by Grea Warner
“He did?” Ryan had obviously not heard much of my conversation with Andre up to his protective pounce.
“As much as I think he could. But that’s more than I ever expected. So, not only is he not going to ruin tonight, I’m not even going to give him one more thought in my life at all, as long as you don’t, either.”
“Who?” he asked in jest, causing me a legitimate laugh.
“I meant what I said to him, you know.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“Being happy.”
“Me, too, Lenay.” He patted my leg and then lightened the mood. “And I am particularly happy my office is so close by.”
“Ryan!” I smacked his arm.
“What?” he mocked. “Okay, how about song for right now?”
“Hmmm ...” I thought about the solid state we were in as a couple and how much I counted on him for being the brightest spot in my life. “‘You Make Me Smile,’” I settled on.
“All right,” he said in an even but agreeable tone.
“What? You always pull this when you have the most fantastic song in mind.”
“You can always start the game.” He was in as good as a mood as I was—bastard Andre was, indeed, once again in the past.
“Go ahead.” I sighed, ready for him to up me with the best song for the moment.
“Do you know ‘The Way’ by Clay Aiken?”
“No. No. Dang it.”
“Go ahead, look it up. Play it. We’ll probably be able to finish it before getting to the office.”
I already couldn’t wait to make love with Ryan. But that song soaring through the speakers as we entered the indoor parking garage of his office’s building, toppled me right over. He knew I was misty-eyed as he secured the car and we made our way to the elevator. Obviously vacant on a Saturday evening, we entered, and, as he pressed the button for his floor, I took a step toward him.
“Don’t kiss me, Lenay,” he warned, backing up.
“What? Why not?”
Of course I was going to. It had been our thing since nearly forever. When we were still incognito as a couple, the empty elevator was one of the only places we could sneak a kiss in.
“Between the pick-a-wedding-date tease, you not letting me defend you in the lobby ...”
“Thank you for wanting to and for still not,” I said honestly.
“And the fact I love you so dang much,” he continued with the lightest of audible groans. “You seriously need to keep all body parts off me so we actually make it to the office.”
“Geez!” I laughed. “Okay. Okay.” I threw my hands up in surrender mode and backed flat up against the opposite elevator wall. But my sexy stare? I may as well have had my hands entwined in his hair. He decided to deflect by looking at the electronic numbers counting in what seemed to be snail mode.
Finally, we reached his floor. He took my hand and guided me through the darkness. I saw the leather sofa I had sat on while awaiting my first appointment with the music manager, and I saw Anamaria’s desk—always immaculately neat. And then ... the door to his inner sanctum. Ryan took the key from his pant pocket and unlocked it. The other building lights from downtown LA were the only illumination in the room, and that was just fine. In a weird way, it was terribly romantic.
“What about the security cameras?” The thought suddenly flashed into my mind.
“Uh ... I don’t know.” He looked toward the door. “It’s not like I’ve done this before.”
And that had been another of my thoughts after the sex-in-his-office idea kind of steamrolled at the restaurant. Had he with Kari? I had decided I didn’t want to know. But since the answer was what I actually desired, though, I was glad it came out.
“Here, I’ll shut the door,” he offered. “Cameras should only film the lobby area. I’ll check later, though.”
And as soon as the door was shut, Ryan started undoing his belt and simultaneously, haphazardly slapping things off his desk. I looked at the photos hanging on the walls of Ryan with famous musicians and other artists. The ones with Kari had been removed since the divorce revelation, and any personal photos of the kids and me were on his phone and used as his laptop screensaver.
“Come here,” he beckoned with a sexy moan.
When I did, he stood behind me and tilted me slightly over so he could shimmy his way under my petal pink dress and snake my dark pink panties down my legs. I turned around and allowed him to hoist me on top of his nearly cleared-off, smooth desk so I was sitting and facing him. Seeing it was my turn, I partially tugged down his gray slacks and dark briefs. But no other clothes were removed. We just found and met each other repetitively. And it was undeniably sexy and as hot as Hades.
We held each other there for a few minutes after, touching each other’s faces and breathing. And then we did a little giggling as we straightened up the office and made sure to lock up. I was allowed to kiss him that time on the elevator ride down, and it was very much reciprocated. And on our way back to the hotel, we called the kids to wish them a good night.
Making love in the hotel room was completely the opposite of our sex venture in Ryan’s office, but it was not one ounce better or worse. Ryan was gentle as he completely shed me of my dress and nibbled on my shoulder and bra strap. We whispered the words “I love you” numerous times. And when we came together, baring our bodies and our souls, it was with the utmost tenderness, love, and appreciation.
***
“Hey, handsome,” I answered my phone. Since our argument, talk after, and date night a few days or so before, things were so much more relaxed ... so much more us.
“That is no way to talk to your manager,” he jostled back in good humor.
“My manager should use his work phone to call me then,” I assessed.
“Okay, you got me there.”
“Is this a manager call?” I passed over the espresso blend.
“It is ... Miss Opala.”
