After Hours

by Lynda Aicher

  And that was another startling revelation.

  “So how did you stop? Beating yourself up?” Did she still? Avery couldn’t imagine it, but it was impossible to know about the internal battles someone else fought. Fronts of confidence easily hid insecurities, just like displays of anger could hide loneliness.

  Tam lowered her gaze. She set her cup on the table as her lips curled with a warm smile. Her expression had softened when she looked to Avery. “Gregory.”

  Avery’s brows went up again. She hadn’t expected that, even though she probably should’ve. “How?”

  Tam’s shrug was small, like the hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’d been in the Boardroom for a while before I had a scene with him.” She stared into the distance, her fingers fiddling absently. “I’d joined out of curiosity and a bit of defiance.” She huffed softly. “I’m not sure who I was proving something to, but I enjoyed every second in the Boardroom.” She refocused on Avery, a shared understanding exchanging silently between them. Yeah, Avery had too. Tam sat forward. “But I never dreamed that someone from the Boardroom could love me. Not when they knew about my participation there.” There was that double standard she’d talked about. She was good enough to play with but not take home.

  Avery shook her head, adamantly denying what Tam was saying. “That’s so not true.” How could anyone think badly about her? “You’re an amazing person who embraces life and goes after what you want. Any man who can’t accept that is a fool.”

  Tam flicked a brow up, a smirk holding her lips in an amused smile.

  “Crap.” Avery sat back, a defeated laugh hitching out. She closed her eyes, head shaking at her own blindness. She’d just defended Tam for exactly what she was beating herself up over. She opened her eyes to send a joking glare at her. “Nicely done.”

  A smile beamed on Tam’s face as she sat up. “Thank you.” She would be hell to face in a business situation. “But like I said. It took Gregory loving me before I fully embraced what I was attempting to preach.” And Gregory did love Tam, Avery had zero doubt of that.

  “And what about after?” she asked. A wave of heat skittered over her chest and started its slow run upward. “Did you still play there? In public, together?”

  She’d explored every corner of the Boardroom app once she’d accessed it, but meetings were archived immediately following their completion. There was zero history stored that she could find.

  Another of those secret smiles emerged on Tam’s face. “Yes. We play. Maybe not as much and always together, but our kinks didn’t go away simply because we’re a couple.”

  Of course they hadn’t. Avery’s hadn’t, nor had Carson’s after they’d gotten serious. “So how do you handle it when you see someone from the Boardroom outside of it?”

  “And that’s your real issue,” Tam exclaimed, tapping her palm on the table. “Right?”

  Her sigh was long and annoyed. She wanted to object out of sheer stubbornness, but why? Tam wasn’t stupid, and in the end, that was the crux of Avery’s issues. If she didn’t care, then she would’ve been back at her desk after picking up the papers for Gregory.

  Tam grinned, winking, and Avery had to chuckle. She had no idea how Gregory won any argument with his wife. Maybe they never fought. And maybe those pigs did fly.

  A couple passed them as they left the patio, and another quickly swooped in to take their vacated seats. She watched them settle in, her thoughts wandering through all the varying emotions she’d experienced in the last few days. Betrayal. Hurt. Embarrassment. Shame. Disappointment. Anger. Defeat. Resignation. Loss. Confusion. Could there be any more?

  “For me,” Tam said, bringing Avery back to the conversation, “I finally, really owned what I wanted.” Avery frowned, processing that. “You know? Like, in me.” Tam touched her chest. “In here. I took ownership of my wants and amazingly, that shoved the shame away.” She inhaled, smiling as she exhaled. “It gave me a sense of power and the understanding that the only opinion that truly mattered was my own. And I’d been judging myself way too harshly.”

  The truth of that resonated within Avery. She was her own worst critic, on everything. And apparently, this sex thing wasn’t any different. Carson had tried to get her to see that, but she’d been so stuck within her shame that she hadn’t really heard him.

  She remembered that power Tam was talking about too. She’d owned her sexuality the night of the office party, and it’d felt wonderful. Where had that gone? Why was she hiding from it now?

  “I can promise you one thing,” Tam said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Neither Gregory or Trevor think any less of you for being in the Boardroom.” She waited for Avery to acknowledge that, which took a long moment before she slowly nodded. “They don’t judge. That’s not what the group is about. Trevor ousts anyone who makes even one derogatory comment about another person’s wants, as long as those wants are legal and consensual.”

  She had a hard time believing that. “I’ve never known of a group that was so...accepting.” People always had some sort of judgment or negative thing to say.

  Tam shrugged. “Actually, most sexual groups are like that. Once you open yourself up to that part of the world, you find a lot of fluidity and far more acceptance than I’ve found with most religious groups.”

  Avery cracked a smile. “So God doesn’t judge you in a sex club?”

  “It’s not God who judges. It’s people who do that.”

  “Touché.” Her smile widened, a sense of peace flowing through her when she’d wondered if she’d ever feel centered again. “Thank you for talking to me. You’ve really helped.”

  Tam sat up, beaming. “I’m glad.” Her smile fell a notch. “And I hope you’ll go back to work. Gregory’s been bemoaning your loss the whole week.”

