The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  “That’s cool. I’m heading over to talk with the boss man. Want to come?”

  Now, this is the kind of offer I can get on board with. Leaving space between us gives others the opportunity to join in as well. Drew is in full-on CEO Andrew mode right now, so I flip that switch in my mind and try to keep my thoughts in line.

  It’s just so hard when I can still feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck, the heat of his hand imprinted on my hip, and those eyes that intimidate any guy who dares to look my way. Yeah, I’ve noticed. How is it possible that he’s even hotter when he’s protective of me? Damn him.

  I don’t think I cared how long it had been since I was with a man until I met him. Owning toys might get the job done, but there’s no passion when it comes to anything requiring batteries and an instruction manual. I miss the emotion, someone telling me I’m beautiful, falling asleep in someone’s arms, and sitting beside them on a lazy Sunday, even if they told me I had overstayed my welcome.

  Dating in New York is tough. Most men want a girlfriend but not a wife, a whore in bed but not a significant other come morning. I’ve had one-night stands and don’t judge others for trying to fulfill their own emptiness. I miss the other stuff, the life that comes after when you connect on a deeper level—good morning kisses, coffee, and a scone in bed together, or losing a day lost in each other.

  It’s not just what I miss. It’s what I want.

  Gil was right. I’m ready. I’ve just been my own worst enemy.

  Julie makes talking to the head honcho look so easy. Her light laughter and expressive arms as she talks with Andrew about the recent wild ride of the market. I attempt to join in as a group of stockbrokers talk shop with him but somehow get cut out of the conversation.

  I take a sip of my water and look around. Making eye contact with Nick, I’m reminded I want to thank him. When he waves me over, I’m about to work my way around the table but stop and turn back when I hear my name being called in that deep tone that makes my tummy tighten.

  Andrew says, “Do you want to join us?”

  I know he wants me here, but the collective expressions of the others tell me to stay back.“Thank you, but I was just going to visit with someone over there.” I point indirectly to an area that could really signify half the bar, but he’s not dumb. He knows an excuse when he hears one.

  The group returns to slobbering at his feet, and I head in Nick’s direction. Nick has his arm around his wife but lowers it to her waist when I approach. “Juni, I want you to meet my wife, Natalie. Natalie, this is who I was telling you about. Juni Jacobs.”

  Natalie practically gasps, her lips parting in the same shared excitement Nick has. Reaching forward, she holds my forearm. “I’ve heard so much about you. Also, you have an incredibly great name.” Leaning back against her husband. They make a beautiful couple, but it’s the love that you can see shared between them when they’re together that is most notable.

  My heart squeezes, letting me know it’s there.

  “Thank you, but you’re making me curious what was said.”

  They laugh, but I’m still not in on the joke. Making our circle smaller, she says, “Nick has told me you’ve been quite the asset to CWM, but before that, you helped Andrew out on one of Cookie’s missions.”

  “What’s a cookie mission?”

  Nick gets pulled away, but Natalie stays to chat as if we’re allies, ready to give me the insider’s scoop. “Cookie Christiansen is Nick and Andrew’s mother.”

  “I’ve heard about her, but I’m not sure I knew her name was Cookie. That’s unique.”

  “It is, like her.” She takes a sip through the straw of what looks like a vodka soda with lime, and then adds, “You’ll love her. She’s amazing.”

  “She sounds like it, but I’m not sure I’ll ever meet her. I’m just covering the reception desk temporarily while Melissa’s on maternity leave.”

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows pull together. “Oh, I thought you and Andrew were. . .” She looks across the tables at Andrew standing at the other end, the confusion deepening in her skin. When she turns back, she says, “My apologies. I think I misunderstood.”

  “It’s okay. Drew and I have become good friends.” I’d love to confide in someone and share how cute he was eating rocky road ice cream, or how he called me babe when he was drunk, and now it’s a running joke. Or even that he slips and allows kismet into his life when he’s not busy rejecting that it exists. There are so many things I’d love to talk to a friend and share, and I’m pretty sure Gil doesn’t want to hear them.

