by Kelly Myers
“I never wanted her,” Leo hisses. “I told her about us because I wanted to talk to her about how things were changing. How I was developing feelings.”
Leo gestures towards me. “For you. Feelings for you. You’re the one. You’re the only one I can think of.”
I blink up at him. Then I stare at my bed and wonder briefly if I’m dreaming. But no, it feels too real. Leo is so present and filled with energy, and I can smell him, and he’s so close I can reach out and touch him.
“I wanted to be honest with Abby because I wanted her advice about what I should do,” Leo says. “I had gotten myself into this mess with you, and I hated that you were there as my fake date. I hated that it was a job I had hired you for. I wanted it to be real.”
I don’t know if I’m about to laugh or cry. I’m feeling too many things all at once. Joy and elation, but also fear and hesitation. Am I really brave enough to take this chance?
“Leo, what are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying that there’s something between us, or at least I think there is,” Leo says. “And I know it’s crazy and insane, and you’re probably uninterested in someone as mundane as me, but I wanted to at least try.”
“You’re not mundane,” I blurt out.
Leo shrugs. “You’re so full of life and energy and creativity, and you do such bold things. Compared to you, I am mundane.”
I don’t know what to do, but I know I have to show him how wrong he is, so I stand up and I throw myself into his arms. He catches me, and I kiss his stunned face. Leo doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back with fervor.
I push myself against him, and he picks me up so I wrap my legs around his waist. He stumbles back a step and sits on the bed with me straddling his lap. I kiss his jawline and down to his neck, while he grips my hips and murmurs my name.
I hold his head in my hands and look him in the eyes.
“You’re not mundane,” I say. “You’re kind and funny and hardworking, and even though you’re obsessed with tidying things up, you clearly have a wild side.”
Leo shakes his head but I laugh.
“You wouldn’t have asked me to be your fake girlfriend if you didn’t have at least a little bit of a wild side,” I say.
“I truly think I had a brain aneurysm that day on the sidewalk,” Leo says. “I can’t believe I asked you to do that.”
I kiss him again, and he buries his face in my neck.
“I should have just asked you out for real,” he says.
“If you had asked me out for real, I would have said no,” I say. “I thought you were weird.”
In response to that, Leo flips me over onto my back and spreads out over me, a wicked grin on his face.
He kisses me deeply, and I arch my back so that my body presses against his length. I don’t want to go slow. I want all of him right now. I thought I would never see him again, and now he’s here, and he just declared his feelings to me, and so I have to have him.
I don’t know what any of this means, but I do know that I’m so happy to see him again, to be with him again. I can’t believe that just moments before I was declaring to myself that I would never see his face ever again.
Leo tears at my loose T-shirt and yanks it over my head. I’m not wearing a bra underneath so I lay there, totally exposed to him. His eyes take me in, and I gasp just at the intensity in his gaze.
He starts to kiss along my collar bone, licking and biting as he goes. His hands rove over the bare skin of my stomach and slip beneath the elastic band of my shorts. He strokes my wet flesh, his fingers plunging eagerly into me.
I pull at his clothes with blind enthusiasm, and soon his garments have joined mine on the floor. We press our bodies against each other, wanton and desperate in the light of day.
We’ve only had sex late at night, after banter and tension and drinks. But now it’s different. It’s the morning, and we can both see clearly, but we both still want this.
There’s no going slow right now. Our need and desire and pent-up emotion is too great. I suppose this is what happens when you have two people make mistaken assumptions and refuse to voice their true feelings. Eventually the dam bursts.
I bury my fingers in Leo’s dark hair and clamp my thighs around his legs. He doesn’t bother to tease me, he just strokes my clit over and over until I’m gasping and desperate.
His erection presses against my thigh, and I grab it and begin to storke, savoring the smooth hardness beneath my hands. I can tell that Leo is as close to losing control as I am.
With a groan, Leo nudges my thighs wider apart and plunges into me. I cry out as I feel him throb inside me, and pleasant sensations buzz through my core and all the way down to my toes.
Leo begins to move inside me, and even as he reaches a sensitive spot deep within, he reaches down to stroke my clit with his finger.
I feel the beginnings of an orgasm building deep inside me, and I dig my fingers into his back as I start to surrender to the physical.
I close my eyes and moan.
“Marianne,” Leo gasps. “Please. I want to see you.”
My eyes fly open and I meet his gaze. I make sure we keep our eyes locked as I go spiraling over the edge of my orgasm. I want him to see me in all my glory. I want him to know how he makes me feel. And I want to see him as well. I want to witness the deep level of pleasure I can give him.
Our cries of ecstasy mingle together as we ride the wave of climaxes to their very end. I feel as if all the tension and angst of the last few days leave my body as pure lust and satisfaction pulse through my veins.
It’s only us in that moment. Only us in the light of day, moving together, our bodies as one.
Then we collapse in each other’s arms, both our chests heaving in the aftermath.
“Leo,” I whisper. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I roll over and lay my head on his chest. He tightens his grip on me.
“I’m not leaving,” he says.
