Page 167 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

She snaps twice. “We’re not talking about cookies. We’re talking about this list and what it is.”

“What is it?”

Her expression anchors sideways. “Nice try, Christiansen. You know but let me remind you.” She holds it up and waves it. “This is a list of life or, more importantly, getting one.”

“I have a life, a very full life, I might add.” I take hold of the sandwich again, ready to devour the rest.

“You, sir, have a life full of work.”

I’m never going to finish this sandwich at this rate. I set it down and sit back, preparing to be here a while. “And the problem is?”

“You need a personal life.”

“You’re assuming I don’t have one already. We’ve spent time together outside of this office. That’s called a personal life.”

She slow blinks, not amused by my sad attempt to convince her otherwise. “If spending time with me is the only fun, and yes, I know you had fun and will take full credit for said fun, but if that’s it?—”

“I went out with my brother and Jackson,” I reply pointedly. “You saw me that night. I was out with the guys for hours.”

Appearing to concede, she nods. “That is true. I’ll grant you that time as well.”

“And we made plans for this weekend. It’s like my whole life is one big party. Anyway, what are you doing when you’re not here or with me?”

“Okay, settle down. Let’s not get carried away.” Sitting back in her chair, she says, “My point?—”

“Ah. I see your point. What’s good for the goose?—”

“Is not good for the gander.” Placing her hands down on my desk, she stands. “We can play cliché games all day, but wouldn’t it be more fun, and productive, I might add, if we just do what your mom wants and complete the list?”

Now I’m rolling my eyes. “My mom would have me running around this city if she has her way, and then my dad would serve my ass on a silver platter to the next guy in line for this job.”

“What kind of dad do you have that serves asses on platters, much less uses the good silver? Your family’s weird. No offense.”

We’re the weird ones?I scoff, but a chuckle comes out after, sounding more like a mutated bark. Trying to play it off, I cough. “None taken.”

Concern threads through her forehead. “Are you okay?”

I clear my throat again. “I’m fine. Just a little chicken stuck in—” I cough again for added effect.

“You’re good. You’re fine,” she sing-songs. “Are you ever great? Like top of the morning, kick your heels in the air great?”

“Like a leprechaun? No. But I am great at my job. Yes.”

Her eyes glide toward the windows, and she says, “At least one of us is,” sounding distracted.

“Probably not something you should admit to your boss. Anyway, you’ve proven otherwise to everyone at CWM.”

I see a smile settle in place before she waves me off, embarrassed. “I have a proposition for you.”The queen of sidetracks strikes again.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”

“It’s easy, no worries.”

“Last time I was told not to worry, I was flying across the country to save a merger. So you’ll have to excuse my concern when someone says not to worry.”

“I’ll let it slide. Look, you’re new to New York. I’ve been here my whole life. I can help you check each one of these oddball requests off your list in no time. You’ve already done number one. And quite honestly, I’m glad to find out this is what you were doing and that you’re not just some nutball with a grass fetish.”

That’s what she assumed?“As much as I appreciate the offer, who says I’m even finishing this ridiculous list?”

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