  Although she seems to understand the reality of my relationship with her brother-in-law, her expression soon changes, and a good-natured grin appears. She takes another pull from the straw like she just might not believe me. “That’s sweet that you call him Drew. You’re the only one.”

  I didn’t realize I had slipped with his name. “Oh, um—”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Nick’s said so many nice things about you and Andrew that I thought it was . . .” She glances at the group nearby, and then whispers to me, “Not so private. But I can imagine that’s best when you work together.”

  Before I have time to process that she’s practically welcomed me into the family by assuming Drew and I are having some torrid love affair, she asks, “Do you like shopping? I’ve built a business around it, but my best friend, Tatum, and I are meeting for brunch on Sunday and then going shopping. I’d love for you to join us. By the way, your outfit is to die for. From the Louboutins to the Chanel sweater—impeccable.”

  “The sweater was my grandmother’s. She loved fashion but was conservative in the way she dressed. She has a closet full of Chanel and St. John.”

  “It’s vintage? It’s gorgeous. And there’s nothing like the classic round toe pump.”

  I like her. She could be a model from her beauty alone, but her kindness makes her approachable. I haven’t talked about clothes or even cared about them since my grandmother passed away. Lately, I’ve chosen what to wear the night before, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of Drew. The name alone has me scanning the crowd for him. When our eyes meet, he smirks. There’s something mischievous, something naughty about it, but I know it’s just for me.

  I smile right back and then take a drink. Talking clothes and shoes, shopping, and brunch with women around my age sounds amazing, so I say, “I’d love to come on Sunday.”

  “Great. It will be so much fun.” We exchange numbers before she rejoins Nick’s side and gets caught up in a conversation with her brother, Jackson.

  Close to calling it a night, I head for the restroom. When I come out, I see Drew standing near the entrance to the main part of the bar. “Are you waiting for me?” I tease with a wink.

  “Yes.” There’s no deviation in his tone. He’s dead serious, or sexy serious, which fits him better.

  His answer surprises me, and my mind starts spinning, wondering if I am reading this situation all wrong. “Am I in trouble?”

  “By the looks of it.” I don’t quite catch on until it registers that he’s referring to himself. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

  My lips part, allowing me to take the breath I need to calm my racing heart. It doesn’t work, so I lean into it, the thread of friendship narrowing with every minute we spent together. I almost wonder if we’ve been fooling ourselves all along and were always destined to end up like this. “I was just leaving.”

  “What a coincidence. I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

  21

  Drew

  I can’t blame the alcohol.

  I’d only had one drink. That’s my professional limit when I’m with colleagues. Clients are different. When they’re trusting you with their money, they want to know you can hold your liquor. How one equals the other has never made sense, but I didn’t make the rules. I just have to play by them.

  Play . . .

  Is that wha
t Juni and I are doing? Playing? It’s a game we’ll lose if we’re not careful. But caution was left at the bar along with my code of ethics.

  Being a man is no excuse for wanting her the way I do, but I’m not alone in my thinking. I’ve seen the way she gets jealous. Michelle about had Juni blowing steam out her ears. That was good for my ego and a turn-on, but it’s been silent in the back of the car, leaving me to second-guess myself.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. Sleeping with my receptionist is not only a cliché but could also end badly. I need to drop her off and go home alone.

  The neon signs from outside pass in a flash, leaving shadows in their wake. We stop at a light, and I look over at her. “Juni?”

  “Drew?”

  We speak at the same time. Laughing, we both reply, “Yes?” in unison.

  “Jinx,” I add, which makes her smile. “You go first.”