I close my eyes, and a tear leaks out. It’s not from sadness though. It’s from the pure joy that has been radiating through my body ever since Leo told me that I was the one.
30
For a long time, we just lay together in silence, the mid-day sun streaming through my one small window.
I place my hand on Leo’s chest so that I can feel the faint beating of his heart.
For a few minutes, I even close my eyes and sleep.
Then I shift to prop myself up on my elbows so I can look down at him. His eyes are open, and they are fixed on me.
He sits up as well and leans back against my pillows. The sight of him on my bed is so strange and new that I place my fingers over my mouth to contain a giggle.
“What is it?” Leo asks.
“I never thought I’d see you in my bed,” I say.
“Really?” Leo asks. “You thought we were that much of a lost cause.”
I shrug. “It all seemed so complicated. I didn’t even realize the depth of my feelings until yesterday at the wedding.”
Now that he has put his feelings out in the open and been honest, I find it much easier for me. It’s funny, usually I’m the brave one. I’m the one who is more comfortable expressing myself in a relationship. It’s nice that this time, Leo has been brave enough for the both of us.
Leo reaches out and catches one of my curls between his fingers. “I wanted to talk. I wanted to tell you how I felt yesterday, but then you stormed off.”
“I felt vulnerable and attacked when Vince told me he knew.” I feel defensive. I know I flew off the handle yesterday, but I had my reasons.
“I wasn’t mad at you.” Leo leans forwards and places a gentle kiss against my lips. “I was mad at myself.”
I curl my legs beneath me and pull my covers over my chest. I’m getting that Sunday feeling, where you just want to lounge in bed for hours and hours.
“Why were you mad at yourself?” I ask.
“Because it felt like you were slippi
ng through my fingers,” Leo says. “That morning, waking up with you in my arms, and then being by your side throughout the day and dancing with you and watching you sing, it was all so perfect. But then I blew it. And when you gave me the money back, I felt like scum.”
I lean forward and nuzzle his neck. “I’m sorry. Although, in that moment, I wanted you to feel like a scum so I guess I’m not that sorry.”
Leo grins at my joking tone and catches my mouth with his.
“So what now?” he asks when he breaks the kiss.
I scrunch up my nose. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“Breakfast,” Leo says. “I’ll take you out. That diner around the corner sound good?”
I nod. “I love that place.”
While Leo gets dressed and I go to the bathroom, I frantically text my friends: Don’t have time for a full update, but Leo showed up! I think we’re together now. This is not fake. This is real. I’m so happy.
Within seconds, the responses are pouring in.
Bea insists that she knew it. Zoe demands that I set up a meeting so she can see if he passes her test. Elena just sends a bunch of hearts and says she’s so happy for us.
A few minutes later, we are back in our clothes and walking down the sunny sidewalk, hand in hand, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We have had plenty of practice, after all.
At the corner, Leo stops and looks down at me. “Marianne Gellar, you know I’m in love with you, right?”
Happiness seeps into my ever cell as I look back up at him.
“I love you too, Leo Wilson.”
Then we keep walking into the bright sun of our future.
Excerpt: Against All Odds
Do I want to date Michael? Yes.
Do I want to go against all rules? No.
I live by the three Zoe Hamilton rules.
#1: Never sleep with a co-worker.
#2: Never put my job in jeopardy.
#3: Never crush on douchebags.
Being with Michael will squash each one of these rules.
It will destroy my career, my life, my heart.
And for what?
He’s so headstrong.
Always wants to be in control.
Well, he won’t control me.
Not until I have this brilliant brain inside my head.
One that shuts off the second his gorgeous eyes meet mine.
I’m done turning into a mushy little girl.
I’m done being reckless.
But I’m also done trying to forget how special Michael makes me feel.
Chapter 1
If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that nothing ever goes according to plan.
That’s why I always have about five back-up plans lying in wait in case the first method falls through.
Call me crazy, but it’s gotten me through 26 years on Planet Earth, and overall, I’ve done ok for myself.
Alright, maybe “ok” isn’t the perfect way to describe it. I’ve done spectacular in some areas. For example, I’m a stupendous employee at the Hastings Group, one of the premier consulting firms in Chicago.
I have a good apartment and amazing friends. I’m in line to get the next big promotion at the company. At least if everything goes according to plan.
I’ve done less spectacular in other areas. I know for a fact that some of my colleagues refer to me as “Zoe Hamilton, the Uptight Chick.” They have other names as well, but I choose to focus on the positive. Or at least, the less negative.
As for my love life, for that I have No Comment.
But all in all, I decide as I sit down at my desk at the office, I’ve done better than average in life. Zoe Hamilton, the Better Than Average Chick.
That doesn’t sound good. I’ll have to brainstorm better epitaphs later. I can make a list.
Right now, I need to focus on another list titled How to Get My Sort Of Sexist Boss to Give Me Our Newest Client.
I say “sort of sexist” because Nick Finnegan doesn’t hate women, and he would never impede someone’s career because of their gender, but he does tell jokes. You know the type.
