The Inn at Netherfield Green

by Aurora Rey

  “Beautiful, too.”

  It was then she’d known something was wrong, that he wasn’t going to keep it professional. But even then, she’d not wanted to make things awkward. She shifted away from him and folded her arms but kept her tone light. “That kind of flattery will get you nowhere and you know it.”

  “I know, I know. You’re a lesbian. You’ve told me. It just seems like a waste.”

  The night of the biggest professional win of her career and she was going to have to fend off the advances of a guy she actually kind of liked. “Trust me, it’s not a waste in my book.”

  “You know what I mean.” The hand slid up her arm to her neck.

  Remembering that touch made her shiver.

  “Philip, I think you’ve had one too many. Let’s not do something we’re going to regret in the morning.”

  Even in the low light, his eyes looked glassy. “You know what they say about regret.”

  She’d been more annoyed than afraid at that point. Less than fifty feet separated them from literally dozens of their colleagues. Still. Things had already gone far enough that there’d be awkwardness in the morning. “I’m partial to ‘don’t do anything you’ll regret.’”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “Everyone says you’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did.”

  She lifted her arm to brush his hand away. “I don’t think that’s a good strategy for—”

  His mouth crushed against hers, his beard scratching her chin. The hand on her neck gripped tighter. His other hand groped her breast. Annoyance vanished, along with anger. Genuine fear licked her belly. He was so much stronger than she was and she felt momentarily helpless.

  She tried to shove against him, but he only held her more tightly. Panic started to set in, making it difficult to breathe or focus. She had a flashback to the self-defense class she’d taken several years ago, but only one option came to mind. With as much force as she could muster, she plowed her knee right into his crotch.

  He let go and stumbled back. He didn’t fall, but he doubled over. His hands clutched at his balls like the guys in all those ridiculous YouTube videos. He mumbled expletives. She made out “fucking” and “bitch,” but not much else. Maybe “frigid.”

  She’d wanted to be indignant, give him a verbal lashing to match the knee to the balls, but there were no words. No indignation either, really. All she wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible. Escape. Because even if it had only been for a moment, he really had scared her.

  She walked to the door that led back into the bar. The lights were jarringly bright, the sound of conversations a cacophony. The combination made her dizzy. She focused on the exit. She put one foot in front of the other, looking down to avoid any chance of eye contact. She heard her name but ignored it. Just like she ignored the coat check. She didn’t stop walking and she didn’t look up until she was in the elevator.

  She rode down forty floors with a few strangers, holding it together, refusing to draw attention to herself or show weakness. She kept it together in the cab ride to her apartment in Soho, managed a friendly hello to Nevin.

  It had felt like an eternity before she was in her apartment, alone, with the door locked behind her. She’d expected to burst into tears, or maybe have the urge to throw something. But all she felt was exhausted, hollow.

  She’d leaned against the door, allowed herself to slide to the floor. She pulled off her shoes and dropped them to the side, then hugged her knees to her chest. She was okay. She’d repeated the phrase to herself over and over. Everything was okay. She’d not been hurt. Or probably in any real danger. Philip had let himself get stupid drunk.

  Lauren could have stopped then, but she kept going. They needed to know it all, including her decision not to say anything. Camila had said as much during their briefing. And maybe more importantly, she needed to tell it, to have it on the record regardless of the outcome.

  She explained how she realized what she was doing—rationalizing, minimizing, and all the other crap women did to let men off the hook. It had hit her like a blow to the chest. Another reality immediately followed. If she reported him, she might get him fired. Or she might draw a whole lot of the wrong kind of attention to herself when she was on the cusp of having it all. She’d banged her head against the door that night, trapped in what felt like an impossible choice. But then the choice hadn’t felt so impossible after all.

  Being named partner would open the door to striking out on her own. Between that, landing Starbridge, and the money she’d socked away, she figured she was no more than five years from opening her own agency. No way in hell was she going to let Philip, or any other self-entitled prick, get in the way of that.

