Another One (Lighter Ones Book 2)

by Aleatha Romig

  “Yes, you are. Go ahead.”

  “I was surprised when your firm said you were still the contact here in the city. I thought you were leaving after the bachelor party.”

  “That had been my plan. But you’re right. I’m not here as a friend but as an investment specialist. I almost forgot this is a business meeting.” He looks at his watch. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

  I pull out my iPad and bring it to life. “This proposal has been out to...”

  While I feel a little guilty talking to Max without letting Shana or Stephen know that he’s still in town, this really is a business meeting. When I contacted Max’s firm to question what was happening with a proposal I’d generated, I never expected to see Max.

  I’d said goodbye to him, Matt, and Eric on the Sunday morning after the party.

  We’d managed to keep Shana’s little blowup away from Eric. Through it all, the groom-to-be seemed to have a good time. Less than a month to go and he’ll officially be a married man. The wedding is a destination thing with an exclusive guest list of his and Cynthia’s family. Last weekend was our time for his friends to be together to send him into the world of matrimony with memories.

  Now that Shana and I are kind of together, I’m not too sad about missing the wedding.

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Max and Stephen have history. And even though neither Max nor Stephen has given me any information, I’ve managed to get a little bit here and there from Shana. In a nutshell, she thinks that one of my good friends is worse than pond scum. She mentioned something about fungi below the depths.

  For that reason, inviting her to Eric’s wedding where Max would be if it weren’t a small family wedding would probably not be a good idea. Oh, and then there’s the whole thing about my taking Cynthia to Duncan’s wedding. Yes, the bachelor party was our friend send-off for Eric to the world of married bliss.

  Though my information regarding Max and Stephen is mostly self-generated, it isn’t difficult to connect the dots. Shana and Stephen have been living in London. Max lives in London. The chances of their paths crossing in a city as big as London is probably statistically similar to the chances of their paths crossing in New York City—given the variant and taking subcategories into consideration.

  Their connection skews the median results.

  It happened.

  In both cities.

  As we’re about to leave the bar, I realize why I’m surprised Max is still in town. “You’ve been in the city all week and haven’t stayed at my place? Eric has moved out. He’s now with Cynthia. I still have the extra bedroom.”

  Max’s hand lands on my shoulder. “No, I haven’t. After Saturday night, I figured you were probably busy, you know...” he says with a grin, “getting burned.”

  I was. I am.

  “Still, friends are always welcome...”

  “Trust me, I’ve been busy too.”

  “Are you heading back to London soon?”

  “The flights are a mess right now. The royal wedding has caused ticket prices to soar. Since my plans changed, rebooking will nearly take selling the royal jewels. When I negotiated my itinerary change, I told my firm that I’d stay here and take care of a few matters we have pending. In the long run, I’m saving them money. I’m sure they’ll remember that when it comes to bonus time.”

  “You have my number,” I say, “if you need anything or if you hear about the proposal.”

  “I do. I’m going to be out of the city...” Max looks at his watch again. “...as a matter of fact, I need to get to the train station. I have a four o’clock. I’ll be back on Monday and let you know what I hear—if I hear.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate knowing I have someone on the inside.”

  Max’s expression stays the same, yet his eyes cloud in a way that makes the enthusiasm I felt while explaining my proposal disappear. “Hey,” I say, “I understand, there’s a limit to friendship.”

  “No. The limit’s not on the friendship. I’ll do what I can. The limit is on my influence over other people’s decisions. Investment is a slippery slope. I know McCobb Engineering is worth it. I’ve seen your work and dedication. All I can do is make the proposal. Pushing too hard isn’t in anyone’s best interest.”

  “Only shear...but pulling, that’s tensile.” I place my glass on the bar and look for some acknowledgment of my comedy. When I don’t see any, I explain, “Pushing and pulling…engineering humor.”

  Max shakes his head. “I hope you wooed Shana with something other than your stand-up comedy.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, she’s fallen for my singing.”

  “You sing?”

