The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  She looks around as if she’ll find someone else in here. “How’d you miss it when it’s just the two of us?”

  “I said I’m sorry.” Pushing up, I grab my keys from the bar. “Are you ready?”

  Her arms lower to her side, but she’s not made any other effort to leave. “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I can’t lie to her. I’d be pissed if she did to me. We’re heading out of the honeymoon phase of this relationship, and I had looked forward to us getting more serious. “I like what you’ve done. I love it. I think it will get over asking if you sell it.”

  Her eyes slide around the room as if the thought is unfathomable. “Why would I sell it? I just finished it.”

  “My apartment is bigger.” I should have just said it instead of hinting around at what I’ve been thinking.

  She scoffs, a humorless chuckle blending in at the end. “What does your apartment have to do with . . .” She stands—her jeans are skintight, and the hot pink top highlights her fantastic tits. Her chest rises and falls, and even though I know I shouldn’t look, I can’t stop myself. “Are you talking about me moving in with you? Upstairs? Living together? The two of us?”

  “You can phrase it however it sounds best, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “You have?” She doesn’t sound so mad right now. She comes to me and wraps her arms around me. With her head on my chest, she asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m saying it now.”

  When she steps back, this time when she laughs, it reaches her eyes. “You’re saying it now because I put your vague remarks together to form the big picture.”

  “Right, but it’s out there . . . now.” I tug at my collar. “Is it hot in here?”

  “No. It’s just how you like it. I always have the thermostat at the acceptable Andrew Christiansen temp just in case you come down to see me.” Slipping on a coat, she heads for the door but doesn’t open it. “Moving in together is a big step. I know we spend most nights together but living together is different. Even though you didn’t ask, do you mind if I think about it?”

  “Think about it like how you’ve been mulling over the job proposition for the last month?”

  “Yes.”

  I shove my phone and keys in my jacket pocket and head out. When I pass her, I ask, “Why does this not surprise me?”

  “I have no idea. That’s really more for you to ponder than for me to answer.”

  “Stop.” She does, five feet behind me. I don’t know why that bugs me, but it does. I close three of the feet. “I’m not asking you to move in, Juni.”

  Fifty emotions flicker across her face, but the one that sticks is hurt. “That’s what I get for assuming.”

  “I’m not asking you right now. I had planned to ask you soon, but you were so invested in making this apartment all yours that it made me think I was making a mistake.”

  “How soon?”

  I close the rest of the distance and take her by the belt loops. “Last month.”

  “Oh that was really soon.”

  “And then I chickened out.” I swallow my pride and give the woman credit where it’s due. “The apartment is great, and since it’s always at the perfect temperature according to many studies and national reviews of cohabitating in office spaces.”

  She straightens my jacket and then pulls me in for a kiss. “And cohabitating in your personal life?”

  “Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” I kiss her again. We argue very little, but we still have a few hurdles to jump. I push the button to call the elevator, and she says, “I think I’m turning in my resignation.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re right. I’ve been wondering what to do with my life for years. CWM gave me a soft place to land, but it’s time I launch again.”

  We enter the elevator. I want to be happy for her, but I know what this means for me. I refuse to be selfish. One hint of fear or disappointment injected into the conversation and she’ll focus more on pleasing others than doing what’s right for herself. “Do you know what you want to do?”

  “I’m going to return to research and working in labs as a botanist. I actually might even try my hand at working for one of the gardens around the city or in one of the other boroughs.” She rests easily against the handrail, some of the burden she’s been carrying now lifted. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll train the new reception assistant on everything.” She nudges me. “Except on 12:15. That’s our thing.”

  Chuckling, I say, “I’m going to miss our lunchtime dates.”

  “Well, you never know. I might be close enough to make lunchtime visits to a certain CEO.”

  “That certain CEO better be me, Ms. Jacobs.”

  “But of course, Mr. Christiansen. Only you.”

  I chuckle, but inside, I like that very much.

  Our hands come together when we enter the lobby. Women love holding hands. I used to think it was their way of claiming them in a public way, but now I get it. It’s not about stakes in the world. It’s about the connection. Her skin is soft, her fingers entwined with mine, and there’s an intimacy shared without saying a word.

  And fine, it strokes my ego to be the one who gets to hold her hand.

  We’re taken to our table as soon as we enter Asado, the restaurant Nick’s been raving about for months. We order drinks, and once we get them, we decide to look over the menu. I say, “I heard the empanadas are good.”

  “I love empanadas.” She sips her drink but then chokes on it and starts coughing while looking over my shoulder. “Oh shit.”

  I’m rubbing off on her. I look behind me as Justin saunters over. Fuck. I turn around and whisper, “If he says one fucking word, I’m gonna knock him out.”

  Through a scratchy voice, she says, “I’ll handle this.” Coughing to clear her throat, she then gulps water. “What are you doing here?”

  “No, hi, Justin, how’ve you been?”