“Mr. Thompson, sir.” I saluted if not with my hands, then with my voice.
“Geez.” I could picture his slow head shake. “Do you think you can come over here?”
“Your office?” I asked and then quickly added with an edge of sexiness, “But there’s people around.”
“Yes, Miss Opala. And why shouldn’t there be?” He kept in character.
After a part sigh/part groan, I answered my manager correctly. “It’s slow here. I can ask if they can cover the tail end of my shift.” With no one in line at the coffee shop, I started wiping the counter. “Just so I have time to pick up the kids after.”
“Yeah. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Good news?”
“It’s not bad.”
“All right. Let me ask. If it’s a problem, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, see you in a little bit. Mr. Thompson?” I tagged on at the end.
“Yes?” His voice sounded as equally relaxed as mine.
“Can you put Ryan on the phone, please?”
“Lenay ...” And, gosh, so sexy.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too ... so much.”
***
I have a few stand-out times in Ryan’s office. The first time there, for sure. Little did I know how sitting on that leather sofa, palms perspiring with anxiety over meeting such a big manager, would change my life professionally and personally. The time I did the recording for my songwriting demo was a first-time experience and exhilarating. And, of course, our sexy romp after hours. Then ... then there was that afternoon in mid-July.
After saying hi to Anamaria in the reception area, I entered Ryan’s office. I raised my eyebrows twice while looking at his desk, once again full of papers and electronics and such. He laughed as I purposefully leaned over and gave him a kiss.
“Having a hard time concentrating at work now,” he admitted, looking at the desk himself.
And then, getting back to the business at hand, manager Thompson told me the most amazing news. While in the past, I had not been ab
le to stand still when he related something career-changing, it was the opposite. I needed to sit and catch my breath. He sat in his regular chair across the desk from me and seemed almost perplexed at my reaction.
Ryan had presented a proposal from a television network. And it had nothing to do with him. It was for me. They wanted me to be one of the mentors on a new reality show where teams competed to build a star from the ground up—help them write their own original song, sing it, and market it. Winner chosen strictly by television audience.
“Wow!” I managed to breathe. “Did you know anything about this? I mean, before now?”
“No. No, not at all. It was a complete surprise. I know ... I had to present it to you, though.”
“I mean, it’s awesome. It would be so perfect for me. I love it.”
“You want to do it?” His easygoing demeanor seemed to sink a notch.
“Yeah, of course.”
What an opportunity! Was there even a debate? Songwriting? National recognition?
“Shouldn’t you ask your fiancé first?” His eyes narrowed slightly.
Still overwhelmed by the offer, I looked at said fiancé. “What?”
“Talk with me?”
“Okay. What? No? You don’t want me to take it?” I didn’t understand ... was that really what he was alluding to?
“Bethany, I thought you weren’t into all of this. All you wanted to do was write.”
“But that is what I will be doing.” I was still pretty darn excited, but there was a little proverbial poke in my side that said something was going to change that.
And it was his serious and slow tone that was confirming my feeling. “With press and publicity in Nashville.”
“Well, yeah. It will help get my name out there.”
“First of all, your name is already out there. That’s why they picked you.”
I knew and relished the fact that what he said was true, but I also knew another little tidbit that made my name an option. “And because it is a brand-new show and not reputable yet.” I had been around the business and, in particular, Ryan long enough to learn a few insider things. “The big writer names can’t be bothered. They don’t need it like I do.”
He didn’t seem to appreciate my take. In fact, he appeared to be getting more irritated. “I am getting your name out there.”
“I know you are.” I tried to soothe, knowing how much he did for me.
“Are you serious?” He stood up. “This is something you really want? I didn’t think you would. I told them—"
I felt my eyes open wide as I stood, too. “You told them no?” A tingling sensation erupted over both of my arms. “Ryan? You told them no?” I swear I lost vision momentarily with my mix of fury and disbelief. “How could you do that?” I tilted my head and gave him one more chance. “Really?” The sound leaving my lungs was like a wounded, starving animal. “I can’t even ...” I sucked my lips in together and looked at him while I still could. “I ... I’ve gotta get the kids,” even though it was a bit early.
“You’re gonna leave? Not listen?”
“You’re not saying anything I want to hear.”
And retreating was the better solution than a full-blown scene in his place of business. Plus, since it was supposed to be a professional meeting, I would never shout at my manager. But, of course, I probably wouldn’t have walked out like I did, either.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ryan was late coming home from work that night. He had been plenty of times before. But it didn’t take a genius to understand the reason he was on that particular day. He was avoiding me and the sure-fire part two scene that was going to take place. We hadn’t talked or even tried to communicate since I left his office. And even though it had only been a few hours, every minute seemed to escalate the issue like a soaring mountain, where the higher you’d climb, the harder it was to breathe.
Sallie, Joel, and I had waited a little while before eating and then eventually did so without him. He arrived not only after we were done but just as we were about finished cleaning up. The kids were wiping the table, and I was loading the last item into the dishwasher. Entering the room, Ryan kissed the top of Sallie’s head and fluffed Joel’s hair.
