Text Me, Maybe - Jolyse Barnett Page 0,10

a twist of her key and entered the one-bedroom apartment on Bowery she shared with her best friend. “Sam?” Clicking on the lights as she walked, Lexie peeked in the bedroom and bath.

Her best friend who was never home.

Alone as usual.

She plopped onto the sofa that, with a lift and pull, transformed into her bed. Lumpy, but it was hers.

Sirens blared on the street. Theirs wasn’t the nicest or safest of neighborhoods in the city, but it wasn’t the worst, either, for a lower-rent space on the island of Manhattan.

After recovering from the image of Matthew Hennessey leaning into the elevator car like he was Rocky and she was Adrian, she’d stared out the F train’s window at the underground blackness, debating her Buns of Steel problem. She didn’t know much about the man her boss wanted to catch.

She tapped the boss’s phone against her weary head. Think, think, think.

The phone pinged.

‘Life is the flower for which love is the honey.’ Please ignore my last text. I’d love to get together. Can’t make this Friday, but how about the 15th?

She read it twice, and, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, pinched herself. “Ow. Yep, it’s real.” Lexie sprang off the sofa and ran through the apartment, pumping her fists. “He changed his mind. Am I good or what? And the dude quotes Victor Hugo. How cool is that?” She flopped back on the cushions and reveled in her good fortune, before snatching her own phone from her purse. Tapping the screen, she logged in to Ms. Swann’s Google calendar. “Please be open, please be open. Score! The fifteenth works.” She added the new event as B.O.S. 7:00-11:00 PM. “Nope, that doesn’t look right,” she muttered, then tapped some more, and smiled. “Steel.”

Before he changed his mind again, Lexie typed her response. The fifteenth’s perfect. I ask just one favor. ‘Tread softly for you tread on my dreams.’

A staccato heartbeat later, he responded. I’m part of your dreams?

High on her success, she typed back. Every night since we first met.

I’ll be available after eight. That okay? Tell me where you’d like to meet, and I’ll be there.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She sang loud and off-key, but didn’t care. Let Chihuahua bark next door. Shaking with relief, she typed her agreement and sent him the link to Ms. Swann’s preferred restaurant.

Phew. She was tired. Running around the apartment had to count as her stretching before bed, especially since she’d just confirmed a date on her boss’s behalf at an establishment she’d yet to reserve.

The phone pinged again.

‘The faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.’ Look forward to seeing you.

Snatching a pillow next to her, she hugged it close, her middle warm and mushy like the leftover Chinese noodles she’d eaten for dinner. If she were foolish enough to believe that the anonymous trainer-slash-professor she’d begun to think of as Steel was a man who actually meant what he wrote… She shook her head.

It was a line, a means to an end.

Just like her messages to him…and her position at the firm.

Until then. Lexie hit send, then leaned forward to exchange the phone for her laptop. Opening her web browser, she settled in for a long night. She’d squeaked by in the first round, but the fight was far from over. Next up, planning her restaurant and nightclub strategy. Glancing at the notebook and pen on the coffee table, she sighed. Writing would have to wait.

Chapter Seven

Wednesday evening, Matthew strolled south along Park Avenue with his new client, sunshine streaming between the skyscrapers at each cross street, providing them sporadic warmth against the April breeze.

“A brisk walk was the best idea, thanks.” Her eyes darted from one building to the next, soaking in the city’s sights, unlike jaded New Yorkers like him who mostly took it for granted.

“Much better than jogging indoors on a treadmill?” he teased, resisting the urge to touch the hair framing her face.

For the last few days, Lexie had been a constant in his brain. He’d found himself staring off into space, thinking about her.

Lame.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Your knee feeling better?”

She paused and flexed it. “Much. I should’ve listened to you and stretched more. I felt like the rusty Tin Man from Wizard of Oz, after sitting in an office chair all day. It’s all good, though.”

Wonder what she thought of those texts the other night? If she really was trying to do this for her boss, he’d have to come clean soon. But