We’d promised to always be friends the last time I’d seen him. We’d promised each other a lot of things when we were kids, and most of them hadn’t come true. I remember how tightly we’d hugged each other, both getting ready to go to college. We’d sworn we’d talk every day, and we had for a while . . . until we hadn’t anymore. Until it had been weeks, and then months, and then years since we’d last spoken. It happened so slowly that I’d hardly felt how much I missed him until it was too late. Until it had been so long that it would have been strange to reach out. We both got busy, working summers, taking internships. He’d moved to New York to get his master’s, and as far as I knew, he hasn’t been back in town for more than a day at a time since.
“You should get together, catch up with him when he gets back,” Autumn says, cutting into my thoughts.
“Maybe,” I say.
“I wonder what he looks like now. He was always cute,” Autumn says. I flush, glad my sister can’t see me. I’d thought so too, and I’d thought it a lot. For a while, I’d thought maybe Anthony and I, one day, could be more than friends, but I’d never wanted to say anything and ruin what we had.
“You were thirteen the last time you saw him,” I point out, and Autumn laughs. I’m glad to hear it.
“Old enough to know he was cute,” Autumn says. I smile to myself. I’ve never admitted how I used to feel about Anthony, but I’d rather talk to my sister about cute guys than the police and guns and attacks. It almost feels normal.
“Who else did you think was hot when you were thirteen?” I ask, hoping to keep it going. Autumn goes with it like she needs to feel normal for a while too, and we talk about all the boys we used to know all evening.
It keeps the thought of gunshots and motorcycles and the terror of dead bodies off my mind. For a while, at least.
Chapter Two - Anthony
My office has been like a second home for years, so watching the movers take it apart, box by box, is a strange experience. I’ve spent a lot of time in this room with its giant sun-soaked windows looking down at the busy Manhattan streets below – its lush blue carpeting and its expensive imported furniture. The furniture is going with me, but everything else is about to be totally different. I have to fight the urge to tell the movers to box things differently, the urge to jump and do it myself. I’ve paid them too much money for that, and even if I never would have stacked boxes in that order, or used that size box for the files . . . They’re highly recommended. They’re supposed to be the best.
I’m grateful for the distraction when my secretary, Natalie, approaches me, smiling.
“I was hoping you had time for a private goodbye,” she says, putting a hand on my arm. I grin. Natalie and I have had sex several times in the past year or so – incredibly casual and with no strings. In most offices, that might be frowned upon, but since this office, this whole business, is entirely mine, there is no one to tell me or Natalie that we can’t have some fun every once in a while.
“I think I might,” I say, letting my eyes traverse Natalie’s body. She’s looking extra sexy today, and I grin. She’s always sexy, always perfectly groomed, dressed in skirts that flatter her curves. Today is no exception. The heels she wears make her legs look as if they go on for miles, and her hair is pulled back on top of her head, exposing the tempting skin of her shoulders and neck to me.
“Excellent,” Natalie says, walking toward the boardroom, swinging her hips as she does.
She closes the door behind us and wastes no time putting her hands on me, going for my belt buckle. I run my hands up her thighs, sliding them under her skirt and rubbing at her clit through the fabric of her panties. She’s already soaking wet.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” she says, bucking at my touch. “About giving you a memorable send-off.” She undoes my belt buckle and then steps back, sitting on the edge of the boardroom table. She lifts her hips up and slides her underwear off, raising a challenging eyebrow at me as she does. I’m already hard, uncomfortable against my pants, as I step toward her.
“Good,” I say. I pull my pants down to my knees, stroking my cock a few times. Her eyes are on me, and she’s licking her lips. “A conference room fuck for the road?”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” she says. She spreads her legs wide and slides her own fingers over her clit, slowly, holding my eyes.
“Me too,” I say, stepping all the way in between her legs. She gasps and nods, putting her head on my neck as I run my fingers through her wetness. I take my cock in my hand and guide it inside her. She lets out a muffled shout into my neck and grips my shoulders tightly as I start to fuck her, hard and fast.
“God, yes,” she says, wrapping her legs around me and pulling me in closer. She’s warm and wet around me. I think I needed this today, needed this release. I put my hands on her thighs, squeezing them as I continue to fuck her. She’s still gasping into my neck, biting out curses. We’ve done this enough times that I know what she likes, what she wants, and what she responds to. Natalie likes these hard and fast fucks, these ones that are a little dangerous, that come with a little risk.
I enjoy it too, get off on the thrill of it. It’s my office, so the risk isn’t actually very high, but the idea of fucking a secretary in the conference room is still hot, even if this is far from this first time.
She digs her fingers into my shoulders and screams into my neck as she comes, and I come inside her several strokes later. She unwraps her legs from around me, and we both breathe heavily, silent for a bit.
“Good luck in . . . is it Arizona?” Natalie asks, after a minute, as she shifts her skirt back down over her hips.
“Alabama,” I say, shaking my head.
“I can’t imagine a man like you in a small town in the south,” Natalie says. She moves her hands to her hair, fixing the pins in it as we talk.