  My heart starts pounding. Not only from the sound of his voice but also from what he said to Juni that became the last nail in his coffin. He’s all smiles, eyeing her like the fucking asshole he is, but he’s failed to notice me. When he finally moves to the side of us, his shit-eating grin is wiped clean off his face. “Mr. Christiansen . . .” His gaze volleys back and forth between us. “Oh. Um.” But then his eyes bounce to the drinks in front of us to the way we’re dressed. “You guys are dating.”

  I want to remind him that it’s not against policy, but he knows. It would be different if it were him dating Juni than me. He knows that too. I ask, “Are you working?”

  “Very funny. I’m dining with friends. I don’t have to be a CEO to afford dinner at a nice restaurant.” His gaze returns to Juni. She shifts, and I know she’s struggling with what she can and can’t say just like I am. “From the silence, I take it I’m right. But let me ask you, did you have the ability to say no to your boss?”

  Fuck.

  My eyes stay fixed on her even when he leans down to taunt her. I keep my anxious fists under the table.

  Her body angles toward him, and she says, “You have it all wrong. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Standing back, he laughs. “A woman who likes to take charge. I can respect that, but the clients still won’t look kindly on Andrew fucking beneath his station.” The fuck did he just say? I stand as he walks away looking like the conceited ass he is, my chair rocking back on two legs precariously. I will not let that bastard walk away like that.

  “Drew,” Juni says, her tone firm. When I meet her eyes, she shakes her head. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “It’s not about me. It’s about you and your name being dragged through the mud. I don’t want that for you.”

  She holds her hand out for me. I look back at Justin weaving through the restaurant to a table for four near th
e windows. When I turn back, she hasn’t moved, her arm still raised, her hand in offering. I take hold of it and sit down.

  Both her hands cover mine, and she says, “There’s no proverbial mud to drag me through. I’m not Page Six-worthy material. Me sleeping with you won’t affect my job aspirations. But for you, it matters.”

  “You said it yourself. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “In fact, you’ve done everything right.” We don’t order the empanadas because we’ve lost our appetite. “I think we should start talking, tentatively, about potentially moving in together.”

  I forget all else the moment she says that. The woman who has a fear of commitment just tentatively, potentially committed to me. I’ll take it. It’s not a no.

  Juni

  I’m not sure what happened.

  One minute, I was making plans with my boyfriend to move in with him, and the next, we’re treading even more carefully around the office.

  Justin talked all right, to anyone who would listen. But thankfully, most people in the office either didn’t really care or didn’t let on. Although I got a few dirty stares. I don’t know why other than Mary became an ally, hinting the haters were jealous. She also said she’d known for a while and stopped staying during the lunch hour after overhearing something unmentionable. She actually coughed, but I got her drift.

  Needless to say, we put a pause on the lunchtime rendezvous. No need to add to the potential fire.

  Andrew’s family didn’t like the unwanted attention, however. They prefer to be the ones in charge of the narrative. They’re okay. Cookie even sent me a text that read: check please and had a laughing emoji.

  At least she has a sense of humor about it. As for me, I can still feel the same mortification I felt at brunch when Tatum said sex with Andrew must be incredible. By the way, I told her it was.

  His family’s support has helped both of us feel calmer and more . . . settled.

  The past seven days have been weird, though. It’s the most time we’ve spent apart since we met. I’ve slept in his apartment some nights, wanting that sense of being with him, but the past two nights, I’ve been back in mine. I’m missing him more than I thought possible.

  It’s Friday, and I’m still waiting for him to text me about how the meeting went with three of CWM’s wealthiest clients, tech giants who live in Seattle. From what I can gather, it’s been tough going.

  33

  Drew

  I have two days to get back and pack my shit for Seattle.

  My suitcase is loaded in the back as I slip inside the car. I shut the door and angle my legs in the dark back seat. “Hi,” Nick says.

  “Fuck, dude.” I grab my heart. “You trying to give me a fucking heart attack?”

  The car pulls away from passenger pickup to start the journey home. Home? I think that’s the first time I said that and meant it. I’m pretty sure that has more to do with a certain blonde than the apartment.

  He says, “Actually, no, I wasn’t.” By his cackling, he’s enjoying that he scared the shit out of me a little too much. “There was no other way to prepare you.”

  “How about a text that says I’m waiting like a creeper in the back of your car so don’t freak out, okay?”

  “I guess, but what’s the fun in that?”

  “None. That’s the point.” I still shake his hand, and we bump our shoulders together.

  He chuckles. “Glad to see you, brother.”

  Now that my heart has stopped racing, I say, “Good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I heard you only have a few days in New York before you have to get back to Seattle.”

  Resting my back in the corner of the Town Car, I stare out the window. “I leave on Sunday because Monday is already booked with back-to-back meetings.” I pause, and add, “I hated being there when I lived there. This week wasn’t any better.”

  “I swear Seattle is becoming punishment for the dirty deeds we did in another life.”

  His tone catches me off guard. I’m used to my brother being happy-go-lucky these days, so the negativity is unusual. “It feels that way.” His shoulders are at his ears from the stress that’s riding him. His face unshaven and suit wrinkling from a longer workday in appearance than it’s just gone five o’clock.

