by Annie Kelly
This has been your warning.
Her timing couldn’t be more perfect. I hear her keys in the door just as I open up a message to respond. I drop my phone onto the end table and flop back down on the couch.
“Yo!” Carson calls out into the apartment. She sniffs the air. “Smells good. What did you have? Italian?”
I don’t want to talk about my parents right now so I just nod and say, “Takeout.”
Carson puts both hands on her hips.
“All right, bitch. Let’s go. We’re hitting up Dino’s.”
I manage to stifle a groan as I ask, “Is this going to be a couples thing, Cars? Because if it is, I’d really rather not.”
But she shakes her head. “Nope. Just you and me. Let’s go.”
She walks toward me, arms outstretched, and places both her hands on my shoulders.
“Listen, I get it. You’re a mess and you deserve to be—for a couple of days. But I won’t let you wallow any longer.”
She propels me toward the kitchen, where I grab my purse off the counter, and we both head out the front door. The last thing I feel like doing right now is going out, but I guess the way I figure it, there’s no better option. Not to mention that Carson won’t let up until I agree.
“Okay, okay,” I grumble, shrugging off her grasp on my shoulders. “But you’re driving. I’m totally taking advantage of having a DD tonight.”
Carson smirks and locks the door behind us.
“I wouldn’t expect any less.”
***
I’m on my third PBR draft when I finally start to talk about my parents.
“I’m so sorry, Rain,” Carson says, sipping her vodka tonic. “I knew they weren’t supportive of your job, but I guess I never thought they’d be like that. And I can’t tell you why Cyn decided to call them except to say that she must have been really worried.”
“Yeah, I know.” I shrug. “I’m not mad or anything. I just wish she’d talked to me first.”
“I think she tried, hun. You weren’t picking up the phone.”
I nod. “Fair enough.”
We lapse into silence, and then Carson takes a deep breath.
“So, listen, my timing royally sucks on this, but I have to tell you something.”
I raise a brow as I drain the rest of my beer.
“What’s up?”
Carson splays her hands out on the table in front of us.
“Wyatt is moving out of Holly Fields officially and he is getting a place of his own. He’s . . . he asked me to move in with him.”
I blink at her.
Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK.
Be happy for her, Rainey. That’s what you need to do.
So, I plaster on a smile.
“Wow, that’s wonderful! You must be so excited!”
Carson rolls her eyes and grins. “Shut the fuck up, you liar. You’re upset and I know it. I see right through you.”
I sigh, then shrug. “Sorry. I’m an asshole. I just . . . I guess I wasn’t ready. Not that I didn’t see it coming. I did. But I . . . I don’t know.”
I trail off, suddenly feeling like a complete dick. Carson is happy. Cyn is happy. And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that. They’re allowed to be in love.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates. It’s a series of texts—it goes off multiple times in a row. I pick up the phone, peering at the screen.
Owen: Rainey, you need to come to BYC tomorrow morning at 9 am.
Owen: There’s been a couple of changes—Kensington wants to see you.
Owen: Look, you can hate me all you want—but this is a chance for you to
save your job. The job you’ve earned.
Owen: And I love you. In case that wasn’t clear.
I almost laugh out loud. Nothing is clear anymore. Nothing at all. Still, as I stow my phone back in my bag, I turn to Carson.
“Do you mind taking me home?”
She looks incredibly devastated. “No, let’s finish our talk—come on, I don’t want you to be mad.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not mad, Cars. I promise. But I think I will have a chance to get my job back tomorrow, and I don’t want to be hungover.”
I don’t know if she’s convinced, but she grabs the check anyway. Sometime soon, my friends and I are going to need to sit down and have a heart-to-heart—but until then, it’s time for me to take care of myself. Starting right now.
Chapter Eighteen
Breathe, Rainey.
I’m sitting in the hallway at the empty BYC on Saturday morning waiting for Owen to come out and get me when the group is ready. He’s meeting with Mr. Kensington, along with the HR person in charge of BYC and the accounts manager. I can’t help but realize the irony that they aren’t all in the conference center. They easily could have still used it—there’s plenty of seating and all—but I guess they found it too uncomfortable. Either that, or they figured it would be a short meeting. Firing Rainey and getting the hell out of Dodge shouldn’t last longer than a few minutes.
But when Remy walks through the front door, my breathing advice flies out the window.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
He looks like a completely different person in a suit and tie. He smiles at me. Awkwardly, he leans down to give me a hug.
“I’m setting things right, Rain,” he whispers back. Then he reaches out and tugs one of my blond curls before striding back into the main office. I just stare at his retreating back until it disappears around the corner.
Dude. What the fuck?
Minutes pass and they feel like hours. Days, even. I don’t know how to keep waiting when I feel this incredibly unsure of the outcome. I want to run away—to bolt the hell out of this place.
I’m actually ready to take off when I hear someone open and shut a door in the office. Then Owen comes walking out—sidling out, really. His face is almost blank.
