Walk of Shame Read online

  He shakes his head slightly, and I’m pretty sure he wants to smile, but he resists the urge. “Go shower.”

  His hands drop back to his sides.

  “I can come to your office? See what you do?”

  He closes his eyes and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Why do I get the feeling you’ll make me regret it no matter which way I answer?”

  “See you in an hour!” I chirp, spinning on my heel to retrieve my bag and get pretty for the day.

  “An hour?” he calls after me. “What can possibly take you an hour?”

  Oh, Andy. How adorable.

  Georgie

  FRIDAY, JUST BEFORE LUNCHTIME

  Andrew’s assistant is a hard nut to crack, but other than Andrew Mulroney, I’ve yet to meet a person I can’t break, and by lunchtime Shelley and I are best friends.

  It wasn’t easy, though.

  Andrew kicked me out of his office sometime around ten A.M. after I’d asked him exactly nine million questions about his job. Supposedly it was so he could take a phone call, but he’s been in there ever since, so I’m pretty sure I’ve been banished.

  As revenge, I spent the better part of the last two hours trying to pry useful information out of his assistant.

  “Do you like working here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Andrew a good boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he a nice guy?”

  After a pause: “Yes.”

  “Does he have any siblings?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Brothers or sisters? Older or younger?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “What did he get you for Christmas?”

  “An Amazon gift card.”

  I laughed. “No, for real?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, shit. Okay. Well, I love your emerald-cut diamond ring. Have you been married long?”

  Annnnnnnd…the floodgates opened.

  Shelley Jones is engaged, getting married on Long Island in four months, her best guy from high school is going to be the “guy” of honor, she met her fiancé while waiting in the ATM line at Chase, and her color scheme for the wedding is pink and white polka dots.

  Yes, you heard that correctly. Andrew Mulroney’s assistant is all no-nonsense chignon and beige turtleneck on the outside, but on the inside she is pink polka dots.

  My kind of girl.

  “So, I don’t totally get why you’re here,” Shelley says, sipping one of the pumpkin spice lattes I went out to get us. “Is it like an intern program or something?”

  I spin in the spare chair she borrowed from a vacationing coworker. “Heck, no. More of a…dare, of sorts.”

  She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s torn between professionalism and curiosity. The latter wins, and she leans forward after sneaking a peak at the door.

  “He’s never brought a woman here before. Not friend, girlfriend, sister…”

  “So he does have a sister?”

  “Actually, I don’t know,” she admits. “If he has, he’s never mentioned her. I know he has an older brother, and only because he asks me to send him a birthday gift every year. Pappy Van Winkle bourbon.”

  “Generous,” I murmur, taking a sip of my own drink. “How long have you been working for him?”

  “Four years,” she says, rubbing her thumb along the base of her engagement ring, as I’ve noticed is a habit. Shelley’s pretty in an understated kind of way. I mean, I sort of want to loosen her bun, and I think she’d be better suited to black mascara than the too-blah brown she’s wearing, but I suppose she couldn’t be more perfect as Andrew’s assistant. There’s a quietness about her that I’m sure he lovvvvves.

  If he even notices.

  “So what’s the plan for the rest of your day?” she asks.

  “Great question,” I say, spinning on the chair again. “We didn’t really talk it through when we came up with this little arrangement.”

  “How did it come about?”

  I shrug. “Basically, we’ve been engaged in a cold war for a few months. Things came to a head a couple of days ago when he said I could never survive in his world of suits and structure. So I’m here to prove it. Except I can’t prove much of anything now that he’s kicked me out.”

  “Well, for privacy reasons, he really can’t have you around for his phone calls,” she says kindly.

  I sigh. “I know. Is it always this…boring?”

  “It’s actually usually pretty nuts around here. But Fridays are our slowest day. In fact, the call he’s on now is his last scheduled call of the day.”

  “Really,” I say, putting my toe on the floor to stop my spinning. “So he has the afternoon free?”

  Shelley surprises me by laughing. “I don’t think Mr. Mulroney even knows what a free afternoon is.”

  “Does he ask you to call him that? Mr. Mulroney? After four years?”

  “Well, no,” she says. “But he’s never exactly said ‘Call me Andrew’ either.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I agree, my mind spinning with options. “So, if he doesn’t have any meetings, what does that mean you have to do the rest of the afternoon?”

  She lifts her shoulders. “Surprisingly, I’m pretty caught up on everything. Mostly I answer the phone, make sure paperwork’s in order for next week.”

  “Watch the clock?” I guess.

  She smiles guiltily. “Fridays are worse than others. And John’s taking me champagne tasting tonight.”

  “Oooh, date night! What are you wearing?”

  Shelley blinks at me, then looks down. “This?”

  “Oh!” Whoops.

  Shelley laughs. “I know. Fashion’s not really my thing, but I know enough to know that your dress is fabulous.”

  I glance down at the royal blue sweater dress. “Honestly, this is the most demure thing I own. Didn’t want to give him one more reason to dislike me.”

