by May Sage
"We'll accept the counter offer. Twenty thousand higher."
When they'd discussed numbers over the weekend, Anna and Finn had said they were willing to go as high as fifty thousand over their offer.
"Really?" The agent was squealing. Selling that type of property meant a large bonus in her pocket, no doubt.
"Really. When you get back to the owner, don't forget to mention that we have it cash."
He knew it made a lot of difference—waiting for a mortgage approval could take weeks, or more.
"That's fantastic. Do you need to discuss it with your wife first, or can I email them now?"
Finn thought it out. They'd talked about the numbers, but he didn't want to make such an important decision without Anna's explicit consent.
"If I can put you on hold for one minute, I'll ask her now."
The agent was happy to accommodate that request.
Anna replied quickly. "I'm trying to cook," she said, as guise of a greeting. "Send help."
He winced. "It's okay, the cleaner will take care of it in the morning. Now, I can't chat for long. Yvonne's on the other line—we can have the property for an extra twenty grand. They had another offer—lower than us—and I don't want to risk losing it. What say you?"
"I say yes, a million times yes! Shit, for real?"
"Yep. Hang on."
Returning to Yvonne, he confirmed their bid before hanging up.
"Done. We might speak contracts tomorrow. Thompson, Hargrove and Ford is now hiring a property lawyer so I'll get him on it if they say yes."
"Fuck! Celebrate. We must celebrate."
"No way, we're not jinxing that thing. We can celebrate when we have the contract in hand. I'll be back in fifteen. Do you need anything?"
"Just real food, for after we give up and chuck away my pasta."
He rolled his eyes. Her food was just fine. Still, to indulge her, he said, "I'll pick up burgers. All right, see you shortly. Love you."
The words had flown out of his mouth without warning and it was too late to take them back. Shit. What now?
To his relief, Anna didn't seem to have noticed it at all. "See you soon!" she said, before ending the call.
What the hell was that?
Chapter 13
As the pasta turned out okay, they had it for dinner and burgers for supper two hours later. They did not, however, celebrate, although Anna was dying to dance around and drink champagne.
"They could still say no. Wipe that grin off your face."
"Come on, they gave us a price and we accepted. We're so going to get the apartment!"
Finn refused to cheer up. After attempting to ply him with dumb jokes, games, some Game of Thrones, food, beer, and barely extracting a grin from him, she gave up. "All right, what's going on? You're grumpy as fuck."
He kept his eyes on the screen, as if his entire attention was on Tywin Lannister. "I'm just thinking about what you said yesterday, wondering if we made the right choice, is all."
Oh, well, she could hardly blame him for that. Only, he didn't realize one thing. "I was being dumb, and entirely expecting you to talk me out of the funk. That's your job. And my job is to talk you out of it now, so spill. Why are you getting cold feet?"
That did extort the ghost of a smile from his reluctant lips. "Cold feet. That's one way of putting it. All right, so, I think that I shouldn't have dismissed your concerns that lightly. If you do want to date, find someone to settle down with now, it's only likely that you'll feel that way next month, and next year, and the year after that. You may end up resenting me for holding you back."
Fair, and annoyingly reasonable. "I won't. We're buying an apartment, not holding each other in a basement with shackles. I'll date if I want to."
"And I'll continue being an ass each time you do. That's not..." he thought it out. "Healthy."
Anna considered what he'd said for a few instants, before replying. "All right, so truth is, if you started to date tomorrow, I'd probably feel the exact same way. I'd certainly be scared of another Patricia, someone who'd get in our way, you know? So I'm not upset at your lack of enthusiasm for my dating life. I expected it. If you'd been all right with it, I would have been surprised, actually."
Finn chuckled humorlessly. "And no wonder they're all saying we're in love with each other, given how we act."
Another time, she might have chuckled with him. Now she was noticing how very close he was, and how his leg was brushing against hers. It would have been easy, ever so easy, to shift on the sofa and climb on his lap. Take his mouth like it belonged to her, and just see what he had to say about it, once and for all.
"They say we're in love with each other because I love you, and you love me, and they aren't capable of imagining that relationship without sex added into the mix." She shrugged. "We're proof it's possible."
Finn generally agreed. He made no answer tonight.
"What?"
"Sometimes," he replied slowly, "I wonder if they're right. I wonder if you and I are more—should be more. I wonder what it'd be like to call you mine, in every way. And then I remember that trying might cost us this, so I don't."
Her jaw fell.
He...he was thinking about her that way?
"You can blame Wren for this. He said something about communication, or whatever."
Anna concentrated on the one piece of information her brain could compute. "You're taking Wren Richards' advice now?"
Finn laughed, getting to his feet. "I know, right? Terrible idea. I'm going to crash. I'll text you when we get new from Yvonne in the morning."
Before she knew what was happening, he was retreating toward his bedroom. Shit. She couldn't leave it at that, dammit.
"You know," she said, eyes on her lap, "I wonder the same thing, sometimes."
He stopped striding away. She glanced back at him, finding him framing the doorway, eyes set on her. They were just as intense as they'd been the previous day.
"Do you now?"
