Page 24 of What Happened Last Night

But aside from my attraction to him, Will was something in my life that was mine alone. This job was mine. The Road Kings were mine. I’d landed the job, I could do it, and I succeeded at it every day. My career was something my family didn’t get to pick over and talk to death. They didn’t get to have an opinion. My family had opinions about everything, and yet not one of them knew who I worked for, because asking questions wasn’t what they did. They loved me, but they regularly drowned me out, talked over me, shouted past me. I craved the keen relief of being with Will, who thought my ideas were good and had asked, Why wouldn’t you matter?

My tension unwound slowly as I drove. I didn’t put any music or other sound on, and the quiet calmed me down. Before I left, Katie had texted me a quick You OK? I’d replied with a thumbs up. I’d talk to her tomorrow, but for now, I was headed home to my familiar apartment and my own bed. Alone.

I wondered whether Will Hale was sleeping right now, and if he ever, even once, thought of me.

TEN

Will

I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, how much I’d agonized over the package in my bag. After the call with Luna, I’d thought less than I should have about rock ‘n roll venues and more about the consignment store, its opening hours, and whether I could make it back there before I left town again. I consulted the schedule Luna had made for me, which laid out my days in perfect squares of time, and tried to plan.

Consignment stores in Midwestern cities didn’t have demand for long opening hours, and this one opened at noon. It would be tight before I had to get to my last meeting and then go straight to the airport.

I could have pulled a rich-guy move and either called the store, offering to pay any price for a special delivery, or called the hotel concierge to arrange what I needed. But that would be cheating. I wanted to hunt this gift down for Luna myself and bring it to her, like a cat who kills a mouse and brings the dead body to its horrified owner.

Because Luna didn’t have a boyfriend.

I had put almost no thought into Luna’s boyfriend when I’d assumed he existed. He was a convenient wall between my assistant and me, but now that I knew he was a figment of my imagination, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t that I wanted to date Luna—that would be inappropriate, and she’d shown no interest in me that way. But I appreciated Luna, and I liked her. I liked her voice and her smile and her schedules. I liked her sweet enthusiasm for the work. I thought her wardrobe was retro cool and suited her perfectly. I liked all of those things, and I wanted her to like me.

For weeks I’d been unable to even think those thoughts, let alone act on them. I couldn’t compliment her looks, because your boss discussing your looks—positively or negatively—was creepy and unwelcome. I couldn’t tell her that I enjoyed her company, that I wanted to have lunch with her every day, that she was one of the people that had made my move to Portland less lonely. I couldn’t tell her that her work was saving my ass and making me feel less and less like I was drowning.

I couldn’t say that with words, but a gift? A gift I could do.

So I’d pulled it off. I’d picked up the gift just as the store opened—luckily no one else had scooped it—and made my meeting, and I’d made my flight. I’d felt good about it until now, when I had it in my messenger bag and was walking into the office to give it to her. I was sweaty all over again.

I’d landed in Portland late last night, and I’d had a few hours of restless sleep that was possibly from jet lag and possibly nerves. I’d risen early to work out. My muscles were sore, but I wasn’t much calmer as I opened the door to the office and saw Luna sitting at her desk.

She looked up, surprised, and her expression lit up. She’d tied a few of her curls back with pins, and her dress was a navy blue one I’d seen a few times before. I was getting to know her wardrobe rotation.

“You made it!” she said in greeting. “How did the meetings go?”

“Just fine.” I dropped my messenger bag into a nearby chair like it was hot to the touch. I had no chance to say anything else before she spoke again.

“The mail’s in a stack right there,” she said. “Nothing that can’t wait. The accountant meeting is set up, but that’s the day after tomorrow. I didn’t put anything on your schedule today or tomorrow. I thought that since you worked all weekend, you’d want to take a few days off.”

“Days off? What language are you speaking? I’ll need a translation.” I pulled out the chair across from her desk and dropped into it, stretching my legs in front of me. I thought I caught Luna looking at my jean-clad legs, my black Chucks, then up to the black tee I wore under an unbuttoned shirt, but maybe I was mistaken. She most likely wasn’t assessing me.

“Didn’t Brad want to talk to me?” I asked. “I saw a message from him.”

“He just wanted the schedule for the next tour,” Luna replied. “I already sent it to him. Will, I have three brothers, and I am dying to ask you something. It’s a burning question at the top of my mind.”

I felt my eyebrows rise. “Go ahead.”

“Who washes and irons your clothes? Because I’ve worked with you for weeks now, and you’re always immaculate. Even after you’ve been traveling for five days.”

I blinked at her, then glanced down at myself. So she had been assessing me, but not for romantic purposes. “My clothes? No one has ever asked me that before. I wash my own clothes, Luna.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You can’t possibly.”

“I do.” I felt myself smiling at her. “If you’d like to be even more shocked, I also feed myself and clean my own apartment. I don’t have staff. I don’t like any people in my personal living space. It’s a quirk of mine. It gives me the creeps.”

“It can’t be.” She shook her head. “My brothers are all bachelors, and I think they pass around the same pair of basketball shorts between the three of them. One bought pants that were advertised as wrinkle free, left them wadded up on the floor of his car for weeks, then complained to the company, trying to get a refund. And you’re trying to tell me you iron?”

I ran a hand down the front of my tee, from between my pecs to my stomach. “I don’t iron, I steam,” I said, deadpan. “It’s the only way. Is that too metrosexual of me?”

“Um, no.” She bit her lip. “Not at all.”

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