  “Only in the shower.”

  Max shakes his head as his phone and mine buzz at the same time.

  “Thanks again, Max,” I say as I look down. “Please keep me posted.”

  Shana: “I’M FREE FOR THE ENTIRE WEEKEND. PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN TAKE MY MIND OFF SAKS UNTIL MONDAY MORNING.”

  Me: “OH, MY LADY, I HAVE A CONCERT PLANNED.”

  Shana: “A CONCERT? WHAT BAND?”

  Me: “IT’S A PRIVATE SHOW. VERY INTIMATE.”

  Shana: “WHAT CLOTHES SHOULD I PACK?”

  Me: “NOT NECESSARY. NUDE VENUE.” (Smile emoji)

  Shana: “THEN I’M PACKED!” (Blushing smile emoji)

  Shana

  Back in my hotel room, as I prepare for my escape weekend with Trevor, I contemplate what to throw into my carry-on suitcase. There might have been a time when I would have felt guilty about leaving two hotel rooms in the Financial District of Manhattan unoccupied for two nights on Saks’s dime, but as I take a deep breath to expel the negativity from the last week working with Witch Vicky, I’m filled with nothing but anticipation.

  Even though Trevor told me the concert venue is nude, I throw a few tops, a pair of jeans, and even a skirt and blouse onto the bed. It’s then that I see the black Saks Fifth Avenue bag with the small black and white bow that brings a much-needed smile to my face.

  The negligee inside isn’t exactly like the one I wore on the runway. That one is for next season’s sales. This one caught my eye as I was leaving the offices on the tenth floor this evening—the mannequin near the elevators was wearing it. Reaching nearly to the floor, the sleek satin fell loosely from its shoulders, held in place by delicate spaghetti straps. What caught my attention were the lace accents strategically arranged for optimum viewing.

  It was Stephen who encouraged me, telling me to go for it. “This is our weekend,” he said. “Last Saturday, you wore lingerie for Saks. This weekend, do it for you.”

  When I shrugged, he whispered, “This time, you’ll not imagine those sexy green eyes. All he’ll see is you.”

  “Do you think it’s a little forward?”

  For the first time since leaving the offices, Stephen smiled. “Girl, bunny-rabbit sex is forward. That right there...” He tilted his head toward the mannequin. “...is wrapping. It’s anticipation...it’s—”

  I placed my hand on his arm. “Stop. I’m going to need nipple tape if you say any more.”

  “Go get it.” The door to the elevator opened. “Bye, boss lady. I need to get straight to the train station.”

  It was as the doors were closing that I realized he wasn’t packed for a weekend with his parents. “Where are your things?”

  Stephen winked. “Not to worry. A friend is bringing them.”

  “A friend...?” The doors closed.

  Now, as I’m packing, I remember that at lunch he told me he had a secret.

  Damn, I’m a bad friend. Instead of thinking about work or daydreaming about Trevor, I should have asked. Lifting my phone, I send a quick text.

  Me: “I KNOW YOU’RE ON THE TRAIN. TELL YOUR MOM AND DAD I SAID HI. ALSO, WHEN DO I GET TO KNOW YOUR SECRET? IT ISN’T NICE TO MAKE ME WAIT.”

  I hit send, fully expecting to not hear a word back from him until Sunday or at least tomorrow.

  As I’m about
to finish packing, my phone rings.

  KIMBRA is on the screen.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Are you really leaving next Friday?”

  Letting out a long sigh, I sit on the edge of the big bed. “Stephen and I have return airplane reservations for next Friday night leaving out of JFK. We’re headed back to London, no matter what happens with the position. Either we need to pack and get juniors squared away or we are simply moving back home to our places in Shepherd’s Bush, just a tube ride away from our jobs.”

  “Am I a bad friend if I don’t want London to be your home?”

  “No,” I say with a grin. “I think that makes you a good friend.”

  “So what are your plans for your last weekend in the Big Apple—until you move back here?”