She shrugged. "How could I not? It's always been a fleeting idea, though. I'm not...your type. And as you said, we'd have too much to lose. Still."
"Still," he repeated.
"There are questions that don't need answers," she said firmly.
"Others do, Anna."
She bit her lip.
"I guess you and I need to figure out how curious we are. Either way, we're buying this house tomorrow, right?"
It didn't really sound like a question.
"Yes. Yes, we are."
"Good. Sleep well."
On that note, he left.
How the hell was she ever going to sleep again after that brainfuck?
Chapter 14
“Questions that don't need answers?”
Fuck that shit. He wanted all of his questions answered. All of them. He needed to know the color of her pussy lips, and the taste of her cum, and the moans she made when he'd take her, slow, deep, and then harder and harder until she begged for mercy.
Anna wanted him. She'd admitted to it, and nothing else mattered. He couldn't concentrate on anything, because only one thing mattered: Anna wanted him.
Finn didn't think he'd ever, in his entire life, desired anything as much as he wanted the future he'd dreamed of the previous night. A future with a puppy, blue, gray, green and silver furniture in the elegant apartment they'd chosen, and Anna by his side, without having to ever consider the possibility of relinquishing her. He'd denied it practically all his life, but now that he'd finally admitted it to himself, he had no choice: he had to fight for that.
Unfortunately, he was fighting against the most redoubtable enemy: fear. He'd seen it in Anna's eyes. She doubted everything: that he was serious, that he could want her, that he was ready for a real relationship. Above all, she doubted herself, unsure of herself—her feelings for him. They'd been friends for so long, she didn't know if she wanted more.
"I wonder the same thing, sometimes." "We'd have too much to lose." "There are questions t
hat don't need answers."
She was afraid and only one thing could change that: time. Time, and a reason to believe in him. In a possibility for them.
Time, and glimpses of what a life with him as her man would be like.
Around midday, Yvonne got back to him about the Madison apartment: the owners had accepted their offer.
Finding his phone battery dead, unsurprisingly, he grabbed the landline at his desk and typed the only number he knew by heart.
Anna answered on the second ring. "Tell me we got the fucking house!"
"We got the fucking house."
He had the foresight to distance the receiver from his hear before she yelled a "hell yes! I told you! I told you we had it in the bag, you grumpy idiot. Oh my God, yes. When are we doing everything?"
"I called you as soon as I received the email. I'll get in touch with Yvonne on my break."
"Awesome. Oh my God. Champagne tonight!"
"Actually," he said casually, "I thought we might eat out to celebrate properly."
This wasn't a usual occurrence; so far this year, they'd perhaps had dinner out of the house together three or four times—after a movie, or when his brother convinced them to hang out. But as they didn't buy a house every day, Anna didn't think to question it.
"Hell yes. Somewhere nice. I want all the food and champagne."
"Sounds like a plan.” Actually, it sounded like a date. “I’ll book and text you the info when my phone's got battery."
After hanging up, Finn plugged his phone in, and finished reading the info on his next case. He called his client and stayed on the phone for an hour, clock-watching a good dozen times. Finally, he was done with his work load for the morning, and his mobile phone was halfway charged.
He called Yvonne first, and then headed to Maria's large corner office.
He knocked on her glass door, and walked in when she gestured him forward, remaining silent as she was on the phone.
"That's not acceptable, Perkins, and you know it. Here is how it's gonna be: you'll take care of your mess, and get your fucking client to agree on our settlement by Friday. That's more than fair, given the circumstances. Get it done, or I'll crush you in court."
Finn winced. Most lawyers liked winning, but he was pretty sure squeezing balls like that got Maria wet. She loved dominating the office, the courtroom, and everything else, hence why she was a partner at forty-three. She basically went up to Ford and Hargrove one day and informed them that they were either making her a partner or she'd walk out to open her own firm.
"Johnson. How's the Harvey case looking?"
He winced. "Not good. Not enough information, so I'm guessing he's lying to us."
A factory employee was suing a corporation after a fall—unsafe safety measures. The employee had reached out to them.
Her eyes flared. "You called them?"
Finn nodded. "They're very tight-lipped over the phone. I could request a visit…."
"Don't bother. We're not taking the case."
Just what he wanted to hear. "Good. I'm done for the day; I can stay and lend a hand to someone else if you need me to, but if we're quiet, do you mind if I slip out early?"
"Go, we owe you plenty of hours."
He smiled. "Thanks, boss."
"Doing anything nice?" she asked, tilting her head. "That's not like you to ask to take off early."
She was right. He didn't particularly like half-days. Finn was a social animal, and his friends were all working until the end of the day; Anna didn't make it home before five-thirty at the earliest.
"Christmas shopping," he replied. "I'm also grabbing decorations this year. By the way, does Paul have time on his hands, do you know? Anna and I are buying a place. As we have the cash, we could have the keys as early as next week if he can fit us in."
"Buying with Anna, mh?" she smiled knowingly.
Finn didn't comment on it.
"I'll email Paul, tell him to fit you in. Congrats, Johnson."
Finn had a busy afternoon—before he knew it, the main door of the Johnson household was being opened. He rushed to the entryway, smiling broad. Then, his smile froze in place.
