He’s so difficult to read; his words were shockingly gentle toward me in the meeting yesterday despite the fact I obviously annoy him. But it’s more than that-there’s something unnerving about him that makes me think he’s got his eye on me.
Am I imagining things?
What makes a guy like Wolfe tick? What secret stories do those brooding, dark eyes hold?
Unable to resist, I sneak another peek at the handsome scary man through the glass.
His lips move as he talks on the phone, but his frown is fixed on me.
A flash of emotion ignites in his eyes-loathing? No, it’s softer, like regret. But then it’s gone, and his expression hardens into its usual unreadable mask.
Matty’s stupid joke about Wolfe pushing me that night bursts into my mind, stirring an uneasy feeling in my gut. I don’t actually believe that, but what did happen? I tossed and turned for hours last night racking my brain. No one saw me fall and I have no memory of it myself. Not knowing feels like it’s going to kill me, but I can hardly march into Wolfe’s office and ask him outright.
I force my attention back to my screen just as something smacks into my head-the office dunce cap.
“Really, Matty?” I snap, praying Wolfe didn’t just see that. I snatch the chicken hat Matty tossed at me, narrowing my eyes at him.
He just smirks back. “What? You definitely earned it today.”
“You’re supposed to be nice to me. I’m in a fragile fucking state of mind here,” I moan indignantly. “And I don’t think it’s recommended by the doctors in my fancy clinic to throw things at amnesia patients.”
“Just getting you back in the groove.” His smile doesn’t waver. “I’ve been tossing that hat your way all year.”
I shoot him a look. Apparently, it takes more than a silk blouse to get a little respect around here.
Getting back to the job at hand, I go through the contents of my desk drawer, hunting for the wireframe mockups I need. Thank God I’m a neat freak.
An image tumbles out alongside them: a photograph of me at a comic convention. It’s one of those booth photos.
A spasm jolts through me and I hastily cough to cover it up, my heart racing. There I am, in all my Miss Nova glory. And there he is.
The man with the sexy briefs…?
Daredevil.
Who are you, Daredevil?
My thoughts race uncontrollably as I stare at the image, my first piece of concrete evidence that he exists. The men’s briefs I found in my bedroom could’ve been a purchase I made, but this photograph is an entirely different story.
He’s tall, donning a mask that shrouds his eyes and nose in mystery. His arm is wrapped protectively around me. I’m sporting a big, infectious grin, cosmic blue lipstick, and eyeliner drawn into starry cat-eyes. I’m gazing up at this masked man in a blue and red bodysuit like he’s the living embodiment of all my filthy fantasies come to life.
Was I really that happy?
It looks like there’s well over six feet of pure rock-hard muscle stuffed into that suit. And is that reinforced padding in his leather crotch or is he just thrilled to see me? Hopefully, I got to find out. Did I show him my sexy Miss Nova outfit? I hope he liked it.
Maybe it’s just someone who works there…
No, it’s him-my mystery man. My vagina’s spidey senses are tingling.
I felt something for this man.
Remember, Lucy, you have to remember.
What did we share, whoever you are behind that mask? Will I ever know your true identity?
The background looks like that comic convention in Manhattan I usually attend. The one happening again this weekend. My pulse quickens at the realization.
I must’ve liked him if I put a reminder on my desk. I’m losing my goddamn mind.
“Matty.” I pull my chair over to him, interrupting whatever he’s doing, which is easy to do. “Hey, I gotta ask you something and I need you to not mess with me.”
He grins. “I can’t guarantee that.”
“Seriously.” I scoot my chair closer. “Did I or do I have a boyfriend?”
“A guy? Nah. You would’ve told me.”
I show him the photo, but he shrugs.
“Could be anyone, Luce. You always have those guys posing with you. It’s like your nerdy version of Chippendales.”
“No,” I insist, glaring at the photo. “Mom, Priya, and Libby said I was seeing someone for a few months. So I didn’t tell you anything at all?”
He shrugs again. “Not a thing.”
Weird. Why wouldn’t I tell Matty if I was seeing someone?
Then again, women are wired differently to men. I think we talk more about dates than men do. I can barely keep up with Matty’s rotation of casual dates. And I doubt he can either.
“But if I’m seeing someone, why haven’t they come forward yet?”
He pauses to think for a second. “Maybe he’s out of town for work and has no clue. Or I guess it’s possible he was gonna end things with you anyway, and this just makes that easier for him.”
“Matty.”
“I dunno, Luce. Who the hell knows? I’m a simple guy. I’d come forward.”
Maybe Matty’s right. Is this what my brain’s blocking out? Did I get dumped or ghosted by Daredevil?
“Matty,” Brody murmurs from the adjacent desk. “Check out boss man’s office.”
We follow his line of sight.
JP is in his office talking to Helen from HR. With her long, flowing hair and a figure and face to die for, she looks like she belongs in the dictionary beside the word “stunning.”
Something weird twists in my stomach as Wolfe leans across the desk, closing the gap between them.
I glance around the office. The guys have stopped typing, too busy trying to put their tongues back in their mouths from leering at Helen.
Watching them through the glass, it’s easy to see why women fantasize about him. Who wouldn’t fantasize about being the one special woman to accomplish the impossible-to break through that tough exterior, get him to relax that chiseled jawline, or even have him get down on one knee?
Heck, even to make the man crack a smile.
Lying in bed this morning, I’m ashamed to admit I entertained that foolish fantasy.
That Wolfe finds me attractive, instead of my usual lineup of weirdos.
That an experienced, successful, sexy guy like Wolfe looks at me how he looks at Helen.
That he sees me as more than another idiot on the IT team with a habit of doodling giant penises on printouts. That he could find me witty, charming, an equal. That he might respect me. And want to tear my clothes off to reprimand me over that cartoon of his furry likeness.
I mentally kick myself for being such a moron. This is Wolfe we’re talking about. The day that man cracks a heartfelt smile over me, the four horsemen will ride, aliens will reveal themselves, the earth will spin in reverse, and Mom will finally get the hang of WhatsApp.
An exaggerated throat clearing interrupts my thoughts.
Swiveling around, I find Dwayne looming over my desk.
“Hi, Dwayne.” As if my day couldn’t get any worse.