  Avery winced at the stab of guilt. “Sorry. I just couldn’t go in.”

  “Oh, I know.” Tam waved off her apology. “I just wanted you to know that you’re missed and appreciated at Faulkner. It’s a good place. I swear.”

  She didn’t question that. Both the people and the job had been a dream since she’d started there. But could she walk back in knowing others were privy to her deepest secret?

  But she also knew theirs.

  Karen had tried to hammer that into her over the last few days, but she’d resisted the simple understanding. Why? This wasn’t all about her. She knew a lot of stuff, and she had only a smidgen to lose compared to someone like Trevor or even Gregory.

  “I’m making too much out of this, aren’t I?” she asked, feeling stupid. There, that was another emotion she’d wallowed in for a while.

  “No,” Tam insisted. “You have every right to be pissed. Carson shouldn’t have kept things from you. But,” she rushed on, “I also don’t think he did it to be malicious. He’s not like that. None of the people I know in the group are.”

  Carson had made a mistake and she’d made some too, including jumping to conclusions based on assumptions.

  The app hadn’t held any great secrets. There’d been no smoking gun or chain of messages mocking her—or anyone. On the contrary, it’d been basic and straightforward. Every profile had an identifiable picture with hers being her office head shot. Her alias was Shotgun, and the only information provided was a relationship status linking her to Driver, Carson’s alias.

  Everything in it had validated Carson’s claims. He hadn’t lied about that.

  The hurt over his omission was still there, but she was able to see beyond it now. No one was perfect and no relationship lasted without hiccups, compromise and a few solid disagreements.

  She inhaled, let it fill her. She’d go back to work tomorrow, head held high. There were so many worse things in the world than her enjoying some slightly kinky sex. She liked to watch it, live. So what?

  So. What.

  And there, st
arting as a little nugget of warmth before it spread through her chest and shoved out the last of her doubts and anxiety, was one more emotion.

  Forgiveness.

  Chapter Thirty

  Carson dropped his bags next to the front door, an exhausted sigh dripping from his lungs. He trudged to the kitchen in the semidarkness, grabbed a beer from the fridge, shucked his suit jacket and tie before plopping down on the living room couch. Another sigh fell out on a groan as he sunk into the cushioned comfort.

  What a fucking grueling three weeks.

  He’d checked out of San Fran the Sunday after the Avery debacle on an extended investigative run through all of the Faulkner offices. The trip had been more than justified, given their IT upgrade plans, but he’d bumped up the timing to give Avery space. His being out of the office had hopefully lessened the strain on her.

  She’d returned to work the day after he’d left on his trip. Gregory had told him that much, but he’d heard nothing from Avery.

  He opened the bottle, the quick hiss a welcome sound. He took three long gulps of the beer before stopping to enjoy the hit of relief that flowed through him. He closed his eyes and simply absorbed the silence. Nothing. No hum of an airplane or hotel air conditioner. No pressing agenda or meeting to plan for.

  Just...emptiness.

  His breaths slowed and his muscles slowly unwound until he wasn’t sure if he could move. The desire to go to bed was hindered by the fact that he’d have to move to get there. Was it worth the energy?

  Time passed on fluctuating ebbs of random thoughts and nothing at all. Full dark had settled in when he forced his eyes open. The streetlights lit the room with a dull glow through his blinds, indicating how long he’d been sitting there. He scrubbed his face in an attempt to wake himself up. The time difference should’ve been in his favor since he’d traveled from New York, but the days of hop-scotching across the country and Europe had put his internal clock in chaos.

  At least he had the weekend to sleep and readjust to this time zone. And all that free time meant there’d be plenty of room to think about Avery. He’d used work to avoid that, and it’d worked for the most part, but the mess had still hovered around him, taunting, picking, reminding him of what he’d lost.

  Her lack of contact sent a clear message of where she stood on them. They were done. Just like that. One mistake, and he’d been given the heave-ho. He scoffed into the emptiness, rubbing his brow. Why had he hoped for something different?

  The ache in his chest had dulled to a numb consistency that’d blocked his emotions and allowed him to focus on work. He’d been doing that for years, but it was so damn hard now.

  Avery had changed everything.

  He’d sworn off relationships, commitment and marriage after his parents’ divorce. That had been the final capper after witnessing twenty-five years of falseness. His parents had done a decent job raising them, but they’d done a sucky job of demonstrating a relationship built on love and trust. In the end, theirs had been a marriage of necessity compounded by an inability to do anything else. They’d conformed to expectations, found jobs, raised a family and stayed together because they were supposed to.

  And that had lasted until they no longer had to.

  Carson had sworn he’d never do that.

  But now he wondered about what he was missing. The connection that came with being a part of someone else. The bond that formed from shared experiences. The history created that formed the future.

  Someone to come home to, laugh with, love.

  Be loved by.

  A horrible sense of defeat spread through him to drag him down even further. His throat tightened as a wave of prickles scrambled up it to nip at the backs of his eyes. Fuck. He rubbed his eyes, squeezing them tight to hold in the emotions scrambling to break free. He couldn’t let them loose, yet he was too worn down to hold them back.

