by Marie Force
“Eric… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I glare at my new brother-in-law. “No, you shouldn’t have. It’s easy to be smug when you’re sitting there happy as a pig in shit with your new wife by your side, never having survived anything remotely similar to what happened to him.”
“I’m sorry,” Rob says, and I believe him. “Forgive me, Eric.”
“Sure,” Eric says, his tone lifeless.
I head for the door, towing him behind me. I’m so fucking furious. Outside, I start walking. I have no idea where I’m going. I just want to get him away from there.
“Easy, tiger,” he says after we’ve covered a couple of blocks.
“I can’t believe he would say something like that to you. He’s lucky I didn’t punch him.”
Eric laughs, and I stop walking to glare at him. “What is so funny?”
“You are.” He slides his arms around me and gazes down at me.
“I am not funny! I’m pissed. How could he say something like that to—”
He kisses me into submission, right there on the street where anyone can see us. And oddly enough, I don’t care if anyone sees us.
“He’s my brother. He says stupid shit to me all the time. I say stupid shit to him all the time. It’s okay. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I’m sorry, but that was out of line.”
“You’re very sexy when you defend me.” He kisses my neck and makes me want to purr from the sensations that travel through me like warm honey, heating me from the inside. “Especially when you take on your sister’s husband.”
“She’s probably going to hate me for that.”
“No, she won’t. He was being a douche, and you called him out on it.”
“I did put him in his place, didn’t I?”
“Mmm, you sure did.”
I realize we’re walking again, this time in the direction of his place. He keeps an arm tight around me and continues to nuzzle my neck while steering us both through busy foot traffic on the sidewalk. In the short time it takes us to get back to his building, he has me practically clinging to him. Inside, he guides me up the stairs with his hands on my hips and his aroused body pressed to my back.
I’m reminded of a three-legged race I once did with Camille in which we moved seamlessly as one. Eric and I are like that as we go up the stairs to his second-floor loft. He reaches around me to unlock the door, guides me in ahead of him and keeps moving until we’re in his bedroom, the bed still unmade from the night before.
I turn to him and he’s right there, devouring me in a deep, passionate kiss. Then we’re falling onto the bed in a mess of arms and legs and tongues and greedy desire. I’m so overtaken by him and the euphoria of the moment, I have no time to think about anything other than what’s happening right now.
My dress disappears over my head. I tug on the hem of his T-shirt, trying to get it out of my way. He pulls my bra up to free my breasts and sucks my nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand slides into my underwear. He groans when he encounters the slick heat between my legs. And then he pushes two fingers into me as he sucks on my nipple, and I come so quickly, it shocks us both.
The rest of our clothes are pushed aside, and I’m still coming when I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then he’s pressing into me, taking it slow until he’s sure I’m with him. I’m with him, even if I’m stretched to capacity as he pushes deeper into me.
“Ava,” he whispers, “you feel so good.”
I cling to him, breathe in his appealing scent and wrap my legs around his hips.
He keeps his arms tight around me as he moves inside me, constantly kissing me and never giving me the chance to punch out of the present to revisit the past.
It’s good, so good… I’m on fire for him, swept up in the desire that pulses through me like a separate heartbeat that belongs only to him.
Reaching under me, he grasps my bottom and picks up the pace without breaking the never-ending kiss.
I’m completely lost to him and the need he’s reawakened in me. I break the kiss when I come, crying out.
He’s right behind me, pushing hard into me and letting himself go before collapsing on top of me, his sweat mingling with mine as aftershocks leave me breathless and spent. “Are you okay?” he asks right away.
“I’m surprisingly fine. You?”
“Same,” he says, still breathing hard. “More than fine, actually. I’m quite spectacular, in fact.” He raises his head and gazes down at me. “I figured the first time I did this after everything that happened would be…”
“Awful?” I ask, smiling.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t.” He kisses me. “It was amazing, because you’re amazing.”
With my hands on his face, I hold him there for more kisses. Now that I’ve started kissing him, I don’t want to stop. Our kisses go from soothing to heated in a matter of seconds.
He groans as he pulls back from the kiss. “Hold that thought for one second.” Grasping the base of his cock to secure the condom, he withdraws from me and gets up to use the bathroom. I watch him go, taking a good long look at his bare ass and the way his muscles flex as he moves.
I take a deep breath, hold it and let it out, waiting for pain that doesn’t materialize. To use the bandage analogy, taking it off quick tends to hurt less, and the way this happened was exactly what I needed. No time to think. No time to second-guess. No time to mourn what used to be.
Eric comes out of the bathroom and gets back in bed, reaching for me and snuggling me into his warm embrace. “Hey there.”
“How’re you doing?”
“I’m great, you?”
“Very, very good.”
“Mmm, I like that. Very good is very good.” He drags his hand up and down my arm in a caress that’s comforting as much as arousing.
