Like all good Mondays, mine were filled with the same responsibilities as the folks who scrambled to make the subway by seven and slouch behind their cubicles to pound out eight hours for the man. The only difference with me was that I could do it in my sweats from the comfort of my living room.

After breakfast and a strong cup of coffee, I rolled a chair up to my desk, switched on my laptop, and inserted the SD card from the Saint Thomas Church shoot. I'd been anticipating as well as dreading going through the photos of Vincent. I knew if I stared at his gorgeous face long enough, I would convince myself it was a good idea to accept his offer for a date. I was still trying to ditch the dream I had of him climbing through my bedroom window in the nude and pulling me out of bed to bang me against the wall. It was fucking hot. As for Colin, he had not made contact since my meltdown, which I felt both relieved and bummed about. I didn't want to be labeled a psycho bitch, despite the fact the title was well-deserved.

Dragging my head out of the clouds, I settled in to tackle the task at hand, focusing on the first few images of the church façade. I always popped off a dozen arbitrary shots at the beginning of a shoot to warm up. You never knew which one would be the money shot. The next thirty were of the church's interior and Vincent at the podium, with his rigid pose and no-nonsense expression. When I finally got to the shoot in the parishioners meeting room, my heart started beating harder. Why was I so anxious to see the close-ups?

My typical methodology was to give each photo five seconds of deliberation as I made my initial sweep, taking note of any with potential. That method failed me completely as Vincent's seductive presence had me and my libido actively engaged with every image that graced the screen. The man not only commanded the frame, he owned it, subduing the onlooker without mercy. I became more enraptured with every pose, and when I arrived at the photos where he'd removed his jacket, I forced myself to take a break, sipping my coffee as I suppressed the lusty throb between my thighs. This beautiful man wanted to date me. 

Damn.

I forced myself to pick up the pace, clicking through shots without breaking my stride, and just when I thought I had a handle on the situation, I came across a pose that had my hand frozen over the mouse. I remembered exactly what had happened before I captured the moment with my camera. Vincent's publicist had commented about his serious expression ruining the shoot, and she suggested he excuse himself to remove the stick he had up his ass. He responded by saying he would only oblige her if she agreed to carry it in her briefcase. This banter had sparked a smile from him, and I managed to press the shutter before it disappeared. The resulting photo had me gaping in front of my laptop screen. It was a momentary glimpse into the man who appeared to take great care protecting his emotions. Gotcha, Mr. Valentino.

Several hours of dedicated diagnosis later, and I was sending off the photos to Sheila Waterson at MegaManhattan Magazine, including the shot of Vincent wearing a modest but telling smile. I had no doubt she would be creaming her panties when she saw it. Properly motivated by a successful day, I engaged in thirty uninterrupted minutes of Pilates, followed by a brief but necessary nap. My night owl tendencies meant midday naps were crucial to my well-being. Not that they helped much. I was still a raving lunatic.

By six, I was showered and dressed for my guided meditation class. Street traffic remained steady, but the sidewalk was easily navigable, and I hit my destination by six-thirty. My instructor, Shay, greeted me with a full body embrace, something she taught in her vulnerability course, and an hour later I walked away feeling like the world could implode and I would handle it with calm and grace. Shay's guided meditations were much better than any drug. If only Theo had discovered it before he imploded.

With my meditation pillow tucked into my backpack, I discretely armed myself with pepper spray as I trotted determinedly down the sidewalk. Dusk was giving way to dark when I crossed the street at the light, and foot traffic had thinned to a couple evening joggers. It was rare that I felt threatened in New York City. I'd grown up in DC for chrissake, but my confidence had waned over the past few days, and I couldn't seem to shake the feeling I was being watched. I wanted to blame the Valentino boys for my newfound paranoia, but I had to admit the feeling started prior to our meeting.

Just as I convinced myself I was imagining things, a scuffle broke out behind me, and I turned in time to see a guy get jumped. He was dragged toward a brownstone and slammed against the unforgiving brick wall.

"What brings you to this side of the river, Manny?" said the attacker. "And don't skimp on the details."

"I'm not telling you jack shit, freak!"

The assailant held the man up by his throat until his feet dangled off the ground. "I think you will."

I didn't stick around to hear Manny's reply. I ran like I'd been jabbed in the ass with a cattle prod. While self-preservation had always taken precedence over heroics with me, I battled guilt all the way home. It wasn't so much that I had been privy to a potential crime. No, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was recognizing the attacker as turquoise Chuck Taylor.

