No one who ever truly wants the person they’re pursuing to pick the option that will make them happy. I’ve learned a lot in business, and being selfish is one of the best tools in your arsenal. So when I told Gemma I wanted her for myself, and for her to make a decision about Cody, I wasn’t secretly hoping that she ended up happy either way. Fuck no. I half-love the girl, I’m not telling her that, and I’d be a masochist to want her to be with someone else.
“Typical.” I hear Cody mutter under his breath before he heads past me.
“What did you say?” I whirl around, on edge enough with the speech I have to give and annoyed that he’s sucking up the air in here.
I fucking hate that Gemma has been with him. Jealousy, that’s a new fucking feeling. I guess I get it now when men say they’d rip out another guy’s throat if they touched their girl. I feel like a goddamn caveman.
“I just get it now. You’re too much of a pussy to just claim the things you want, but you get ’em anyway, don’t you, Anders?”
Cody wasn’t talking about the show. “You really want to go there right now? I’m your boss, man. I thought we had an understanding.”
We didn’t really, but I can’t deal with this right now, and he was one of my best developers.
“Dealt with it? Yeah right, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague since you stole my fucking girlfriend. If you wanted her, you should have put your claim on it before I stepped in when you couldn’t man up.”
I roll my eyes. “Claim her? She’s not a table at a garage sale. She’s a woman. Our relationship was, is, complicated. If she broke up with you, it was her own doing. God knows no one can make Gemma Morgan do something she doesn’t want to do.”
Cody sizes me up, and then moves closer, his chest puffing out. I’m a guy, and such a sucker for one. I get right in there too.
“You’re a prick, Olly.” He uses that stupid nickname. “You didn’t want her when it wasn’t complicated. But because she was with someone, you needed to swoop in like a knight in fucking shit-stinking armor. You’re a thirty-year-old man acting like a three-year-old dog, pissing on the thing that you want.”
I can’t help it, I pull rank. “Watch it, Cody. You’re talking to your boss right now.”
I see his hands clench into fists at his side. “I have no qualms about throwing you through that fucking mirror right now.”
The tension in the air is so palpable, you could cut it like moldy cheese.
We stare at each other, and I feel like I’m going to pop a blood vessel. This is so dumb and macho, but I’ve finally wised up about what I want with Gemma and I’m not going to let this blond Ken doll take it.
“Whatever, man. You’re not worth it. Go out there and try not to fuck this up, because I still have to work for this fucking company. But if you don’t take care of Gemma, if you don’t treat her right, I’ll come to that TriBeCa mansion of yours and personally shove your balls down your throat.”
My balls seize up and into my body, protecting themselves, just thinking about Cody doing that. “Got it.”
He exits the bathroom in a flurry of adrenaline and emotion, and I’m left thinking about what he said. I was going to do my best not to hurt Gemma, if she’d even give me a chance. Hell, I might flay off my own balls if I acted as stupid as I did the first time things had started to get deeper.
Taking a lungful of air, and then another, I headed to the stage. The room was buzzing with hushed whispers and industry schmoozing. I knew so many faces out there in the crowd, and was scared to death of embarrassing myself in front of them. What if the slides weren’t timed right? What if I hadn’t practiced enough? Shit, I hated public speaking. I wish I could get a body double to do stuff like this.
Actually, I would love a body double for all sorts of things. Meetings with my accountant, going for Sunday dinner at my aunt’s house in Connecticut, even working out with my trainer. I’d love a body double to get screamed at by Brad so I wouldn’t have to.
My thoughts must wander for a little, because one of my event planners is furiously tapping me on the shoulder, telling me it’s time to go in in just minutes.
Think of all the people in the crowd in their underwear. The stupid elementary school trick comes back to me and makes me snort, because fucking gross. I don’t want to think about Cann Jacobson, the tech journalist from Tech Today, naked. With his protruding stomach and yellow rotting teeth … Jesus it just wasn’t sanitary.
The auditorium went dark, the screen lit up. One image. One stark image, my child that I’d reared for the last two years, presented for all to see.
I only stumbled once through the speech, and six hours later, everyone from top ten journalism outlets to bloggers was heralding Graphite Home as the next big thing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gemma
I’m not sure why I never noticed it before, but once I fell for him, I really couldn’t escape Oliver Anders.
As in, I couldn’t escape his hundred foot face plastered all over every billboard in the city. It was in Times Square, all over Broadway, down by my building and overlooking Central Park.
Even in the park, I couldn't escape. I came here when I was happy, when I was sad. When I was bored, or when I needed to contemplate something. The park was my place, and right now I felt like my life was falling apart and I needed the wisdom of the man made lakes and trees to get me through.
I'd taken a torch and thrown it on my love life, complete blaze of all of the things I'd thought I'd wanted. Cody was a good man, a stable, handsome, smart person ... and I'd thrown it away. For what?
Oliver was unpredictable. Immature and selfish. He was disconnected at times, and didn't know what commitment was even if it came up and started sucking his cock in the middle of Times Square.
What was even worse was that I'd gone and done the one thing I thought I'd broken myself out of.
