Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie

Seven

Chase

I buzz outside Sydney’s building, then shoot her a quick text to let her know I’m here. She didn’t want me to pick her up. She couldn’t have been any clearer; this is not a date. But like I’m gonna have her show up at my buddy’s place not knowing anyone. I’m not an insensitive prick. I’m friends with chicks, I have a sister, and I know it’s uncomfortable to show up to a place where you don’t know anyone all alone.

As I stand there waiting on the bottom concrete step, a text from EJ comes through.

Elijah Mason/MSC: You’re in for tonight. Text your location, and the car will pick you up around midnight.

Fuck. I told the guy I had plans tonight. But he’s one of those clients who acts like he’s the boss of me. And the thing is, I know where he wants to go. Thursday night we were in a strip club. The place they want to go tonight makes that place look PG.

I stare at the phone, contemplating my response. When I first started hanging out with Tom Bennett and his college buds, I thought it was all good. Only good things could come from schmoozing with the bigwigs, right? One by one, each of his buddies requested me as their client service manager for their businesses.

They’re good guys. Fun on the golf course, maybe not so faithful to their wives. I really don’t want to know, don’t want to judge. They’re acquaintances. Business associates. But this pressure to join them all the time is starting to feel…not good. Doesn’t make sense either. These guys are wealthy as fuck. Even if they want me there to write it off as business, well, they can write it off as business without me there. Although, really, the place they wanna hit tonight shouldn’t be on anyone’s tax records.

The door pushes open, and I step back. D.A.M.N. Sydney Frost can snazzy it up.

I fall back two steps down, taking her in. She’s in smoking high heels and a tiny black dress that shows off some mighty fine legs she’s been hiding in pants all week. Her hair’s blown out, sleek, showing off an angle that’s not quite so evident at the office where she pulls it back into a low bun for the sexy secretary vibe.

Fuck. I’ve been respecting my colleague, keeping it friendly and harassment-free, but damn. I should’ve been putting on my A-game. She might be all business and know next to nothing about comics, but she is fine with a capital F. I’d backed off taking that long shot, but now I might re-strategize.

“You didn’t need to come and pick me up. I told you.” She sounds annoyed. Frosty.

“I’m aware I didn’t need to. I wanted to.”

I bow to her, ever so slightly, holding my arm out to guide her to her chariot. Well, the Uber I paid to make one stop before the final destination. She rolls her eyes as I open the back door of the tiny Chevy for her. Rolls her eyes. I’ve been piecing Sydney together like a puzzle. My running theory is she’s so into the professional work scene that when she’s with someone who doesn’t follow status quo, it throws her. If I played the part of a perfect corporate executive, I wouldn’t be getting under her skin.

When I round the car and slide into the seat next to her, she looks me up and down. And not in a let’s-get-it-on kind of way.

“What?”

“Do you always wear t-shirts?” Her nose scrunches a bit when she asks the question.

“Well, if you’re asking what I sleep in, the answer is no. I prefer commando.”

She stares out the window, and I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. I didn’t have to invite her out. She’s not my client. She’s not even on my fucking team. I’m just being nice to someone who has no friends.

The Uber stops at a traffic light, and we sit in silence. I should just tell her to forget about it. Leave her skinny, tall, frosty, yet simultaneously hot ass on the curb near a bar where she can find the kind of man she wants, because I am not her kind of guy. I’m not the kind of guy she’d choose to hang out with at the office, much less go out on a date with.

Once again, I try to be the nice guy, and then everybody feels free to walk right over me. I have plans tonight. Can’t go out. Pretty solid and clear. EJ might as well’ve said, You little peon. I own your ass, and you're coming out if I say you’re coming out.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is about you that brings out the bitch in me.” Her meek, quiet tone lulls me out of my stew. She sounds almost…contrite.

I stop staring straight ahead at the vinyl headrest and give her a hard look. Then I do what I do best and let the simmering anger cool and go for a joke.

“You know, I’m pretty sure the original lyrics weren’t going for that.” She pauses, and the corners of her glossy pale pink lips turn up a tad. “You know, it’s supposed to be ‘brings out the man in me.’”

“I got the reference,” she assures me. “But, seriously. You’re being nice. Doing me a favor by introducing me to your friends. And I’m…”

“Being a bitch.” Her eyebrows almost hit her hairline, so I backtrack. “Abrasive. You’re being abrasive.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounds genuine.

“So, what am I doing that’s bringing this out? Is it just my presence? You really hate t-shirts? You have a thing against short guys?”

A smirk plays across her lips, and she looks away for a moment. “You know, I think it’s that you remind me of one of those guys who doesn’t take anything seriously. I had to work damn hard, and some people don’t have to work hard, and it gets under my skin. You know?”

