Jason

I’ve had three private meeting with Rose over the past two weeks, and each has been stranger than the last. She wants me to take more responsibility within the company, especially when it comes to financial decisions. When I try to remind her that I’m on the creative side of the house, and that I’ve never successfully balanced a checkbook in my life, she just laughs and says that’s why she’s taking me aside, to groom me. She seems to think that since Mr. H is getting close to retirement, and has no kids interested in taking over the company, I’m his logical replacement. Even if my ego’s flattered, I know that as a 28-year-old graphic designer six years out of college, I’m not in any way qualified to run an advertising agency.

When I receive a calendar invite for a dinner meeting at Rose’s house on Thursday evening, I decide enough is enough. I slam my laptop closed and storm down the hall, ignoring the stares of the copywriters lounging in the “relaxation lounge” (which is a fancy name for the room where we’ve stashed an old couch and a ping pong table).

“We need to talk,” I bark, slamming the door behind me as I storm into Knox’s office.

“Woah. Okay.” He grins, which irritates me even more. “Sit for a second. You look like you’re about to Hulk out.”

“Rose scheduled another one-on-one meeting for us on Thursday night. At her house.”

“No shit?”

“Yes, shit! I cannot meet with that woman again-she’s boring, she chews on ice, and her perfume smells like Skittles.” I lean back in my chair and let out a cleansing breath. Unfortunately, I don’t feel cleansed.

“Okay, calm down, we’ll figure something out.”

“I’m not going to her house.” I know I’m sulking, but I don’t really care.

“Of course not. I said we’ll figure something out.” He comes and sits in the chair beside me, the picture of calm efficiency. “First things first, let’s fix Thursday.” He leans over, picks up his phone, and quickly dials some numbers.

“Yeah, Patty? It’s Knox. Look, Jason just got a meeting request from Rose for Thursday night, but he’s already scheduled to run a focus group with me.” Pause. “Yeah, it’s for the Purina folks. Rose was insistent that he help me out, so I really think it’s best to reschedule.” He looks at me and makes a big, scandalized “O” with his mouth, as if surprised by his own audacity. “Yeah, he’ll call you next week with his availability. Thanks so much.”

He hangs up and gives me a satisfied smirk.

“My hero,” I drawl sarcastically.

“You’re welcome. But that just solves the immediate problem. How do we un-crazy this woman?”

“I wish I knew. I can’t believe I was happy when I first heard she was coming in to take over for Mr. H.”

“You were? Why? Everyone I talked to described her as a nightmare.”

Oh, God, why the hell can’t I keep my mouth shut? I can’t tell him I wanted Rose on board so she could help me show him up at his job. Especially now, since she actually is showing favoritism on my behalf.

“I mean, just because I’d worked with her before. Better than dealing with an unknown, you know?”

“Or better than dealing with me, God forbid,” he says with a huff of laughter, but he knows how much I resented his presence when he first arrived.

“Hey. I was an asshole, okay?” I pause for a second and wait for him to look at me. “How I acted, that was about me. My insecurities, and my stupid grudges. But my bad behavior made things hard on you, and that was shitty.” He’s staring at me now, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m really sorry.” I feel self-conscious about getting serious, but his face suddenly softens.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says gently. “I deserved your anger.”

“Not after all these years,” I argue.

“Yeah, I did, because I robbed you of the opportunity to tell me to get fucked when I left.”

“Can we be even now?” I ask, and he nods. We're no longer talking, but I can’t break away from his gaze-his black eyes are honed in on me, studying me like I’m under a microscope.

“What?” I ask, after the intensity is too much.

“What, what?” He counters.

“Why are you staring?”

“Truth?” He asks. His wince makes me wary, but I nod. “I was thinking about kissing you.”

“Like, for real, or in a fantasy, uncomplicated way?”

“Oh, I was picturing the complicated, terrible idea version.” A ghost of a smile spreads across his face.

“Figures.” He’s leaning towards me now. Or am I the one doing the leaning?

“I think I saw a video when I was hired on why this is a really bad idea.” My voice is shaking. I sound like a teenager.

He stops himself, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath through his nose. Despite my protestations, I’m terrified he’s going to retreat, so I move forward and capture his lips with mine. They’re as warm and firm as I remember. His arm moves around my body and one of my hands pushes into his hair and grabs at the roots. His taste is so familiar it brings the sting of tears to my eyes, but he’s different, too-his touch is more confident, his muscles more defined. Even the moan that escapes the back of his throat as I bite down on his bottom lip is deeper than I remember. I’m about to slip my hand down his stomach when I hear someone slam a file cabinet outside. We both freeze.

“Shit,” I croak, panting against his shoulder.

“We need to stop,” he says, and I nod in agreement. We don’t move.

“Like, now.”

“I know,” I whisper.

A knock on the door. “Knox? Have you signed Becky’s birthday card yet?” We fly apart so quickly that I knock over the lamp on the corner of his desk.

“Yes,” he calls in a panicked voice. “Yesterday. I signed it yesterday.”

“Kay, thanks.” His assistant, Sandy.

“Would she have walked in?” I ask, righting the lamp with trembling hands.

“No, of course not.” But he looks as shaken as I feel.

“I’m gonna go,” I mumble, and make a break for the door before he can respond. When I get back to my office, I realize that Rose is now the least of my problems.