Mister Know It All by Amélie S. Duncan
JASMINE
5k’s roller girl and tramp-over
“Woo, hips don’t lie,” Priscilla said and lowered her heart-shaped sunglasses.
“Don’t make fun. You look fabulous, darling,” Quinton said, adjusting his neon sweatband around his man-bun. “It’s too late to change your clothes. We need to head to Central Park for the race setup. Our volunteers are already there.”
I had been one hundred percent behind the seventies theme for Morgan Financial’s First Annual 5K Run—a fundraiser for computer equipment at local elementary schools. Themes made things fun, and making the company seem like a fun place to work was a part of my new job. However, I didn’t anticipate, when choosing sizes for the seventies-style running gear, my tank and satin shorts would transfer onto my curves as a crop top and satin boy-shorts. Instead of looking like a retro track star, I looked like a bad Boogie Nights Roller Girl Halloween costume. Boo.
We had only two hours before the start of our run, a full loop of Central Park, and I had no time for sulking. I picked up my clipboard and eyed the names on the sign-up sheet. We had forty-nine participants willing to leave work early, exercise, and go home with full pay—for a great cause, of course. Since my ID update initiative was a flop, I was keen on making the run a success, even if it meant wearing satin shorts with knee-high socks in public.
I put my work clothes in the bag and tucked my cell phone and small bottled water into a fanny pack emblazoned with a rainbow decal of our company logo on my waist. My phone chimed as I zipped it closed.
“Voicemail,” Quinton called, lifting the box of water bottles. “The van is out front.”
My phone and another one behind us went off at the same time.
We turned to find Margot. She had a pastel blouse on under her pants suit today. She’d removed the puffiness to her hair and had it slicked back into an attractive chignon. I’d have complimented her if she’d been anyone else.
Her lips curved upward. “Ms. Bisset. I’ve got ten minutes available to discuss my retirement party.”
“She can’t. We’re off to set up the 5K race,” Quinton told her. “Another time. Jasmine, meet you downstairs.” He added his box to a cart and wheeled it toward the elevator.
“I have no other time, I’m afraid,” Margot said in a light tone. “A few minutes and Jasmine can run off to play in the park.”
Priscilla shook her head behind me and picked up the second box of water bottles. And from her vibe, I got the impression I should abort going with Margot at all costs. However, I didn’t rattle easily. I’d dealt with plenty of ornery people at school. Margot wouldn’t shake me.
I squared my shoulders and attached my notepad to the clipboard. “Lead the way.”
I followed Margot down a row of cubicles to her office. Wow, impressive.
Graham’s was impressive, but Margot’s office was just as remarkable. Although sparsely decorated, it had a small conference table, two epic flat-screens, a sleek white desk, and a couple of drafting tables. Surprisingly, she had a Death Star on a shelf. A Star War’s limited edition Death Star?!
My brows furrowed. “Is this Ford’s office?”
“Yes. We changed offices two days ago. Isn’t it part of your job to keep track of office changes? Oh, here Ford is now,” she announced with a tight smile.
Ford walked in, and like a magnet, I became rooted to the spot.
My temperature went up, and my tongue twisted in, rendering me stupid at just the sight of him—Ford’s superpower over me. I was butterflies and starry eyes for the gorgeous, glaring man in another dark gray suit made for him, gazing hard enough to make me feel naked. And he wasn’t alone. A group of his co-workers filed in behind him.
“They sure know how to raise morale.”
“Nice work if you can get it. Can I get it?”
My distraction wavered, and I gazed past Ford, glowering at whoever thought they were funny. But the only one laughing now was Margot. She chortled at what she believed embarrassed me. What happened to her that made her so awful?
“Enough,” Ford erupted, his tone sharp as a blade. “Ms. Bisset is here to remind you all of morale and hospitalities’ 5K run in the park. It’s for computer equipment for the elementary schools, which I expect you all to chip in for, or we’ll discuss harassment with human resources and see if you’ll keep your jobs.”
Ford’s speech left the room silent, but he wasn’t done. He turned to me, eyes blazing. “Is there anything else, Ms. Bisset?”
I jutted my chin. “Margot asked me to stop in for ideas for her retirement party.”
