5 - Take Two

It was almost noon.  He’d successfully buried himself in work all morning, but now he was alternating between checking the clock and checking his phone.  The coffee pot was empty, and every last drop of it was now swirling in Jon’s stomach.  The extra caffeine wasn’t doing a damn thing to help his restlessness.

Sheridan hadn’t called last night, or this morning, and it chafed his ass just a little bit.  You would think she would at least call to say thank you.  At a bare minimum, she should’ve told him to stick his offering where sun didn’t shine.

It wouldn’t be so hard to swallow this…  He rubbed a hand over his furrowed brow.  It wouldn’t be so hard to swallow this rejection if she’d slapped him in the face two nights ago.  With his hand making major headway up her dress, she hadn’t been affronted or offended.  She was turned on as much as he was.  That was evidenced by the way her fingers were knotted in his hair and her tongue lapped at him like a starving kitten.

Goddammit.

He didn’t beg.

He also didn’t admit defeat.

Jon found himself in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable place.  He was being forced to choose between two of the most dominate fibers of his moral being – pride and stubbornness.

No you’re not.  You offer one more opportunity to reconnect. If she doesn’t, then you cease to care.  It’s not defeat if you don’t want it.

It was all about the kind of spin you put on it, and he’d learned how to spin shit into gold early on in his career.  So he would give this one last shot before he washed his hands of the whole thing and purposefully walked away.  Sex that hot deserved one more shot, but if she didn’t agree, he could easily find someone who would.

Now….

Did he go knocking on her front door?  That was kinda ballsy, which he didn’t necessarily bother him, but it was also kinda stupid.  She might slam the door in his face before he had the chance to work his powers of persuasion.  No, he wasn’t giving her that opportunity.  This required something a little more creative. 

Recalling one of Richie’s tricks from a few years back, he knew exactly what that something was.   He would even throw in an extra incentive to stack the deck in his favor.  All he needed now was to, once again, enlist the services of his loyal assistant. 

Jon tapped the button that would ring her cell phone, appreciating her efficiency in answering on the first ring.  She was paid well for that efficiency.  “Hey, Jeri.  I have another special project that I need done ASAP…”

❧ ❧ ❧

“Thanks, Jack.”  Sheridan smiled appreciatively at her doorman, the mid-afternoon sunshine reflecting off the waxed floor and causing her to squint.

After her massage class, she had stopped over in the Village to browse the aromatherapy shops.  The problem was that browsing always turned into buying.  Enfleurage and its extensive selection of essential oils often took fair chunks of both her time and money.  Not to mention the herb shop and then the market. 

The four resulting grocery bags were bulky and made it difficult to maneuver the building’s front door and pass through it with anything resembling grace.  She had been juggling awkwardly when Jack materialized to hold the door for her.

The ever-pleasant man returned her smile with a cordial, “No problem Ms. King.  You don’t usually have so many groceries.  Looks like you’re throwing a party. ”

“My birthday is in a couple of days, but there’s no party,” she laughed, poking the elevator call button with her knuckle.  “The mother-lode here is mostly herbs and oils, but I do have some yogurt and soup tucked in there somewhere.”

The elevator arrived on the ground floor with a discreet ding and Sheridan was prepared to step inside with her when Jack’s voice stopped her.  “You have a birthday coming up, huh?  Well then, in case I forget to mention it later, a blessedly happy birthday to you.  That must explain this pretty package that was delivered while you were out.”

She thanked him automatically, turning to see what package he was talking about.  Her stomach did a funny flip.  In his hands, there was a plain white box about the size of a dictionary, tied up with red velvet ribbon.  It looked like a scaled-down version of yesterday’s delivery.

That’s ridiculous.  He wouldn’t send something else.  Not after you didn’t call.. 

It was probably an early birthday gift from her sister, Riley or her brother, Cole.  Well not Cole, since something like that was beyond him.  Anything like that would be the handiwork of his very thoughtful wife, Melissa.

That must be it.  Cole and Melissa.

Her mother always sent flowers.  She and Riley had dinner plans for tomorrow night and Suzy had committed her to a birthday lunch on Thursday.  Cole and Melissa were the only other logical choice.

But you know who the ill-logical choice is…

“Yes, it is pretty,” she finally formed the words to agree.  Now that Jack was closer, she could clearly see her name printed across the front of a plain white envelope.  “Can you tuck it under my arm for me?”

“I tell you what,” he offered, putting a foot against the elevator that was threatening to close.  “Why don’t you give me a couple of those bags and I’ll help you upstairs?  The front desk will be okay for a minute or two.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t Jack.  That’s not your job.”

