by Emelia Blair
Then why have things gone so bad? When did I start looking at her as more than Philip’s sister and my friend?
“Ian?”
A familiar voice makes me blink.
I turn my head to see Agatha standing there, wearing a blue blouse with a sharp blazer and a dark pencil skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Her golden curls are falling loosely on her shoulders, and her cerulean blue eyes are lit up in surprise.
A tall man stands next to her, in a dark blue suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back in what is an attempt to look polished. He is looking a little annoyed.
“Agatha. What are you doing here?” I stand up.
She blinks. “I had to meet a client here. This is George. George, this is my friend and occasional colleague, Ian Sawyer.”
I can feel the man sizing me up. He clearly finds me to be no threat because he shakes my hand, a confident smile on his face.
“Nice to meet you.”
I nod. “Same.” Then, rocking back on my heels, I ask, “Are you two done?”
The man opens his mouth. “Actually, we were just ab—”
“George and I are done, but I was thinking of lunch,” Agatha cuts in. “Why don’t you join me?”
I give the blustering George a slow smirk and tuck Agatha’s hand in my elbow, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, making sure that George has a proper view. “I was missing you.”
She beams at me, that gorgeous smile of hers knocking me off my feet. “You were?”
I tilt my head, grinning at her. “I always miss you.”
She laughs, and I know the second she dismissed George, and it pleases me how easy it is for me to get her attention.
She bids George a professional goodbye and then drags me out of the coffee shop.
“Woah, what’s your hurry?” I hiss when her nails dig into my arm a little harder than necessary.
“I’m using you as a shield,” Agatha mutters. “There are only so many lunch dates I can turn down.”
My expression grows thunderous, and my voice harsh, “Was he making you uncomfortable?”
Agatha glances up at me and scowls, “Put away that macho man thing. I don’t have time for that. I’m actually hungry. And I have another meeting in two hours, so feed me.”
“Where’s your wallet?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes at me. “And pass up this opportunity to let you buy me a meal? I don’t think so.”
I raise a brow. “If I recall correctly, you owe me a meal because I bought you pizza last time, after you got the Thai food.”
She makes a face. “Ugh. I was hoping you had forgotten that.”
I smile. “I don’t forget food debts. I’m in the mood for some lobster.” I hear her mutter ‘asshole’ under her breath, and I throw my arm over her shoulders as we walk down the street. “You can call me all the names you want, babe. There’s a lobster at Reine Hotel with my name on it.”
This feels good.
This feels right.
Two friends teasing each other.
Except that when I saw George, this feeling of possessiveness reared its head. It left me wanting to establish my dominance.
And that feeling troubles me.
As soon as we are tucked into our seats at one of the most expensive restaurants in the area, I ask, “How come you didn’t tell me you were coming to New York?”
Agatha is texting a client, her fingers moving furiously over the screen. She gives me a distracted look, “Why would I tell you that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” I counter.
She puts her phone, face down, on the table and stares at me, “Since when do I run my schedule by you, Ian?”
She has me there.
I shrug my shoulders, trying to be casual. “I’m just surprised. I haven’t heard from you in a week.”
“I was busy.”
Busy? Or avoiding me?
I purse my lips and then force the words out. “Are you still upset with what I said the other day?”
Her pretty pink lips part and then she gives me a smile. “No. You apologized. You didn’t mean it. We’re good.”
I know I’m not going to get more out of her, so I change direction. “Okay, tell me about George.”
Agatha reaches out and picks up a breadstick. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not. I’ve been in meetings with him for the past three days. The man does not shut up about himself.”
I grin. “He seemed a little too full of himself.”
Agatha scoffs. “A little? If you look up ‘narcissist’ in the dictionary, his picture is right there, under the word.”
“So, you won’t get the account?” I ask, laughing.
Agatha raises a brow. “Oh, I got the account, all right. I always get my man.”
I blink at the undertone in those words, and for some reason, I feel something flutter in my chest, and I laugh. “Should I be worried?”
Her perfectly manicured nails tap on the table, and she just smiles at me, a slow curving of the lips that indicates trouble.
Our meal arrives, and as we eat together, I sense there is something different about her, almost decisive. It makes me wonder what is going on with her, but she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to say.
We are staying at the same hotel, and I can’t help but feel a little elated. As we walk back, she tells me, “I brought Jenna with me and told her to invite her boyfriend as well. No reason the two of them couldn’t make this into a romantic trip together while they’re at it.”
I blink. “That’s very nice of you.” Agatha grins.
“Well, she really seems to like Nick, and lately with the hours I’ve been asking her to put in, she hardly gets the time to meet up with him. She’s been a godsend to me.”
I tuck my hands in the pockets of my pants, admitting, “She’s a pretty good assistant.”
We walk into the hotel lobby and the receptionist immediately beams at her. “Miss McCoy, these flowers got delivered for you.”
Agatha looks surprised. “No card?”
The woman gives an apologetic smile. “None.”