My chest heaved and my arms were coated in a layer of sweat when I finally stood behind my locked door. So much for guided calm and grace. That was twenty bucks down the drain. I slouched out of my backpack and collapsed on the couch as I processed the situation. Was Vincent's friend a criminal? Did Vincent know he was a criminal? What happened to Manny after I fled the scene? Was I a shitty person for not calling 911?

I had barely caught my breath when my cellphone rang from the depths of my backpack. Since I was perfectly content to stay slumped against the couch pillows, I let it ring out. I knew Vincent was supposed to call, but it wasn't eight o'clock yet. Still, I couldn't help feeling obliged to check. He seemed paranoid enough to speed over here in his Bentley to make sure I hadn't been jumped. The thought made me shiver as I pushed off the couch and began an unsteady trek to my pack.

The number on my phone listed the caller as unknown. A potential client or a potential threat? Shuffling back to the couch, I debated whether to return the call right away or wait until my heart stopped beating a million miles a minute. The phone rang again, nearly giving me a coronary, and I glared at the same unknown number.

"Reese Kentwell," I snapped.

"Reese, this is Colin. How are you?"

Oh, Colin. Apparently, my meltdown didn't deter him. "Hi, Colin. I'm just frickin' brilliant. What's up?"

"Can't complain. Are you sure you're okay? You sound...annoyed."

"I'm fine. Just a little tired. I didn't expect to hear from you again."

"Really? Why?"

Was this guy serious or just stupid?

"Well, the last time we were together I kind of lost my shit and told you to take a hike. That usually throws guys off their game."

He chuckled. "Maybe the fact that you can make me laugh is enough to keep me on my game. So, do you have plans for dinner?"

Okay. Stupid it is.

"Yes, I plan to make gluten free spaghetti with turkey meatballs and watch The Blacklist. And I'm not cancelling on myself again. I might start thinking I'm a flake."

Another chuckle echoed through the phone. "Do you want some company? I love turkey meatballs, and I've got a bottle of shiraz collecting dust on my counter. Oh right, you don't drink. Scratch the shiraz."

Why me?

"Listen, Colin. I appreciate your persistence. It's a noble trait, but I have to decline. I would rather approach our relationship from the perspective of friends."

A good five seconds of silence elapsed, which equated to an eternity on the phone. There was nothing worse than hearing the 'F' word from someone you were hoping to hook up with, unless that word was fuck. 

Finally, Colin spoke. "It's Vincent, isn't it? You like Vincent."

"No, it's not Vincent. Well, maybe it is. It's both of you. My life has gone from manageable to freaky since I met you two. Now, I've got each of you showing up out of the blue, and I keep thinking I'm being followed. I have enough crap to be paranoid about without juggling a couple of jealous brothers trying to outdo each other."

"You think you're being followed?"

Damn. Did I say that?

"I'm sure it's just my imagination. The point I'm trying to make is, I'm capable of creating my own drama without help. If you want to meet up with me and my friends at a club, I'm down with that. But I'm not interested in a boyfriend, at the moment."

"So, there's still hope. Nice."

More silence ensued, making me think he was waiting for me to schedule a non-date club meet up.

"Well, I better get cracking on dinner," I said. "Those meatballs aren't going to make themselves."

"Okay, hint taken. But now that you have my number in your contacts, give me a call any time. Especially if you think you're being followed."

"Thanks. I'll add gallant to your list of positive attributes."

He laughed. "Funny, Reese. I'll talk to you later."

"Goodbye, Colin."

As I hung up the phone, I glanced at the time on the screen. I had less than ten minutes before Vincent was scheduled to call. After the conversation with Colin, I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to Vincent. Personality wise, they were as different as marinara and alfredo, but they were both exhausting. I could swear they were conspiring to drive me insane.

Eight o'clock came and went as I worked diligently on dinner, knowing it would feed me for the next three days. Leftovers had become one of my main food groups since I started living on my own, and Mr. Pearlman was always down to share them with me. When I'd eaten my fill and cleaned up the kitchen, the clock on my phone read eight fifty and still no call from Vincent. Was I foolish to think he would remember to call me? The guy was a big shot with a busy schedule. He was probably showing some other girl the breathtaking view from his apartment window at Twenty Exchange Place. 

