Lifting a brow, I murmured, “Impressive. What else do you know?”
She looked away, blushing further. “You grew up in Leeds. You were a star on the Cambridge football club while you were there.”
Had she looked any of this up last night? Or had she known all of this about me before this trip? And which answer did I want to hear? I suspected I knew which would make this small thrill in my stomach grow more intense. “What else?”
Hesitating, she said, “You own a Ford Fiesta, which I find endlessly amusing given that you probably make more money than the queen and are known to be a staunch public transportation advocate, so you never use it. An aside? I have no idea how you would even fit in a Ford Fiesta. Also, you’re recently divorced.”
My jaw grew tight as any amusement regarding her research endeavors was quickly extinguished. “One would think that detail wouldn’t be discussed at work, nor available by easy online search.”
“I’m sorry,” Ruby said, wincing, and I watched as she shrank a little more into her seat. “I forget not everyone was raised by two psychologists. We aren’t all open books.”
“I’m tempted to ask how you knew about my divorce, but I suppose the office chatter . . .”
“I think it was all wrapping up when I started so people were talking . . .” She straightened and looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “It’s not an ongoing topic, I promise.”
I could only imagine my dark mood at the time Ruby had joined the firm. By that point I was so put off by Portia’s dramatics I’d have happily resided inside a pint. I decided to change the subject. “Do you have siblings, or was it you alone with the shrinks?”
“One brother,” she said and then took a sip of her juice. “What about you?”
“What—you’re telling me you don’t already know?”
She laughed, but still looked a bit embarrassed. “If I took the time to find that out . . . that might have veered into stalker territory.”
With a little wink, I murmured, “Might have.”
She watched me expectantly and as the plane began to accelerate, I noted the way her hands gripped the armrests. She was shaking.
Waffling on to distract her seemed like a rather good idea. “I have nine siblings, actually,” I told her.
She leaned in, jaw dropping. “Nine?”
I’d become so accustomed to this reaction that I barely blinked anymore. “Seven sisters and two brothers, with me the second youngest.”
Her brow creased as she thought about this some more. “My house was so quiet and calm. I . . . I can’t even imagine your childhood.”
Laughing, I said, “Trust me, it’s true. You can’t.”
“Eight older siblings,” she said to herself. “I bet at times that felt like having eight parents.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “My oldest brother, Daniel, was the peacekeeper,” I told her. “Really, he kept us in line. I think it helped that there were more girls than boys; as a general rule our lot was pretty well-behaved. The brother just older than me, Max, was usually the one pulling pranks, and he got away with it because he was charming. At least that’s how he describes it. I was quiet, and studious. Rather boring, really.”
She grew still for a moment, watching me, and then said, “Tell me more?”
I leaned my head back against the seat, inhaling deeply, calming. It had been years since I’d so casually spoken with a woman other than Portia, a sibling, or the wife of a friend. Her interest was genuine and gave me a sense of confidence I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Most of our adventures were taken on together. Forming a brass band. Deciding to write a picture book. Once we painted the side of our house with finger paints.”
“I honestly can’t imagine you with paint on your hands.”
I gave a dramatic shudder and smiled at her delighted laugh. There was something there, some relief in her eyes, just beneath the surface that made me feel quite tender toward her.
I prattled on, completely out of character, but she listened with rapt attention, asking questions about Max, about my sister Rebecca, about our parents. She asked about my life outside of work, and so when I said with a teasing grin that she already knew about the divorce, she asked how my ex-wife and I met. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel strange to tell her how Portia and I met when we were ten, fell in love when we were fourteen, and kissed at sixteen.
I didn’t admit that the magic began to die only three years later, on our wedding day.
“It must be weird to have been with someone for so long and then see it end,” she said quietly, turning to look out the window. “I can’t even imagine.” Her fringe fell over one eye; a small diamond earring decorated the delicate lobe of her ear. When she looked back, she said, “I’m sorry people were talking about it in the office. It must feel like such an invasion of privacy.”
I looked away, not replying. Every potential response I might give felt too honest.
It’s not that weird, and maybe that’s what is weirdest about it.
I’ve been lonely for a very long time. So why am I acutely aware of it only now?
I never imagined wanting to talk about this again, but here we are. You could ask more.
But when silence grew, it became awkward. With her attention focused out the window and her body easy and relaxed, however, I registered with relief that it was only awkward for me. The tension from the lift had dissipated, something in her had calmed.
I was surprised to find myself thinking how much I liked being near her.
* * *
Eventually, Ruby drifted off to sleep, slowly slanting toward me until her head rested on my shoulder. I turned, telling myself I was glancing out the window, but took the opportunity to inhale the light floral scent of her hair. Up close, her skin was perfect. Pale, with a tiny smattering of freckles across her nose, and a clear, beautiful complexion. Her lips were wet where she’d licked them, eyelashes dark against her cheeks.