“What’s next, you gonna tell me to take out the trash too?”
“Don’t tell me it’s your time of the month.”
“If a woman is gonna spend hours crying over some guy who got away, it better be one of our potential clients that hired another firm.”
That last one was actually pretty funny, I have to admit.
I turn to my computer and log on. Nick is alright, in the end. He’s a tough boss, but fair, despite the jokes. He tells jokes about the guys too.
I knew what I was getting into when I decided to go into corporate consulting. It’s a male-dominated field, but that didn’t scare me. It was my dream career.
Some little girls dream of a fancy apartment in the city or for a beautiful wedding or for some designer clothes. I dreamed of power suits and corner offices.
I ponder. Zoe Hamilton, Power-Suit-Wearer. Did that work? No, definitely not.
I return my focus to the task at hand. I heard about the new client at lunch. I would prefer to eat my lunch at my desk while taking care of emails, but I try to get to the office dining room at least three times a week. That’s how you pick up the good gossip.
And trust me, no one gossips like a group of corporate consultants.
Meyers and Blunt Media Group, an older but powerful news group that owned more than half the newspapers in the midwest, had just acquired a streaming service. They needed help with the merger, which was my branch’s specialty.
It was an ideal client, and everyone at lunch had been salivating over it. I had been ready to throw punches as soon as I heard about the client, but I kept my cool. I was a front-runner for sure. I always excelled with mergers, and I was almost done with my current assignment.
In fact, if I could finish up a few things today, and shoot Nick a message about how I was almost done, that could be the ideal way to lightly suggest (without actually suggesting since Nick hates being told what to do) that maybe I would be the ideal candidate for Meyers and Blunt.
I smile at my computer screen. My plan was forming. I still had to flesh out some back-up plans that would involve a bit more kissing up to Nick, maybe at an office happy hour, but Plan A was looking great, if I do say so myself.
I open up my email and glance over my final notes from my most recent assignment. All I had to do was touch base with the point of contact at the company I had been working with. We were supposed to talk tomorrow, but I had a good working relationship.
I typed up a message saying that some things had shifted, and I had a bit of time to discuss key strategies this afternoon.
The point of contact responded right away saying he was free for a call at 2.
Better and better.
Once that was done, I could send a message to Nick. Or maybe take a quick walk around the office and run into Nick.
He sometimes grabbed an afternoon coffee from the inhouse baristas. I have notes on Nick’s daily activities.
Yes, I know it’s crazy. And yes, the notes do look like the ramblings of an insane stalker. I don’t care.
Anyway, the file is password protected.
I take a breath. I have to stay calm about this. If I get too intense and show how desperate I am to get this assignment, Nick will never give it to me. No one likes desperation.
I glance at the post-it stuck to the bottom of my computer. It reads: Be the Obvious Choice.
It was something my favorite economics professor told me back in sophomore year. She was helping me apply for an internship, and she told me that I was accomplished and my resume was impressive, but it wasn’t always enough.
“You can’t just be a good choice or the best choice, Zoe,” she said. “You have to be the obvious choice.”
She was right. Since graduating, I’ve dedicated all my time to being the one who doesn’t mess up. The reliable one. The one who is in the
office early and leaves late. The one you have to pick for the job because it’s so clear that I’ll do it right.
To be clear, I’m not a workaholic. I have a life outside of my job. I see my three best friends nearly every week.
It’s true, I do not have a boyfriend, but in my experience, friendships are far more fulfilling than any love interest.
Which my mom thinks is very sad. But she doesn’t work at a high-intensity consulting firm, does she?
Anyway, I don’t have to defend myself.
Over the next hour, I pull together all the information I’ll need for the call at 2. I also prepare answers for any questions the point of contact may have.
At 2pm on the dot, I dial the number. The conversation is a roaring success. Or at least, the client has zero complaints.
I’m not surprised. Not to brag, my exit conversations are always pleasant.
Well, maybe I’m bragging a little. It comes with the territory. The guys at work brag all the time, and it’s why everyone respects them. Unless they boast too much. Then everyone just thinks they’re jerks. It’s really a very delicate line to walk.
I check my watch. 2:47. Perfect. I’ll just swing by the inhouse barista as if I’m picking up some mint tea. I don’t drink caffeine in the afternoon. It messes with my sleep cycle.
I stand up and dust off my grey slacks. I pause to admire how well they fit me and how adorable my bronze penny loafers with the block heel are. Nick would never notice, but I pride myself on my office style.
My first year at the firm, I dressed out of bargain bins. I kept my dark hair short so it was easy to maintain, and I wore minimal but flattering makeup. I looked put together and neat, but I was determined to save money.
Then I got my first promotion. I got it because of my hard work, but I wanted to look the part as well. So I went a little crazy with designer office wear. Honestly, I have no regrets. Dressing to win is an important part of the job.
My friend Marianne says I’m shallow to be so obsessed with designer clothes, but I don’t care. Marianne can wear a cut-up mens’ undershirt with cargo pants out and look fabulous, but that’s her. And even she can’t deny that my office chic looks are on point.