This story follows on from "Falling Water." You can read it as a stand-alone, but you'll get a little more background if you read that story first.
Jordan came out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. Rachel could see that he had dried his torso, but his hair was still wet. She had wrapped herself in a terrycloth robe while he finished in the bathroom, and suddenly felt like a bad hostess for not giving it to him. He smiled at her, and she found her own face breaking out in a broad smile of her own.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I should have saved the robe for you, since I have dry clothes and you don't. In fact..." she added, and dropped the robe from her shoulders. Jordan's eyes went wide briefly as her body came into view, then he laughed as she draped the robe over him. She kissed him impulsively as she slipped past him, heading for her bedroom, and he turned to watch her cheeks twinkling above her legs as she darted through the door.
He stood slightly stunned for a moment, replaying that image in his mind. At least, he thought it was only a moment, but he was still in the same place when she came back out of her bedroom in sweats. She smiled at him again and said, "Look, let me get your clothes dried off. Have some more coffee." She scooped up his clothes except for the ruined dress jacket, and disappeared down the hall to a room across from the bathroom. He heard clunking noises as he made two cups of coffee, then the whir of a clothes dryer. He was glad he hadn't worn the wool pants that day, or they'd have had to wait for the fabric to air dry. Actually, he reflected, an excuse to stay in her apartment longer wouldn't be that bad a thing. He decided he would indeed ask her to dinner.
Rachel came back out and saw him sitting there with two cups of coffee. "A gentleman," she thought, picking up the second cup. "Thanks," she said, looking over the top of the cup at him. He inclined his head in response, and sipped his own coffee. There was a brief awkward moment before she turned and led him to the couch. She curled up on one end of it, and Jordan dropped onto the other. Another silence followed and, for a brief moment, Rachel's mind leapt back to the shower. She shook herself mentally and thought "time to review that memory later." She opened her mouth, not sure what kind of small talk was going to come out of it, and was saved by Jordan blurting out, "Can I take you to dinner?"
"Someone should take someone to dinner," she replied with a laugh, "or something. But yes, let's have dinner, by all means." She wasn't sure if this was going to go anywhere, but he was civilized, polite, clean (she chuckled internally), respectful, and not unattractive. "And a pretty good lay, too," she added to herself in a moment of blunt honesty. She'd kick herself if she didn't at least give this a chance to go somewhere.
"Great," he said. "Where's good around here? I work near here, but I live a forty-minute ride away, so I don't know the area." He named a neighborhood that she knew. It seemed suited to him, or he to it; moderately affluent, but not pretentious. "Yeah," she said, "that's a bit of a hike. I'm not thrilled about living in the city, but this place is reasonable and I can walk to work."
"Where do you work?" he asked.
"The Stowell Tower," she said, "about three blocks that way," and waved vaguely behind her.
"Really?" he said in surprise. "Me too!"
"You're joking," said Rachel, suddenly wary. This seemed awfully convenient; had he set this whole thing up? No, impossible. And yet...
"No, I'm serious," said Jordan. He reached into his soggy, ruined jacket and pulled out a corporate ID. "Jordan Grey, Team Lead, Corporate Communications, at your service," he said, holding it out with a smile.
Rachel sat back in her chair. She looked at him oddly for a moment, then stood up and wordlessly walked into her bedroom. Jordan sat still, suddenly unsure of what was going on. He put the ID back in his jacket, and wondered if he had managed to offend her somehow.
Rachel returned, and held out a card in her hand. Jordan looked down as she held it out to him and saw "Rachel Jordan, Associate Director of Strategic Planning." His eye fell on the company logo. "AntroCo? Seriously?" he said.
"AntroCo. Seriously," she replied. They looked at each other for a moment, stunned at the level of coincidence that they should work for the same company. Admittedly, it was a large company, with over 1,200 people in the Stowell Tower alone, but even so...
"Clearly, the fates have been working overtime," said Rachel.
