Page 4 of What Happened Last Night

“Was Thirsty Lady at yoga tonight?”

“Thirsty Lady and Large-Butt Guy, check,” Katie said. “Spray-Tan Girl wasn’t present.”

Growing up as an only daughter with three older brothers, Katie wasn’t just my cousin, she was my thread of sanity. She was in Portland, too, and worked as a nail tech. We talked every day.

We wound through our usual list of topics—Katie’s crazy customers at the nail salon, the impossibility of finding jeans that looked good and were comfortable, our cherished hope that kale would stop being a thing soon—until she broke in with, “You know why I called you, babe. I need the daily update. Spill.”

I groaned and lay back, flinging an arm over my forehead like a lady in a Regency romance. “There’s no change in status.”

“What happened today?”

“He gave me a few hours off this afternoon. He was meeting with the lawyer today, so he was wearing a dress shirt and a tie.” I’d seen him when he dropped by the office briefly, then left again. I squeezed my eyes shut as my brain recalled the image of Will Hale in a dress shirt and tie. He usually dressed more casually, and seeing him this morning had been… a shock. Now the image was burned into my brain, along with all the others.

I had a crush.

I couldn’t explain it. I’d done my research on Will Hale before I interviewed with him. I’d seen his photo online, and in it he looked perfectly fine. A guy in his thirties with dark blond hair, fit and trim, with a serious expression, like he was thinking hard. He was a huge business success in his twenties, but he seemed to be very private, with little of his life online. There were no pictures of him partying with supermodels or getting high on a yacht. The company I worked for had just folded, and I needed a job. An agency connected me with Will. I thought working for him would be interesting.

He'd interviewed me in a small, hole-in-the wall Vietnamese restaurant while he ordered lunch. The second I sat down across the small table from him, I’d felt something weird start to happen. I felt hot, my skin flushed. I noticed that his eyes were a rich hazel color, his lashes subtly dark. His hands were nice. The shoulders of his jacket fit him perfectly, and when he shifted in his seat and reached across the table for a napkin, I stared at his arm. When he straightened again and looked at me, I noticed that his lips looked soft.

“Are you all right?” he’d asked.

“Yes,” I’d managed to croak.

I got through the rest of the interview by not meeting his eyes, not staring at his mouth. I’d kept my gaze locked somewhere past his shoulder or on the spot where his collarbone would be located beneath his clothes. I came out of the restaurant nearly gasping, unable to recall most of what I’d said.

I hadn’t had an honest to goodness crush since Jonas Ashton smiled at me, dimples and all, in seventh grade. I couldn’t explain it. Will Hale was just a man—a handsome and successful one, for sure, but still a man—and I was reacting as if I’d just had an interview with Harry Styles. I was hot and cold. I’d needed half an hour for my pulse to settle down.

Whatever insanity had descended on me at the interview wouldn’t be a problem if Will hadn’t hired me. But he had.

I’d accepted the job, of course. The pay was great, and it would be cool to assist a mysterious millionaire who managed a rock band. I was an excellent assistant—my brain thrived on details, the smaller the better—and he needed the help, so we’d be a good fit.

On my first day, while he showed me around the office and walked me through the work, I’d noticed how nice his jawline was. His low, pleasant voice trickled down my spine. He wore a shirt unbuttoned over a tee, jeans, a belt. I’d noted how well his clothes fit, how clean they were, how they complemented the lines of his lean body. I noted a single freckle just above his collar, how good his watch looked on his wrist. What the hell is wrong with me? I had wondered. This needs to stop, and soon.

I’d doubled down, concentrating on speaking like a normal person, approximating a sensible flow of conversation. I’d liked the job. I’d liked Will, despite the effect he had on me, which was not his fault. He’d been nothing but polite, somewhat quiet and reserved, while I’d silently melted. When the day ended, I’d called Katie and confessed my problem to her.

She heard me out as only Katie could, and then she’d advised me to wait. “It’ll pass,” she’d said. “It’s some strange reaction. A pheromone thing. The last time I was ovulating, the doorman in the building across the street looked hot to me. Mother Nature’s trying to get you pregnant, that’s all. It’ll go away.”

But it hadn’t. I’d worked for Will for three weeks now, and I definitely wasn’t ovulating the whole time. But every day was something new. I worked feverishly hard at my job, partly so that he wouldn’t think I was an idiot, partly to keep my mind off the way his slim stomach dipped behind the buckle of his belt or the way his thigh flexed when he casually crossed one ankle over the other knee, his usual pose.

He did nothing, absolutely nothing, to encourage me. Aside from acting like a professional—something I’d lost the ability to do—he was a naturally quiet man, never effusive, never flirty. He had a sharp wit when he used it, and I knew that a million things were going on silently in his head at all times. He treated me with respectful courtesy, which just made me crazier.

I learned crumbs about his personal life: he had a gym membership he used frequently, he loathed mustard of any kind, he had an ex-girlfriend back in New York that he’d dated for five years. If he was seeing anyone, she didn’t show up anywhere in his business contacts, and he never mentioned her. I was so curious about his dating life that it kept me up at night, but I didn’t ask.

After the first week, I’d looked up Will’s former assistant in New York and called her. It was an attempt to find out something—anything—that would turn me off. Amy had worked for him for a long time, and I asked her if there was anything I needed to know.

Her answer had no hesitation in it. “He’s the best boss I ever had,” she said. “His social skills are rusty, so be patient with him. He’s shy, but he’s really nice when you get to know him. He never yelled at me once, and he gave me extra paid leave when I had my second baby. Keep him on track and don’t let him forget things. And if you’re asking whether he creeps on his employees, the answer is no. Will is a gentleman.”

Will is a gentleman. It was an odd word to use anymore, but it stuck with me. He was a gentleman—one who was oblivious to the effect he had on me. Since I started this job, I’d had to master the art of sounding friendly and casual while talking to Will Hale, listening to him speak without staring at his mouth. Things I’d never thought I’d need to learn. Today, I’d even managed to make a joke with only minimal cringing at myself.

“Dress shirt and tie is bad,” Katie said on the phone now. “Did he undo the cuffs and roll the shirtsleeves up his forearms?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, thank goodness for that. That would be a DEFCON-1 situation. If men knew how hot we find their forearms, it would all be over. Still, I don’t understand this crush problem of yours, Lune. Why this guy? This isn’t like you at all.”

“I don’t know. He looks like he smells good. That’s the only way I can explain it.” I hadn’t gotten close enough to smell Will, but I knew he smelled good. I just knew.

“No man is made of smell alone,” Katie said.

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