Page 7 of The Refusal

Talking to Jo Williams feels like holding on to a bare electric wire. I hung around spying on reception, waiting for my team to disappear, hoping to catch her before she vanished. When I first saw her in the lobby, I checked out the pink lips and the tight skirt and acted like a typical guy: whowasthis getting into my elevator? But then she poked fun at me and turned up in my meeting.So far so interesting. But then thatmap? This girl is glowing from the inside out, and all the hairs on the back of my neck feel like they’re standing on end. I’ve not met a woman like her in a really, really long time.

Over the last few years, I’ve dated a lot of beautiful, self-obsessed women. Andi, who spent all night pulling up videos of key scenes in her films. Melissa, who spent the evening on her phone posting pictures, checking likes, and videoingeverything: the meal, me, the waiter, the event, me again, kissing her on the cheek, holding her hand,picking her up and swinging her around. Crazy. None of these ladieseat. I mean, I get what being the head of my own company gives me, but what am Idoing? They’re interested in my position or my money or who they think Ishouldbe. They want to go to parties and be seen. They don’t know me or care about the things I care about. Nothing that comes out of Jo Williams’s mouth is boring or predictable.

I stare at her soft red hair and laughing green eyes as the rain turns her shoulders from light to dark blue and I can’t tear my gaze away. Am I a wolf? I don’t feel like one, but the media have painted my reputation in a particular light, and I know first of all that Jo Williams really isn’t that kind of woman, and, second, I could totally scare her off.

“I should have brought an umbrella,” I say, smiling through the downpour, trying my hardest to be charming. “Where would you like to go?”

Her lips part over perfect white teeth as she chews on her bottom lip. She’s done this several times this morning, and every time she does it I—

“Somewhere close?”

Her voice hesitates and a pink blush washes over her cheeks, and I examine the freckles all over her face. She’s been blushing on and off all morning. I could see it in the V of her shirt. How far down her body does it—

She raises an eyebrow, and the cold seeps into where my shirt is sticking to my torso. What were we talking about?

“We could stand here and think about it?” I say.

She puts a hand on her hip. “Yeah, I could stand here quite happily, in this glorious sunshine.”

Something nameless bubbles up under my skin. My company is this ravenous beast that’s eating my life one huge bite at a time until I no longer know who I am, and it’s been getting worse lately: the expansion into so many countries, hundreds of people joining, endless conference calls. I don’t recognize most people in my elevator these days. It feels like only yesterday there were ten of us in a tatty little building in Brooklyn. Talking to Jo is lifting the boulder off my chest, like I can leave the worry and stress of millions of dollars of contracts in a heap right here on the sidewalk.

“Well.” I fold my arms over my ribcage slowly and deliberately, as the rain soaks into my shoulders. “Let me think. Luchadores on the corner does tacos and Mexican takeout and their quesadillas are to die for.” I lean forward, feeling the wet stretch of my shirt. “Then there are a few places on the waterfront or healthy places like Sweetgreen or Westville, I’ve been there a few times before and …” I tail off as she slaps my arm.

“Janus!” she exclaims. “Quit messing around, we’re getting soaked.”

I look around in confusion. “What? In this sunshine?”

This time she gives me a different laugh, one that’s thick with devilment, and it makes me high that I’ve managed to get that out of her.

“Just take me somewhere before I drown,” she growls.

So I grab her hand, pulling her through the bouncing raindrops to the nearest shelter.

4

Jo

Janus’s wet hand slides in mine as we run along the sidewalk, people hurrying past us and diving into doorways shaking their dripping umbrellas. Theflirting! Oh my God, my heart is a wild flapping beast in my chest. Exactlywhyam I so ridiculously flattered here? His reputation isterrible. He’s a playboy. It’s industry lore that he’s never been involved with a woman for more than a couple of months. And I can’t say I blame him or them: he’s young, free, single, and Mister-I-am-cute-smile and why wouldn’t you take advantage of that?

Anything with him could blow my reputation and take my business down like it’s been hit by a nuclear missile. The very idea of him “asking me out,” of being photographed with him, of any kind of press speculation, makes bile rise up the back of my throat. Images of what my father went through on my behalf flood my mind, the confrontation with the school, the press interest, the whispers behind hands every time we went anywhere. And Janus is so much more high profile than the local papers in some small town in the middle of nowhere. My company is just starting to get traction: Janus Industries called me in because they’dheardof me. I swallow the sinking sensation down. I need to keep him in the friend zone.

I peer down at my hand in his. “Where are you taking me?”

We stop on a crossing, and he meets my gaze. “There’s a great Thai place about a block away.”

I carefully remove my hand from his, and he glances at me as he ushers me across the road, hand shifting to the base of my spine. Is that better or worse?

Water is streaming off the sidewalk, running down the grates and washing away the dusty feel of the city. A man about to cross gets soaked by a plume of wash from a car, a dog gives itself a full-body shake. I search my head for something, anything, that will put us on afriends-who-lunchfooting and not athis-is-a-datefooting.

“Tell me all about these amazing women you date.”Awkward, Jo. I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You’ve been out to some incredible places and events, that sounds all kinds of interesting.”

We slow to a walk under a construction tunnel on the sidewalk, and my stomach dips as I glance up at him and see his raised eyebrows.

“Um …” He pauses as his Adam’s apple bobs. His long throat has a shadow of hair where he’s shaved, and he flexes his hand. “You really want to hear about that?”

I give him what I hope is a professional smile. “Well, you have quite the reputation in this industry. You must have had some amazing experiences. As a newbie, I’m looking forward to the day that guys are falling over themselves to go out with me.”

My skin prickles with how gauche and stupid this sounds.

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