  Something’s going on. “I know you, Nick. You wouldn’t have come all the way out to the airport just to ride with me back to the city. What’s going on?”

  “I thought you should hear it from family.”

  Mentally bracing myself, I say, “What is it?”

  He sinks back in the chair and runs a hand through his hair—a Christiansen tic. “The advisory board wants one of us to consider moving there permanently until the buyout is finalized with Beacon and off the ground running smoothly.” What the fuck?

  “I spent months getting the operations division up and running. It runs steadier than the tides. The holdup isn’t on our end. As for the buyout, it’s a done deal. Two years in the making.” I remember where I am and lower my voice. “No one knew the attorney general would deny the original application. We thought it was done then, but local governments want to keep their money local. You worked on the contracts. We added the addendum to never move it out of city limits. We’ve jumped through hoops and bent over backward for this deal. Why do we have to live there to secure it? I thought that’s what we just did.” My frustration is getting the better of me. I just stepped off a five-hour flight, working nonstop. I’m tired, and I want to get home to Juni, to lose hours making love to make up for the time I’ve been gone, and then sleep until morning because I’m so exhausted.

  “It gets better.”

  I roll my head to the side to face him. “That’s never a good start.”

  “No, it’s not. They want us there for an extended stay to manage the next quarter or three of our biggest clients have threatened to pull their money and move it to the competition.”

  “That’s bullshit. They were happy at the end of the meeting.”

  “Guess they changed their minds.”

  I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck me.”

  “I’m just the messenger, but I’m going to put it out there—New York is my home now. It’s Natalie’s home. We’re thinking about starting a family soon. We have no intention of moving.”

  “At the risk of your job?”

  “Yes.” His answer is firm with no wiggle room left.

  If he’s willing to walk away from the company for his family, there’s only one other option. As the CEO, I already knew whose shoulders this would fall on. Anyway, I have no choice. We need their money to turn a profit. That’s how we get paid, so I can’t afford to lose them.

  I just worry about what Juni will say.

  “It’s my responsibility.”

  “I’m sorry. I hate putting this back on you.” His words are filled with remorse. I don’t want him to carry that load as well.

  “No, I’m used to it and would do the same thing in your shoes.”

  “What about Juni?”

  We just started talking about living together before I left. Now what happens to that plan? “That’s a good question.”

  Walking through the doors of the apartment building, Pete says, “Welcome home, Mr. Christiansen.”

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t go to my floor but head straight to hers, so ready to kiss her again and have the feel of her soft skin under my hands. Dragging my suitcase down the hall, I stop in front of her door, unsure what I’m going to say about Seattle.

  I need to say something, but what do I say? Nothing is decided. It’s a board recommendation. They’ve asked us to consider it. I roll my eyes. I’m attempting to spin the truth and make it only a possibility. I can’t let my family down. Their legacy. And if I have to move, it would only be for a little while, wouldn’t it?

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Looking down, I wait. The door is a stark reminder of e
verything she was doing to protect herself, even from me, within the past few weeks. Then I gave in to her notions, in to her and my weaker needs, and started to think about the future together.

  The door opens, and I’m kissed so hard that my shoulder blades hit the wall opposite her apartment. I give in, needing this, her, and the hope we can come out on the other side together.

  Dropping to her feet with her arms still wrapped around me, she practically hangs from me like a swing from a tree. All smiles, she asks, “When did you get home?”

  Home?

  There it is again, but this time, it feels right. It’s not the building; it’s her. “Three minutes ago. That’s all it took to get from the front of the building to your joy, beautiful.” That earns a smile. I hold her around the lower back and try to see the differences since I last saw her. Carefree in a loose sundress that hides all the good stuff.

  She still has makeup from going into work. Then I’m reminded how she still works at CWM to stand my ground and save my reputation. She stayed despite giving me her resignation. Any investigation would reveal she enjoys working here and never felt pressured by me or any other staff, excluding Justin, of course.

  I say, “Let’s get inside.”

  She’s quick to roll the suitcase right into her life with no questions asked. She’d have questions if she knew I was leaving. Am I lying by omission?

  She asks, “Are you hungry? I was thinking homemade meatballs and red sauce.”

  “That sounds incredible.”

  Since we’ve been dating, the cooking concerts have moved to a more sociable hour. I never complain anymore and score with the food created.

  While she cooks, I shower, hoping some of the guilt will wash down the drain. I feel a lot better clean and on a full stomach. “I’m so tired. I never adjusted from East Coast time.”

  “We might be able to save you just yet,” she says, reveling because I used to say my heart was West Coast all the way. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way—since last April.

  I’m tempted to hold her, but when we climb under the covers, one kiss leads to another and two orgasms. I can willingly admit that I felt no shame a few minutes ago as I lay in recovery. But then it sneaks back in without my permission. I’m not going to get a night’s reprieve to enjoy our relationship before it falls apart.