All ONES: The Complete Collection

by Aleatha Romig

  “Yes, I’m glad to hear that.”

  “It’s my nephew, Landon. He’s this little football player.” Stephen lowers his voice. “He’s only like ten or eleven months—not quite a year—and he has all these adorable wrinkles on his chubby arms and legs. His dad thinks he’s going to be an offensive lineman. But little Landon and I had a talk.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yes, girl, we did. He wants to take after Uncle Stephen. He’s already interested in the arts. He kept pushing the button on this toy and playing the same song over and over. I see show choir in his future. Then of course, the costumes will instill a love for fashion. In fashion design he’s going to be king. We’ll start our own design company.”

  “Should I ask about your brother-in-law’s thoughts on this?”

  “He’ll get over the offensive line thing. Too many injuries. Fashion design is safer.”

  “How does your sister feel about the change of plans?”

  Stephen waves me off. “We didn’t include her in the conversation. What mothers don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  I smile, looking at my screen and seeing an email from Beth Willis, subject line: Best Cannoli. Yes, sometimes it might be better to keep mothers in the dark. I mean, I’m sure her recipe is good, but I personally believe I’ve found the best.

  It’s then I see the email from Neil Butler, our supervisor in London.

  My stomach twists as my cursor hovers over his name. “Is it the Neil email you’re talking about?”

  Stephen nods.

  “What does it say?”

  “Who am I? Your assistant?” he asks.

  “Well, technically, yes.”

  “The email is to both of us. He wants to have a conference call with us and HR in London tomorrow. He needs confirmation that we can both be on the call.”

  Instead of opening the email, I lean back in the chair. “Do you think this is good or bad?”

  “I guess it depends on your definition of those evaluations.”

  When Stephen turns his chair with his back to me, I remember the text I sent him. “Hey, you never returned my text message.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I pull out my phone and see that the sound is still muted from Trevor’s and my no-plans weekend. Scrolling, I find Stephen’s response:

  “MY MOM SAYS HI BACK. SHE SAID SHE MISSED SEEING YOU. WHAT SECRET?”

  The time stamp is this morning.

  When I look up, he’s staring at me from the corner of his eye.

  “You finally replied...this morning?”

  “I’ve been a little busy. You just read it...this morning.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He spins my direction with an exaggerated exhale. “A lot and it’s killing me. I’m sorry. But your plate is a little full, and I wanted you to concentrate on your weekend with Mr. Sexy, you know, when you aren’t thinking about here. You don’t need to think about me.”

  “Stephen, that’s not how friendship works. You know what’s happening with me.”

  His eyebrows dance. “Bunny-rabbit sex.” He sits taller. “How did he like the negligee? He didn’t think it was too forward, did he? Oh, do tell.”

  Warmth fills not only my cheeks but my body as I recall Trevor’s private fashion show and what came after it. “He thought it was okay.”

  “No way. Okay was not that man’s assessment.”

  My grin grows larger. “He seemed to like it, a lot.”

  “And not too forward?”

  I shrug. “The negligee wasn’t. I might have been...that time.”

  He picks up a small tablet from the top of his desk and begins to fan himself. “Save the details for lunch. Give me something to look forward to.”

  “No details. Use your imagination.”

  “I’ll save that until lunch, too. Otherwise I won’t be able to concentrate.”

  I turn back to my computer screen. “Are you free tomorrow at nine? That’s a good time for both time zones.”

  After Stephen checks his schedule, we both agree on nine-thirty, and I reply to Mr. Butler.

  “Stephen,” Vicky says, leaning her head through the doorway. “We need you in conference room four.”

  “What’s happening in conference room four?” I ask after she’s gone.

  “If I’m lucky, it’ll be an announcement that Saks is expanding into men’s lingerie.” When he stands, he goes on, “You know...Speedo-esque, G-strings, and thongs for men.”

  “Those are on the market.”

  His grin grows as he grabs his tablet to leave. “Preaching to the choir.”

  Once he’s gone, I sit back and spend the next three hours replying to emails and fighting fires across the Atlantic. While Stephen and I have been in New York, our positions have remained vacated in London. It isn’t like the junior department ceased to exist simply because we were on another continent.

  Some of the emails deserved one response while others create a complicated string with attachments and multiple copies.

  As the last fire begins to sputter out, I lean back and sigh. It’s a strange sensation, or should I say a recently unfamiliar one. It feels good to make decisions and be in charge. I didn’t realize how much I missed what we’d accomplished in juniors. In the two years we’ve been in our positions, Stephen and I have made a name for ourselves. For a few hours on Monday morning, I was reminded of what that was like.

  I look up toward the door as Stephen returns with Vicky by his side. “Shana, don’t forget,” she says, “meeting at one-thirty with purchasing.”

  I click on the folder on my desktop to retrieve the data I’ve prepared. “I’m ready. See you then,” I say, trying my most un-bitchy voice.

  “I won’t be there. I’m sure you can handle it.”

  And with that, she’s gone.

  “That woman hates me.”

  “I think she’s scared of you,” Stephen offers.