“Can you two show your dad the food in the fridge and sit with him?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I knew Sallie and Joel would soak up any time with Ryan. And I didn’t give him time to say anything, either. Because even if it had been kind, I wasn’t at the point of feeling it back. Disbelief had set in for a while, and being with the kids had distracted me somewhat. But him in that room—the two of us together in front of the kids—was not going to work. We would not be able to pull off a positive, everything-is-all-right scene, and that was important for Sallie and Joel. So, I promptly walked out again.
It was a little while later when he found me in the game room. I figured it was long enough for him to have eaten and talked with the kids. It wasn’t long enough, though, for me to cool down from the hurt boiling inside of me.
I started in right where we had left off in his office. “Ryan, that offer was a huge deal to me. You know that, right? And you just blew it off. You couldn’t even ask what I thought or at least be happy for me?”
And he didn’t miss a beat reciprocating. “For goodness sake, Bethany! I’m thrilled for you. I am.”
The way his voice seemed to ache, let me believe at least that much. Yet, it didn’t explain everything else. It didn’t explain why he made that decision for me.
“But ...” I led.
“But nothing. I am.”
That didn’t help. I wasn’t sure if he was saying very little because he thought it was all that needed to be said or because he knew anything additional would lead to more turmoil. But turmoil was what he was going to get because I definitely needed more explanation.
“No. Not nothing. ‘But’ something.” My voice rose and his stayed mute. I tried again. “This is what you worried about, right? When you first agreed to be my manager and we started seeing each other—the personal versus professional line,” I offered, having at least rationally thought of that over our time apart. “The emotions and negotiations.”
“I ... maybe.” He exhaled and sent his neck to one side to crack. “It’s definitely not helping right now.”
“You told me at the office I should ask you—my fiancé—for your opinion. But that’s what I don’t get. Why? Why, if you are thrilled for me”—I threw his words right back at him—“don’t you want me to take this? Because I know it’s not Ryan the manager saying it. Right? Am I right?”
There was the sad sigh again. “No. As a manager, I would tell you it is a fabulous opportunity.”
“Okay,” I replied a little more calmly. “Then why did you shoot it down?”
“First of all, I didn’t completely shoot it down. It can still be on the table. I—” He stopped midsentence and refocused on his justification. “I didn’t think you wanted all the glitz and glamor. You said. We’ve talked about it ... even before ... when I knew I was starting to fall in love with you. I worried—"
Yes, our life goals and other talks ... and things hadn’t changed. “I still don’t want all of that.”
“It’s a big move—career-wise and physically,” was his next counterpoint.
“Career-wise? Big is a good thing, especially when I am just starting out.” I didn’t need to tell him that, he knew. “And, yeah, I know filming is in Nashville.”
That seemed to amp up his emotions-meter another notch and not in a good way. “So, how do you think it’s going to work with you ... us ... the kids? We have a life here. If we’re engaged or married ... God, Bethany, if we’re in love, we can’t live apart. It ... doesn’t ... work.” He spat out the last words like he was a dramatic military sergeant determined to get his command followed.
I heard everything he was saying and knew it was said not only with frustration but with love. But, yet, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand
what was making his stance so adamant. Ryan was one of the most even-tempered people I knew, even with all the pressures of his world. It didn’t make sense.
I tried to keep as calm as I could, all the while still upset with his one-sided decision on the job proposal. “I don’t know how it’s gonna work. I didn’t think about it. I was simply excited. And then I was upset, and I still haven’t thought about it.” Honesty.
“Well, I have. That’s what being an adult is about.” It was like he was saying I wasn’t a parent all over again.
“What? What!” I don’t know if I took a step forward or back or if I stomped ... the latter was probably most likely. “You don’t think I’m an adult? I don’t earn my own keep? Take care of you and the kids? Just because you’re older doesn’t mean—"
“Crap. No. That came out wrong.”
“You better hope it did.” I would have laughed at the irony of my words—sounding both adult and parent-like—but I didn’t because I was once again as upset as I had been when I left his office. “Being an adult doesn’t mean you stop being excited about things or hurt when someone dashes them away as quickly as a falling star.”
Spite. Pure spite. And I meant every stinking word of it.
“Stop! I’m not dashing your—”
“You’re saying ‘no’ to me again.” I was on a roll, using my superb word memory skills to his disadvantage.
He made a low sound, closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose twice, and then looked at me once more. That time, he spoke slower and with more vulnerability than anger. And he did it with a recollection of his own. “You told me I should let you see me sad or scared. I am. I’m scared, okay?”
“What? What can you be scared of?” It seemed so implausible to me. “You’re scared of me being successful?”
“No. Of course I want that for you,” he said right away. “And, by the way, I already think you are.” He paused for a second or two. “I’m scared of you leaving or changing or moving on ... or ... or all of it.”
“What?” It was as if we were having a staring contest like the kids sometimes did.