The stack of catalogues on the side of my desk are seemingly mocking me as I reach out to pack them into my work bag, knowing that I’ll be spending tonight of all nights with them.
“Shush. I like my work,” I tell them, and try not to cringe at the pathetic way my voice sounds as I try to defend my hermit lifestyle to a stack of papers.
I flip the switch on my desk lamp and pull the coat off the back of my chair. I contemplate calling Jade before I realize she’s probably busy bathing or feeding her baby.
Alone it is.
“Hello?”
I jump as a man wearing a candy stripe uniform and a bunch of helium balloons wanders into my office. It’s the last thing that I expected to see right now.
“Um, yes, can I help you?”
“Are you Malynda?”
I roll my eyes. Sent by Xavier.
“I guess. What’s up?”
“I have a delivery for you.” He holds out a box and ties the balloons to one of the desk legs. “Have a good night.”
I’m too engrossed in the big white box to notice him leave.
What is this, Xavier? I wonder, but not for long. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I tear off the ribbon on the box and fling the cardboard lid across the room. I rifle through the layers and tissue paper until I get to the main part of the gift. Then I can’t help but guffaw.
Inside is a pair of flannel pajamas. With goldfish on them. Where did he even find them?
I lift up the flannel top and a small card falls out.
“Put these on and I’ll meet you downstairs in 15 minutes. Don’t argue. And don’t be late!”
I hug the card to my chest, something tickling inside my stomach. A deep breath doesn’t make it go away.
“Fuck it.” I push myself up away from my desk. “I told you I’m not a loser,” I say to the stack of catalogues and pull the blinds closed as I slip out of my skirt and into the pajamas.
I’ve been downstairs for about 5 minutes, when I hear the faint tune of Happy Birthday. I step out onto the road peering down Madison Avenue and see a limo coming toward me with a bunch of balloons floating out from its roof. It’s only about twenty yards away when I realize there’s a head bobbing around amongst the balloons, one that belongs to my high school sweetheart.
“Hey! You’re not appropriately dressed,” is the first thing he says to me when the limo comes to a stop outside the building.
I can barely breathe from laughing to respond so I just open my jacket, flasher style, to show him what I’m wearing underneath.
“Yay! Now we match,” he exclaims.
He ducks down and disappears for a second before jumping out of the limo. He’s dressed exactly like I am, except he has something I don’t. A pair of Nemo slippers on his feet.
“Oh my god, Xave!” I squeal pointing at them with one hand, the other holding onto his arm as I hug my cramping stomach.
“Don’t worry, I brought you a pair as well!”
He kneels down and lifts my foot, throwing my stiletto off, flinging it onto the street before sliding a Nemo slipper onto my foot.
“Xavier! Those are Jimmy Choos!”
“Choos Shmoos! These are TARGET! Way more comfy, right?” He wriggles his eyebrows at me as he slips my other foot into the second slipper. My toes instantly curl into the plush insides of the slippers. It feels heavenly after a day of being in those pointed torture devices.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you another pair,” he says as he gets to his feet, taking my hand and leading me into the limo.
“I want Dory next time!” I shout.
“I meant the Jimmy Choos.”
I giggle and shrug. “I know, but I’d rather have the slippers.”
He looks at me, his pupils open, warm and friendly. He holds my gaze for a moment, before asking, “Would you really?”
I shrug again, “Well, yeah. Choos don’t go with flannel pajamas, Xave.” I give him a wink and climb into the limo. He follows, closing the door behind him. The limo pulls away from the curb and into traffic.
I take a moment to look around me and burst out laughing again. How is this happening right now? I push the thought away. Fuck it. Jump now. Deal Later.
“I can honestly say I’ve never done this.”
“Ridden a limo? I doubt that.”
“Not in pajamas and slippers!”
“Only way to do it!” He stretches his body out, his long legs spreading out in front of us, his hands locked behind his head. “You hungry?”
My stomach growls in response.
“I guess so,” he laughs and reaches across me over to the drinks bar and hands me a glass of champagne. “Drink this, it’ll tide you over until we eat.”
“This is going to go straight to my head,” I say pointedly, then take a long sip anyway. “Where are we going?”
“Out.”
I give him a look, and then finish the champagne.
“Where out?”
“Out out,” he winks, knowing how much I hate not knowing.
“Xavier.”
“Malynda.”
I know better than to argue. I haven’t forgotten how stubborn he used to be, how impossible it was to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to. Hell, he didn’t say a word that first week I was trying to get to know him. Something tells me, while some things are different, how much more confident he seems now, flirty, in command, um, muscly, other things have stayed just the same.
I lean back into the leather seat, enjoying how comfortable I feel. Usually when I’m in a limo I’m zipped up tight into a dress, my hair pinned within an inch of its life, my feet pinched and blistered.