When It Holds You
Page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Information
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
When It Hooks You
When It Hits You
About the Author
Cover
Title Page
When It Holds You
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Nicki Elson
Copyright Information
When It Holds You, Copyright © 2016 by Nicki Elson
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Published by Nicki Elson, October 2016
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This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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Published in the United States of America
Cover and Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Dedication
This one’s for all the Cliffs. Don’t give up, man—she’s out there
…maybe right in front of your face.
Chapter 1
“THAT SEXY-TALKING, designer-suit-wearing motherfucker,” Cliff muttered. The moment he’d heard the smooth rumble of Adam Helms’s voice, he’d known who it was.
Why had Cliff chosen that precise moment to cross the reception area? If he’d waited just a few minutes longer, he wouldn’t have heard Helms asking the new receptionist about Trish. Then he’d never have stepped over and been persuaded to give him her new work address. Charlie would’ve quite honestly claimed no knowledge of Trish’s whereabouts, and that would’ve been that. Except Helms already had Trish’s phone number and home address.
Okay, so maybe it didn’t matter how Helms got in touch with her, but Cliff wished it hadn’t been him who’d pointed the jerk in her direction. The guy had deceived her. Sure, extenuating circumstances had been involved and Helms had been truly remorseful, but still. Cliff didn’t want to be even tangentially responsible for causing Trish more pain by making her face the lying bastard.
If he was honest with himself, he was also flustered by the mere idea of Adam being in the same room with her again, which was likely happening at that very second. Helms had some kind of strange power over her. The power to command all her waking thoughts. The power to make her glow.
“Fuck me,” Cliff groaned, slamming the folder he held onto his desk and slumping in his chair.
“Hey now,” said Karen Keefer, poking her head through the open doorway to his office. Karen was on the verge of being named partner at River South, where Cliff had come to work fresh out of law school. He’d been there for just over a year. Karen had been there for almost a decade. “You might want to spend some time refining your seduction technique. I’m not saying a blunt line like that never worked on me, but…”
“Sorry.” One side of Cliff’s mouth went up in a sheepish grin.
“Account giving you trouble? Anything I can help with?” Karen strolled into his office and leaned her rump against the edge of his desk. She’d become his unofficial mentor at the firm.
“No, but thanks. My woes are personal in nature.”
“I’d be happy to give that a go, too. My experience isn’t only in mergers and acquisitions, ya know.” She’d been satisfactorily married for eight years.
He didn’t think anything she’d say could ease his anxiety, but he asked a question, anyway, for the sake of diverting the focus from him. “How did you and Steve meet?”
“At a bar.” She shrugged. “I know, most boring origin story ever. But he had a girlfriend at the time, so that spices things up a little, no?”
“He cheated on her with you?”
“No. He thought he was in love and stayed faithful. We were just friends for a while.”
“Really?” Cliff sat up straighter. “How did that change?”
“With lots of patience on my part. I started feeling something more for him early on, but I was too afraid to act on it, even after he and his girlfriend broke up. I wasn’t sure he felt the same way about me, and I didn’t want to risk the friendship.”
Cliff thought back to several months earlier when he and Trish had tried a friends-with-benefits relationship. He’d foolishly hoped the physical connection would bust them out of the friend zone and into a full-on romance. Instead, Adam Helms had interfered from a zillion miles away. Trish hadn’t yet gotten over her breakup with the globe-trotting businessman. She’d broken down while she and Cliff were half naked. At that point, Cliff would’ve been a complete jackass to have tried to coax her into doing anything but cry it out. He hoped he wasn’t a jerkoff for having…well, jerked off later that night while imagining the things he and Trish would’ve done together had Adam never existed.
Effing Helms.
“But then one night,” Karen continued, “Steve walked up and planted one on me. Honest to God—my knees went weak. He’d just needed some time to figure out that our relationship meant more than friendship to him, too.”
“Sweet,” Cliff said, smiling.
“Yeah.” Karen stood. “You tell anyone outside this office there’s so much as a hint of sweetness in my history, I’ll break your kneecaps. Can’t risk my ballbuster reputation.”
Cliff laughed. “Right.” If there was anything threatening about Karen Keefer’s reputation, it was that she’d kill with kindness—and impeccably sound contract language. He knew from stories he’d heard from other freshmen attorneys that he was very lucky to have landed Karen as a mentor.
“So, you good?” she asked, eyeing him with a skeptical eyebrow half raised. “No more clumsy attempts to fornicate with…” She looked around the room. “Whatever you were asking to do you earlier?”