As if the universe were sending me a big neon sign of how truly, incredibly dumb I was, my past came back to haunt me. In the form of one Eric Wyle.
He'd been my first city fling after I'd moved to the bustling metropolis, and I'd been half-blind in love with him. We'd fallen into bed on the first night, and over the course of seven months, fought and broke up and gotten back together almost six times. The relationship was maddening; I fit the mold to every stereotypical emotionally abused girlfriend. He cheated, I was neurotic, it ended in an atom-bomb explosion of a TV being thrown out an apartment window.
And there he was. Eric freaking Wyle, my love-to-hate-to-love past just standing on the other side of the walkway in Central Park.
He doesn't see me, and I thank God for that. Luckily, we haven't bumped into each other in the two years since the last epic breakup. He still looks just as good; tall, dark and handsome with an air of asshole and mischief surround him. He was always too smug for his own good. Right now, he's rising from where he just did twenty push-ups on the ground … and he looked like such a typical athletic douchebag.
When I was with Eric, I thought so much less of myself. I had no self-esteem, thought I deserved all of the shit he piled on me. I subjected myself to belittlement and cried my eyes out every other night. He made me feel unworthy, and I came to regard myself with such little worth that it took almost a year to dig myself out of the hole.
I’d made sure that no man since him could make me feel that way, mostly because I was older and wiser, but also because my self-esteem was like a protective armor I wrapped around myself.
And … much to my surprise, I didn’t feel it slipping now. In my head, I knew that I’d made the right decision, even if my heart was fighting me tooth and nail. Cody wasn’t the guy for me, and while he was great, I would be a complete asshole if I kept stringing him along like I had. I’d be as bad as Eric Wyle.
When I was with Oliver, I didn’t feel inferior. In fact, he’d always made me feel smart … a part of his little genius rich boy club. He spoke to me like a respected friend rather than a convenient
sid piece. And now he was making the effort to come and beg for forgiveness, which my fickle heart kind of admired.
I wasn’t the same weepy girl anymore; the one who’d followed the asshole across Central Park around like a lovesick puppy. I watched as he checked out a stroller-toting mom’s ass, and then winked at another female runner before taking off down the path. As he got farther and farther away from me, I felt strength and surety flood my chest.
We all had choices in life. Stick it out at your thankless job or find a new one. Walk home for exercise or hail a cab. Eat the donut or, hell, there was no other choice but to eat the donut. And we all had the choice to step off the ledge and give love a chance, knowing that there was no big balloon set up by firemen waiting on the ground to catch you.
Digging my phone out from my purse, I punched in the one person’s number who would always give me the honest truth.
On the third ring, the call connected. “Hi sweetheart, you’re on speaker!”
My mom yelled into the receiver and I had to pull my cell away from my ear. “Hi, Mom. What’re you up to?”
I hear something fall in the background, it sounds like pots or pans. “Oh you know, just in the kitchen baking this new recipe I found from Giada. It’s called Slow Cooker Cioppino, it’s basically a stew with all kinds of shellfish and seafood. Your father will just love it!”
Mom loves to cook. Unfortunately, she’s just not good at it. I pray for Dad’s stomach tonight. He’s such a good sport and eats anything she puts in front of him, but he usually gets food poisoning once or twice a year. I want to find that kind of love, where my husband doesn’t have the heart to tell me that I’m poisoning him.
“That sounds delicious. Hey Mom, do you have a minute?” My throat clogs a little with emotion.
No matter how old we are, we always need our mommies. She may have her quirks, and her misguided fear of the city, but she’s always here for me when I need her. She’s always willing to help solve a problem or just listen to the drama of my life.
“Sure, baby. What’s wrong?” That tone of worry marks her voice.
“It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’m not pregnant or shooting needles up my arms. It’s about a boy.”
A relieved breath whooshes through the phone. “Okay, now that you’ve taken the worst of my fears off the table, tell me about this boy.”
I roll my eyes because I knew she was picturing me knocked up in some trailer. “To be honest, I’m confused. I was dating this guy for a couple months and I just broke up with him because of this other guy. Who I had something with but it wasn’t really a relationship, and now he’s coming back around and I don’t know if I want to let him in again and I can’t decide if it’s the right thing to do—”
“Gemma Bean! Hold on, take a breath. You’re talking in circles, my girl.” she shouts into my ear.
I stop walking and take a seat on a secluded bench. I realize I’m sweating a bit, even though it’s October. Leave it to Mom to totally shrink me and make me freak out without even saying a thing.
“Now start from the beginning, sweetheart. What’s the boy’s name?”
Exhaling, I begin. I tell her about it all, with some choice cuts in the sex and friends with benefits departments. I explain how I met Oliver, and how our non-relationship came to be. How I got out before I could get hurt because I’d felt myself falling, rolling in there my relationship and eventual breakup with Cody. I told her about my fears and how I wasn’t sure if things would work out with Oliver if I even tried again.
I was one step away from sticking my thumb in my mouth and needing her to rub my back.
“You know how I met your father, right?” Mom’s soothing voice calmed my nerves just the tiniest bit.
I nod my head even though she can’t see me. “In the aisle of a grocery store.”
