Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel by Ally Bishop Page B
Authors: Ally Bishop
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not a social media guru. I let you handle all of that.”
Which is true. I handle our Facebook, Twitter, and website, as well. While my brother is a whiz with spreadsheets and paperwork, he’s not much for online interaction beyond emails. “When people are officially dating, they update their Facebook status to reflect that. It’s…sort of a joke, really. As though ‘Facebook Official’ means something.” And while my tone is joking, the truth lingers there somewhere, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s something about publicly declaring your commitment to someone that speaks to my romantic soul. Not that a little over a week is near enough time to do that. I don’t want Ian to do anything so overt. Yet there’s a part of me…
“So you have to be announced online before your brother can know about it?”
Put that way, I feel terrible. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just—” I break off, frustrated that I painted things in such a bad light. I turn away from him, staring out the small window behind my desk. “Can I just have this, Noah? Please? Let me have a little privacy. We share everything, and I love that. But this one time, I want something that’s just mine for a little while longer. Next week, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.” And Ian’s party will be over, so I can feel less sleazy about sleeping with a client.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” His tone sounds chastised.
“You didn’t. I just—” But when I spin around, he’s already left the room.
Having Noah upset at me makes getting dressed for lunch even harder. But I manage, despite the complications of corsets. Who knew these things had so many ties? The deep plum silk sets off my pale skin, and my curls fall loose over my shoulders. I add a bit more makeup than usual, and while I’m not typically one for fragrances, there was one at Shay’s I couldn’t resist, so I rub the body lotion on and spritz the matching body spray over my skin.
Since it’s the middle of winter, I slip into yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, then add my long winter coat and stuff my heels into a small bag. Ian offered to meet me for lunch, but I said I wanted to treat him to a special place near his work. Which is, in part, true. I researched and found a little-known sushi spot that is supposed to have some of the best sashimi in the city that I’ll pick up on my way.
All of which goes swimmingly until I’m in the foyer of his building. I need to find the restroom so I can shuck my clothing, but there’s no one at the desk. My nerves amp up their chatter, and I lose my determination. This was a dumb idea. What if he’s with a client, or worse, embarrassed that I tried to seduce him at work? This works so well in the movies, but the movies don’t do it in the middle of winter.
I’m about to give up and wander up the stairs when a man returns, coffee mug in hand.
“So sorry! I wanted to heat up my coffee, and it boiled over in the microwave. Made a huge mess!” He takes a seat at the front desk, then smiles up at me. “Can I help you?”
Flustered, I fumble for words. “I’m here for Ian Crane.”
He glances down at the bag in my hand. “Oh, food delivery. Excellent. You can just leave that here, and I’ll get your tip—”
“No, I’m here for him. I mean, I’m here to see him.” If I was red before, I’m probably crimson now.
Understanding dawns in the receptionist’s eyes, a bit too much understanding. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Let me just buzz him—”
“Actually, I wanted to surprise him.” I plaster a smile on my face, determined not to screw this up. Again. “We have a lunch date, and I got his favorite dish.” Another easy lie, seeing as which I’ve only had raw fish with Ian once.
The receptionist doesn’t register doubt about my statement. “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you then. Third floor, last office on the left.”
I don’t bother asking
Which is true. I handle our Facebook, Twitter, and website, as well. While my brother is a whiz with spreadsheets and paperwork, he’s not much for online interaction beyond emails. “When people are officially dating, they update their Facebook status to reflect that. It’s…sort of a joke, really. As though ‘Facebook Official’ means something.” And while my tone is joking, the truth lingers there somewhere, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s something about publicly declaring your commitment to someone that speaks to my romantic soul. Not that a little over a week is near enough time to do that. I don’t want Ian to do anything so overt. Yet there’s a part of me…
“So you have to be announced online before your brother can know about it?”
Put that way, I feel terrible. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just—” I break off, frustrated that I painted things in such a bad light. I turn away from him, staring out the small window behind my desk. “Can I just have this, Noah? Please? Let me have a little privacy. We share everything, and I love that. But this one time, I want something that’s just mine for a little while longer. Next week, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.” And Ian’s party will be over, so I can feel less sleazy about sleeping with a client.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” His tone sounds chastised.
“You didn’t. I just—” But when I spin around, he’s already left the room.
Having Noah upset at me makes getting dressed for lunch even harder. But I manage, despite the complications of corsets. Who knew these things had so many ties? The deep plum silk sets off my pale skin, and my curls fall loose over my shoulders. I add a bit more makeup than usual, and while I’m not typically one for fragrances, there was one at Shay’s I couldn’t resist, so I rub the body lotion on and spritz the matching body spray over my skin.
Since it’s the middle of winter, I slip into yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, then add my long winter coat and stuff my heels into a small bag. Ian offered to meet me for lunch, but I said I wanted to treat him to a special place near his work. Which is, in part, true. I researched and found a little-known sushi spot that is supposed to have some of the best sashimi in the city that I’ll pick up on my way.
All of which goes swimmingly until I’m in the foyer of his building. I need to find the restroom so I can shuck my clothing, but there’s no one at the desk. My nerves amp up their chatter, and I lose my determination. This was a dumb idea. What if he’s with a client, or worse, embarrassed that I tried to seduce him at work? This works so well in the movies, but the movies don’t do it in the middle of winter.
I’m about to give up and wander up the stairs when a man returns, coffee mug in hand.
“So sorry! I wanted to heat up my coffee, and it boiled over in the microwave. Made a huge mess!” He takes a seat at the front desk, then smiles up at me. “Can I help you?”
Flustered, I fumble for words. “I’m here for Ian Crane.”
He glances down at the bag in my hand. “Oh, food delivery. Excellent. You can just leave that here, and I’ll get your tip—”
“No, I’m here for him. I mean, I’m here to see him.” If I was red before, I’m probably crimson now.
Understanding dawns in the receptionist’s eyes, a bit too much understanding. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Let me just buzz him—”
“Actually, I wanted to surprise him.” I plaster a smile on my face, determined not to screw this up. Again. “We have a lunch date, and I got his favorite dish.” Another easy lie, seeing as which I’ve only had raw fish with Ian once.
The receptionist doesn’t register doubt about my statement. “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you then. Third floor, last office on the left.”
I don’t bother asking
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