3 day weekend

What would you say to a three-day weekend?"

Lennon asked, and Ivy could have rung his beautiful

neck for even suggesting such a thing.

"Why?"

she asked, turning from the filing cabinet in his private

office to face him. She’d been digging for something

she hadn’t actually needed, which she did about five times

a day simply to have an excuse to go into Lennon’s office.

"Why? You don’t say ‘Why?’ when

your boss offers you a three-day

weekend. You say, ‘Hell yes,

boss. Best idea I’ve ever heard.’" Ivy pursed her lips at

him. "Why?"

she asked again.

"You and I both worked all weekend last weekend,"

Lennon said, leaning back in his vintage leather swivel

chair. He put his hands behind his head and raised his

eyebrows, waiting for her to contradict him.

Ivy envied the hands on his hair. Lennon was a young silver

fox, and didn’t seem to mind at all that he was mid-thirties

and already mostly gray.

"No big deal."

She waved her hand and sat in the club chair across from

his desk. When she crossed her legs, she watched him, hoping

he’d look at her legs. He did for a split second before

meeting her eyes again.

"It’s not like you didn’t pay me overtime."

And it’s not like she hadn’t loved every second of it.

Weekend work meant Lennon out of a suit and in jeans and

his favorite ratty concert T-shirts.

Saturday had been Pink Floyd. Sunday belonged to Eminem.

Lennon leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and

looked her in the eyes. Blue eyes, bright but

tired.

"Katie broke up with me,"

he said.

"What? Why?"

Breaking up with Lennon seemed as insane as setting a

Rembrandt on fire. Who did that?

"This is awkward."

Lennon wrinkled his face up, and it was as handsome wincing

as it was smiling.

"Me?"

Ivy asked.

"She said I spent more time with

my assistant than I do with her." "You do."

"If you weren’t, you know, you, it wouldn’t be a

problem. But you are you and that’s a

problem. For her, not me." "Did

you just tell me I’m pretty?" Lennon glared at