"Mom."
Oh shit.
Chapter 15
Arabella Johnson was an elegant, still-beautiful lady of seventy-two, who didn't look a day over forty-five, courtesy of her friend Bruno, the surgeon she kept on speed dial.
She enjoyed all fineries and delighted in luxury. This year, she was spending December on a safari, in Africa. Arabella was fond of cats, and she refused to leave this world until she'd cuddled a lion. Hence why Finn didn't comprehend what she was doing here.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Nigeria this week?"
"Good of you to remember my itinerary, Finnegan. And I would certainly be there, had your stubborn brother not insisted on this farce." She tsked. "A wedding, scheduled in four weeks! And around Christmas, too. What has the world come to?"
Behind her, her butler came in, a large suitcase in hand, and the leash of a white Maine Coon cat on the other.
"Ah, Arnold. When you're done with my luggage, make some tea, would you?"
Arabella walked in and took over like she owned the place—which she did.
Finn followed her, wincing in advance as he thought of what she'd have to say about the new sofa.
"A tree!" she noted, surprised, her eyes set on the eight foot tall Christmas tree he'd just carried in. Arabella turned to her soon. "Not decorated, but still, it's better than none."
He shrugged. "I just got it today. Anna and I will decorate it this evening." He pointed to the various bags at the foot of the large, bushy Christmas tree. "See?"
"Ah." Arabella swept the room in one glance. "And where is Annabelle now, may I ask?"
"At work, Mom. She should get home soon."
"Good," was all the reply she made.
Finn looked for his phone, to warn Anna, but the door opened again before he located it. He practically ran to the entryway.
One glance at his expression, and Anna groaned. "Don't tell me she's here?" she whispered.
He nodded helplessly.
"Is that you, Annabelle?"
No one called Anna that, not even her own family; she hated the stuffy name, and she'd said so many times. Arabella Johnson didn't care about such things as preferences, however.
"Yes, Arabella."
"Well, come on through then. Let's get a good look at you."
Anna sighed, before pushing her shoulder back, and walking in the lounge with a big smile. "Welcome home, Arabella. We didn't know you were coming, or we would have put fresh flowers in your room."
She waved her hand. "I can get my own flowers, child. Come closer. Yes, right here. You changed your hair."
Anna nodded. "Yes, I had it layered, and got some highlights, too. Do you like it?"
"I suppose," said Arabella, her expression cold and indifferent.
Come to think of it, it was no wonder that Anna thought Arabella disliked her. She did look very severe and judgmental. But Finn knew his mother: she fucking doted on Anna.
"How's that job of yours? Still drawing toys?"
"Yes, it's very fulfilling. This week, we're giving away ten thousand toys to families who can't afford Christmas presents in the country. Limited collection, just for them. I got to design three of the dolls."
Arabella blinked—words such as dolls and exclusive never failed to pique her interest. "Did you, now? Well, you better show me what you're made of, young lady."
Anna got her phone and proudly showed her designs to the old woman.
"Ah, tea!" said his mother, when Arnold walked in with a tray.
Finn had never seen the tray, or the dark brown tea set—it looked Asian. Another new fancy of his mother's, no doubt.
"You must try this, both of you."
He and Anna were both coffee drinkers, and his mother knew it. "I'll pass," Finn said, shrugging.
Arabella ignored him, pouring her concoction
into four cups—for all her airs, she rarely excluded Arnold.
"Drink," she ordered him, lifting a cup toward him.
He sighed, and took it. Anna was wiser, grasping her without protest.
After one sip, he grimaced. Leaf's piss, like any other tea he'd ever drunk.
"What do you say?" Arabella demanded to know.
"Very nice," Anna lied.
"Pretty shit," Finn said.
"Exquisite, ma'am," was Arnold's answer.
Arabella was satisfied, as they'd all replied exactly as she'd expected.
"You take pleasure in vexing me, Finnegan. I know better than to believe a word out of your mouth."
"If you wanted a dutiful son, you should have picked a half decent name for me."
"Finnegan is perfectly acceptable. Isn't it just, Annabelle?"
"Yes, Arabella. I think it has character, and Finn suits him, in any case."
"See? Remarkably pleasant and courteous as usual. Now, if we can get you to stop slouching, you'd be quite the perfect little housewife."
"Maybe Anna doesn't aspire to be a housewife. She's perfect as-is, slouch and all."
Arabella rolled her eyes. "We can all do with a little improvement."
"Present company included, mother?" Finn challenged.
Arabella shrugged. "That's what Bruno's for, dearest. Now, I haven't planned dinner, would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you could accommodate me tonight?"
Oh, no. No. Just no.
"Sorry, Mom. Anna and I are eating out. There's leftovers, and we can call take out if you'd like—or there's plenty of things Arnold could cook in the fridge."
Arabella did not, of course, cook.
His mother blinked.
"Going out?" she repeated. "You two? Am I to understand that you've started dating?"
Oh, for Christ's sake.
"We eat out from time to time, Mom, that's all. Tonight, we're celebrating." Might as well get it over with. "Anna and I are buying our own place—you'll have the house to yourself when you visit NYC in the future."