“I’d like a swan ice sculpture,” she mused.
I removed my phone and jotted it down with my e-pen. “Anything else?”
“A cake,” she said, and someone snickered.
I squinted at her. “You needed a meeting and interrupted our set up for the children’s charity race to ask for a swan and cake?”I asked, my tone incredulous.
Margot actually blushed. Good.
I walked out of the office. I’d reached the elevator when Ford caught up to me.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His tone said he wasn’t.
“Of course I am.” I pressed the down button.
“Margot just tried to humiliate you,” he said and cursed.
I shrugged. “I believe her target was you. I’m not easily embarrassed.”
His smile came out, and my heart beat faster. “You don’t easily embarrass. But it would help if you changed your clothes. That outfit is showing too much of your body.”
I had thought the same, but the feminist in me couldn’t help but challenge his opinion.
“We’re all wearing tanks and shorts. Why is it that curvy women are ‘obscene’ when we show a little skin?”
“When that skin she’s showing off belongs to me,” Ford said.
“You’re delusional. I’m not yours.” I cringed at my harsh tone, but at the same time, Ford’s teasing flirtation had crossed the line again. He wasn’t available.
“You’d like being mine, Jasmine. I can be very creative for brattiness. Your nipples won’t be the only part of your sexy body that’s sore when I’m done.”
“Don’t you ever stop?” I covered the goofy grin with my hand and pressed the button for the elevator again.
“You don’t want me to. What time is the race?”
“In two hours. Can I count on you showing up?”
“No, but a few of my co-workers are now considering it,” he said in a crisp tone.
I hadn’t intended to turn up to a meeting dressed like this, but Ford had no right to be jealous. However, I did know from the way co-workers gossiped at the company that I’d never date anyone at work.
“You can tell them it’s never happening,” I said. The relieved look on Ford’s face annoyed me. So I added, “I’ve met someone.”
He stiffened. “Where?”
“Online.” I stepped inside the elevator, and he followed me in.
“Have you met him?” he asked.
“Not yet. We’re taking things slow.”
He sneered. “You’re wasting your time.”
“You don’t know Rupert, and you’re already writing him off.”
“Rupert? Sounds uptight, but you like uptight guys.”
“He’s not uptight. He reads poetry and recites sonnets.”
“Sonnets? Bullshit. He’s using fake beta male antics to get into your pants. But I’ll tell you now, Rupert can’t fuck. He’s the first dud of your selfish summer.”
I crossed my arms. “You don’t know him, and even so, what I do is not your concern.”
“You are my concern, Jasmine.” His voice sounded hoarse and unlike him and had me turning my head for a look. His handsome face was as exquisite as ever, but there was a hollow look in his eyes. Even if he was behaving like a know-it-all and trying to sabotage my interest in Rupert, he had me alarmed as he always seemed so put together.
“Ford, are you okay?” I asked, softening my tone.
“I’m tired of my life,” he said, and his voice sounded forlorn. He tilted his head down and blew out his breath. “Never mind me.”
I worried my bottom lip. He seemed so upset that I didn’t want to leave him.
The elevator opened in the lobby, and he stepped out behind me.
“Jasmine, Quinton said move it,” Priscilla called out from the door. Her gaze shifted between Ford and me. Her lips turned downward.
I looked back at Ford, who had an expression I couldn’t decipher. I wanted to stay and talk to him.
“I have to go, but can we talk later? I’m good at listening too.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “I came with you to make sure you’re okay, not the other way around. I’m proud you don’t let the assholes bring you down.”
He winked at me, and my insides went warm and fuzzy as he disappeared back inside the elevator.
We carried bags and a small folding table near the USS Maine National Monument at the Merchants’ Gate entrance of Central Park at Columbus Circle. From there, we planned to join Park Drive to take Central Park’s full loop, a six-mile path around the park. While the route made our race longer than 5K, the tree-lined drive was mostly flat with the least number of sightseeing tourists, joggers, and cyclists. It was also wide enough that we could keep everyone together.
