Engagement Rate (The Callaghan Green Series Book 1)

by Annie Dyer

  My cheeks were now anything but pale, in fact, if anyone looked over they might suspect I was having some form of allergic reaction. "Thank you for the recommendation. I'm not sure what to say about Jackson." I went for honesty. "I think I might have messed things up. And how did Claire know?"

  "Your friend Sophie. But I don't want to get her into trouble with you."

  "It's fine. Sophie would've been just looking out for me. Like Jackson was. Sophie promised she wouldn't contact Jackson but she didn't say anything about speaking with Claire." And it's then I feel a real sense of sadness and longing. "I've completely messed up."

  Roger smiled, reminding me of my father. "I think we're all allowed to mess up sometimes. And I don't think it's irreparable. I'll just add that even if things don't work out between you and Jackson, we'll still be using your firm."

  "And I'll still be recommending you. I know you were used to something different from Richard Cole and his family. Most people don't work like that," Marie said. "Now, about the ball."

  The rest of the meeting stayed clear of discussions about Richard; Marie going over some of the details of the retirement ball and passing a pen drive full of photographs of Ed to be used however we wanted. Roger asked various questions about marketing and then Borough Market and the restaurants there, which then turned to a discussion about Simone. I remembered the reservation for Simone's tonight and felt nervous. I had no idea whether it would be Jackson there or someone else.

  I checked my phone when I returned to the office, finding nothing but a text from Sophie and another from my gran. I slouched down at my desk and gave in.

  Me: Thank you for the shoes and the dress. The shoes are perfect and I can't believe you remembered me saying how much I liked the dress.

  A few minutes later my phone beeped. I tried to ignore it, perusing through some of the initial ideas Josh's team had come up with for an account, but curiosity got the better of me.

  Jackson: Good.

  Me: Will you be at Simone's tonight?

  Jackson: Do you want me to be there?

  Shit. I did. I wanted to see him so badly. To apologize for overreacting. To tell him that being able to own my successes was important to me. To tell him that I'd struggled to think of anything else since Thursday beside him and that made me feel pathetic because I'd never been like that before.

  Jackson: It's okay if you don't. I can give you more time.

  Me: I want you to be there. Why do you want me to be there?

  Jackson: Why do you think?

  Me: Because I screwed up and you want to tell me, just like Alice and Sophie have done? And Marie, kind of?

  Jackson: When did Marie get involved?

  Me: She came with Roger today. It was fine. She said nothing wrong.

  My phone remained silent. I eventually put it away in my desk drawer so I could try to concentrate on work, which was why I should declare a vow of celibacy until I retired as this was all too much of distraction. I then kept looking at the dress hung on the back of the door and the shoes that Alice had left like ornaments on my shelves. A new dress and new shoes called for new underwear, even if the only person to see it was me. Concentration wasn't happening anyway, so I closed my office door, making sure I had my phone in my bag and headed out to take advantage of a meeting free afternoon even though the work would still be there when I got back.

  The tube was full of tourists, a small child asking a million questions, most of them entirely inappropriate as they were asked very loudly about people in the carriage. I made my way through the crowds, down the busy main road to a hidden side street where my favorite lingerie shop sat like a secret, one filled with pretty bras and briefs, and a few other bits and pieces in the back that I had bought from on several occasions.

  I was choosing between a black lace bra and a nude push up that would give me enough cleavage for a man to drown in when my phone beeped. My phone was yanked from my bag faster than a child opening a bag of sweets.

  Jackson: I want you to be there tonight, but only if you want to be with me. I'm glad you like the shoes and dress, but you don't need to wear them unless you want to. I'll still want you even if you turn up in sweatpants and a gym top.

  Vanessa: You still want me even though I'm more of a commitment-phobe that any man and have a persistent sense of self-unworth?

  Jackson: Yep.

  Me: Why?

  Jackson: Because that's you and I don't want anyone else.

  Me: I'll see you tonight.

  Me: Thank you.

  I bought the nude bra and its matching briefs, then I called Sophie and let her know about today's gifts and tonight's arrangements.

  "The boy's done well. Enjoy yourself," she said. "Send me a text later if you're not going to be home, which I expect will be the case."

  "Maybe. He might be meeting me to return my make-up."

  "You don't buy £600 shoes for a woman whose stuff you're returning. You buy £600 shoes for a woman whose legs you want on your shoulders as you pound into her, with the shoes still on. Trust me, honey, he'll be wanting his money's worth from those shoes."

  "I'll let you know."

  "Send pictures. Talk to you tomorrow, probably." I heard her yell at somebody as she hung up.

  Stopping for coffee before heading back to the office, I tried to curb the nerves that had taken residence in my stomach like a small colony of bees. Six days ago, I'd called time on us; six days of feeling empty without a man I'd known only a few weeks.