“I’m good,” he said, nodding. Her story actually had helped. Perhaps he wasn’t a total moron for thinking his friendship with Trish could one day turn into something more.
“Okay, then, see you in the conference room in a few hours.” Karen left his office.
He sighed, once again alone with his tousled emotions. He’d thought he’d managed to get his longing for Trish under control, had convinced himself he was perfectly fine with friendship-only. The thundering of his pulse ever since Adam’s drop-in proved differently, however.
But perhaps Helms’s reappearance was the best thing that could happen. Cliff had meant it when he’d told Trish several weeks earlier that she might need to see Adam again in
order to fully get over him. Now she could tell the guy to his face to piss off, and that would give her the closure she needed…thus bringing her one step closer to moving on and seeing how much better Cliff was for her.
His eyes flicked toward his phone lying dormant just a few inches away. Waiting to hear from her was going to be torture.
Preparing for and attending the evening meeting had taken Cliff’s mind off Trish. But the moment he was back in his office, he went directly to his phone. There was no message from her. That could potentially be bad. It might mean she was mad at him for sending Adam her way. Cliff thought of sending a text, but called her instead. It was much harder to ignore an actual phone call. Yet she did it anyhow—after a number of rings, he ended up in her voice mail.
“Hi, um, yeah, it’s Cliff. I hope you’re not mad. I honestly thought it would be best for you to see him…to…ah…get anything off your chest that you needed to. I’m sorry if I was wrong about that. Please don’t hate me. If you need to, pretend your pillow is me and punch the crap out of it tonight. But call or text in the morning so I can be sure we’re still friends, okay?” He clicked off. “I’m pathetic.”
And selfish, he added silently, realizing that whether or not Trish was mad at Cliff, she was probably upset about Adam, and her distress over that should’ve been the focus of his message. He picked up the phone to call her again, but stopped. He’d already asked her to call the next day. He should leave her alone for the rest of the night. He tossed his files into his briefcase and went home.
After unwinding with a glass of scotch in his eleventh-floor Streeterville apartment, he washed up for bed and changed into a pair of pajama bottoms. He pulled out the sofa bed and determined that it was time to upgrade from a studio apartment to a one-bedroom. Despite his respectable starting salary, he’d been frugal during his first year at the law firm in case it proved to be a bad fit. But things were going well for him at River South. It was time to make the change.
His phone buzzed with a text just as he pulled back the covers.
Still up?
Yes. How are you?
I’m going to call.
A few seconds later, his phone rang. He crammed as much compassion as he could into one short syllable: “Hi.”
“Hi,” Trish said, followed by what sounded an awful lot like a giggle.
“So, you’re doing okay?” he ventured, hoping he hadn’t misinterpreted the sound.
“Um, yeah, I’m doing great.” There was that noise again.
“I take it you’re not mad at me.”
“Quite the opposite. We’ve decided you should be the ring bearer at our wedding.”
She might as well have lobbed an army boot straight into his gut. He couldn’t breathe. “W—Wedding?” he choked through his suddenly dry mouth.
“Just kidding! I mean, not to say a wedding in the far future isn’t a possibility, but for now we’re taking it slow.”
Slow? What the hell did that mean? Why was she taking anything anywhere with this guy? “So…you forgave him? For everything? Just like that, he’s back to Mr. Wonderful?” He hoped he’d done a decent job of keeping the whine out of his voice.
“Not ‘just like that.’ We talked a ton, and we still have a lot more talking to do, but we set all that aside for a few hours to give ourselves a chance to start over again, get to know each other better before we jump back to where we were.”
“How are you going to get to know each other when you live in Chicago and he lives all over the world?” Last fall, she’d been ready to walk away from everything to follow Mr. Magical.
“Modern communications technology and aeronautic travel—mostly on his part. He’s still got a lot of butt kissing to do, and he knows I’m committed to the Mji management training program for the next three years, which he fully supports.”
Cliff nodded. “Good,” was the only response he could muster.
“I know I probably seem like a huge idiot to give him another chance.” She must’ve picked up on the resentment in his tone. “But wouldn’t it be more stupid to walk away from someone who makes me feel the way he does? You’re the one who told me many moons ago that everyone else was looking for what Adam and I had. If he’s willing to give us another try, then so am I.” Her voice was steady, unwavering in her conviction. If Cliff had detected a fissure of doubt to wriggle into, he’d have exploited it. But no such opportunity existed. Then, as if needing to drive her point home, she added, “No other man in the world makes me light up like he can.”
