"No, these are this month's reports," Kylie said, with strained patience. "Those are last month's..." Her boss could be a little dense for someone with a PhD.
Kylie risked a glance over at Grant across the room. He was typing at his own desk, but seemed to sense her looking at him, and turned those arresting blue eyes her way. He smiled, in on the exasperation, which she knew he shared. Kylie returned her attention to the task at hand, trying to ignore the feelings she sometimes got when Grant looked at her.
Not a chance, she admonished herself. You're a mess, and he's...just get back to work.
It had been a rough eight years. Her single mother's death when Kylie was only twenty-one, leaving her to take full custody of her little brother, who had finally—FINALLY-graduated high school and gone to live with their aunt in Pittsburgh, where he apprenticed at a good graphic design firm.
He'd only been out of Kylie's apartment for two months, and the sense of overwhelming responsibility had not eased much. She'd bee running to stand still for as long as she could remember. Boyfriends? Pfft...when would that have happened? The nights were eerily quiet now, just her and her stacks of books. Occasionally it seemed as if she should be out doing something, but normal 29-year-old life was alien to her. Kyle was increasingly sure that the window for her to do normal things had passed. And because that thought depressed her, she usually chose not to think about it.
Working for the symphony kept her plenty busy, anyway. Their past two seasons had sold out, which was why they could afford to hire Grant. Tall and well-dressed, with close-cropped brown hair and a gorgeous speaking voice, Kylie suspected he wouldn't stay an admin assistant for long. He had greener pastures written all over him, but she did enjoy his presence. He got all her jokes, which was unusual in that somewhat stuffy crowd.
The old gay guys liked him—and why wouldn't they? He took their tame bawdy ribbing with good grace, but he was clearly straight, although there was never any mention of a significant other. But Kyle wasn't one to pry. Besides, if he was taken, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
He had asked earlier if she was going to the Thanksgiving banquet that night. He got just as bored at those functions as she did, but of course they were both going. Cindy had asked if she was bringing a date, but Kylie just laughed. Yeah, right. At this point, spinsterhood was less scary to her than seeking romance. At least she knew what to expect.
That night, Kylie examined herself in the banquet hall bathroom mirror. The outfit was simple, like all her clothes. The pleated skirt was knee-length, a muted, proper black. The deep green of the silken blouse brought out her eyes behind the black rims of her glasses. The office ladies always said she was pretty, and at times like this, she could more or less believe them. Her shoulder-length red mane was unruly, as usual, with odd kinks sticking out here and there. That usually bothered her, but today it worked somehow.
The pinch at her waist highlighted a hip flare that, from certain angles, might be considered sexy, but from others just made her think she was fat. No one had ever said either way, so her insecurities were left to run wild on their own. However, tonight things seemed to be hanging together pretty well, from what she could see. Feeling presentable, she ventured out into the fray.
Hugging the wall in the main hall, she cast her eyes around, looking for Grant. He wasn't hard to spot in that room of elderly bent-backs and matronly cubicle-dwellers. To her secret delight, he also seemed to be scanning the room for her, and shortly, their eyes met. Kylie felt that tingle again. Calm down, she reminded herself, and made her way over to where he'd set aside two chairs for them.
It wasn't hard to figure out, she reasoned. They were the only two under-30s in the organization, although she barely made that cutoff. Kylie wasn't actually sure how old Grant was, but sneaking a peek at his hairline and smooth face, she was pretty sure he was her junior by at least a few years.
"Are you ready to be symphonized?" he asked, playfully.
Kylie rolled her eyes. "Oh, god..."
The tagline had emerged from an endless marketing meeting, and the pair had been ridiculing it for days since, working it into sentences where it didn't belong, amusing themselves, if no one else. The new phrase did at least replace the ill-fated Orchestral Maneuvers in the Park campaign, which was no longer spoken of by management. "It was all just a dreeeeam..." Kylie had quipped to Grant at the time, knowing he would be the only one to laugh.
"All these years, I've been waiting for someone to symphonize me," she said, in jest. Something in his eyes when she said that made her aware of saucier implications, and she looked down quickly, studying her wine glass. Then Grant laughed, and she laughed, too, but there seemed to be a frisson of uncomfortable tension as they did so.
No, she thought. It's not what you think. Stop.
The speeches began, and went on for too long. Kylie's skin was too warm, and she realized that over the course of the program and too many refilled glasses, she had gotten tipsier than she'd intended. Not sloppy, but certainly not on the safe side of decorous. The thoughts streaming through her mind as Grant's long-fingered hand lightly drummed the table right next to her were not remotely safe, and she excused herself.
Pull it together, she told the tottering woman with the flushed face in the mirror. Don't make an ass out of yourself in front of...in front of anybody.
That wasn't what she meant, though. Her brain was operating on two separate tracks: One that busily laid nefarious plans of a most immodest nature, and one that worked hard to studiously ignore the activities of the former.
Go home, she told herself. Sober up. You'll be fine in the morning.
Hearing the final applause through the bathroom door, Kylie praised Zeus that the debacle was over. Stepping out, she saw that Grant had left his seat. Half of her heart ached, but the other half breathed a sigh of relief. It would be much harder to mortify herself and others if his gravitational pull wasn't exerting any influence on her discombobulated body.
Collecting her coat, she was halfway through the lobby when the voice brought her up short.
"Kylie," Grant's gentle baritone called. The sound of her name in his mouth sent shivers through her anxious frame. She composed herself, and turned to see him, standing there all suited and tied like a classic movie star. It hurt to look at him.
"Hey, she said, as nonchalantly as possible. "I'm, uh...I think I went a little overboard on the chardonnay," she offered, bugging her eyes for comedic effect. "I probably need to..."
"Okay," he said, too quickly. Too conciliatory. What had he been planning to say? Dammit, Kylie, you fucked it up, she cursed at herself. Fucked what up, exactly, herself asked snidely, too damn sure that it was right.