“They’re ready for you.”
I inhale deeply through my nose, then stand up and brush a hand down over my navy dress. I don’t say anything to Owen. I try not to even look at him. Instead, I walk ahead of him into the office and toward the closed door where the fate of my job is hiding.
Owen reaches over to open the door and I step inside. Mr. Kensington and Remy are chatting quietly. When he sees me, Remy stands up.
“I’ll be in touch moving forward. Thank you, Mr. Kensington.”
Mr. Kensington nods, then shakes Remy’s hand. Remy gives me a small smile, then exits the room.
Here it is. The moment of truth.
Owen sits at his desk. Mr. Kensington sits down in a nearby chair, then gestures for me to do the same. When I do, he clears his throat, then leans forward to meet my gaze.
“Ms. Wallace, it would seem that we owe you an apology.”
I blink at him, unsure of how to react.
“Um . . . excuse me?”
“It would seem that Remy—Mr. House—gave you clearance to use the card in every instance. We’ve gone through the records, and, save the most recent charge, Remy was responsible for the approval.”
I swallow.
“The most recent charge was mine,” I say quietly. “The money that was for the Safe Spaces project—I did that without any approval.”
Owen nods. “Yes, but since that initiative has recently received some unexpected funding, that money has been paid back to the county account.”
I frown at him. “Unexpected funding?”
He nods. “An anonymous donation arrived this morning, along with a letter about your community activism. Someone you talked to—someone you asked for money from—saw the potential in the project. In you. They sent a ten-thousand-dollar cashier’s check.”
“Holy shit,” I say, then press a hand to my mouth. “Sorry.”
>
Owen smiles. “No, that’s okay. I think we all feel that way.”
“Mr. House has agreed to replace the funds he spent through a paycheck deduction, and Mr. Marshall has written a two-thousand-dollar check to the city to cover the expenses for Safe Spaces. The other eight thousand is up to the two of you to use wisely. But once you’ve figured out your plans, I suggest that you keep us in the loop. Just to make sure all our ducks are in a row.”
I nod at him, looking between him and Owen.
“Of course. Thank you.”
Everyone but Owen and me files out of the room. For a long moment, we just stare at each other.
“So, I still have my job?” I ask quietly. He nods.
“Absolutely.”
“And so does Remy?”
Owen nods. “I’m surprised that he does, honestly,” he says, “but yeah. Kensington said something to him about second chances and redemption.”
I wonder if there was more to it—like the chance of Remy suing for prejudice. Regardless, the grin that takes over my face is like a reflex—a strong, unstoppable action. Owen smiles back, but he doesn’t come any closer. I clear my throat.
“So, when can I come back to work?”
“Tomorrow.” Owen gestures to the space around us. “It hasn’t been the same without you here. I can’t wait until you’re back.”
I inhale slowly, softly. I want to say more, but I’m so incredibly overwhelmed. Having my job back feels like the greatest prize—do I really want to risk it again by having a relationship with my boss?
“Well, I will see you tomorrow, then,” I say quietly.
We look at each other for a long moment. I wonder if he can see my urge to run into his arms. I close my eyes and turn around, then move for the front door. I can feel his gaze burning into my back, but I know I won’t make it out of the building if I turn around and look into his eyes. I propel myself out the door to my car. I pick up my phone and have to actively choose not to text him, not to call him. Instead, I turn on the radio and increase the volume, singing as loud as I can.
I know this is a victory. It feels like a victory. But in the back of my mind something is missing and it feels as empty as any failure ever could.
***
Once I’m home, I collapse on the couch. I am so mentally and emotionally exhausted that it’s translating to a physical inability to function. My eyelids are heavy and I could probably fall asleep. I might fall asleep, in fact, if there wasn’t a knock at the door.
I stare at it for a long moment. The last time I had an unexpected guest, it was my parents. I don’t even want to consider who could be at the door now. Still, the knock is insistent and I have to drag myself up and off of the couch.
“Coming,” I call out.
I don’t even bother looking through the peephole. When I pull the door open, Owen is standing there, his hand poised to knock again. He lowers it hastily.
“Hi,” he says. “I—um—wanted to see how you were doing.”
I blink at him. “I’m okay . . .”
He palms the back of his head. “Well—um—that’s good. I’m happy to hear it.”
He sort of shuffles in place and I just stare at him and his obvious discomfort.
“Owen?”
He glances up at me, his eyes unreadable. I cross my arms over my chest in a protective move.
“What are you doing here?” I ask softly.
He licks his lip and inhales sharply, as though he has an answer to my question but isn’t sure he wants to say it.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asks, tilting his head.
I think about that.
“No, that isn’t what I want.”
For another second, we stand in my doorway, staring at each other.
“Do you want to come in?” I finally ask. Owen nods, but walks slowly as he comes into my kitchen. I stand with my back to the refrigerator and watch him shift from foot to foot.