In her hand, she held a small Richardson-Corbett notebook and pen. I eased it from her lax grip and—against my better judgment—was propelled by curiosity to open it to the first page of what appeared to be work notes. Our agenda, some resources for engineering firms and projects in the area, a list of people she would meet in New York, and some bulleted thoughts on how she could use this conference to build her thesis proposal for Margaret Sheffield. I could tell she’d meticulously written down everything Tony had passed along to her.
At the bottom, in her neat penmanship, she’d written
Agenda note # 1: Don’t be an idiot around Niall Stella. Don’t stare, don’t babble, don’t go mute. You can do this. He is human.
Only now did it occur to me that this journal could have been a diary of sorts, rather than a professional ledger. She’d been so anxious to go on a trip with a VP from the firm that she’d written herself up a pep talk.
Easing it back into her grip, I closed my eyes, tilting my head to her as I silently apologized for invading her privacy this time.
I dreamt of soft skin resting on my bare chest and kisses tasting of champagne.
Three
Ruby
I woke to the sound of the flight attendant over the loudspeaker telling us we would soon be making our descent into New York.
My eyes fluttered open, and I immediately winced. A stream of cold, dry air blew straight into my face and an engine seemed to roar in the background. I was awkwardly twisted in my seat, not to mention in desperate need of the restroom, but somehow . . .
I was so comfortable. Whoever I was next to was warm and firm and delicious-smelling, and—
I straightened with a jolt, disentangling from where I’d wrapped myself around Niall Stella’s arm and—oh, God—did I have my leg hitched up over his thigh?
The elevator was bad enough, and now this? Oh, God. Had I kicked a puppy or something in a past life? Why was I being punished?
I carefully disentangled myself from his body and looked around, r
ealizing I had no idea what time it was. The cabin was still dark, and I noted that most people around us were sleeping, their shades drawn to block out any light. Smoothing my hair, I tried to stretch out my stiff muscles. My neck would be fine, but this bathroom situation would really need to be resolved. Sooner rather than later.
I sat back, ran my sweaty hands over my thighs, and gave myself a moment to take everything in. Yesterday, Niall Stella didn’t know I existed. Today, I’d practically flown to New York in his lap. In twenty-four hours I’d gone from Ruby Miller: Secret Admirer and Semi-Stalker, to Ruby Miller: International Traveling Mate.
Not to mention the fact that if I’d been asleep on him, parts of him had definitely been asleep on me. And well, that was going in my diary tonight.
He hadn’t moved yet. Which was bad because of the bathroom situation, but awesome because when would I ever have this opportunity again? Aside from that one hour at work a week, I never really got the chance to look at him like this. In meetings we were always surrounded by people, or passing quickly in the hall. Once, I stood behind him in the buffet line at a company gala, but all that really afforded me was a good look at his ass in tuxedo pants. Not a complaint, by the way. Niall Stella played soccer and rowed with a men’s club on the Thames every Saturday. His backside was in my Top Ten Favorite Niall Stella Body Parts (I was leaving spot one open for the time being).
But here, I was so close I could count his eyelashes if I wanted. And I sort of did.
Niall Stella wasn’t that much older than me—only seven years—but he looked so young like this. His hair was the tiniest bit mussed near the back, the front falling down over his forehead, shiny and soft. His pale green shirt was rumpled ever so slightly, and there, on the shoulder, was a dark patch of fabric.
Where I’d drooled.
Oh, God.
I wiped at my face, cursing that he’d been so warm and snugglable that I’d fallen into a sleep heavy enough to drool on his fancy, four-thirty-in-the-morning suit. Help. I searched the area around us, finding nothing more than a crumpled napkin on my tray. Picking it up, I dabbed carefully, hoping maybe I could fix it all and he wouldn’t even notice. No such luck. Not only didn’t it work, but it jostled him enough that his eyes flashed open to find my face only inches from his.
I smiled. “Hi.”
He blinked a few times before his eyes widened, his gaze moving to the piece of tissue in my hand, and over to his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, following it up with a shaky, nervous laugh. “I’m a delicate napper.”
He smiled and there was a tiny, devious flash of dimples. “These things happen.”
I wanted to slap myself for the thought that came next, the urge to climb over and straddle his narrow, fit hips. Fucking hell, Ruby. Did you not read agenda note #1? Don’t be an idiot around Niall Stella.
He stretched, oblivious to my meltdown. “I seem to have dozed off myself there, so . . . I apologize for that.”
“Oh, God, no. Don’t be sorry. You looked adora—” I started, then snapped my mouth shut. “We’ll be landing soon, I’m just going to get changed.”
Without waiting for him to move, I climbed out of my seat, straddling his lap in the process. He made to stand before realizing I was a woman on a mission of escape and if he stood his crotch would come into direct, awkward contact with mine, so he simply grabbed his armrests as if holding on for dear life. It meant my ass was directly in his face, but I suppose that was preferable to an unintentional dry hump.
Life Alert? We have a situation here.
I didn’t look at him as I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead bin and moved as quickly as my legs would go to the nearest available bathroom.
Safely locked in the tiny room, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. Why was it so impossible for me to act like a normal human being around him?