  “If he dislikes you, why would he bring you here?”

  I smile. “He didn’t. I sort of forced his hand. And note the closed door. Probably locked.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s playing solitaire, waiting for me to leave.

  “Nah, that light means he’s still on the phone,” she says, pointing at her own phone. “Oh! He just hung up.”

  Perfect. I slip my bare feet back into my suede high-heeled boots and stand. “Thanks for the chat!” I tell her with a smile. “I’ll see if I can’t get him to let you go early.”

  I think I hear her snort, and she has a point. I doubt Andrew’s ever heard of such a thing as a lunch break, much less calling it an early day.

  Lucky for both of them, they have me.

  I give a quick knock with my knuckles before opening the door to his office.

  His hand is already reaching for the phone again, but he drops it to the desk when he sees me, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

  “Hey, Andy!”

  He sighs. “I don’t go by that.”

  “Well, I don’t go by Georgiana, but it doesn’t seem to stop you from calling me that.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I’m starving,” I say, sidling up to the wall and looking at the boring canvas that’s a generic blend of whites and muted greens. “This is ugly—why’d you pick it out?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I turn. “You don’t like art?”

  “I don’t have an opinion either way.”

  “Can I pick something for you?”

  He’s leaning back in his chair, watching me as I go from picture to picture, ugly fake plant to ugly fake plant.

  “You like art?” he asks.

  I shrug, coming to a stop in front of a framed diploma. “I know it. Keeps us socialite types busy. Those of us with a brain anyway.”

  “Georgiana—”

  “How old are you?” I interrupt, squinting my eyes at the Harvard diploma.

  “Thirty.”

  I point at the diploma
and turn to face him. “I thought you were about that, but according to this, you would have had to graduate from law school when you were—”

  “Twenty-two.”

  I stare at him. “That’s young. Really young.”

  He lifts his shoulders and becomes suddenly fascinated with a file on his desk.

  “You poor thing,” I murmur. “How many grades did you skip? How quickly did you blow through undergrad?”

  “Fast enough,” he says in a clipped tone. “I was efficient.”

  My chest squeezes a little at the defensive look on his face, and I realize that I’m getting a rare glimpse inside. It wouldn’t have been easy to be so smart so young. He must have been at least a couple of years younger than all of his peers. He would have stood out, probably struggling to make friends. He would have been alone.

  Instead of gently teasing him about being a too-smart nerd, I reach forward and pluck the folder from his hands. He glares. “I have work to do. You’re the one who begged me to let you come along, so if you want to stay, make yourself busy on Instagram, or—”

  “Take me to lunch, Andy.”

  “Take yourself to lunch.”

  “What if I promise not to call you Andy anymore?” I say, deciding to skip threats and go straight for bribery.

  His eyes narrow. “A quick lunch. A sandwich at the deli, we bring it back here and eat it.”

  “No deal. Del Frisco. We’ll take our time and have a drink.”

  “It’s barely noon.”

  “So have a mimosa. Also, you should give Shelley the afternoon off.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “She has date night with her fiancé tonight. Tell her to go shopping for a new outfit. Hell, give her a bonus to buy the new outfit.”

  “Shelley’s engaged?”

  Semi-defeated, I let my chin drop against my chest. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I know the feeling,” he mutters. Then he stands and straightens his tie before pulling his suit jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on. The masculine gesture does something funny to my girl parts.

  “So what’s it going to be?” I ask, trying to distract myself from how good he looks in pinstripes. “The deli and I call you Andy forever, or…”

  “I don’t suppose I could exchange a steak lunch for you calling me Mr. Mulroney?”

  “I’d rather die. But speaking of that, you should tell Shel to call you Andrew. She’s been with you for four years. Her first day of work was also her birthday, by the way.”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “How are you best friends with my assistant already? Exactly how long did I leave you alone with her?”

  “Long enough, Andrew. Long enough. Also, I bought her a PSL, so, girlfriends for life.”

  “I don’t even want to know,” he mutters, coming around to the front of his desk before nodding toward the door. “Shall we?”

  I give him a bright smile before flouncing out in front of him. I drop my now-empty Starbucks cup in the trash by his door as I open it and turn my smile on a startled Shelley.

  “Good news!” I sing. “Andrew here insists that you take the afternoon off. Also, pro tip, there’s a Diane von Furstenberg sale at Saks and you’d look fabulous in a wrap dress.”

  “I, um…what?” Shelley asks, looking nervously at Andrew.

  He simply shakes his head and shrugs. “Best not to fight it, Ms. Jones. Georgiana is accustomed to getting what she wants.”

  I narrow my eyes as he leads me toward the elevator. “Did you just call me spoiled?”

  Andrew glances down at me with a speculative look. “You have a bad habit of misinterpreting everything I say about you for the worst. Why do you think that is?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say breezily. “Maybe because you hate me? And because I’ve never seen you smile. Like, ever.”

  He inhales for patience and punches the elevator button with an impatient finger. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “But perfectly ridiculous. Right?” I push when he doesn’t respond.