“I was fresh off a breakup from my high school sweetheart, and couldn’t have wanted to date someone less. But your father, he was wearing that store apron and smiling at me, telling me to try the new cereal because it was his favorite. I was in sweatpants looking for ice cream, and he swept me off my feet.”
I’d always loved that real love story of how my parents had met.
My mother went on. “Love waits for no woman, no matter how ill-timed it is. It will come in and sweep you off of your feet, or punch you square in the nose. It doesn’t matter what your head wants, or the logical thing to do. Sometimes you just have to trust fate, honey, and it sounds like this Oliver is your grocery store clerk.”
Thinking about Oliver working in a grocery store makes me literally laugh out loud. In the middle of the park, which is weird because those two women walking along over there are definitely looking at me.
“Thanks, Mom. I knew talking to you would make me feel better.” And it had. She’d all but made my decision for me, but that’s what parents were for. Doing the hard stuff when you couldn’t.
“So go out with the boy, at least. I have a feeling about this one. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you talk about a person of the opposite sex like this. When can I meet him?”
Getting up to walk and calm my now antsy nerves, because they knew they were going on a date with Oliver, I smirked. “You can meet him when I’m good and ready.”
“Gemma Bean, you’re not going to deprive me of my right to a wedding and grandchildren.” And we were back to crazy. Just like that, it was zero to a hundred.
“Bye, Mom. I love you. Don’t make Dad keel over from that seafood stew.”
Hanging up before she could argue more, I turned to walk out of the park. And there was that billboard, sitting there smiling at me. Only this time, it stirred an entirely different emotion in my stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gemma
“Am I a goddamn idiot?” My skirt swished at my knees as I turned to ask Jillian and Sam.
I’d been putting on a fashion show for them since five o’clock, and two hours later, had finally landed on an outfit that I could actually get behind.
For my date tonight. My first date with Oliver Anders.
“Isn’t it romantic that this is the first time he’s ever taking you on a date? Like a second chance at romance and love.” Jillian’s eyes are dreamy and all I can do is roll mine.
“You could look at it that way. Or … I’m the masochistic chick who constantly gets back together with the guy who treats her like shit. Oh God, am I that girl? Is that what I’ve become?”
Panic stole over my body and I was three seconds away from calling the whole thing off. I hated those girls. The one’s who went back after he cheated, or forgot their birthday, or worse, abused them. I could never get behind those stories, and as a woman I know it was stupid to victim blame. Was I the victim of Oliver’s aloofness? Was I setting myself up again?
“Calm down, diva. You’re not an idiot. You aren’t one of those women, because you guys had no strings before and that was clearly laid out in the rules. This is a date between two people who had a fling and then wanted it to become more. A few months may have passed in between, but you’re fine now. You look beautiful, the thigh-high boots were a good choice. Classy but a touch slutty. He’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you.”
Leave it to my roommate and surrogate mother to talk me off the ledge. “Thank you.”
I fanned my armpits and breathed in through my nose. I’d agreed to this, made my bed, and now I was going to lie in it. Not lie in Oliver’s though. No, this pretty box was off limits until he did some serious sucking up. And the shoes he’d mentioned weren’t far from my brain.
The buzzer by our front door rang. “I’ll get it! Let me grill the bastard before he takes my girl out.”
Sam runs to the front door, buzzing Oliver up and waiting there.
“I think she has a bat in her hands.” Jillian giggles and fixes an errant strand of hair. “You’ll be fine, Gem. There is nothing to be nervous about. If anyone should be nervous, it’s him.”
Sc
hoolgirls didn’t get this worked up about shit. I threw lipstick, my phone, a credit card and some gum into my small clutch and waited until I heard that unmistakable deep voice.
“Jesus!” The voice sounded from the hall, and I heard a thwack.
“If you fuck with Gemma, next time that bat won’t land on the floor, but right between your frank and beans. Got it, muchacho?”
“Enough, Sam.” I lead her away by the shoulder and give Oliver some room where she had him pinned to the front door. “Hi.”
I face him and my heart feels like it’s being shocked by a defibrillator. Not that I’d know what that feels like, but it always looks so severe in those hospital shows. His hair is long again, longer than when we met, and I just want to curl the dark tendrils around my fingers. He’s casual in blue khakis and a long sleeve button-down, a light coat showing the definition of his muscles underneath. Those honest blue eyes are trained on me, betraying nothing and everything at the same time.
“You look beautiful.” Oliver hands me a small bouquet of roses, ones I recognize from the fruit market below our building.
And Mr. Anders is on the board with his first points of the night. “Compliments and flowers, exemplary first date skills.”
I lean in to let him hug me. “I’ve been reading some Cosmo articles, picking up some new tips.”
“The old Cosmo trick, huh? Fine, reading my competition I see…Femme could have told you the same things.” I smile as we pull back, and the same old flirty energy is coursing between us.
“I’d be biased. I know this woman who works for Femme, her articles are stellar. I’d be attracted to those and only those, disregarding everything else in the magazine.”
“Now you’re just sucking up.” Sam’s voice sounds from the background, and suddenly I’m ready to get out of here and have Oliver to myself.
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