  “What was your meeting about?”

  “Well, it wasn’t about branching into men’s sexy attire.” When I don’t respond, he continues. “It was about the sales website. They want to spice up the way customers can see the products online.”

  “You know, we don’t have to be a team. You have so much to offer beyond me.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, just as we’re about to go to lunch and discuss our crazy-sexed weekends?”

  “I’d never want to get rid of...” I process his words. “Wait. What did you just say? You had a crazy sexed-up weekend at your parents’ house?”

  He tilts his head toward the door. “Come on. I’m starving.”

  The clock on my computer says I have an hour and fifteen minutes until my meeting. “I need to be back a little after one.”

  Stephen nods.

  “If we don’t have time for all your details, this conversation is extending to after work.”

  “Sorry, boss lady, you only get me during working hours. Tonight, I have a date.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Trevor

  Shana stares at me pointedly as we sit across the table from one another at a quaint little pub near my apartment. Truth be told, I’ve exhausted my repertoire of cooking skills and people can only eat so much pizza. Thankfully, we had Kimbra’s cooking yesterday, and Shana has offered more than once to cook, but my cupboards are bare. And I’d rather spend time with Shana doing things other than shopping for groceries.

  “He said you knew. Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks.

  “Why didn’t I say anything?”

  Shana’s lips come together as her eyes widen.

  “You’re asking me why I didn’t say anything to you about Max still being in town.”

  “Yes, Trevor, that’s exactly what I’m asking. Now that we have that cleared up, could we move on to your answer?”

  I grin as I take a small drink of my beer. It’s a local craft with a dark color and a surprisingly non-hoppy taste. After I swallow, I look again at
the feisty lady staring me down. If I thought she was really upset, I wouldn’t take this so lightly. The way she started the conversation with Oh my God, wait until I tell you what’s happening with Stephen... is what has given me this pass. “You know you’re cute when you try to be snippy?”

  “I’m not trying to being snippy. One of my best friends had a relationship crisis—”

  “Which—may I interject—was never explained to me. All I knew was that the two of you ran out of the bar after you got more than snippy with Max.”

  Shana takes another bite of her French fries before answering. “It wasn’t up to me to tell. I couldn’t betray his trust. After all, you were a friend of the enemy.”

  “Max and I are still friends,” I say.

  “The difference is that apparently now he’s no longer the enemy.”

  I think about how Max hasn’t called me today, how I’m waiting to hear from his investors and his firm about McCobb’s proposal. Maybe now he is my enemy? I need to give that some more thought. “Okay, can you tell me now?”

  “First, tell me why you didn’t tell me he was still in town?”

  “Shana, when did we discuss Max and Stephen before tonight? I asked what happened the night we met at that bar. You mentioned pond scum, and then said you couldn’t talk about it. Yes, I met with Max last Friday, but how was I to know that you didn’t know he was here? He and I talked mostly about business. And, if I need to be perfectly blunt, from the moment you arrived to my apartment last Friday night until you rushed out this morning, talking about business or Max or even Stephen wasn’t high on my agenda.”

  Her cheeks rise as she leans forward.

  I do my best to keep my eyes on hers. After all, they’re bright and blue and beautiful. It’s just that if I move my gaze slightly down, her blouse has a great neckline that gives me a hint of her perky breasts below. When our eyes meet again, she shakes her head at me.

  “What?” I ask innocently.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your agenda hasn’t changed.”

  “I confess, Shana Price, I’m crazy about you, and if we follow my agenda, after we finish this meal, we’ll go back to my place and continue not talking about anyone else. I’m okay with not talking at all. Personally, I like those noises you make when you’re too consumed to talk.”

  With each word I say, pink fills her cheeks until they’re both as red and rosy as my grandmother’s—who used to wear way too much rouge. It’s not that I’m an expert on makeup, but I remember the term rouge because my mom always thought it was funny.

  “Trevor, I can’t stay at your place tonight. All my work clothes are at the hotel.” She looks down. “As it is, I wore the same outfit I wore to Kimbra’s to work today.”

  “Would it be too forward to offer to pack my own bag and accompany you to your hotel suite?”

  “I guess I do owe you one night for the night in Indianapolis.”

  “Best night of my life,” I say.

  “Really? We didn’t do anything.”

  I reach for her hand and lift it until her knuckles reach my lips. “Yes, we did, my lady. We met.”

  She lets out a long breath. “Of course, you can stay. I need to gather all my things in your apartment anyway. I’m afraid some of my clothes may have gone MIA.”

  “The case of the missing panties,” I say with a scoff.

  “If you’re thinking of writing romance, I suggest another title.”

  “That was a mystery. Speaking of mysteries, will you tell me what’s happening or happened with Max and Stephen?”

  Shana sits back, her expression a multitude of emotions as she explains how Max and Stephen met nearly a year ago in London. It was through a mutual friend. That friend was Max’s assistant. The assistant and Stephen were friends since college. The assistant—his name is Charles—moved to London a few years before Stephen and Shana.

  “Wait, Charles Mills?” I ask.

  “Yes. How do you know that?”