Quinton put me in charge of fixing numbers to the back and crossing people off the list. I’d counted forty-two before handing my job over to Priscilla, who was organizing the volunteers so Quinton and I could run in the race. I ran pretty regularly with Tam in the mornings, but a new run always had challenges. The hot sun above was one of them. I drank a couple of cups of water at the table, then stretched my legs and arms before joining the staff group photos for the quarterly magazine. Afterward, Quinton used his megaphone to speak to everyone gathered for the run at the start.
“Thank you all for coming to our first annual 5K run for elementary kids,” he said. “Children are our future, and on this beautiful day, we are grateful for your participation. So far, we’ve raised thirty-eight thousand dollars.”
Quinton paused for our cheers and claps before continuing.
“The weather is good but may get hotter. Please take care of yourself. We have volunteers along the way to give you water, but if you are ill, please seek assistance immediately. Let’s have a great run.”
His last few words lost steam, but the runners still jumped up and down. I walked over to him.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He beamed. “Oh, I am. I just became distracted. Do you remember that scene from Grease where Sandra Dee shows up at graduation with a tramp-over? Give your eyes a feast.”
My mouth dropped open. OMG!
Not only had Ford shown up, but he also came wearing only running shorts and sneakers.
He had me hot and bothered before the run gawking at him, and I wasn’t the only one. Many admiring eyes were glued to his mouthwatering muscular form. Drool.
I grabbed a tank from the bag and marched over to him. “You need to put on a shirt so we can fix your number to the back. I thought you had a meeting?” I snipped.
Ford stretched the back of his toned legs, seemingly unaware of the stir he caused by showing up practically naked. “I decided to skip it.”
“The rules state you must have your number on,” I pointed out.
He cocked a brow. “A stickler for rules now? You’re ogling. I guess curvy women aren’t the only ones who get sexualized for showing skin.”
“Touché. Now cover up.” I thrust out the shirt for him to take.
“I’ll put one on so you can concentrate on running and not salivating.”
He put on the shirt, and I heard a disappointed groan from the crowd behind us. Too bad.
“On your mark,” Quinton yelled.
“Catch my dust, Lingren,” I called over my shoulder, jogging ahead.
He chuckled. “Oh, it’s like that, Ms. Bisset? Game on.”
Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” blared at the same time a horn noise went off, and adrenaline coursed through my veins as I ran down the paved path with all my might.
We quickly morphed into a uniform line, letting Quinton take the lead spot to help navigate us through the slower walkers and tourists crowding the paved drive as bikers sped along on the right.
“Is that Daniel Craig running ahead?” someone shouted behind us.
Even if it wasn’t him, tourists heard the celebrity spotting and came out of nowhere, rushing into the path. Ford caught my arm just as a woman in an Iowa State jersey pushed through the crowd to catch a glimpse of 007.
“Wow. He’s just jogging. What does she think will happen when she catches up to him?”
“A photo to take home,” Ford answered. “He’ll cut his run short today.”
And sure enough, the man detoured across a traffic junction.
Quinton started singing Katy Perry’s “Firework,” and I joined in to liven up the run, which turned out to be mostly trees and grass with some skyscrapers in the distance. However, when we passed a cast-iron bridge, Ford did tap my shoulder so I wouldn’t miss seeing it.
According to my Fitbit, we’d already run two miles. A thin layer of sweat covered my body, and my heart pounded as I continued to follow the curves of the road. The canopy of trees provided enough shade to keep me out of the direct sun. However, we reached a section on the path that was less protected. The satin shorts seemed to work as a heat conductor and stuck to my skin, distracting my pace.
I pulled on the back of them, hoping they’d come unglued but to no avail.
Ford let out a low whistle, reminding me he jogged behind me.
“Stop staring at my butt,” I called over my shoulder.
“I can’t. Its bouncing has me mesmerized.”
I didn’t answer and wiped the sweat pouring down from my forehead. I dug into my fanny pack for my small emergency water. Empty.
“Are you okay?” Ford called out from behind me.
Whoa!My hands shot forward, and I wobbled on my feet. Glancing down, I missed the crack in the pavement. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”
Ford jogged up to my side. “Shit. We’re stopping.”
Before I could protest, he took my arm and moved us to the grass off the path and over to a shaded spot beneath a tree.
I turned my back to him and wiped my face on the bottom of my damp shirt. Then rolled my neck. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” I rasped.