  No!

  He sat up, blinking rapidly to force back the breakdown he couldn’t afford to have. It didn’t have to be over with Avery. He’d given her time—lots of it. Gregory had also said that she’d returned without a word to him about the Boardroom. Would she stay at Faulkner when he returned to the office on Monday? How would she react—if at all?

  If nothing else, they needed to talk about that. No, he had to know that she was really okay. Guessing and wondering was more agonizing than dealing with a final end.

  Three sharp knocks on his door jolted him upright. He frowned, confused and annoyed at once. Who the fuck is that? He glanced at the time, frown deepening right before three more knocks beat out in quick succession.

  Goddamn it. He stalked to the door, prepared to bark at whoever was on the other side. This was a really crappy time for an impromptu visit from anyone.

  He ripped the door open, a harsh greeting prepped and ready, only for it to die.

  Avery stood there, a hesitant smile on her lips.

  He froze, too stunned to do anything.

  Her smile wobbled. “Hi, Carson.”

  The low note of her voice teased him with memories and promises. Her summer sweater hugged her chest, the cap sleeves and scoop neck both demur and sexy in a distinctively Avery way. The deep purple shade was beautiful against her pale skin, and he couldn’t stop staring.

  She was there. On his doorstep.

  Her hair was down, the gentle waves softening her features. She wet her lips, drawing her tongue over the bottom one. Would he get to kiss them again?

  “Avery,” he finally said once his brain reengaged. His brows drew down. “What are you doing here?” It was after ten o’clock.

  She clasped her hands before her, lips pressing together. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “Talk?” His brain misfired once again. “How did you know I was home?” And why was he making her stand in the hallway? Christ. “Come in.” He stepped back, waving her inside.

  Her smile was stiff when she stopped just inside the doorway. “I might’ve gotten your itinerary off Jean under the pretext of Gregory needing to know.”

  The admission loosened one of the knots in his chest. She’d sought him out. “Okay.” His response was fucking lame, but he couldn’t think beyond this was good, right? She could’ve waited until tomorrow if she simply wanted to tell him to go to hell. He led her into the kitchen, flicking on the light as he went. He blinked against the brightness and opened the refrigerator. “Can I offer you something?” He held up a beer. “I have wine, vodka, scotch and gin too.”

  “I’ll take a beer.”

  His grin was automatic. She’d picked the beer over wine when he’d expected the opposite, like so many things about her.

  He twisted off the top and handed the beer over before opening one for himself. They stood on opposite sides of the island, an awkwardness settling in the longer the silence stretched. But he couldn’t stop staring at her. His pulse had kicked up a notch and had not gone down since he’d opened the door. And that silly, flighty thing had sprung to life in his chest to flick at the locks he’d barely reinstalled around his heart.

  “So,” he started before he got carried away dreaming about new starts when this could be an ending. “How are you?”

  Her small laugh was a single note of sarcasm that matched her bemused smile. “I’ve been better, but I’m doing okay. You?”

  “Yeah?” He shook his head in amused disbelief. “I’ve been better too.”

  Her smile fell. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  He’d assumed that. He had too. Was there any chance they’d come to the same conclusion? “And?”

  “And...” She set her bottle on the counter and came around to his side of the island. Her fingers trailed over the marble like she was marking a return path, but her expression was open.

  His breaths shortened as he tracked her movement. He set his bottle down, turning to face her w
hen she stopped a few feet away. She was close enough to touch, but he fisted his hands at his sides, waiting. Nerves spun a twisted tale of hope and rejection in his stomach and threatened to dispel the awful plane food he’d managed to digest.

  “And,” she said again, “I want you to know how much you hurt me.” The truth of exactly how much was etched into the lines around her mouth and the pain in her eyes.

  “I know.” God, did he know. “I hope you know how sorry I am.” He lifted his hand, his movement slow enough for her to deflect. His chest tightened and released when he cupped her cheek. The contact hummed over him, igniting the portion of him that’d felt dead since she’d left.

  Her eyes closed, head tilting into his touch, and he couldn’t resist pulling her in. And she came, two small steps that had her in his arms. Yes. The rightness breathed over him as he wrapped her in a hug. This was what he’d missed. What he would miss out on by denying love.

  “I was so worried I’d lost you,” he murmured into her hair. He rested his cheek on her head and absorbed everything about her. That faint peppermint scent. The curve of her breasts against his chest. The warm wisps of her breath across his neck.

  Her arms came around his back to hold him, and he finally breathed. He squeezed his eyes closed yet again, this time to keep the prickling bites of joy from spilling out.

  “You almost did,” she said.

  “I know.” He pressed a kiss to her head and leaned back to cup her cheek again, one arm still holding her close. He couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever. “What changed?”

  Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes, brightening them to a stunning shade of blue. “A lot of things.” Her mouth twisted. “Part of it was accepting my share in causing what happened. I—”

  “You didn’t do anything,” he cut in, adamant.

  She cupped her hand over his on her cheek. “That’s the problem.” She squeezed his hand, giving a small wince. “I let you do everything. It was easier to let you lead. That way I didn’t have to own my choice, not completely at least.”