I kiss his chest, and he tightens his hold on me. I’d forgotten what contentment felt like, and for a long time, I had good reason to wonder if I’d ever be content again. But then I met Eric, and one small step at a time, he has helped get me to the point where this is possible. I’m incredibly thankful to him for being exactly who and what I need.
“Did you have stuff to do today?” he asks.
“Nothing that won’t keep.”
“That’s good, because I’d like to keep you here all day—and all night.”
“I can do all day, but I have to get some sleep tonight. New job starts tomorrow, and I can’t show up looking like something the cat dragged in.”
“You couldn’t look like that if you tried.”
“Nice try, but I’m going home to sleep in my own bed tonight—alone.”
“And here I thought you liked me.”
“I do like you. That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a problem. It—and you—may turn out to be the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Wouldn’t that be something?
* * *
I report to my new midtown office at nine o’clock the next morning, not nearly as well rested as I’d hoped to be. After Eric walked me home, he ended up spending the night, because I couldn’t bear to send him away. I’m tired and sore, but it was so worth it. What a great day we had together, and even though I’m sleep-deprived, I’m also buzzing with excitement and anticipation.
FergusonMain, Inc. is one of the hottest PR firms in the city, and I’m delighted to have been hired because of my experience. Not that I would’ve said no to a job that came through the Tildens, but there’s something extra satisfying in knowing I did this on my own.
Trevor, the senior account executive I’ll report to, greets me in the reception area and walks me to the cluster of offices that make up his team. He introduces me to the others, and I try to memorize their names as he rattles them off. Everyone is nice and friendly and welcoming.
I fill out HR paperwork, set up my email account and record my voicemail message. They’ve got business cards already made for me, and I’m given
files on their ongoing clients. I dive right in, and I’m working my way through the files when Trevor appears at my door, holding a coffee that he offers to me. He’s tall and handsome with black-framed glasses and a serious demeanor. I figure he’s about five or six years older than me.
I take the coffee from him. “Thank you.”
“It’s got cream but no sugar.” He holds up sugar and artificial sweetener packs. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Just cream is perfect, but thanks for the options.”
He takes a seat in front of my desk. “How’s it going so far?”
“I’m in PR heaven with everything you guys are involved with.”
“It’s never boring around here, that’s for sure. I wanted to talk to you about the special project I mentioned over the weekend.”
“Of course.”
“As you may already know, Miles Ferguson, our managing partner, lost his fiancée and her parents on the Star of the High Seas.”
Like a balloon hit by a pin, I deflate from the inside. I hope my despair doesn’t show in the expression I try to keep neutral. Of course, I know about Miles and his tragic loss. I know his story by heart, but I hadn’t expected to be confronted by his loss on my first day. I was prepared to have little to no contact with the big bosses, but as Trevor continues, I begin to realize the opposite will be true. Dear God, what’ve I signed on for?
“Miles has been very active in the family group, and now that they’ve filed suit against the government, they’re looking to ramp up their activities to gain more exposure for their cause. That’s where we come in.” He pauses, tips his head and says, “Ava? Are you all right? You’ve gone pale on me. Oh God! You didn’t lose someone on the ship, did you?”
A bead of sweat slides down my back, and for a brief, terrifying second, I fear I’m going to be sick in front of my new boss.
“Ava?”
I realize he’s waiting for me to answer his question. “I didn’t lose someone on the ship, but I was very much affected by it, as we all were.”
“For sure. That was one of the worst days of my life, and I didn’t know anyone who was killed.”
“I… I had a… a friend… who was deployed after it happened. As far as I know, he’s either still deployed or dead.” The words are out before I take even one second to gauge the consequences of sharing such a thing with my new boss.
“God, Ava,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper. “That’s crazy. You don’t have any way to find out what became of him?”
I shake my head because I don’t trust myself to speak. I can’t believe this is happening on my first day.
“I’ll reassign you.”
“No!” The last thing I want is special treatment. “No,” I say again, less emphatically this time. “There’s no need to reassign me. It will be a privilege to work for the family group.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s totally okay to say so if it’s not something you feel comfortable doing.”
“It’s fine, Trevor, but thank you for asking.” I absolutely refuse to come across as a victim on my first day. I’m not a victim. Not the way Miles and the other family members are.
“Okay, then. I’ll walk you over to meet Miles.”
“Could I ask one thing?”
“Of course.”
“Why me? Why someone brand new to work on such an important account with one of the partners?”
His face flushes with embarrassment. “Um, well, you’re the lowest-ranking account executive, so it costs us less to put you on a pro bono job.”
“Ah, okay. I see.”
“No offense or anything.”
“None taken. Everyone has to start somewhere.”
“It’s also a great opportunity for you to wow the big boss with your awesomeness.”
“No pressure or anything.”
“None at all,” he says, grinning.
Tamping down the panic that wants to overtake me, I gather the laptop that’s on my desk and follow him down a winding set of hallways to the side-by-side offices of Miles Ferguson and Alexander Main. Since they founded the firm twelve years ago, they’ve built it into one of the city’s premier public relations and marketing outfits while also earning a reputation for their philanthropic endeavors.