  I recall Trevor’s comments last night as we dined at yet another fabulous restaurant in the sky. “Well, I’ve been told that I have and can make no plans.”

  “Oh! I like that. And how are you supposed to pack for this no-plan weekend?”

  I giggle. “I was told the venue is a strict no-clothes zone.”

  “Well, hot damn. Quiet Trevor needs a new nickname.”

  I laugh, thinking I could give him a few. Of course, none are ones I’m willing to share.

  “Shana?” Kimbra says when I get lost in my own erotic thoughts.

  “Sorry. Yes, he’s definitely not quiet or shy or any of the other adjectives you’ve mentioned.”

  “Babe, I’m so happy for you and for him,” she adds. “I don’t want to impose on your weekend, but can we see the two of you?”

  “I guess I better pack clothes.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. The thing is that on Sunday afternoon Christopher and Beth are coming over for dinner. They’re in the city for a concert. That’s a good thing because they can’t stay too long. Duncan and I were thinking this would be a good time for them to meet you.”

  My mind is filled with names and people. I think about friends I used to work with here in New York. I’ve seen a lot of them here at the offices. I try to recall people from Kimbra’s circles. “I’m sorry, I’m drawing a blank. Who are Christopher and Beth?”

  “Oh shit. Well, you met them once.”

  I shake my head. “Can you give me another clue? I’ve been a little crazy lately.”

  “First, tell me if you can come over Sunday?”

  “I need to check with Trevor. Remember, he said no plans. Now my curiosity is growing. When did I meet these people?”

  “At my wedding,” Kimbra responds.

  “At your wedding?”

  “They’re Duncan and Trevor’s parents.”

  I fall back onto the bed, landing on the pile of clothes waiting to be packed as I let out a long breath. “Kimberly Ann!”

  “It won’t be bad. They’re great people. They’re much saner than my family, and you’ve survived them. Besides, I may have mentioned to Beth that Trevor was seeing my very best friend in the whole world and how you were going to be leaving for a while but the two of you are trying to make it work and how this started at the wedding and how Trevor is totally smitten, and she is so excited.”

  “Whoa, take a breath.”

  “Please?”

  “I passed on spending the weekend with Stephen’s family and now this?”

  “Like I said, it’s not like with my family. There will be no strip poker or discussion of sex toys.”

  I giggle. “That’s so good to know.”

  “Oh,” she says, “I need to go. So I’ll tell Duncan that you and Trevor will be here Sunday at three. Love you. Bye.”

  “Wait—”

  Pulling my phone away from my ear, I look at the screen. “Bitch, you hung up.” Of course, she doesn’t hear me.

  There’s a number by my text message icon. I must not have heard the notifications when I was talking to Kimbra. I tap the screen.

  Trevor: “MY LADY, IF YOU DON’T ARRIVE SOON, YOU’LL MISS THE OPENING ACT.”

  I shake my head.

  Me: “I’VE ALWAYS BEEN MORE OF A HEADLINER FAN.”

  Trevor: “THE OPENING ACT IS FOOD.”

  My stomach growls as I recall that I only ate some of my salad today for lunch.

  Me: “ON MY WAY!”

  They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m pretty sure that works for women too. I quickly fold everything I have on the bed and place it in my suitcase, making room for toiletries and my little black and white bag.

  Leaving my work clothes on the floor of the closet, I slip into the tight jeans I wore Saturday night, a comfortable long top, and my tall boots. Running a brush through my hair, I secure it in a low ponytail and pull the length over my shoulder.

  This is supposed to be my escape weekend. Looking at the clock, I see it’s almost seven on Friday night. That gives me until Sunday at three. I plan to enjoy every minute.

  Goodbye, Ms. Price, professional fashion buyer. Hello, Shana, someone looking for an escape.

  I may have told Stephen I was going to use this weekend to assess my mess of a life, but as I’m turning off the lights to my hotel suite, I decide that assessment isn’t what I need. Instead, for once, I want to simply enjoy. I want to forget about whatever is going to happen with my job, not think about Stephen’s secret, and even put off thinking about Sunday’s dinner at Kimbra’s. For the next forty-plus hours, I want to relax and enjoy.