Although I should have been relieved, I felt disappointed as I grabbed a container of leftovers and walked them to Mr. Pearlman's place. "It's Reese, Mr. Pearlman," I announced as I knocked. "I brought over spaghetti and meatballs."

While I waited on the landing, I listened to his recliner creak as he lifted out of it, his ankles crack as he padded across the floor, and his rattling cough brought on by his cigarette habit.

"I was hoping you'd stop by," he said when he finally opened the door. "The smell of meatballs had my mouth watering."

"With all those cigarettes you smoke, I'm surprised you can still smell. You want me to put this on a plate for you?"

"Sure. I'll eat half now and half tomorrow."

Mr. Pearlman let my cigarette comment go as he shuffled to the refrigerator and pulled out a quart of milk. He didn't appreciate me reminding him of his self-destructive habits, but he knew why I did it. While he enjoyed his dinner from the comfort of his recliner, I walked around the apartment picking up ashtrays and dirty dishes. He told me about his uneventful day and the activities that took place outside his window.  When I finished up, he was switching the TV channel to The Blacklist, which he knew I loved, although whenever we watched shows together he always made comments about how television programming had gone down the tubes.

"You want to watch this garbage with me?" he said with a smirk. 

"Sure, why not." I dragged a chair over from his dining room table and plopped into it. My weird weekend had spilled over into Monday, and vegging on mindless garbage with Mr. Pearlman felt normal, which I needed.

The show was nearly over when I heard a series of loud knocks on the landing, and the voice that called out my name had my arm hair standing up. "Reese, are you in there?"

"Oh, damn." I walked to the door and swung it open, addressing Vincent before he banged my door down. "Hi, Vincent."

Although he was dressed in a suit and tie, the wild look in Vincent's eyes told me he was not his usual controlled self, and I tried to look nonchalant as I stared at a strand of hair hanging over his eyebrow, taking me back to yesterday's rescue in the rain.

"Jesus, Reese. I've been trying to reach you for an hour."

"No, you haven't. I came over here at eight fifty-five and it's only..."

He held up his cellphone so I could see the time on the screen. "It's nine fifty-five and I called you at eight fifty-seven."

"Oh. You must have called right after I left. I didn't expect to stay long, so I didn't bring my phone. We were watching The Blacklist." As I rambled, Vincent threaded his fingers through his hair, gripping the ends like he wanted to pull them out. Why was he so upset? It was only an hour. "How did you get in, anyway? The downstairs door is locked after nine?"

"I knocked hard enough to get your first floor neighbor's attention. She recognized me and let me in."

I knew he was talking about Lilly, the dental hygienist from 1A. No doubt she had seen Vincent's face on one of the many tabloids she indulged in.

Mr. Pearlman finally reached the door and stood inside the frame, looking frail and worried. "Is everything okay out here?"

"Everything is fine, Mr. Pearlman. This is my friend, Vincent. Vincent, this is my neighbor, Henry Pearlman."

In the blink of an eye, Vincent assumed his stoic demeanor, stretching his arm out to shake Mr. Pearlman's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Henry. Reese has told me about you. It's clear she thinks a lot of you."

A red blush colored Mr. Pearlman's cheeks as he fumbled for what to do with his hand once Vincent released it. "I wouldn't be standing here taking up space if it weren't for Reese."

"You don't just take up space, Mr. Pearlman." I smiled at him, trying for reassurance. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow. I had fun tonight. Don't reheat the leftovers in that container."

"I know. No plastic in the microwave." He attempted an authoritative nod for Vincent's benefit before backing up and closing the door.

When I walked past Vincent to unlock my door, he stared at me like I had died my hair green. "I was worried something had happened to you."

Of course, the first thought that entered my mind was Chuck Taylor jumping that guy on the sidewalk, but I wasn't in the mood to bring that up now. "Why would you think that? I told you I've never had an incident walking back from my class."

"There's always a first time."

"Why are you so worried about my safety anyway? We're not even dating."

"I'd like to change that. The dating part."

Oy vey.

"Were you expecting an answer tonight, because I don't have one for you."

"That's fine. I hadn't expected to find myself on your doorstep again. But since I'm here, I thought I would ask." Vincent followed me in, shutting the door behind him, and while I took my turn staring at him, he surveyed my kitchen, lifting his nose and sniffing the air. "Is that marinara I smell. And turkey meatballs?"