  I hate that I need the answer so badly.

  He looks me over, then surprises me by reaching out a hand, his thumb brushing gently over my earlobe, sending goosebumps every which way. “Your earrings…are they…?”

  “Diamond cupcakes,” I say, trying for chipper, but the words come out breathless.

  I had no idea how sensitive ears could be until this moment.

  “Diamond cupcakes,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against the stud, before he drops his arm, shoves his hand in his pocket, and clears his throat.

  The elevator door opens, and we step inside, a half dozen people shifting to make room for us inside the crowded car.

  He stares straight ahead as the doors close, then says quietly, under his breath: “Yes.”

  “Yes what?” I whisper.

  He glances down at me, his expression unreadable. “Yes, perfectly ridiculous.”

  I can’t help the smile.

  Georgie

  FRIDAY, LUNCHTIME

  “See, isn’t this lovely?” I say as I flutter the cloth napkin to my lap and give a happy sigh.

  Andrew rolls his eyes, mimicking my gesture with the napkin, except way more impatient. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You made time for it with Liv Dotson,” I say casually, studying the lunch menu.

  “You already know she’s a client, although I’d appreciate it if you could go against your natural tendencies and keep that fact quiet.”

  I sigh. “I just can’t believe she and Chris are getting divorced.”

  We both look up as the server comes over to take our drink order.

  “Champagne, please,” I say with a smile.

  “Iced tea for me,” Andrew says. No smile.

  “He’ll have a glass of the champagne as well. We’re celebrating,” I say with such friendly self-assuredness that the waitress writes it down and walks away without confirming with Andrew.

  He’s giving me the half-amused, half-exasperated look that I’m getting to know quite well. “What are we celebrating?”

  “My victory.”

  “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”

  I lean across the table with a triumphant smile. “You thought I wouldn’t last a day in your world. I’d say I’m flourishing.”

  He leans forward as well. “In case you haven’t noticed, we quit being in my world the second you got me to leave the office for lunch and gave my assistant the rest of the day off.”

  I smile. “Like I said. My victory.”

  The waitress reappears with two champagne flutes, and I lift one toward Andrew. “Cheers?”

  He rolls his eyes, but he clinks his glass against mine.

  “Shelley says you have an older brother,” I say, setting my glass aside.

  He shrugs. “You say that like you discovered some big secret.”

  “News flash: everything with you seems like it’s one big secret.”

  He frowns. “That’s not true.”

  “Um, yeah,” I say. “I know nothing about you.”

  His brown gaze is a little wary. “What do you want to know?”

  “Your brother. How much older?”

  “Six years.”

  “Name?”

  “Peter.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Jersey.”

  “Is he married? Do you have any nieces or nephews?”

  “Yes, to Pam. They haven’t been able to conceive.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Do you see them often?”

  “Christmas or Thanksgiving. Birthdays.”

  “What’s Peter do?”

  Andrew sighs. “He’s a mechanic. Should I get you his social security number?”

  I take a sip of my champagne and consider what I’ve just learned. Unusual that one brother is a high-powered attorney in Manhattan and the other is decidedly blue-collar in New Jersey. I wonder if tha
t explains why they only see each other on the occasional holiday when they live within easy driving distance.

  “Your turn,” he surprises me by asking. “Siblings?”

  I shake my head. “Only child.”

  “Shocker. Boyfriend?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I told you the other night I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

  His eyes glint with something. “Where were you yesterday morning?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Alone?”

  I lean forward once more. “What is it you really want to know?”

  He doesn’t break eye contact. “I want to know whether my rather embarrassing gaffe the other day drove you into the arms of Brady.”

  “Brody.”

  His gaze sharpens, and I feel a little thrill of excitement at the thought that it might be jealousy.

  “You really can’t go around calling girls brainless, Andrew,” I say, keeping my voice gentle.

  “I didn’t—” He inhales. “It’s truly not what I meant to say.”

  “Have you even seen The Wizard of Oz? It’s sort of what the Scarecrow’s known for.”

  Before he can reply, the waitress reappears to take our order. I opt for a burger with caramelized onions and cheese; he gets a steak salad, dressing on the side.

  “Do you ever let loose?” I ask. “Order french fries? Unbutton a button? Have a one-night stand?”

  “That an invitation?”

  “Of course I’ll share my fries,” I say, reaching across the table and giving his hand a little pat, deliberately misunderstanding his question.

  I start to pull my hand away, but he grabs it before I can retreat, and I suck in a startled breath at the feel of his warm fingers against my palm.

  “Georgiana.”

  I swallow. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. About the other day. I’m not…I’m not good at this.”

  “At what?”

  He looks away. “Talking with women. I mean, I’m great with clients, I can hold my own with cocktail party small talk, but this thing with us…it’s different. I don’t know what to do with you. I can’t decide….”

  I look down to where our hands are still joined, a shiver running up my arm as his fingers move just slightly against my palm. Then I glance up to meet his gaze. “If you even like me?” I guess.