  “I met Max through my work. His investment company has financed projects I’ve been directly involved with for McCobb Engineering. I’ve spoken to Charles before when I’ve called Max.”

  “At work?”

  “Yes,” I answer suspiciously. “I have Max’s cell phone number but not a number for his flat.”

  Shana leans across the table. “You’re a smart man. Do you see where this is going?”

  “Charles set Stephen and Max up. They hit it off. Charles wasn’t happy?”

  Shana shrugs. “When the incident happened, I didn’t think to question. I mean, if you were to walk into my apartment and my assistant was in my shower, would you stick around to ask him why or his intentions?”

  “Intentions,” I say, remembering that Max had used the same word when we’d spoken. “What were his intentions?”

  “Whose? Max or Charles?”

  I savor the question, enjoying the puzzle Shana’s created. “Let me guess,” I say. “From Max’s point of view, he had honorable intentions for having Charles at his flat. But...Stephen didn’t take the time to find out.”

  “So it now seems,” Shana confirms. “I don’t know Charles’s intentions. All I know is that Max fired him. There’s no sexual harassment suit pending, so that in itself speaks for Max’s intentions. Charles told him a sob story about a broken pipe at his place. He then purposely set up a message that appeared to come from Max to Stephen.”

  I nod my head. “For the record, I’d wait for him to get his ass out of your shower, but then I’d question him. I don’t think he’s your type.”

  “Who?”

  “Stephen. You asked me what I’d do if I found him in your shower.”

  Shana giggles as she finishes her glass of wine. “He’s not. I’m not his type either. Max is.” She sighs. “That’s the thing that made their breakup so upsetting. When they were together, Stephen was so happy. I guess it is the bunny-rabbit sex.”

  I tilt my head. “Do I want to know what that is?”

  “Just go with it. I promise, you aren’t complaining.”

  “Now they’re back together?”

  “They are so back together,” Shana says, “that Max went with Stephen last weekend to meet his parents and sister. Stephen’s phone is full of pictures with Max and Landon.”

  “Who’s Landon?”

  “Stephen’s baby nephew.”

  “Max Cantel held a baby?”

  “According to Stephen,” Shana says, “he held him a lot. And the baby loved him. If you ask me, Stephen has baby fever.”

  I can’t stop my grin as I take in Shana’s excitement for her friend. “You know, you really are a great friend.”

  She shrugs. “I have a lot of people who I consider friends but only a few really good friends. When someone makes it to that level, I want only the best for them. Even if that means it’s not the best for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stephen and I have a telephone call in the morning with our boss in London. I’ve decided that if by some miracle I get this job here, I’m giving my full support for Stephen to be hired in my previous position in juniors. I’ll miss him like crazy, but he’s good. He’s very good at what he does. I’m not sure how I’ll manage without him. The most important thing is for him to be recognized for his talents. And if you add Max to that mix, my best friend will be happy.”

  “What makes you happy, Shana?”

  “Right now, it’s you.”

  “I like that answer.” I leave cash in the small folder with our bill and reach for her hand. “Shall we find those missing panties?”

  Her eyes grow wide as her head moves from side to side, checking to see if anyone heard.

  “Think of it as a mystery,” I say in a stage whisper.

  “I’d rather think of it as a romance.”

  I lean close to her ear. “Is there a lot of sex in those books you read?”

  “It depends on the book.”

  “With a title like The Ca
se of the Missing Panties, I think there should be sex.”

  “I agree, Mr. Willis. How else would they be missing?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Shana

  “I can’t believe they’re taking this to the final buzzer,” Trevor says through my phone.

  Though his sports reference isn’t lost on me, I’m too worried about what is about to happen to reply right away. Unable to sit still, I grip my phone tighter as I pace about Stephen’s and my temporary office that is no longer.

  All of our things are packed and ready for our flight. According to the people with Saks who organize our travel, with the royal wedding about to occur, there is no turning back on our pre-booked flights. If we did, we wouldn’t get another flight for over a week—which doesn’t sound bad to me—and the increase in cost would be astronomical—which sounds bad to them.

  Even my hotel room is packed. “I know that I’m leaving,” I say to Trevor, “but I wish I knew if I were coming back.”

  “Listen, I know you’ve worked for Saks for a long time. I know you love the company, but in my opinion, the way they’ve treated you on this is shitty. They flew you over because they needed someone to save the day and you did it. You and Stephen took what they gave you and made a kick-ass fashion show. Not only did you tweak it and make it a grand production but when it was needed, you did what that woman Vicky could never do. You put yourself out there as a model.”

  Despite the way my temples are pounding with this tension headache, the tips of my lips turn upward. “Are you a fashion-show connoisseur?”

  “And a self-appointed model connoisseur. As luck would have it, I’ve been witness to two fashion shows in the last two weeks. The first one was definitely kick-ass with music and a stage and many stunning models. But the second one...” He lets out a long hum as if he’s reminiscing. “...it had music from the window, no stage, and the most sensational model I’ve ever seen. That one was phenomenal.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. However, if fashion shows are judged on sales, the first one sold more.”