“I grew up there, and I think it will be good for my son,” I say. It’s what I’ve been telling everyone, and it’s mostly the truth. My son, David, has never been outside of New York. I do think it will be good for him to be around my family and to have space to run around.
“Well, we’ll miss you around here,” Natalie says, shaking her head.
“I’ll be around through video chat,” I say, and Natalie laughs, standing up and walking towards me as she does.
“Won’t be the same,” she says.
“I think you’ll be surprised. I need to go check on the movers,” I say. I consider saying I’ll keep in touch with her personally, or that she could come visit me, or even that we could get a drink next time I am back in town. We would both know it would be a lie, that I’ll never do those things. So I don’t say it or anything else. I pull Natalie into a quick hug and then head back to my office.
It’s empty now, and the boxes standing in the corners look out of place already. I shake my head, looking around again at everything I’ve built here.
“Never thought you’d leave the city,” Todd says, coming up and clapping me on the shoulder.
“I always told you I might someday,” I say. Todd is one of the first people I brought on board, and we’ve survived a lot of happy hours and networking events together. He’s one of the people that make me so confident in my ability to run things remotely.
“I didn’t think you were serious,” Todd says.
“It’s best for David,” I say. “We’ll be around my family.”
“Do you ever hear from . . . ” Todd starts and then stops. I frown, knowing what he was going to ask. Todd has been around long enough that he remembers David’s mother, Michelle.
“Rarely,” I say. Michelle was from California, and I hadn’t met her family until her funeral. There had been plans for them to come out to meet David when he was born, but after she died, they’d never made it to New York. Sometimes her mom still calls and talks about wanting to spend time with David, maybe take him in for a week in the summer, but so far, nothing has come of it. I send pictures of David and
scans of his art because it’s what Michelle would have wanted, but I don’t go out of my way to keep them updated or tell them stories about his life. They’ve never asked for them or really reached out to me, either. I hope that one day it’s better, that David can be closer to his mother’s parents, but for now they’re barely more than strangers to him.
It’s been almost five years since Michelle died, and I’ve spent a lot more time telling myself it’s been okay than it actually has been. I’ve worked harder, nearly doubling my fortune while expanding the company. I’ve taken out countless beautiful women and told myself I’ve been enjoying every moment of it. Lately, I’ve been thinking it’s not true because I’m not happy. I’ve been using work and sex to fill how fucking lonely and bored I’ve been since Michelle died, and it’s making me miserable.
I don’t think it’s good for me, or David, to stay here any longer. He needs to see people who aren’t just me and the few nannies he’s had. He needs a father who is thinking clearly. I don’t know if going home will help or if it will actually make me any happier, but I feel like I’ve hit a wall and I need to do something. I feel like if I stay here, I’ll keep doing the same things: bringing women to bars and hotel rooms, throwing myself into work. No amount of money in the bank or nights of incredible sex have helped me at all.
“They’re far away no matter where you are, though, right? So I guess it wouldn’t make a difference to them,” Todd says, bringing me out of my thoughts. I haven’t told anyone about any of my reasons for moving home – the reasons that have nothing to do with David – and I don’t plan to. David is reason enough.
“And I have family who can’t wait to spoil him,” I say, smirking, thinking of the pictures my mom has already sent of things she’s bought him.
“How much more spoiled can the only child of a billionaire be?” Todd asks.
“You’d be surprised,” I say. In my office, a mover picks up the last box and carries it out. The office is empty now, and I’m glad. I’m ready. It’s time to go home.
Chapter Three - Brooke
Lately, I haven’t had enough to do at work to keep me busy – at least busy enough to not spend all day worrying about other things. The scheduling software has become so second nature that I can use it without really thinking. Adding in new client information or staff availability only takes me a few minutes at a time. It’s always been fairly easy work for me, but the longer I’m here, the more it barely feels like I’m putting an effort in at all.
The only complications really occur when my immediate supervisor, Anne, makes it a point to hover over me, telling me things she’s sure I’m doing wrong or she would do differently, as well as all the things I should do for her. I mostly try to tune her out. Anne is a woman her fifties with a pinched sort of look on her face all the time. She spends half her days taking calls from her kids. If I really wanted to start trouble, I would point out to her (or, better yet, her boss) that if she spent less of her day bothering me and talking to her college-aged son about what he ate for breakfast, productivity would shoot way up. I’ve been tempted, especially at times when she’s made passive-aggressive comments about my outfits or criticized how I spoke to a customer over the phone, but I probably never will. I have enough conflict in my life right now that I don’t need to make waves at work.
Anne’s on the phone right now with one of her younger kids, and I can hear concerns about summer camp and bug spray drifting into my cubicle no matter how hard I try to not listen. I check my own cell phone, frowning at the two missed calls from Jeff on it. At least he doesn’t call me at my work number. Yet, anyway. But the calls to my cell phone and his appearances at places he knows I’ll be are getting a lot more frequent.
