Me: Climb up on the counter and take care of that little problem yourself.

Blake: There’s nothing little about that problem. It’s a big problem, and your sexy-librarian-ass is going to take care of it tonight.

Me: I’ll be too tired, and maybe drunk. Sorry.

A couple minutes pass, and when I’m starting to think he’s pissed that I canceled, the phone dings again.

Blake: Still feel me between your legs?

Me: . . .

Blake: Good. Where are you going tonight?

I debate telling him, but finally concede to our little game.

Me: Marco’s

Then there’s nothing. Air silence.

As soon as the clock hits noon, I jump in the elevator, following the masses. The mixture of cologne and perfume fills the overheated space as the doors open at every floor. It’s a waste of time; there should be a It’s fucking full, and I want to get the hell out of here button.

When it finally stops on the ground floor, we parade out like a herd of caged animals. I’d gotten a tour of the cafeteria yesterday so I’m not surprised how big it is, but now that it’s full of people, it’s ten times scarier.

Not wanting to deal with lines, I head straight to the salad bar and load my plate with chicken, veggies, and fruit. I grab a bottle of water and pay before looking for an open place to sit. Surprisingly, there’s a single open table in the corner, and since I don’t know anyone here, I gravitate toward it.

I barely have my first bite in when a brunette—about my age—stops next to me. I’m admiring her mass of curls when she clears her throat. “Excuse me.”

“Hi,” I reply, not quite sure what else to say.

“Are these seats taken?” she asks, motioning to the three chairs that surround me.

“No.”

She exhales audibly, setting her tray down beside mine. “Oh, good. You’re the only person in this room who looked cool to sit with.”

“It’s kind of like high school, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. Everyone has their own little cliques, and I’m sort of the new kid, trying her best to work her way to the top. I thought adulthood would put an end to this,” she says, peeling the lid off her yogurt. “I’m Reece, by the way.”

“I’m Lila, and I’m new here too. Yesterday was my first day.”

Her eyes widen. “Me too, Architecture Apprenticeship. Ugh, the whole reason I picked Stanley was to work under Pierce Stanley, and my mentor told me he’s never here.”

I bite my lower lip, thinking about my meetings with Pierce. He’s the type of guy most girls would sell their soul to touch. “I have a Design Apprenticeship, and I’ve been staring at the clock since my mentor went into a meeting this morning. They don’t even trust me with a stapler yet.”

“That sucks. I’d staple all day if I could get one glimpse of Pierce.”

“What’s his story anyway?” I ask. There’s no way I’m going to tell her that I’ve met Pierce on numerous occasions—even had my interview with him. From what she’s said so far, she’d probably tackle me and beat every little fact about him out of me.

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head . . . Pierce is a big unknown. The little bit of time we’ve spent together hasn’t even scratched the surface.

“He’s talented, well-respected, and successful at a very young age. On top of that, the guy’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen him in person, but if he’s even half the man he is in pictures, I’ll die.” She sounds and looks like a teenage girl talking about a hot new boy band.

I’ve never seen a picture of Pierce, but the man’s beyond gorgeous—at least half Italian, perfect body, and impeccable style. “Is he single?”

She snorts. “You need to Google him. Seriously. He dates but nothing serious. They always post pictures from events and red carpets online, but he’s never had the same woman with him twice.” Something tells me she’d be satisfied with just one shot. One date. One kiss.

“Interesting.”

I wonder if I’m just a game piece to Pierce. Why does he want to take me to the benefit when he could have his pick of gorgeous women?

Chasing all those thoughts and doubts away, I spend the rest of my break talking to Reece about where she grew up and how it compares to here. We both groan while sharing our orientation stories. She reminds me a little of Mallory—super book smart—but she’s also funny and quirky.

“How long have you lived in Chicago?” I ask, pushing my half-eaten salad away.

“Since Saturday. It sucks because I don’t know anyone.”

“I’m going out with a friend tonight if you’d like to join us. Nothing too exciting, just tacos and margaritas, but it will get you out of the house.” Maybe I should have asked Dana first, but I don’t think she’ll mind. Reece is more straight-laced, but they’re both guy crazy.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“Oh my God, yes.” I swear she’s going to jump out of her chair and hug me. Tonight will be fun, or at least it will be a good break from the mundane life I’ve been living—besides when I’m with Blake.

MARCO’S ISN’T QUITE WHAT I expected. It’s a bar like Dana said, but one end resembles a dance club. I wanted low key, relaxing, but this is more of a go out, have fun, get drunk, and hope to God you don’t have to work the next day type of place.

“I don’t think I would have come here if you hadn’t invited me . . . ever,” Reece chides next to me. Dance music blares, making it almost impossible to hear her.

“Hey, it wasn’t exactly my idea. Besides, we’re only staying for a couple hours then we’re leaving.”

She bumps my shoulder when two women in short—barely covers their ass—skirts walk by. It’s something I wouldn’t have worn even if I’d known the place. “Do we have a safe word?”

“A what?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at her. I can’t tell if she’s serious or joking.

“Don’t you read?” Her eyes bug out like I’ve grown two heads right before her eyes or something.

“Yes, I read.” Probably more than I should actually.

“What genre?” she asks, tapping her heel against the hard floor.

I shrug. “Women’s Fiction or Romance mostly. Sometimes James Patterson or John Grisham.”

“No BDSM?” Even in the dimly lit room, the blush on her cheeks is evident.

“No, that’s not really my thing,” I answer, scanning the crowded room for Dana.

She continues, “Safe words are used to get out of uncomfortable situations. For example, I hate dancing so if anyone asks, I’m using our word.”

With a roll of my eyes, I say, “Seriously, Reece? I really don’t think that’s what they’re for.”

“I don’t care. So what’s it going to be?” Dana needs to hurry up. The sooner she gets here, the sooner we can all leave. I want to go home, maybe find Blake, and let him fuck me on the counter like he promised.

“Your pick,” I answer, simply to satisfy her.

She taps her index finger on her chin. It’s entertaining just to watch her spend so much time picking out a word we’ll probably never use. This is nothing but an outdated bar slash dance club . . . not the bedroom. “Pierce.” She says it with so much excitement, you’d think he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in forever standing across the room.

I shake my head, forgoing any response. I wonder what Reece would say if she knew I was going to a benefit with the hot shot CEO this weekend. Trepidation builds inside me every time I think about it. What will people think when I show up with him? What will Blake think?

Cold, bony hands cover my eyes, breaking me away from all thoughts of the upcoming weekend. “Boo!” Dana shouts, giving me my eyesight back.

“I was starting to think you’d punk’d us,” I remark, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Sorry I’m late. I got hung up at home. Wait, who’s us?”

I motion toward Reece. “Dana, meet Reece. Reece, this is Dana, a friend of mine.”