  But of course, it hadn’t ended with that. Only weeks later, she’d arrived at work to find her desk packed and security guards waiting. To this day, she didn’t know if Philip had been setting her up all along, or if he’d moved quickly, seeking revenge for that night. She realized, finally, how little it mattered.

  She walked through the specifics of her firing, the scant evidence and her decision to regroup before fighting back. It felt a little cowardly to own it, to admit how easy it had been to get wrapped up in the pub and the inn and the village. And Cam. But as she explained it, a sense of calm settled over her. She’d done what she needed to do. There was no point wallowing in regret.

  Two of the lawyers asked clarifying questions, but neither of them offered anything by way of encouragement or judgment. The whole thing felt sterile, which proved oddly reassuring. By the time it ended, she felt lighter. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. She’d been carrying the trauma with her—along with the indecision over what to do—for months. Of course getting it out in the open, knowing it was part of legal proceedings Philip couldn’t ignore, would be a huge relief.

  What did surprise her was how little she cared about the outcome. Yes, she’d like to see Philip get what was coming to him, but in terms of her own vindication, it didn’t really matter. Her career, her life, were no longer tied up in KesslerAldridge. Her happiness, her future plans, no longer hinged on whether or not she made partner. In her attempt to recover and regroup, she’d managed to build a whole new life.

  As she stood on the sidewalk of the 31st Street office, the full truth of that hit her. Her life was in England. Her heart was, too. Lauren took a slow deep breath, letting the realization settle. Cam might not realize it was in her possession, and she might not want it either way, but there it was.

  Suddenly, Lauren wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly home. Home. A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it. She’d go home and she’d fight for Cam and, somehow, everything would work out. In her heart of hearts, she believed it. She’d upended her life for a lot less.

  She walked to Sixth Avenue and hailed a cab, thinking of the last time she’d done so after a meeting with a lawyer. Fewer than six months had passed, but everything in her life had changed. She’d taken a risk then and it had paid off. And she was about to press her luck again.

  She waited until she was back in her apartment to call Anja. Anja picked up after only one ring, and Lauren proceeded to give her the blow-by-blow. When she got to the end, she kept going, relaying the plan she’d baked up on the ride home. The one where she listed her apartment and began the process of seeking permanent residence in the UK, the one where she threw herself at Cam’s feet and hoped for a miracle. To her credit, Anja didn’t balk at a single detail. Lauren should have expected nothing less, really. This kind of thing was right up her alley.

  “I see only one real problem,” Anja said.

  Only one? Lauren could rattle off a good two dozen without even trying. Still. “What’s that?”

  “Cam’s on her way here.”

  “Wait. What?” Surely, she’d misheard.

  “Cam. She found out why you’d come back to New York and she’s on her way.”

  “On her way here?” She honestl
y couldn’t imagine Cam in Manhattan, much less what her coming might mean.

  “I didn’t tell you because she couldn’t get a flight that would get her here before your deposition, and I figured it would just distract you. Please don’t be mad.”

  A thousand questions swirled in her mind. She struggled to put her finger on which one to ask first. “How do you know this?”

  Anja sighed. “I told Charlotte and she told Cam. I’m sorry for that. I thought you’d told her already. And then Charlotte put Cam in touch with me so she could find you once she arrived.”

  Lauren did everything she could to tamp down the swell of emotion. And failed. “When?”

  “Tonight. I think her flight lands around nine.”

  She looked at her watch. It was nearly four now. “Tonight. In, like, five hours.”

  “Don’t freak out.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can’t think of a scenario that warrants freaking out more than this one.”

  “I can. Would you like me to run through them?” Anja’s tone was perky and positive.

  “No, thank you.” Lauren pressed a thumb to her forehead and laughed in spite of herself. “You can, however, tell me everything. Like, what Cam told you, why she’s coming.”