  I just hoped we could find a way forward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jackson

  Simone had found us the darkest corner, tucked away from sight and away from the passing waiting on staff. She'd added candles and a bottle of champagne was already set up, plus a tumbler of a type whiskey that I knew wasn't on the drinks menu, so must've come from Simone's own stash. She struck me as a whiskey drinker.

  My phone vibrated, reminding me that I needed to turn it off. I didn't want tonight to be interrupted by clients or family, especially family. A group message had begun shortly after I'd berated Marie for her interference and was still continuing sporadically, even Callum getting his opinion in now he was back somewhere they had wifi after saving elephants or rhinos or something with a horn. He was due back in a couple of weeks and there had been some noise from Marie about him staying in London as a position had become available at the zoo that he was interested in. I had heard this before, when he'd been in India for six months and instead of coming back to England, he'd nipped off to Borneo. I opened the message, thankful it was an individual one from Max.

  Max: I heard that you sent your testicles to Vanessa today in the form of a pair of shoes and a dress. Good to know they've gone to good use.

  Jackson: How did I end up with you for a fucking brother?

  Max: By good grace and fortune. Seriously, hope all goes well and you manage to prove that you're not a complete tosser. I'd quite like to be an uncle.

  Jackson: WTF?

  Max: Have a good one. Turn your phone off.

  I took his advice, hoping that when I switched back on again in the morning, my mood would be good enough to be able to deal with whatever shit was currently been said behind my back by my so-called family.

  By quarter past eight, Vanessa hadn't arrived and I was starting to get twitchy. Simone kept glancing over, her eyes sympathetic. Van was always on time and usually early, being late was a shit sign that she'd changed her mind and had decided that I wasn't worth taking a risk on.

  Her text messages were imprinted on my brain; as was the photo of the flowers I'd sent. I'd purposely avoided commenting or sending messages that needed a response until today, knowing I needed to give her space to make her own mind up. My girl did not do too well when she wasn't controlling the situation – other than in the bedroom.

  I was just about to switch my phone on to see if she'd sent me a text when I saw Simone leading Vanessa throu
gh the restaurant to me, the sympathetic expression gone from Simone's face and instead she looked quietly excited. I stood up, fidgeting with my hair and took in the sight of Vanessa, wearing the dress and shoes I'd sent her, her hair up in some complicated style that would be a fucking nightmare to take down later – I knew from experience with my sisters' hair. She looked like my every wet dream, every fantasy and my home wrapped into one. I pulled her chair out for her to sit down, knowing full well that she might say she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but I'd be damned if I didn't use the manners that Marie and my father had instilled into me, because that was who I was.

  "Thank you," she said, no comment at all about the chair. "And I'm so sorry I'm late. The girl who put my hair up took ages and Uber seemed to be having a meltdown. And I'm sorry for everything else I've got to be sorry for too."

  She was quiet, looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I sat back in my chair and waited, giving her the floor.

  A smile was cracked, she touched her hair, played with the empty glass. "I know Sophie got in touch with Claire and Claire told you why I broke it off with you. I'm sorry I didn't explain things myself, but at that point I needed distance," she said, her eyes glistening. I didn't want her to cry, she didn't need to.

  Reaching over, I poured her a glass of champagne. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the conversation I had with Roger. It was never meant to make you think I was pulling a favor by getting him to go with your firm..."

  "He explained that today. I was just so used to that being how Richard worked and I shouldn't have judged you the same. This has been so quick, Jackson. I think when I finally caught my breath I just went into panic mode," she said, starting to sip the champagne and I realized how nervous she was, my chest in pain as it felt so constricted.

  I finished my whiskey, thinking, trying to choose words that wouldn't send her running. "I get it and I'm want to move on from it, but only if you're all in. It's been shit not having you for the past few days. I've hated not having you in my bed, in my home, hated not being able to phone you or text you something stupid, and without you being there I've been a miserable fucktard of a boss. But I need you to not just be on the same fucking page as me, I need you on the same fucking line." I took a deep breath, holding on to the table with my fingertips.

  "Tell me what that is, Jacks. Tell me what you need to know."

  I looked down at the menu I hadn't even considered yet. "You're here. Can I assume that you don't want us to be over?" I needed clarification before I could continue.

  "Yes," she said, certainty in her voice. "I wish I could go back and just talk to you rather than have hurt you. You make me happy and the past few weeks have made me feel more than just a woman who runs a business."

  "A very successful woman who developed and runs a very successful business and I can't tell you how proud I felt when I told Roger about you and could say that you were mine."

  She looked down at the table and I saw a tear drop onto the cloth.

  "Don't cry, Van. I haven't brought you here to soak Simone's tablecloth." I lift her chin with my finger and look into her eyes. "If you're upset I'll just need to take you home and make you feel better."

  "That actually sounds really good." She laughed unsteadily.