That stung. Cliff had always been able to make Trish light up in a smile or ignite in a laugh. During the past year, he’d been the one to reassure her and let her cry in his arms. He’d lifted her up after Helms had knocked her so far down. Yet she remained stubbornly blind to all the ways Cliff could illuminate her.
Why did he continually fall back under her spell when he knew very damn well where it would land him? After their failed attempt to get physical, he’d pulled back. He’d accepted that friends was all they’d ever be. He was fine with that. He was great with that. Then time passed, Helms had vanished, and she’d seemed uninterested in dating other guys, giving his hope all the fertile ground it needed to again take root.
He hadn’t realized how wildly that hope had flourished until Helms had shown up that afternoon. Cliff had to rip it out, remove all traces. He could get back to the steady place where he’d been. But he needed a night to recalibrate. He had to end this conversation—now.
“I’m glad for you,” he said, and then let out a calculated yawn. “Would it be rude for me to beg off now? It’s late, and I’ve got to meet with a demanding partner tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry I kept you up.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s great to hear you happy. I trust your judgment, so ignore my skepticism. It’s just something good friends do.” When lying, cheating douchebags roll into town to steal their girl, he kept from adding.
“You’re the best, Cliff.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She let out a small laugh. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“’Night, darlin’.”
He clicked off the phone and sat still on the edge of his mattress. “Shit,” he breathed out in a slow hiss. He jerked himself to standing and went to the kitchen counter, leaning on his elbows and clasping his hands together. For a long while, he stared at the bottle of scotch but made no move to open it. Drinking wouldn’t improve his mood.
He bowed his head, clamping his eyes tight, as if the pressure of his eyelids could ease his internal pain. Giving up on that, he slowly opened his eyes, looking straight at the slight paunch of his bare waist curving above the waistband of his pajama pants. A workout would soothe his nerves. He’d been more faithful to the gym recently, determined to get back to fighting weight. He was making good progress, but Chicago deep-dish and beef sandwiches were wicked sirens. Lord knew he was a fool for wicked sirens…
But Trish wasn’t wicked. She was open-hearted, caring, fun, smart, and so damned beautiful. He should’ve turned and run the second he’d seen her sitting at the reception desk on his first day at River South Partners. She’d been his unattainable crush throughout undergrad when they were both at University of Iowa. He should’ve known their dynamic would never change. Instead, he took the chance reunion as a sign that his time had finally come.
Standing straight, he groaned at how wrong he’d been and lumbered to the living room. It was too late for the gym. Standing in front of the TV, he lowered to the spot on the rug that should’ve been imprinted with ass marks by now. He’d get a virtual workout via his latest video game. His abs were already perfectly toned in that world. And the beautiful girls were programmed to be into him.
He started the game and focused on doing what he needed to do to level up. If he saw something nice for the non-player character he was romancing along the way, he’d pick it up for her. If only romancing Trish could be as easy. One law degree and a promising career later,
he was still jonesing for this girl—and probably always would be. A cyborg jumped in front of him. On total reflex, he leveled his ray gun, splitting the monster’s head into a hundred bits of oozing bone and metal.
Chapter 2
“BLACK TEA WITH GINGER on the rocks, please, and a red pepper hummus wrap.” Cliff placed his usual order at the counter of the coffeehouse Trish managed. The mid-summer day lacked its usual humidity, so he’d decided to stroll the several blocks north from his office to the Michigan Avenue shop for an early dinner.
Trish came out from the back room and smiled. “Hey, stranger.”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
“Three weeks since we last talked.”
“Really?”
“I think that’s a record for us.”
“Sorry. Things’ve been nuts in the world of corporate law.” Plus, he’d needed some space while she and Mr. Wonderful reconnected. Cliff had coaxed himself into being genuinely happy for her, but he’d needed time before having her euphoria shoved directly into his face.
Trish followed him to a booth and sat across from him. He liked coming by at this time of day because business was slow, so Trish usually had time to talk.
“Did you know Samantha Claesson at University of Iowa?” she asked.
“Who?”
“You might’ve known her as Sam. She was super funny, lived in the apartment across the hall from me, Lyssa, JoJo, and Amy.”
Cliff took a bite of his wrap, shrugging. He didn’t remember her.
“I guess you didn’t get the invitation to her wedding, then.”
“I’ll have to look through my stack of invites, but no, I don’t recall one. Why didn’t anyone ever warn us to budget for a crapload of wedding gifts during our twenties? Are our friends embedded with microchips that force them to matrimate within so many years of graduation or risk spoiling? What about those of us who didn’t get the memo? At what age do they all have to turn around and write us single folk checks?”