I offered a slow, confused nod. "How could you tell they were turkey?"

"Beef has a different scent due to the high iron content in the blood." He explained his uncanny ability to detect the smell of iron like everyone possessed this talent. Being the skeptic I was, I couldn't help thinking he talked to Colin earlier and learned I was making spaghetti and turkey meatballs, although I doubted my dinner plans would have come up in their conversation.

"I'm sorry I didn't call when I said I would," he continued, stepping closer to me and bringing his own delicious scent with him. "I was speaking at a reception, which detained me longer than I anticipated."

"No problem. I didn't really expect you to call."

"Why?"

"I figured you would be busy, which you were."

Vincent's close proximity caused my equilibrium to go wonky, and I took a seat on the nearest barstool. Of course, he followed me over and leaned against the bar. While he appeared perfectly at ease in his designer tie and pressed suit, I had begun to sweat through my tee shirt. This was made worse by the fact that he was staring at me...again. Didn't he know how uncomfortable that made people, or was it a tactic he used to coerce them into giving him what he wanted?

"Why are you here, Vincent? Besides making sure I didn't get mugged on my way home. I already told you I'm leery about getting involved with someone whose brother is trying to do the same thing."

"But you said you weren't interested in Colin."

"I'm not, at least not as a boyfriend. I told him we could be friends."

Vincent's lips twitched, like he was suppressing an emotion. But which one? I didn't have a clue. "Are you telling me the same thing?"

I didn't really mean to sigh so loudly, but that's how it came out, and it sounded kind of rude. Why was I hedging with Vincent? Logic would dictate I treat him the same way I treated his brother, with a Thanks, but no thanks attitude, but there was no denying the attraction I felt for Vincent. And, if I was being completely honest with myself, I hadn't felt that attracted to a man in a long time, which was why I needed to stop this train wreck before it happened. Still, Vincent deserved to know at least as much as his brother did so he could choose for himself whether he wanted to tango with a psycho bitch.

"Before I answer that, I want to tell you a few things about myself. Then you can decide if I'm worth all the trouble you're going through for a date."

Without further preamble, I proceeded to tell him about my childhood trauma of being abandoned. I told him about the vertigo and the headaches and my freak show hearing. I filled him in on the sleepwalking and my fear of heights. Then I told him about my temper and my ex who I used to engage in physical combat with...a lot. And just for good measure, I told him about Theo and how his life had been cut short because of his poor choices.

When it was over, I shrugged my apology and waited for his reaction. I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised by his non-reaction. During the entire confession, his eyes never widened in shock or narrowed in confusion. His expression held steady and impartial, which I had already become accustomed to, and I felt a sense of relief, not only because I had laid my problems on the table without losing my shit, but also because I realized I did want to date Vincent.

"I'm sorry you've had to go through so much pain, Reese. And I understand why you needed to tell me those things before we pursued a relationship. But you still haven't given me your answer. I expected that to be the grand finale."

"Oh. Well, if you still want to do this... Then, yes. I would like to go on a date with you."

If I had known I would be blessed with a full-on Vincent smile, I would have said yes sooner, and the temptation to kiss his mouth was nearly impossible to resist. But he didn't give me a chance to test my will power. As soon as he had my answer, he reached for my hand and used it to pull me off the barstool.

"Can I interest you in Pad Thai tomorrow night?"

"Sure. I love Thai food."

"Excellent. I'll pick you up at seven."

Still in possession of my hand, he walked to the door like a man who had just made a corporate merger. Was he always going to be this pragmatic? As he opened the door, he brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it with incredible tenderness and flipping my previous hypothesis on its head. "Until tomorrow. Be safe."

I watched Vincent walk down the stairs as my body reacted to his touch in the form of a tingle that hovered near my belly button. The feeling continued after I shut the door and leaned against it, replaying his smile in my head. I had no idea what to expect from this guy. While he appeared to possess some redeeming qualities, I couldn't help thinking he was going to handle this date like a business venture. 

My therapist in DC would probably diagnose Vincent with a personality disorder stemming from early childhood trauma, like the one I suffered from. What kind of dysfunctional relationship would that foster? Was empathy the reason I felt compelled to say yes to Vincent and no to Colin? Or, maybe, I was just interested in finding creative ways to make him smile again.

PLAYLIST SONG: Hypnotic by Zella Day