For a moment, I see a hint of strain on Agatha’s face, before she smiles, making me think I imagined it. “Have them sent to my room, please.”
“Secret admirer?” I ask, unable to suppress my annoyance.
She shrugs her delicate shoulders but doesn’t offer anything.
Our rooms are on the same floor, and I follow Agatha into hers. “What’s your plan for the day?”
She picks up a small note on her dresser and frowns. “Well, I did have plans with Jenna to go out and celebrate landing this client, but Nick seems to have dragged her away. She says she’ll be back after midnight.”
I raise a brow. “Guess you’ll have to spend your day with me.”
She eyes me. “Don’t you have work to do?”
I shake my head. “I’m done for the day. My flight’s tomorrow morning.”
Agatha takes off her jacket, and I try not to notice how her soft blouse hugs her curves. She runs a hand through her hair. “We could go out tonight and do something. Actually…” She blushes, and I wonder what she is thinking about.
“What?” I ask, curious now.
“Well,” she fidgets with her skirt, “I wanted to go visit this new amusement park that has just opened up here.”
“We can do that.” I find the idea oddly appealing. “I’ve not been to an amusement park in forever.”
“I usually take Jake and Ryan with me.”
“I’m aware,” I say, dryly. “You spend more time with my brothers than you do with me.”
I watch her move about the room, my eyes following her as she ties up her hair in two braids. It is an intimate scene and I don’t want to move. Even when she stayed at my place for three weeks, a few months back, I had never actually seen her do these simple things.
“Are you jealous?” Agatha laughs, and it hits me that I am.
I am jealous of wh
omever she spends time with. It isn’t because I am controlling, but because I know she isn’t mine.
I don’t get time to ponder that because my eyes fall on a bouquet on her table and I study it. “That looks familiar. I didn’t know you had a preference when it comes to flowers.”
Agatha stiffens when her eyes fall on the arrangement. “I don’t. Those were a gift. I told Jenna not to put them in my room. But she thought they would brighten up the place.”
“Who sent them?”
Agatha shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
I study her, not saying a word.
Later on, when I return to my room, I wonder why she lied to me.
4
Agatha
Coming to the amusement park is something I love to do. It relaxes me and lets me enjoy life without thinking of work and commitments.
After three hours of laughing, dragging Ian around, getting on rides, and winning prizes at stalls, I wonder why I never invited him to go with me before.
Biting into the cotton candy, I know why.
Because this feels like a date.
I am starting to get a vibe from Ian that the dynamic of our relationship is shifting, and my mind is telling me to push him bit by bit to get him on the same page as myself. But a part of me is worried about losing my friendship with him.
But my feelings are no longer just of friendship, and now I need more.
I am never going to be satisfied with the pace he is setting, and although I catch the glances and the flashes of jealousy, I refuse to settle for what he is offering.
My mood dims a little when I realize that if I push, he will back away immediately. But as he always does, he’ll come back, slowly, like a wary animal that is curious and yet ready to escape at any moment.
I snort, thinking about Ian as an animal.
I feel his eyes on me, questioning, and I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
He holds four stuffed animals under his arm, his hands thrust in the pockets of his trench coat. It was an unusually warm day today, so he left his sweater in the car, his gray t-shirt visible under the open coat.
“What do you want to do now?” he asks.
I tuck my hand in his elbow, and he gives me that slow smile of his that makes something flutter in the pit of my stomach.
“Well, we’ve tried most of the rides,” I say, glancing through the map of the park. “And it’s getting kind of late. My flight’s tomorrow afternoon and I have another meeting with George over breakfast.”
“Over breakfast?” He frowns, not able to hide his displeasure at the idea. “That’s oddly intimate.”
I shrug. “Well, he did say he wants a more hands-on approach. I think he plans on working alongside my team.” I kick a random pebble on the ground. “Guess I’ll be seeing a whole lot of him over breakfast, lunch, dinner, depending on how things go.”
“You’re making him sound more like a boyfriend than a client.” Ian’s voice is a little stiff. His annoyance makes me happy. It means I am getting under his skin.
“Well, you never know. He might grow on me. We will be spending a lot of time together.”
I feel his muscles tense under my hand, and suddenly the weather seems all the more enjoyable.
However, I drag him out of his sulky mood by distracting him with a few more stalls. We drink spiced wine, and I can feel myself getting a little drunk. Ian has a higher tolerance for alcohol than me, and while he looks happily buzzed, I realize that I am edging more towards tipsy, which is not a good sign.
“One more round?” he asks, grinning at my flushed face. I scrunch up my nose.
“That’s it for me. I have to be alert for my meeting in the morning.”
“But you landed such a huge account today. We should be celebrating!” Ian persists, his warm breath on my neck as he stands next to me, making my pulse quicken. He stands so close to me that I can almost count the gold specks in his eyes.
I dig my nails into my wrist, the sharp pain bringing me to my senses momentarily.
My voice is firm. “It’s getting late, Ian. I don’t want to screw this account up just because I was busy getting drunk to celebrate it.”