I had honestly thought, at first, that maybe he’d get over it and give up after a few weeks. Jeff has never had much of an attention span or any real ambition. But for some reason, this seems to be the one thing he’s actually decided to follow through on. He’s certainly more dedicated to it than he ever was to our relationship.
I’m not sure how to make him stop. The fifty thousand dollars he wants to keep his mouth shut is more money than I could ever possibly get. It’s more money than I make in an entire year, and the idea of having it to just hand over to Jeff feels impossible. I have to do something, though. Keeping Jeff quiet is the only way I can ensure Autumn stays safe. There has to be an option, a way to make Jeff forget about all of this, that I just haven’t seen yet. I know I will. I have to.
I shake my head and put my phone away. I don’t want to think about Jeff right now. I can’t. I can’t spin myself in those circles. I enter some client data in a spreadsheet and try to push thoughts of Jeff out of my mind. I wonder if Anthony is back in town yet, and if he is, how long it will be before I see him. I wonder what he looks like, what he acts like, what kind of person he is now. I have a hard time believing he’s changed much, but I also have a hard time thinking of the boy I once knew as a billionaire with a kid. Maybe we wouldn’t get along at all now. Maybe he’s become a totally different person. Maybe I’ll run into him and we’ll have nothing to say to each other. Maybe seeing him again will be awkward and make me sad for what once was.
But maybe it won’t. Maybe Anthony will still be Anthony, and I’ll have the best friend I’ve ever had back in my life. I could really, really use a friend right now. I smile, thinking about all time we spent together. All the nights it felt like we were on the brink of being something more, of kissing, of saying what we felt out loud. I thought so many times that it wasn’t just me that both of us felt it, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it – to cross that line. Keeping our friendship intact had felt like the most important thing in the world at the time.
I wonder if he remembers as much as I do . . . If he’s thought of me from time to time during his busy life in New York. I wonder if he remembers our marriage pledge . . . If he ever thinks of it and laughs at how naive and hopeful it had been . . . If he thinks of it and smiles at how important we’d once been to each other.
***
I can see that day in my head like a photograph, crystal clear and sharp. We’d gone to prom together – as friends – and had a fantastic time. We’d danced and laughed and talked all night, sipping on the warm wine we’d snuck in until we were buzzed, our heads swimming with the alcohol and the adrenaline of the evening. At a friend’s after-party bonfire, we’d stolen away, just the two of us, wine in tow.
“This was really fun,” I had said. My hair was in tight pins and curls piled on my head and my face was still heavy with makeup. My feet ached from dancing in heels all day, and I was happy. Really and honestly happy.
“I always have fun with you,” he’d said with a grin. He was still wearing his tuxedo pants, and even if his jacket and tie were long discarded, I’d thought he looked incredibly handsome.
“We’re a good team,” I’d said, drinking more wine and grinning.
“I think this is a lesson,” Anthony had said, smiling back.
“How so?” I’d asked.
“Well, we didn’t have dates for prom, so we took each other and it was a great night,” he’d said, looking thoughtful and reaching for his backpack.
“We probably had a better time than if we’d gone with dates,” I’d said truthfully. I couldn’t imagine having more fun with anyone else than I’d had with Anthony.
“So, what if . . . ” he’d said, stopping and laughing, drinking more wine. “What if we agree to – if we don’t find other people to marry – what if we agreed to marry each other?”
“Marriage is more serious than prom,” I’d said, even though my heart was racing. Secretly, even then, part of me thought I could never have more fun with anyone but Anthony because he was the one for me.
“It is, so we’d need to make it official,” he’d said, pulling a notebook and a pen out of his bag. “We need a contract.”
“Seriously?” I’d said, laughing. I was nodding, though, thinking it made sense. T
hat it was a good thing to promise.
“Seriously, if we’re not married by the time we’re, say . . . thirty? Then we’ll marry each other,” he’d said, catching my eyes and grinning broadly. I’d taken another long drink of wine, laughing.
“You’re going to go to college and meet, like, fifty hot girls a week. They’ll be lined up to marry you,” I’d said.
“And some super charming, rich, and devastatingly handsome guy, is going to sweep you off your feet, but,” he’d said, putting a hand on my arm, “just in case.”
“Just in case,” I’d echoed, turning the idea over in my mind. Maybe that was part of what having a best friend was, I’d thought. Someone to keep you from being lonely. Thirty had sounded awfully far away, and I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like then, but I liked the idea of Anthony still being in it.
“Are you in? Will you marry me? . . . If neither of us is married by the time we’re thirty?” Anthony had asked.
“Let’s do it,” I’d said, laughing again and leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Perfect. Okay, so we need to make it official,” he’d said. He opened his notebook and started to write out a contract, detailing the arrangement we’d just made. He signed it and then passed it to me. I’d signed it, warm wine still making me dizzy and the far-off sounds of our classmates’ conversations drifting over the night air.
“Wait, I have an idea,” I’d said. I reached into the pockets of my jeans and pulled out a safety pin, one of the ones that had been tucked into the fabric of my prom dress – the only kind of custom alteration I could afford. I’d opened the pin and smiled at him.
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