“No, no,” the older man insisted.  The salt and pepper hair made Sheridan think he was older, anyway.  His warm, brown eyes still held a good bit of youthful sparkle.  It would probably turn out that he wasn’t much older than the forty-year milestone she was about to hit. “It’s no trouble.  I can be up and back in the time it takes to talk about it.”

With a nod of concession, she relinquished two of her bags into his capable hands and boarded the elevator.  Jack joined her and efficiently punched the button for the fifth floor – or the penthouse, as Suzy called it.  Forget the fact that there were three other apartments on the top floor of the building.

“Just put them down anywhere,” Sheridan invited, her eyes riveted to the taunting red ribbon that dangled over the edge of the package and onto the top of the small refrigerator, where Jack had placed it.

If that’s from Jon, Karma really is his bitch.

She forced a smile, and her attention, toward the doorman.  “Thanks, Jack.  I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Ms. King.”  Silently waving away her offer of a tip, he nodded and backed out the door.  “Have a good evening, ma’am.”

Through an effort of sheer willpower, Sheridan left the mysterious gift where it was and calmly put away her coat, purse, yogurt and soup.  She completed that task and then took the first of her bags upstairs to the workshop, where she immersed herself in the calming scents that still lingered from yesterday’s ‘cooking’ session while she found storage spots for her new supplies.

Two more bags came upstairs to join the first, and she allowed the busywork keep her mind firmly occupied.

“Chamomile, oleander, bergamot, peppermint extract,” she intoned quietly as each found its new home.  Little drawers were opened.  Miniature glass jars were filled, labeled and stored on shelves.  Eventually, everything had been put neatly away and the reusable grocery bags were tucked into the storage closet. 

Sheridan couldn’t avoid the frilly elephant in the room any longer.  Didn’t think she could stand to, as a matter of fact.

Cole and Melissa sent this.  I’m sure of it.  It’s probably a book of some kind.

Melissa was infamous for having a book to match any occasion.  Considering Sheridan’s ‘new’ life, her sister-in-law had a wealth of things to choose from – aromatherapy handbook, essential oils encyclopedia, massage manual.  It could even be something like how to get readers as a new author.   Anything.

She picked up the box, fully prepared for the weight of a book, but it was much lighter.  Funny how she didn’t feel the least bit disappointed.

Her stomach flipped over in a triumphant ‘I told you so!’. 

The box went on the dining table, and she perched on a matching chair, her booted foot tucked beneath her.  She slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and pulled out a plain white card, just like yesterday’s. 

Five o’clock.  ~JBJ

Five o’clock?  What does that mean?

A quick glance at the microwave revealed that the current time was 4:45. How long ago had the delivery been made?  What if she had missed his indecipherable deadline?  She didn’t know whether to be thankful or remorseful that she had gotten home before five.  If she hadn’t made it home, she wouldn’t have to stress over this.  Right?

But she was home, and, if she didn’t quit screwing around with speculation games, she would miss it.

Ordering herself to stop acting like a damn ninny, Sheridan gave a firm yank on the ribbon.  The card had made her even more curious about the contents, and how it might help her decipher the cryptic message.   The lid came free easily, exposing a bevy of red tissue paper.  Folding it back, she found another box nestled inside. 

This one wasn’t plain white, though.  Eye-catching, retail printing out the outside clearly identified the contents of this box.  It was a mobile phone. 

He sent me a cell phone?

Clearly, since she hadn’t called him, he was going to call her. 

This was bad.  Very bad.  Butterflies were forming a chorus line in her stomach, kicking like well-trained Rockettes. 

Sheridan didn’t want to talk to him.  Hell, almost didn’t trust herself to talk to him.

He knows where you live.  If you don’t talk to him, he’ll probably knock on your door next time.  He’s going to be a whole lot harder to refuse in person.

Thank God her common sense had gone on autopilot.   This would be fine.  He wouldn’t be sexy over the phone.  He couldn’t touch her and short-circuit her thoughts the way he’d almost done Sunday night. 

This is what you get for not calling yesterday.  Put your big girl panties on, be polite, thank him for the gifts, and make sure you don’t have to see him again.

The electronic trilling from inside the phone box interrupted her motivational speech, and made her jump. 

Dammit, it’s only 4:56!

She hurriedly opened the box flap and wrestled free the plastic tray that held the phone.  Deftly popping it out of its molded slot, she could see that the screen was, indeed, lit with an incoming call. 

Oh you are good, Rock Star…

He was so good that Sheridan might just be in big trouble.

The caller identification didn’t display a string of unfamiliar numbers, as it would with a typical new phone.  No, this one already had at least one contact in its address book.

According to the colorful display….........................Karma was calling.

Next post:  Thursday, October 4