“Get it together,” I told my reflection, and roughly opened my bag. I had everything I needed in there; unfortunately, the idea of changing in an airplane restroom was far better than the mechanics of actually doing it.
I banged my head on the counter as I bent to push my pants down my hips. We hit a pocket of turbulence as I lifted my foot to slip on my skirt, and it nearly ended up in the toilet before I was knocked back into the door with a loud bang. It took me ten minutes to dress and fix my hair, and there was zero question that every single person in first class—and probably beyond—had looked toward the bathroom in concern at least once, wondering what the hell was going on in there. But with my head held high, I stepped out and took my seat.
The fact that Niall Stella was noticeably still did not ease my nerves.
He didn’t look my way, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead, and murmured an “All right?” when I’d rebuckled my seat belt.
“Perfect,” I lied. “Being trapped in a tiny space, I decided it was a good time to dance.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he bent down and laughed outright. “I did some of that myself while you were in there.”
Something inside me melted, and it was all I could do to not turn, take his face in my hands, and make out with him like there was no tomorrow.
The plane landed ten minutes ahead of schedule. Passengers began to stand and pull their things from the overhead compartments, and I stood in front of Niall as we waited to make our way down the aisle toward the exit.
I looked over my shoulder at him, wanting to make sure he was all set. But he didn’t look down to meet my eyes. He was staring with determination at the ceiling of the plane.
Something was off.
For six months I’d worked in the same building as Niall Stella and he’d never really noticed me. This was different. This wasn’t the oblivious avoidance I’d seen in the past, this was deliberate. He was fidgety and flustered and if it would have been acceptable to shove me out of the way and run to the taxi stand to flee the scene, I thought he might do it.
First class and coach were filing out the same door and I turned again, smiling at him as we waited for the people in front of us to move. “We’re a little early, so our driver might not be here yet,” I said.
His eyes darted down to mine and then quickly away.
“Right,” he said.
Okaaaaay.
I turned on my heel and continued on down the row, when a woman near me reached out, tugging on my skirt.
“Girl code, girl code,” she whispered, and I looked down at her, confused. “Your skirt is tucked into your underwear.”
MY WHAT?
She leaned in and I felt the blood drain from my face. “Though between you and me, I don’t think the gentleman behind you minds one little bit.”
I reached behind me and felt nothing but skin, frantically pulling my skirt free from where it had been completely tucked up into itself,
exposing
my
entire
ass.
Life Alert? It’s me, Ruby, again.
I thanked her and stepped out onto the jetway, rolling my carry-on behind me and praying that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Once we were just inside the terminal, I made a show of looking for something in my purse so Niall Stella would walk in front of me and I wouldn’t have to fight the urge to constantly smooth my skirt down over my backside.
He’s seen your ass.
Why did you choose to wear a G-string?
He’s seen your naked ass, Ruby.
We stood side by side as we waited for our luggage, and honestly I wasn’t sure which of us was more mortified. There was absolutely no way that he didn’t see. I knew he saw. And he knew I knew he saw.
I stared at the turnstile, waiting for my bag to appear, when I felt him lean closer.
He smelled like fresh soap and shaving cream, and when he whispered, his breath was minty. “Ruby? Sorry about the . . . I’m not very good at . . .” He paused and I turned to meet his eyes. We were so close. His brown eyes had
flecks of green and yellow in them and I felt my heart claw its way up my throat when he glanced quickly down at my mouth. “I’m not very good at . . . women.”
My humiliation was replaced with something warmer, and calmer, and infinitely sweeter.
I’d been in large cities before—San Diego, San Francisco, Los Angeles, London—but I was pretty sure they were absolutely nothing like New York.
Everything was massive, taking up as little ground as necessary while towering overhead. The buildings crowded the sky, leaving only a strip of gray-blue directly above us. And it was loud. I’d never been somewhere with so much honking—not that anyone on the street seemed to notice. The air was a chorus of horns and shouts, and as we made our way from terminal four of JFK to our car, and from our car to the revolving doors of the Parker Meridien, I didn’t see a single person who seemed bothered by the cacophony.
Niall followed an appropriate distance behind me as we made our way through the lobby—close enough that it was clear we were together, but not together—and we checked into our respective rooms. I was there as Niall’s colleague, not his employee or assistant or . . . even his friend, really, and so I wasn’t given any information about where his room was or, say, what size bed he had in there. I didn’t even get a formal goodbye; when his phone rang, he did little more than offer me a small, polite wave and disappear down a quiet hallway.
No doubt I looked like someone had just walked off with my puppy, and so I jumped slightly when the bellman coughed next to me, clearly waiting to show me upstairs.
Once inside the elevator, the weight of the day hit me like a truck, and it occurred to me that I’d been up since three and caught only a small nap on Niall’s shoulder. A screen embedded into the elevator wall played an old cartoon: Tom nailed Jerry over the head with a hammer, and as they chased each other around a wooden barrel, the elevator climbed to the tenth floor, and I felt my eyes grow heavier and heavier.