"Yeahhh..." said Jordan, speculatively.
"What does this change?" said Rachel.
"Good question. I don't know. I guess part of it depends on where we're going from here. If I recall correctly, your team reports up under Dennis Praed, and we're under Helen Scholl, so it's not like there's any kind of improper influence possible. Whether this is a one-off or if we see each other again, I think we're good."
He looked at her. "Are we going to see one another again?" he asked, cautiously.
"Well," Rachel smiled, "we were going to have dinner."
"True," said Jordan, returning her smile with, she thought warmly, a hint of relief.
"Your clothes should be dry shortly," she responded. "What kind of food are you in the mood for?"
"What'ch'a got?"
"Well, there's Thai Me Up, over on Aiden, or Giulio's on 19th, for a start."
"Giulio's? Italian?"
"Yup. They really pride themselves on their authentic Italian food. Their puttanesca sauce is to die for; conversely, they will literally charge $150 if you order spaghetti and meatballs."
Jordan laughed. "Thai Me Up is clever, but let's do Giulio's. Once my clothes are dry, that is."
"Yeah, lemme check on them," said Rachel. "I have the Drier Of The Gods, so they're probably good."
Jordan laughed at the capitals he could hear in her voice, then sat back in the robe and watched her hips sway as she walked down the hallway. He wondered if she was emphasizing her hip movements on purpose, or if that was just her natural walk.
"Not too much sway, there, missy," Rachel admonished herself. "Don't overdo it." It was hard, though; she liked him, and there was a reflex temptation to ratchet up her sensuality. She thought he liked her too; he had been a considerate lover in the shower, and his demeanor was that of a man comfortable in his own skin without pretension. This had some promise.
Rachel returned to the living room with Jordan's clothes over her arm. He stood and took them from her, then looked around, reflexively.
"You can change here," said Rachel with a grin. "It's not like there's anything I haven't seen," she added. Jordan chuckled, and put down the clothes on the couch, sorting for underwear. As he did, Rachel walked back toward her bedroom. "Give me a minute to put on something a bit less disreputable than these sweats, and I'll join you," she said over her shoulder.
It was closer to ten minutes before they were both ready to go out. Jordan was in his work clothes, minus the catastrophized jacket. He had rolled up his sleeves so the corresponding destruction of his shirt sleeve was not so obvious. He took his wallet out of the jacket and put it in his front pocket, then distributed his other accoutrements among his other pockets. His shirt was not the crisply ironed article he had put on that morning, but it was clean and relatively wrinkle-free. Rachel wore a dark blue skirt that fell to slightly above her knees; it had a pattern worked into the weave in the same color, giving the impression of swirling with the slightest movement. Above that she had put on a pale blue blouse, small gold earrings, and a hint of makeup. Her shoes were black with just a little heel, and Jordan noticed her legs were encased in hose. He wondered what her preference was in hosiery, but decided not to ask. After all, he might get to find out if things went well...
"After you," she said, taking a light jacket from a hook by the door. She scooped up her keys and followed him out the door. They walked to the elevator in companionable silence, and rode down also without talking. They stood closer to one another than one would with a stranger or even most friends, and the silence was comfortable rather than awkward.
The rain had stopped some time ago, but the wet pavement still shone in the streetlights. As they walked to the restaurant, neither of them was sure who had reached for the other's hand, but the gesture seemed natural, almost reflexive, as if they had done this many times before. They chatted quietly as they walked, talking of work and colleagues. They were both still a bit bemused that they should find they worked for the same company, but anecdotes and corporate gossip segued into personal histories. Jordan had worked in radio, which had led to an Associate's degree in Communications Studies, which had led to some PR work, and thence to corporate communications. His lack of a bachelor's degree had not seemed to interfere with his progress after being hired by AntroCo, either; his work had been reliable and of good quality, and his managers had always supported his career, if for no other reason than that he made them look good.