Blindfolded Innocence. Alessandra Torre

      Eleven

      Rule 2: She is mine and not yours. Remember that.

      Day three of no Broward loomed ahead of me and I woke up early in nervous anticipation. Knowing full well that I was headed straight to hell, I dressed for success in a navy wrap dress that hugged my ass perfectly, and leather-and-gold Prada stilettos that had been a gift from Becca. I added a chunky gold necklace and put my hair up in a messy bun. Taking extra care with my makeup, I made sure that I looked amazing before trotting out of the house.

      At 7:40 a.m. I slid into my chair, turning on my computer and checking my voice mail. One from Broward.

      “Julia—this is Kent. Just checking in to see how things are going. You must have already left for the evening. I sent you a few emails—give me a call if you have any questions. I will be in court all morning tomorrow, so try me in the afternoon if you need me.”

      I deleted the voice mail and stared at my computer’s opening scripts, willing them to hurry. I wanted to take care of Broward’s emails first, and then try and finish some of the legal research that I had been putting off. My phone rang.

      Ancient Dorothy’s voice creaked through the phone. “Julia, you have a delivery. Is it okay if I send it up?”

      I checked my watch: 7:45 a.m. Early delivery. “Yes, Dorothy. Thank you.” I assumed it was FedEx bringing an 8:00 a.m. express package. My computer finally loaded the log-in screen and I quickly entered my credentials. Scrolling through to my first email from Broward, I heard a light knock at my door.

      “Julia?”

      A moderately attractive man stood in my doorway in a gray suit and blue tie. He held a large arrangement of lilies and orchids. I squinted at the man, who looked familiar, and then it hit me. Billy, Ben, no—Bob. From the other night. Oh, Jesus. This is bad.

      “Bob!” I tried to interject some hint of pleasure into my voice, but I think I missed the happy tone and ended up with more of a strangled croak.

      “I hope it’s all right that I stopped by. I remember you saying that you interned here. I couldn’t get through on the number you gave me, and I sent you a friend request on Facebook—and I stopped by yesterday but you were out....” His rushed speech faltered and I think he realized how desperate he sounded. “I just wanted to stop by and give you these.” He took two steps forward and thrust the flowers into my desk space. The glass vase hung from his outstretched hands as if it would slip at any moment. I had no choice but to take them.

      “Bob, these are beautiful. Thank you.” I buried my face in the arrangement and sniffed, trying to think of what else to say. They were beautiful, and judging by the size of the arrangement, expensive.

      “Would you want to go out sometime? I know a great Italian place, just around the corner, not a far trek from here.”

      “I can’t, Bob. I just got out of a bad relationship, and I’m just not ready yet.” My oldest and most faithful letdown. His face fell but he maintained his smile.

      “Hey, I understand. Can I leave you my number, though? So when you’re ready...just in case you lost it before.”

      I didn’t lose it, Bob. I tossed it in the trash. Similar to the way I denied your friend request.

      “Of course. I’ll save it. If things change I’ll give you a call.”

      His pathetic response, an face-splitting grin, made me wince inside. He came around my desk with his arms out, and I stood. Oh, great. Bob went for a kiss, but I turned my head and gave him a hug instead. We were pulling out of the hug when De Luca appeared in my doorway.

      He leaned against the doorway with his arms folded, filling the entire space with his enormity. He had a dark look in his eyes, and radiated power and masculinity. His gaze went from us to the large arrangement on my desk, then back to Bob and me. “Am I interrupting something?”

      Bob paled. I’d hate to see what would happen if we were dating and I was attacked on the street. He’d probably duck into the nearest Starbucks and order a scone to calm his nerves.

      “No. Bob was just leaving. Bob, this is Brad De Luca. He is one of my bosses.”

      Brad’s eyes locked with Bob’s, and he moved forward and shook his hand firmly. I think I saw Bob wince. My office seemed incredibly small at that moment with Bob, Brad, the ridiculous flowers and me. Bob squeaked out a hello.

      “I need to speak to Julia if you both are done here.”

      Bob smiled shyly at me and fled the office. I crossed my arms and stared at Brad stonily.

      “What, pray tell, did you need to speak to me about that couldn’t wait?”

      “Who is he?”

      “Bob. He is a—”

      “I know who he is. I meant who is he to you?”

      Why does this man think he knows everything? “He is nothing to me.”

      “Are you dating?”

      “Is that any of your business?”

      “It is if he’s visiting you at work.”

      “Oh, please! Don’t even pull that card.”

      “Are you dating?”

      “No.”

      He studied me, his eyes possessively roaming down my body and up again, and I felt myself flush. Thank God I dressed up. The magnetism he put out was ridiculous. This office was way too small for the two of us.

      “Come to Vegas with me this weekend,” he said.

      “What?”

      “I’m going to Vegas this weekend. Why don’t you come?” It was more a directive than an invitation.

      “Are you serious?”

      “Dead serious.” He looked serious. And tempting.

      I smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

      “Think it over. I’ll have you back safe and sound by Monday.”

      “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

      He raised his eyebrows and looked at me appraisingly. “No boyfriend?”

      “No.”

      “Think it over.” He gave me a ridiculously sexy parting smile, turned on one heel and sauntered out.

      I sank down in my seat. This was way too much excitement for 8:08 a.m. I tried to focus on Broward’s first email, which was still open on my screen.