I think back to business school and group projects. There was always one slacker. That’s about as close to understanding what she’s talking about as I can get.

“You know, I might joke a lot, but I do work damn hard. Don’t let the jokester routine fool you. As one of the shorter guys, growing up, it felt like I had to push it twice as hard as anyone else. And being in the sub-six-foot category definitely didn’t play well with the girls. Joking’s been my go-to thing for a long time. Usually, it makes friends, though, not enemies.” That’s a touch of honesty I don’t normally share, but it feels like she and I might have something in common. Maybe she had to work super hard for her grades, or maybe she ended up at a company with a lot of male testosterone. In financial services, it’s not unheard of, that’s for sure.

She reaches out and touches my knee. Her touch sends a tingling sensation along my thigh and into my nether regions, and goosebumps rise on my arms. It’s a reaction I’m pretty positive she didn’t intend to create.

“Hey.” Her voice is sultry. Sexy. I can’t even swallow. Those glossy lips shine, reflecting the streetlights we’re whizzing past. She flicks her tongue over the full lower lip in slow-mo. “You’re not that short. You’re taller than me. When I’m not wearing heels.”

She pulls her hand back with a friendly smile, and damn if I don’t need to get out of my own head because for the briefest of seconds I thought she was going somewhere she so clearly was not going. Fuck. Maybe it’s a good thing EJ’s taking me out tonight. It appears I need a release. With anyone I can find.

The car pulls up outside of Sam and Olivia’s building. They live in the T1, a new build, high-end apartment with stunning views of the Hudson and Manhattan. The skyscraper towers over the Hudson river, its metal and glass far more modern and imposing than any of the nearby brick apartment buildings and low warehouses. I hop out, thanking our driver, and walk around to open Sydney’s door. She’s already stepping out of the car by the time I round the trunk.

Sydney matches my stride as we head into the iconic glass building. She hesitates.

“Wow. That’s a gorgeous building.”

“Yeah, it is. Sam’s one of the founders of Esprit Corp. He’s loaded.” I glance at her, deciphering how she’s taking that info. Just in case, I add, “His girlfriend, Olivia, is one of our close friends. Anna, Olivia, and Delilah are the women I was telling you about. The ones I want you to meet.”

“But tonight’s a gathering for your friends Maggie and Jason, right?” She sounds tentative, like she’s attempting to remember the names. I didn’t really offer many details when I invited her.

“Yes. Jason is Sam’s good friend. They’re like brothers. Go way back. The girls have known Maggie for a while, and they’re close, but Maggie and Jason moved to Chicago. They came back so Jason could clear out his apartment. He sold it. Think he signed the papers earlier today.”

The doorman waves us through, clearly expecting us. I come here quite a bit to hang with the guys. Sam seems to prefer to have everyone over to his place as opposed to going out, and I have to say, I don’t mind at all. At least, it works for me for early hours, but if I wanna get lucky, I have to cut out and meet up with other singles later on. I like this group and all, but they are one coupled up crew. It’s only a matter of time before big rocks are placed on all their ladies’ fingers.

It’s kind of funny. When we first moved to New York, I was the only one in a serious relationship, and I felt jealous of my single friends. Now, the tables have turned. I’m the only one not in a relationship, and at times, I do find myself jealous of these guys. They never stroke an urge to bar hop, searching crowds, aiming for a connection. They have all they need now, wherever they choose to go.

The elevator opens into Sam’s foyer. I guide her down the hall, where Anna greets us.

“Anna, this is my new colleague, Sydney. She’s the one I told you about, who’s new to the city.” Within seconds, Anna’s guiding her over to the others.

Sydney’s in good hands, so I head straight on back to the terrace, where I know all my buds are hanging. I do stop by the kitchen and pull out a few beers in case anyone else needs one. As I round the corner of the kitchen island, I take a moment to appreciate all the ladies in the house. They are decked out.

I glance down at what I’m wearing. I’ve got a sports jacket on, and jeans, but they’re dark jeans. Like super dark, almost slacks-like. Yeah, I’ve also got a t-shirt on, but who gives a shit?

When I join the guys outside, they’re dressed like me. No t-shirts, but you know, sports jackets. No one’s in a tie. Jason’s not even here yet. Jackson, my college buddy, is over talking on his cell on the far end of the mammoth terrace.

Sam greets me, and we both sit. Sam’s brother, Ollie, nods and takes a beer from me. I set the extra on the table.

After we’ve got all the niceties out of the way, I mutter to Sam, “Hey, am I dressed okay for what you’ve got planned?”

Of course, Ollie overhears. “You know, I was gonna tell you, man, your ass looks kind of big in those jeans.”

I flip him the bird, and he just laughs. Thank you, Sydney, for turning me into a girl.