Ian sighs. “Would it be so terrible to—” When I narrow my eyes at him, he hastily backtracks, “Sleep it is. I’ll take one for the road, though.”
The drive back isn't that long, and I find myself feeling a little reckless. The whole drive back, I recite a mental list of everything that can go bad if I act on my impulses. The more time I spend with Ian, the harder it is for me not to just put my mouth on his and see what happens.
We walk into the hotel together, and I yawn. “I’m going to go to bed. I want to be up at six.” I shrug off my jacket and bat when Ian takes it from me.
“I’ll help you carry everything.”
Grinning, I enter the elevator after him. “We sure did win a lot of things, today. I’ve never seen so many stuffed animals. I usually give them to Jake and Ryan. I just like the winning part of the games.”
Ian walks me to the door. “If you want, I can take them back with me.”
As I unlock my door, my eyes fall on the small black and yellow giraffe peeking out from the pile of stuffed toys in his arms. I pluck it out. “Not this one.”
He studies it. “Why not? You like it that much?”
I shrug, not wanting to reveal too much. “No, I mean, I just want to keep this one. You won it for me. It’s going to go on my bed.”
“Agatha,” Ian’s eyes grow dark, and I feel something quiver inside me with need.
I don’t say anything, just watch him, unable to tear my gaze away from the hunger in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat when his eyes go to my lips.
I know if something happens right now, there is a possibility that it’ll go south. He’s not ready to accept he harbors more than feelings of friendship towards me.
I can’t let this situation get out of hand.
I swallow. “Ah, it’s late. I mean, George won’t like it if I’m—”
I am not expecting his eyes to blaze with jealousy, and when I take a step back, he takes one forward. My heart is racing in my chest.
I want this.
But I don’t know what he is thinking or why he is doing this.
He isn’t sure about his feelings for me and I know a partially drunk kiss can destroy our friendship.
But I find myself unable to stop him when he presses me against the door, his large hands caressing my neck, my cheeks, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing over my lower lip as he stares at it, his eyes showing a desire that makes me rub my legs together as I grow wet.
His mouth is gentle when it descends on mine. He sips from me, makes love to my mouth in a way that has me clutching at his coat, wanting him to take me here, against my open door.
I moan as I feel my pussy clench with emptiness, wanting his cock inside me. I feel the bulge in his pants harden, and I rub against it, throwing all reasoning out the window as his tongue demands entrance into my mouth.
I part my lips, and he takes his time, exploring the crevices of my mouth. His tongue is hot and wet, and as he moves it inside me, I feel my knees turn weak.
I moan his name, and finally, he pulls away from me.
Our breathing is fast and shallow and as we stare at each other, not knowing what to say. Ian opens his mouth, and I immediately say, “Don’t.”
I don’t want to hear his apology. I don’t want words to go with the regret that is now filling his eyes.
For the first time since I realized that my feelings for Ian went beyond friendship into dangerous waters, I let him see my feelings, the vulnerability that I have never once let slip out. I let him see my emotions, and I see the dawning realization on his face, followed by panic.
He takes a step back, shaking his head, a slight jerk, and turns on his heel and leaves.
Feeling like somebody has just jerked the rug from under my feet, I take a step back and close the door. My eyes dry, I s
tare blankly at the door, ordering myself not to cry.
I knew something like this would be a bad idea.
I should have stepped back.
I should have slammed the door shut in his face.
I should have done anything but let him kiss me.
I walk slowly to the bed, my mind in shambles, the tearing pain in my heart so sharp that I curl up in a ball and weep like a baby.
What a fool was I that I thought for even a second that letting him see my feelings would make him stay.
Ian is gone the next morning.
No goodbye or message.
Just gone.
I soldier through my breakfast with George, and later Jenna approaches me. “You okay? You looked so distracted during the breakfast meeting.”
I sip the coffee I ordered in the hotel lobby and sit there with my laptop, staring at the numbers without seeing anything. “Yeah. I went drinking last night. Stupid decision.”
Jenna gives me a sympathetic smile. “Well, we all make them. Luckily, George doesn’t exactly seem like a morning person, so he was pretty much out of it himself.” She is about to leave when she makes a small sound. “Oh, I forgot! This came for you.”
I look at the square box that she holds out. “Oh. Who’s it from?”
Jenna shrugs and winks. “Secret admirer, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” I echo, slowly, and take the box from her. I wait until she is gone to open it.
A small heart-shaped candy.
There is nothing on the box, no inscription or anything, and that makes me wary.
First the flowers, and now gifts?
I narrow my eyes. If this is Zayn’s way of messing with me, I am going to kill him.
Taking out my phone, I call him up.
He picks up on the third ring, his voice a low growl. “It’s like six in the fucking morning, Agatha. You had better be dying.”
“It’s eleven in the morning. What time zone are you living in?”
I hear movement on the other end and then a groan. “Fuck.”
“Morning to you too, Sunshine.” I roll my eyes.
“What. Do. You. Want?” Zayn enunciates each word, annoyance in his voice.