Damsel Under Stress

Page 4

I probably should have been stung by the implication that I wasn’t needed, but what I actually felt was a great sense of relief. I had my own job to do, and I liked my little corner of the company. I was looking forward to returning to what passed for normal during the holidays. Christmas was barely a week away, and the last thing I wanted to do was take on a big new project with only a few days left in the office before the holiday.
We reached the Union Square subway entrance, and Owen paused before heading down. “I’ll call you later, and I will make it up to you.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” I replied, giving him a little wave. Only when he was out of sight did I realize that our first real date hadn’t gone any differently from almost any other time we’d spent together up to that point. We’d walked to the subway station and talked about work, like we did every weekday morning. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t kissed me good-bye, and there had been no affectionate physical contact while we’d walked—no hand-holding, no arm around me.
I couldn’t hold back a disappointed sigh as I turned and headed toward home, away from the red-and-white-striped stalls of the holiday market that seemed made for browsing hand in hand with someone special. This certainly wasn’t the way I’d imagined this day going not much more than twelve hours ago. I smiled to myself as I remembered the night before.
I’d still been floating on air as we left the office party, giddy not only with my success in exposing Ari as the company spy and saboteur, but also with the fact that Owen Palmer had kissed me and told me how he felt about me.
We took a cab back to my place, and I invited him up for some hot cocoa and a chance to rehash the events of the party. Although the shabby little apartment I shared with two roommates was a far cry from his comfortable town house, he hadn’t looked like he felt at all out of place there. I had to restrain myself from doing a happy dance in my kitchen while I made the cocoa. All I could think was, “Owen Palmer is sitting at my kitchen table, and he kissed me!” A lot of strange and wonderful—and some not-so-wonderful—things had happened to me in the last couple of months, but this was the one I had the most trouble believing.
I was almost afraid to leave the kitchen and return to the dining alcove, for fear he wouldn’t be there, that I had imagined the whole thing. But there he was, looking so very handsome in a tuxedo. After all the kissing and other displays of affection not too long before, a kind of goofy awkwardness had developed between us. We didn’t quite meet each other’s eyes as we sat at the kitchen table, drank cocoa, and ate Christmas cookies. I wondered if inviting him up had been a bad idea, after all.
“That was a nice party,” I said at last, when I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“Well, aside from a few disruptions,” he replied with a crooked smile.
“Yeah, I guess. Are our office parties always that interesting?”
“It depends on how you define ‘interesting.’ They’re probably not anything special to us, but most people would find them a little odd.”
“Oh yeah. I can see that if you worked for a brokerage firm you might find this party kind of different.” Argh! I was alone with Owen Palmer, and all I could do was make small talk about the office party.
Then to make the situation even more awkward, a key turned in the front door. At least one of my roommates was home. I’d hoped I’d be able to solidify things with Owen a little bit more before subjecting him to my roommates, but I guessed I should have thought of that before inviting him up. Why, of all nights, did they have to come home early on a Friday night?
And, just my luck, both Gemma and Marcia stepped through the door. Then they both froze, their mouths hanging open, when they saw who was sitting at the table. They didn’t have to say a word; I could read their faces quite clearly: “So, this is the guy you’ve been talking about? What took you so long to make a move?”
I glanced at Owen, and the beet-red color of his face was a good sign that he’d read their faces as easily as I had. He stood, like a good gentleman, and I hurried to make introductions. “Gemma, Marcia, this is Owen. We work together.” I left out the “And he kissed me! He likes me!” part for decorum’s sake. Besides, I was sure we’d get to that the moment he left. “Owen, these are my roommates, Gemma and Marcia.”
He came around the table and approached them where they still stood frozen not too far inside the doorway. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking their hands. They managed to respond, but they looked like something out of a zombie movie. I thought I detected a hint of drool on Gemma’s chin. Then he turned to me and said, “I’d better get home.”