  Trevor

  You would think I’m seventeen on my first date.

  Since leaving the bar with Max and receiving Shana’s text that she was done for the week and wanted me to take her mind off work, I’ve been in planning overload. It’s what I do. I plan, probably excessively. After all, a structure doesn’t become a fifty-story building without planning. First there are specs. What will be needed to secure the foundation? A building or a bridge, no matter how well constructed, won’t stand without a strong foundation. After that, preliminary plans are developed. The investors’ desires are taken into consideration but always with safety regulations in mind.

  Once the basics are formulated, a model is constructed. While I loved Legos as a kid, these models are different, being built to scale for a very specific reason. If the model can’t stand or withhold the stresses placed upon it, neither will the structure.

  It’s the way my mind works.

  Of course, things are different for creating a weekend with the woman I’m falling for. I know it’s true. Then again, maybe Kimbra was right and I’ve already fallen. That morning in Indianapolis, when Shana woke in my bed, I was a goner.

  I’ll never forget the way she looked at me. With her beautiful blue eyes wide, wearing my button-down shirt, her expression filled with surprise and wonder. I admit I had fun teasing her and stretching out the explanation for our situation.

  Through it all, she remained calm and innocent.

  Oh, I wanted her that night. I wanted her that weekend, but not taking her has made what we’ve shared this week so much better.

  I stop and look around my apartment. It isn’t a bad apartment for New York. When I first moved in, I had Eric as a roommate. That helped with expenses. Now that he’s getting married and living with Cynthia, I can’t imagine downsizing. Not that it’s large, but two bedrooms in Manhattan—unless you’re my brother—is like a mansion in other areas.

  Since I’ve taken Shana to many of her favorite spots this week—last night we went to Gaston’s—I decided that this weekend would be different. No fancy restaurants—she has to dress professionally all week. No crowded venues. No fuss.

  I remembered something Duncan told me once about Kimbra. He said that one of his favorite times is when they hide out all weekend getting lost in one another, movies on Netflix, and comfort food.

  Shana and I may not have the jet-set life of Duncan and Kimbra, but I like what he said. It shows me that despite what he does, my brother is still the down-to-earth guy that our parents raised. We didn’t always have a lot growing up, but we always
had home.

  For one weekend, I hope I can give that to Shana.

  I take a look at my phone, hoping there’ll be another message from her, but instead there’s one from Max and one from my mother.

  Great.

  I open the one from Max first.

  “EVERYTHING WAS CONFIRMED RECEIVED AT THE MAIN OFFICE. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED.”

  I don’t know if this is the best career move I’ve ever made. I’ve always been the guy who went where he was needed and picked up the pieces of whatever was given to me. This is the first time I’ve pursued a project with this much vigor. It could either work or backfire.

  I scoff at my limited options.

  “Yes, Trevor. You’ll either succeed or fail. There’s no gray area in that.”

  It seems like my options are a lot like Shana’s. She did her best for that damn fashion show, the one I didn’t want to attend. She put herself on the line and according to her, the sales have been successful; however, the decision she made to walk on that stage, to put aside her insecurities for others, could be her undoing in ladies’ lingerie.

  Nothing worthwhile comes without risk.

  I decide to bite the bullet and open my mother’s text.

  Mom: “DAD AND I ARE COMING TO THE CITY FOR A CONCERT ON SUNDAY. I HEARD A RUMOR THAT I’D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. MAYBE YOU COULD GIVE YOUR MOM A CALL?”

  Fuck!

  My damn brother is closer to our mom. It’s not an issue for me. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. I don’t need to have dinner with her once a week. Yes, I think he still does that even now that he’s married.

  But just because he has dinner with her doesn’t mean he has to tell her about me.

  I look again at Shana’s text.

  With Friday-night traffic, she should be here soon. Shaking my head, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and face my mom.