  “How about I do that in person?”

  “Yeah, sure. Where do you want me to—”

  “I’m here.” As she said it, there was a knock on her apartment door.

  Lauren shook her head and ended the call. She opened the door and Anja literally flung herself into Lauren’s arms. When Anja finally let go, Lauren said, “I’m glad.”

  Anja walked in, dropped her bag, and spread her arms wide. “I want to tell you everything. But I also get that you might need to process the deposition. Or the Cam situation. Whatever you need, and in whatever order, I’m your girl.”

  The flitting nature of Anja’s commentary matched Lauren’s thoughts. So much to sort through. “Tell me about Cam.” Anja started to talk and Lauren lifted a finger. “And don’t leave out when you got so chummy with Charlotte.”

  Anja looked at her with feigned surprise. “Right, that. So,” and then she launched in. Much like Lauren’s stream of consciousness from earlier, Anja laid it all out. The fact that she and Charlotte had stayed in pretty constant contact since she left England. Anja accidentally telling Charlotte why Lauren left. Charlotte telling Cam. Cam deciding Lauren shouldn’t be facing that sort of thing alone, but also feeling like an ass and wanting to make it right. All the travel plans.

  When Anja finally stopped talking, she looked to Lauren for a response. Lauren merely shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Uh, she’s flying across the ocean to be with you. What is there not to understand?”

  “I don’t know if she’s coming here because she wants to be with me or because she’s got some hero thing going on.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Exactly. What if,” the thought dawned on her and she was immediately horrified, “what if she just feels sorry for me?”

  Anja looked at Lauren with exasperation. “Do you really think she’d come all the way here because she pities you?”

  Sure, it was unlikely. But at this point, it seemed no more far-fetched than the idea that Cam was in love with her and was going to show up on her doorstep to declare it. “No, but—”

  “No buts. This is the grand gesture, Lauren. Like a romantic movie. She’s coming here so you don’t have to wonder if what you have is worth fighting for. She’s telling you it is.”

  Lauren took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and for a second, allowed herself to believe that might be true. As good as she was at imagining best-case scenarios, she almost couldn’t picture it. “If it was really a movie, I’d be on a plane to London right now and we’d miss each other.”

  “That would be a terrible movie.”

  “No, no. It would be funny. We’d meet up eventually, probably at the airport, and kiss.” That, for some reason, she could imagine. “And everyone would clap.”

  Anja looked at her like she was crazy. “Is that what you want?”

  “No.” It wasn’t. “I’m just saying that would make a better movie.”

  “Lauren?”

  “What?”

  “Cam’s going to show up on your doorstep in a few hours.”

  “Right.” Right. She needed a plan.

  “What are you going to do and how can I help?”

  She was so good at winging it. She’d cooked up an entirely new pitch in twenty minutes after an offhanded comment by the client blew up the one she’d spent weeks developing. She’d moved to England on a week’s notice. But this? Telling Cam how she felt and trying to salvage their relationship? She was at a total loss. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay.” Anja nodded decisively. “First, you’re going to text her. She probably won’t get it until she lands, but still. She’s nervous about coming here and telling her that you know, that you want her here, will make a huge difference.”

  “Good idea.”

  “And then you’re going to shower and get pretty while I tidy up and change your sheets.”

  Lauren raised a brow.

  “Because I’m pretty sure this is going to culminate in you getting lucky, and I know how you feel about things being just so.”

  She let out a snort. “I’m glad your brain has gotten there. Mine is still stuck on not breaking down into uncontrollable crying and making a fool of myself.”

  Anja crossed the room and put her hand on Lauren’s cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with a little crying. It shows you have all the feels.”

  Lauren chuckled. Such a departure from her childhood, where crying was seen as little more than a sign of weakness. Knowing she didn’t want to be that person anymore, she decided not to argue the point. “It does.”