  As I work through her body language, she appears to be relaxed. There’s no tension found in her shoulders or anywhere else, but then she asks, “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “I was just wondering the same.” I reach over and take her hand. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship. I enjoy our late-night adventures and seeing you at work. If we do anything, that would all change.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “I promise you it’s not from lack of attraction or wanting to be with you sexually.”

  Her fingers wrap around mine, holding tight to my hand. “That’s just it. I feel the same. Doesn’t that mean it’s already too late?”

  “That’s a fair point.” I’m not sure what else to say.

  But she does. Leaning forward, she tells my driver, “Mr. Christiansen’s place, please.”

  My driver knows what this is but doesn’t judge from the comfort of the driver’s seat. He replies, “Yes, ma’am,” but his eyes never leave the street ahead. It’s a first for me having company come home as much as it is for him to witness it.

  She sits back again. This time, a little closer. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but I’m not going to complain. The car pulls to the curb, and Gil runs out. He opens the door and says, “Welcome home, Andrew.”

  I slide out and then bend back to help Juni. Gil’s reaction is strange when he sees her, words escaping him. So her feelings aren’t hurt, I say, “Gil, this is Juni,” hoping he’ll show her the same courtesy he always shows me.

  “Uh . . .”

  Juni smiles, and though it seems a little tighter than usual, she’s still so beautiful. “Hi, Gil.”

  “Hello,” he replies, curt in a way I’ve not heard him before. His departure is just as abrupt.

  I glance at her, and quietly say, “He’s usually friendlier.”

  “He was perfectly cordial. What do you expect? A lifelong support system? Someone who will lie for you even if they promised their mom on her deathbed not to? How can you possibly expect a man to have your favorite donut on hand just in case you had a bad day or need a sugar pick-me-up?” She releases my hand as if that will win her a point and then raises her voice. “Geez, Andrew. Give the man a break. That’s a lot of responsibility to put on the shoulders of the doorman.”

  I force myself to blink because I can’t make any sense out of how this turned into an argument between us. “I don’t expect anything of him,” I reply like I have to explain I’m not a total asshole to Gil. “Just opening the door is great. But if I’m being honest, I don’t need someone to open a door for me. I know having a doorman is a thing to brag about in Manhattan, but I’m perfectly capable.”

  I’m poked in the chest, and then she wags her finger at me. “Well, keep that to yourself, mister, or you might risk his job, and he has a family to support.”

  “What? I’m—I, uh. I’m not reporting him.” I spy Gil out of the corners of my eyes, and now I’m thinking about his life outside this building, and his daughter, Izzy, his wife, and the girl he considers his daughter. He gives us privacy, keeping his gaze aimed straight down the avenue. More importantly, how did I manage to upset her? I’m beginning to think we’re not going to make it upstairs.

  Remembering a time when my dad sat Nick and me down for a heart-to-heart, I didn’t understand what he meant back then. Now I do and say the one thing he told us to say if a woman is ever mad at us. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter what we did or didn’t do. Take the blame, pay the price, but always apologize.

  Juni drags her hand down the side of her hair, taming flyaway strands, but the puzzled expression aimed at me is unmistakable—narrowed eyes and pushed-together brows form a little line in the middle. “Why are you sorry?”

  “For upsetting you.”

  “I’m not upset.” The scowl on her face tells me otherwise.

  Scratching my head, I stand there watching her walk toward the door. I’m so lost that I don’t think I can get this train back on track when it comes to her, but I’ll make the effort and follow her.

  Juni and Gil are whispering when I approach. Gil clears his throat and holds the door open wider for us to enter. They’re both acting weird.

  Once inside, we head for the elevators as Gil sits down behind the desk. He turns up the volume on what sounds like a Dodgers game. Names of some of the hometown players are called out and up to bat. I ask, “Who’s winning?”

  His gaze stretches across the lobby, and he eyes Juni. “Apparently, not me.”

  “Huh?” I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually so happy-go-lucky, but I guess we all have our off days. Fortunately, the button has been pushed to call the elevator because this is getting uncomfortable.

