

I want to thank him, but Julie from the brokerage division says, “I was the new girl until you arrived. How are you settling in?”

“I think I’m mostly settled.” As we walk, we talk, our large group scattered in the horde of other New Yorkers just getting off work. I only glance back once to see Drew, Nick, and Jackson St. James talking as they walk together.

It’s then that I notice Drew isn’t wearing a suit jacket. He’s rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms and the Rolex I remember from the park. His tie is loose and hanging slightly askew on his chest. Basically, the man’s trying to kill me, or at least weaken my knees.

And he’s succeeding.

Inside the bar, Julie introduces me to many of the employees from the brokerage. Joseph is trying to handle his second beer and failing. Lightweight. And I’ve had this weird feeling that Drew is avoiding me, which causes me to hesitate before approaching him. But every time I find him in the crowd, his eyes are on me.

Half the bar’s eyes are on him. Understandable. But after he staked claim to me when it came to Taylor earlier, I’ve been motivated a few times to stake claims of my own.

That would be wrong.

So wrong.

I’d lose this job, a job I wasn’t even sure I wanted to keep a week ago. Here I am, trying to figure out which department I want to join when Melissa returns.

It was one mental reference to Taylor, nothing even spoken out loud. And there he is, coming toward me with a shit-eating grin and a beer in hand. “Thought you were passing?”

Not that I feel the need to justify my change of mind to him, but I say it anyway, hoping it satisfies his curiosity, “I got talked into it.”

“That’s cool. I’m heading over to talk with the boss man. Want to come?”

Now, this is the kind of offer I can get on board with. Leaving space between us gives others the opportunity to join in as well. Drew is in full-on CEO Andrew mode right now, so I flip that switch in my mind and try to keep my thoughts in line.

It’s just so hard when I can still feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck, the heat of his hand imprinted on my hip, and those eyes that intimidate any guy who dares to look my way. Yeah, I’ve noticed.How is it possible that he’s even hotter when he’s protective of me?Damn him.

I don’t think I cared how long it had been since I was with a man until I met him. Owning toys might get the job done, but there’s no passion when it comes to anything requiring batteries and an instruction manual. I miss the emotion, someone telling me I’m beautiful, falling asleep in someone’s arms, and sitting beside them on a lazy Sunday, even if they told me I had overstayed my welcome.

Dating in New York is tough. Most men want a girlfriend but not a wife, a whore in bed but not a significant other come morning. I’ve had one-night stands and don’t judge others for trying to fulfill their own emptiness. I miss the other stuff, the life that comes after when you connect on a deeper level—good morning kisses, coffee, and a scone in bed together, or losing a day lost in each other.

It’s not just what I miss. It’s what I want.

Gil was right. I’m ready. I’ve just been my own worst enemy.

Julie makes talking to the head honcho look so easy. Her light laughter and expressive arms as she talks with Andrew about the recent wild ride of the market. I attempt to join in as a group of stockbrokers talk shop with him but somehow get cut out of the conversation.

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