“I’m so glad that everything was figured out,” he finally says.
I nod.
“Me, too. I told you—I never took anything without permission, especially money.”
Owen swallows. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down and try not to think about running my tongue up and down his neck.
“Rainey, I’m so sorry. I promise you—I defended you from the moment I found out about the purchases. I told them you were just doing your job. And that you were invaluable to the center.”
I sniff. “What about that anonymous donation? When did that come into play?”
Owen looks down at his hands. “This morning, actually. The money and letter, combined with Remy’s confession—well, it pretty much convinced Kensington that you were worth retaining. At least, that’s the word he used. Retaining.”
I snort. “I honestly don’t think I care what his opinion of me is anymore. I don’t want anyone to give me a handout or a leg up or a second chance if they don’t think I’ve earned it.”
“Then what do you want?” Owen asks.
“Honestly?” I tilt my head. “I want to hear that you’re sorry.”
Owen moves toward me, reaches out with one hand, and touches my face.
“I promise you that I will never, ever keep anything from you again. I promise. And I am so sorry, baby. So very sorry that I didn’t talk to you in the first place to get your story. I should have, but I fucked up. I can’t apologize enough for that.”
When I don’t move away, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him.
“Rainey.”
He slides his hands up both my thighs and begins to spread my legs apart.
“Is this okay?”
I have to force myself not to whimper as he kneels down and presses his mouth to my left thigh, giving a wet, sucking kiss that travels from one leg to the other.
“Tell me this is okay,” he says, his voice dark with passion.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
I moan, which must spur Owen on. He surges up, roughly sliding the skirt of my dress up to my waist, then tugs my dark purple panties down to my knees, revealing my bare pussy to his gaze. He presses his mouth to the top of my mound, then just below—dead center on my clit. I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head, my lids fluttering, but I couldn’t possibly focus on anything of any importance right now. My entire being—heart, soul, and certainly libido—is completely absorbed by the sensations at my very core.
“We’ve wasted so much time,” he murmurs. “I should spend every moment from here on out making you feel good.”
Owen’s words—the way he speaks to me—are as hot as any touch.
But, of course, there’s a lot to be said for touch, too.
He uses both thumbs to spread my pussy apart, and I know he’s staring at my flesh, examining and admiring just how wet he’s managed to get me. His eyes meet mine as his tongue enters me, and I almost swoon with the delicious sensation of having his tongue fill me again and again.
As he moves to lick my clit in a pulsing, variable rhythm, I give myself over to the sensations, to the orgasm I know I deserve. I can feel myself cresting that peak, and, when he slides a finger inside me, I fall. I fall hard and fast and quickly into an abyss of pleasure. I don’t even realize I’m sinking down to the floor until I’m there. After a few long moments, I blink, looking around me at my kitchen. Owen reaches over and pulls me into his lap. Both of us are still catching our breaths.
“You okay?” he asks. I nod.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He grins at me then, and leans in to capture my mouth.
Regardless of anything else—the days apart, the times I felt like we were on two different sides, the times Owen felt like my boss more than my boyfriend—all of that feels like it’s behind us now. Safe Spaces has funding. I have my job.
I reach up and cup his chin.
“What about us?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“What about us?”
I sigh. “I don’t want to have to hide our relationship—I don’t want to run around covering our tracks. If it’s going to be like that, I don’t want to do this, Owen. It’s too hard. And it hurts.”
Owen leans down and presses a soft kiss on my mouth.
“After you left the office today, I spoke to Burt about you. I told him that we are dating and that isn’t going to change anytime soon, so if he wanted to move one of us, he’d need to make the decision now.”
My eyes widen. “But—he can’t move me—we just started the Safe Spaces project and I don’t want to have to abandon it. It’s something I’ve worked so hard on . . .”
But Owen’s shaking his head.
“He saw it the same way, Rainey,” he says, grinning. “The donation to Safe Spaces was specifically due to you. He doesn’t want to see that end.”
I frown. “Honestly, I really haven’t done that much outreach with community members. I don’t know how I got lucky.”
He shrugs. “Well, you did. And that’s all that mattered to Burt. And it’s all that matters for this job.”
I can’t help but grin as I shake my head. “That’s crazy.”
Owen squeezes me closer.
“So, we’re out in the open,” he says, brushing the hair away from my face. “We’re officially a couple—I mean, if that’s all right with you.”
I look up at Owen, then tip my face up to kiss him.
“It’s all right with me.”
“Good.”
He hops up then and reaches down to help me stand up, too. As I move to sit at the kitchen table, he starts peering through the fridge, then the pantry. I raise an inquisitive brow.
“Looking for something?”
He nods. “Food. Or ingredients at least. It’s about time I cooked my girlfriend dinner.”
Girlfriend.
That word used to scare the shit out of me but it doesn’t anymore. Neither do the next words I say out loud.
“Hey, Owen?”
“Hmmm?” he asks, pulling a bag of salad out of the crisper drawer.