  “It’s not looking good for the Dodgers,” he replies after a delay, glancing down at the screen propped on his desk.

  Trying to lighten the mood, I laugh. I’m a terrible actor, but I stick with it. “No surprise. They’re always the underdog. Makes it more exciting to root for them.”

  The elevator door opens, and just before Juni steps inside, she looks back at Gil, who’s ripping a bite of a pink donut off like a bear ripping its prey apart. The door closes, and she says, “He seems nice.”

  He seemed out of character to me, but Gil is not who I want to be thinking about right now. Wanting to forget about whatever that was and focus on more interesting riddles to unravel, I slide my arm around her middle. Unlike in the elevator at work, I don’t have to hide how she turns me on this time. Rubbing my thumb along the curve of her waist, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.”

  Still not sounding like herself, I press for more, “Is something wrong?” Dipping my head down, I nuzzle the top of her head. Closing my eyes, I take in the feel of her. This is the closest we’ve ever been, and right now, I don’t want to think about anything other than kissing her as soon as we reach the apartment. Though her smelling of flowers on a spring day has me tempted to do it now. I lower my gaze until I meet hers. “Good is unlike the great Juni Jacobs I know.”

  Her gentle laughter rattles her shoulders, and she angles my way, bringing us closer. “I’m great because I’m with you.” Her hand runs along my lower back, and she asks, “How are you?”

  Nervous.

  Excited.

  Not knowing what comes next.

  I’m always in control of every aspect of my life, so I’m not used to letting things play out organically. Before I have time to collect my thoughts, she adds, “You’re from California. Aren’t you supposed to be more laid-back, all love and going with the flow?”

  “Have we met?” I volley.

  Her laughter erupts and entices me to cut myself some slack. I don’t have to be so serious all the time. My job is just that—my job. It’s time to show her who I really am. And as the laughter dies down, I note that it’s easier to breathe as I relax. My lungs feel like the vise has released them, and my shoulders are lighter.

  I like Juni. I like her energy and enthusiasm, but I envy her freedom. I want a taste of that good life where I can be 100% me. And Juni’s the on
e I want beside me.

  Alcohol isn’t controlling this night, so fuck timelines and old-fashioned dating conventions. I know her, and I want to be a part of her crazy schemes and late-night escapades. I want to get coffee on the way to work with her and sit together on the couch in the evenings talking about our day.

  Is this premature? Maybe, but I’m willing to take the chance tonight to see where it leads me.

  Taking her hand in mine, I spin her away and then bring her in again, keeping my arms wrapped around her this time. We’ve known each other a few weeks, so why have we been fighting our attraction? Holding her in my arms feels like this is how it should have always been. I’m not going as far as to say it’s kismet or destiny, but I’ll give fate a little nod of appreciation.

  Although I know we’re most likely headed to bed, I want more than sex with this woman. I want to be her date because she wants me there, not just as a bargaining chip. Next time she has a function to attend, I want her to ask me because I’m her person. Nothing more to it.

  I can only be so fucking lucky.

  She asks, “Are you going to open the door?”

  “Huh?” I look at the door in front of me, too lost in my thoughts as we walked. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Caught up in my head.”

  “You’re not having doubts, are you?”

  Pinching her chin between my fingers, I’m so close to kissing her but don’t want to do it in this hallway. “I have no doubts.” I push open the door and lead her inside. As for the privacy of my apartment, I’m quick to cup her face, kicking the door closed behind me. I press her back to the door, this time, leaning down with my lips almost touching hers and her breath becoming mine on each exhale.

  That black skirt she wore the other day comes to mind, the shoes she’s wearing now, the way her sweater reveals her curves, and those eyes looking hungrily into mine. Fuck, she’s doing me in.

  Her hands cover mine, and I’m given the gift of seeing her eyes again, hazel in this light. We’re so close, but I just want to take her in. She whispers, “Are you going to kiss me?”