Ford moved in front of me and scrutinized. His jaw clenched. “No, you’re not fine. Wait here.”
He sprinted ahead but returned quickly with a plastic bag and took out bottled water. “Drink and pour the rest over your skin.”
I poured it over my hair, neck, and face, then gulped down the rest as Ford glared at me.
“You were supposed to tell someone if you got too hot,” he complained and handed me a mini popsicle.
“I just needed water. Seriously, I’m fine,” I told him, as I ate the popsicle. It cooled me down some, but he also insisted on giving me the rest of his water.
I stood and stretched my arms. “I’m better, so let’s go.”
“Not yet. Just sit there for a while longer,” he demanded. “Your health isn’t something to gamble with.”
My gaze shifted to the runners passing us. “I feel better now. I can finish the race.”
His eyes flicked over me again. “I see that, but I’m not risking your health. I’ll end this run for you if I see any more signs of heat exhaustion.”
I was not too fond of his strong-arming, but he was thoughtful. He noticed and cared.
He bent down next to me when I took out a tube of sunscreen. “I’ll put it on for you.” He lifted my hair higher and rubbed the cream on my neck, back, and arms. My skin tingled from his touch. After he too put on sunscreen, he said, “We run together and stop when you need. Okay?”
“An offer I can’t refuse?” I half joked.
“Only offer you’ll get, Ms. Bisset.”
“Fine,” I relented. Mostly because he’d tell Soraya, and I didn’t want her to think I behaved irresponsibly. Besides, he seemed to genuinely care about my well-being.
His legs were longer, and he could have gone a lot faster, but he modified his stride and ran alongside me. I wasn’t tired, and the popsicle break gave me a sugar rush of energy. Ford and I not only caught up with some of the group but we were also on pace to finish with them.
The path veered to an outcrop of rocks on an incline with a sculpture of a cat perching on a rock, Cat Hill.
My breath quickened, trying to fill my lungs with oxygen as I forced my legs to push harder. At the top, I could see the Metropolitan Museum of Art I’d planned to visit.
The next part of the path was downhill and passed near the Central Park Zoo. Ford detoured with me to take a photo of the Central Park Zoo’s sea lions. (He took a photo of me looking at the lions.)
I beamed and twirled in the circle, my hands outstretched toward the sky. “New York City is so amazing.”
“In your eyes, Jasmine, it is,” he said softly.
We’d passed a few co-workers who’d given up running and were walking, and soon we were running together alone.
“Rest up. We’re coming to Harlem Hill,” he said.
The incline was steeper than Cat Hill. I huffed and puffed with Ford encouraging me with every step and stopped at the crest to catch my breath, but the downward run was quick, and we reached the landmark I checked online called Bow Bridge, a beautiful cast-iron over the lake and rejoined the crowds in the park, the finish line in sight.
My heart pumped happier as we passed joggers and maneuvered around bicyclists and strollers.
I spun in a circle, and suddenly, Ford had my waist, pulling me off the path just as a horse and carriage came speeding past.
I gasped and clutched my chest over my hammering heart. “You saved my life.”
His arms lingered around me before letting me go. “Seems like a full-time job.”
“I’m not usually this high maintenance.” I bit my lip.
“I don’t mind.”
I frowned. “I do, and I can still beat you to the finish line.”
We took off through the park again, and I could hear Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” ahead of us, letting me know we were close to the finish line.
When we reached it, Ford grabbed my hand and held it up as we crossed to the cheers of onlookers, co-workers, and tourists. Then he scooped me off my feet and spun me around before the flash of cameras.
“Mark the moment,” he said.
I whimpered, and he put me back on my feet. “I look helpless, like Cinderella. I’m also sweaty.”
“I can make you sweatier,” he teased, and I could only grin at him.
“Ha-ha, Mr. Lingren,” I said, puffing.
“I thought it was very appropriate, Ms. Bisset,” he said with a chuckle.
I rolled my eyes. This man was the biggest tease, yet I probably liked his humor the best.
“Come on, it’s time to head back, and no, I will not race you and have you leer at my ass,” I joked.
“But what a great ass it is to leer at.”
I laughed, and the moment felt good.
I felt good.