“Morning, Keith,” Trevor says to the young man at the desk outside the two closed doors. “This is Ava Lucas, the new account exec on my team.”
Keith stands to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you. Nice to meet you, too.”
“Miles is expecting you. Go on in.”
“Thank you,” Trevor says.
I follow Trevor into a huge office with a panoramic view of the Hudson River and New Jersey.
Miles, who has gone completely gray since I last saw a photo of him, gets up to come around the desk to greet us. The gray hair is in stark contrast to his youthful face. On his lapel, he wears the family member survivor pin.
“Miles, meet Ava Lucas. Ava, Miles Ferguson.”
“A pleasure,” he says. His eyes, I notice, project the kind of sadness I understand all too well. My heart goes out to him. “Welcome to the team.”
“Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
“Come,” he says, gesturing to a seating area with plush sofas. “Have a seat.”
As I cross the room, I take a surreptitious look at the wall of awards and photos with celebrities. His has been an illustrious career. On the credenza behind his desk is a single framed photo of him with his late fiancée, Emerson Phillips.
When we’re seated, Keith comes in with a tray bearing coffee and pastries.
“Thanks, Keith,” Miles says.
“Yes, thank you,” I add.
“Sure thing,” Keith says, smiling as he leaves us.
“Help yourself,” Miles says.
Though I’ve already exceeded my daily caffeine quota, I pour a cup of coffee and add cream.
“So,” Miles says when he and Trevor have poured their coffee, “Trev told you about the Star of the High Seas family group project?”
“He did, and I hope it’s appropriate to say that I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
I have so many questions. I want to know how he is, if he’s found new love or if he’s still single. I want to know everything about him and Emerson. I’ve read about them, but the details are fuzzy. As soon as I can, I’ll refresh my memory.
I watch him try to shake off the grief and focus on the present. “You’ve heard about the lawsuit the family group has filed.”
“Yes, I read about it.” That moment in Times Square comes back to me in sickening waves that have me fighting to keep my composure.
“Over the next few weeks and months, the goal is to get as much publicity for the lawsuit as we can. We’ll be booking Dawkins, myself and several of the other leaders of the family group everywhere we can. The goal is mass saturation to get people talking about this again and to drum up support for the lawsuit. We hope to force the government to own up to the mistakes that were made that led to calamity.”
I open my laptop and begin to take notes as he speaks about the reasoning behind the lawsuit, the timing, the stakes, the hook to get the media on board and other aspects of the project. The activity helps to keep me focused on the present and not mired in the past.
“As you can imagine, this will be a difficult project at times, but I also believe it’ll be very rewarding for everyone involved. We believe we have a slam-dunk case against the government that’ll be settled long before it goes to trial. Former National Security Advisor Hartley has all but admitted in past interviews that they fucked up. They didn’t take a credible threat seriously, and the result, as you know, was devastating.”
Miles leans forward, arms on his knees, his expression earnest and intense. “This lawsuit is not about money. We want to hold these people accountable for their failure to protect four thousand American citizens. We want to
put current and future officials charged with keeping us safe on notice that they will be held accountable for their actions—or inaction—while in office.” He sits back, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity. “Their failures ruined our lives.”
I swallow the massive lump that’s lodged in my throat. It ruined mine, too, not that I can tell him that, because speaking would require breathing, and I’m having trouble with that. Rather than speak, I focus on taking copious notes. I’ll do anything I can to help him and the other family members gain support for their cause.
He hands me a stack of paper. “These are all the requests for interviews we’ve received since the suit was filed.”
I sift through them, noting that every major network, newspaper and web outlet is represented, as are the big morning broadcasts, late-night shows and even Ellen DeGeneres has requested an interview. This is going to be huge. The kind of PR campaign I could’ve only dreamed about in my old job.
“Here’s the thing…”
I return my attention to Miles, who looks pained.
“Dawkins is a good guy, but he can be a loose cannon at times. I offered up my firm to handle the publicity at no charge to the family group in exchange for him agreeing to allow me to accompany him on all interviews. So you’ll be setting these up for both of us and then coming along to handle any logistics. Assuming that’s okay with you.”
Accompany my boss to the Today show, Jimmy Fallon, Ellen? Umm… “No problem at all. How soon were you hoping to begin?”
“As soon as possible. I’ll leave the coordination to you, but I’d suggest we start locally and handle the West Coast stuff all at once.”
I’ve never handled a national media campaign on my own, but I figure with everyone clamoring for more of this story, it won’t be difficult to get it done quickly.
Miles hands me another piece of paper. “Dawkins’s contact info. He’s standing by, waiting for his marching orders.”
“I’ll set it up and send you and Mr. Dawkins the schedule.”
“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to hit you with on your first day, but Trevor tells me you’re more than up for the challenge.”