  “What’s in your fridge? You should have wine and light snacks. You know what? Never mind. You text Cam and I’ll take care of it.”

  Anja turned away, but Lauren grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “I think I like it when you’re bossy.”

  Anja quirked a brow. “I get that a lot.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Cam settled into her seat and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. It wasn’t like she’d never flown, but it had been a while. And she’d only gone to Europe, never across the Atlantic. It would be fine. Even if being sandwiched in the middle of a row of four seats made her feel like a sardine. Even if she had no idea how she was going to pass the next seven hours of not knowing how Lauren would react. Not knowing if Lauren would accept her apology. Not knowing if Lauren would take her back.

  For about the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours, her heart rate ratcheted up. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. How did people with chronic anxiety do it?

  She realized the guy next to her was giving her a funny look, so she redoubled her efforts to play it cool. She closed her eyes again and conjured Lauren’s image. This time, she didn’t think of the mess she’d made or the horrible things she’d said. She didn’t think about whether Lauren really did want to sell the pub, leave, and never look back. She thought about the way Lauren smiled when she tasted one of Cam’s cocktails for the first time. The way Lauren looked at her the night of the grand opening. The way Lauren felt under her the last time they’d made love.

  The anxiety didn’t dissolve completely, but her feelings felt like an anchor of certainty. She held on to that anchor during taxi and takeoff, during two ridiculous rom-coms and a documentary that provided moderate distraction. She held on to Charlotte’s words of encouragement, her belief that Lauren was in love with her, too.

  When the plane touched down, Cam’s nerves clicked into high gear. The calm she’d managed to hold on to evaporated, leaving her antsy and a little sick to her stomach. The massive line at customs didn’t help, nor did the jumble of noises and smells in the terminal. She weaved her way through the throngs of people to the queue for t
axis, offering a small prayer of gratitude that only a handful of people waited in front of her. She gave the driver Lauren’s address and settled back for the ride into Manhattan.

  Crap. She was supposed to text Charlotte when she landed. She pulled out her phone and disabled airplane mode. She waited while it searched for a signal, then agreed to the daily international roaming fee. A string of beeps and chirps announced the messages she’d missed in the interim. One was from Charlotte, no surprise. Another was from Sophie, wishing her luck. Cam smiled. Sophie played the part of pragmatist well, but she was a romantic at heart. And then she saw the text from Lauren.

  Anja told me you were coming. Wanted you to know I’m glad. Let me know when you land.

  Cam ran a hand through her hair. Lauren knew. That in itself was a relief. Cam read the message again. I’m glad. Not the most effusive response, but far better than she had any right to expect. And if Lauren really was glad, it might mean all was not lost. She’d started this insane trip clinging to that belief, but had held hope at bay so it would hurt less if Lauren wanted nothing to do with her.

  In a taxi. On my way to your place. She hit send, then added, If that’s okay.

  She glanced out the window and tried to take in the sights, absorb the sheer magnitude of the Manhattan skyline, but her eyes and her attention kept returning to the screen. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long for a response. The doorman is expecting you. Come on up.

  Cam’s leg bounced up and down. The combination of nerves and sitting for so many hours had overwhelmed any hope she had of remaining still. What did Lauren mean? Would they have a magical reunion and fall into one another’s arms? Or was Lauren waiting to throw a drink in her face and slam the door? Even as her imagination spun out one horrible scenario after another, she talked herself down. If Lauren wanted to throw a drink at her, she’d probably have done so already. Even if they didn’t get to live happily ever after, it wouldn’t devolve into that.

  When the car came to a stop outside of Lauren’s building, Cam’s stomach lodged itself somewhere near her tonsils. It didn’t help that the building was taller, the entrance grander, than she anticipated. Oh, and there was a doorman. At least he wasn’t in one of those uniforms like she’d seen in the movies. Just a black shirt and pants with a pewter colored tie. Standing out front like he was waiting for her. He wasn’t waiting for her, was he?