  "Later, if that's what you want."

  "What is it that you want?" She poured more champagne into both our glasses.

  "I want to be able to say that you're my girlfriend, maybe more in the future. I want to be able to know that we both want a future with each other. I want to be able to tell people what you do and have them know that you've chosen me, that you're mine. I want you at family stuff, Sunday dinners and birthdays. Ideally, I want you living with me because I can't see the point in you not being there, because when you're not, I'm not happy. I'm not saying that you're the only thing that makes me happy, Vanessa, that's too much responsibility for anyone, but if you don't want everything else, if you want casual or to slow things down so much we barely see each other, I don't think I could cope with that. I want to be the person who can always make you happy," I stop, seeing more tears fall. "And I'm not making you happy right now because you're crying. Shit, Van. What can I do? Tell me." I stand up and crouch down at the table in front of her.

  "Stand up," she said. "People will think you're proposing." Then there was a laugh but I stayed crouched down.

  "I... I... can you if you want. Shit, Van. I'd probably marry you tomorrow..." Then her arms were around my neck and she pulled me up to kiss me, a brief kiss that turned into something different and it was probably a good idea that Simone had tucked us away. It felt so good to feel her in my arms again, her warmth and soft skin. Only one thing would be better: getting her in my bed.

  "Not yet," she said. "The marry bit. But the other stuff, the moving in, the Sunday dinners, your family – all of that. But I bet your family hates me now."

  I held her face gently, using my thumbs to wipe her tears. "No. My family is generally sensible people who know that relationships aren't easy. Marie and my father are perfect for each other, but they argue and disagree a lot. My brothers and sisters think you must be mad for not getting away from me while you can though."

  She laughed, fewer tears now and moved her forehead next to mine. "We should order food. Then we can eat and go home."

  "Do you still want to move in?" I managed to tear myself away from her and moved back to my seat.

  "Yes," she said, opening the menu. "I think I'm just going to order the specials. I don't think I can process the menu right now."

  "When? When do you want to move in?" I kept the anxiety from my voice, sounding casual and relaxed.

  "Let's, I don't know. Weekend? If you're sure? I was fucking horrible to you, Jackson. I don't get why you're so over it already."

  A waiter arrived, we both ordered the specials to make him disappear quickly, if he interrupted us again I had decided to make him disappear for good. "I was mad at you, all last Friday and the weekend, and then Claire came around to tell me why, and I could've kicked myself and I got it. In all honesty, I think we needed it to happen because it has been quick and it's made us both think whether we want this rather than just going with it. We're going to have arguments, Van."

  "I know," she said, her foot nudging my leg, wearing the shoes I'd picked out for her. "I'm in, Jackson. I'm all in."

  ***

  We were drunk by the time we got back to my house, not on the champagne or the ridiculous cocktails Simone had brought over for us: I was drunk on her, on being able to touch her again and have her near me, knowing I was bringing her home to my bed. She giggled as I fumbled with the key, an arm around her, my hand cupping her breast and playing with an already puckered nipple.

  "Maybe you need two hands?"

  "Not to open the door, I don't. Or to make you come. I don't need any."

  I decided to prove it as soon as I had got her inside, maneuvering her against the wall and pushing up the dress to around her waist, finding nude lace briefs that from a distance would make her look naked. "Next time we go out for a meal I don't want you to wear any of these," I pulled them down toned legs, my hands soaking in the smoothness. "And then I want to make you come on my hand while we order dinner." Her lids lowered, tits heaving and I moved my head between her legs, inhaling the scent of her and gave her clit a quick, light lick before looking back up at her.

  Her hands fell to my head and she grabbed my hair. "Again," she said. "Do that again."

  "What will you do for me if I do?"

  "I'll let you fuck me and I'll come again all over your cock. Then I'll let you shoot deep inside me, over and over again."

  I licked again, harder this time, making her jerk against the wall. I knew she would be quick, which meant she would come again easily after. "So you want my cock, do you?" I licked her from her pussy to her clit, lapping at her wetness like a cat.

  "I always want your cock. I love your cock." She pulled me to her and I started t
o suck on her, changing the rhythm and supporting her legs with my hands, keeping her upright as she began to make breathless moans that were causing my dick to hurt, it was that swollen. I pressed down harder with my mouth, flicking my tongue and she began to buck against the wall, embracing an orgasm that shook her body.

  "Bed," I picked her up and carried her over my shoulder, causing giggles and her to dig her nails into my back. Her ass stayed bare so I could keep a hand on it, playing with her pussy, teasing her with almost pushing a fingertip in. If she'd come without any penetration she was always desperate to have my cock or my fingers inside her straight after.

  I put her down almost gently on to the bed and pulled her dress over her head while she was on her knees, noting the nude bra that pushed her tits together but didn't quite cover all of her nipples. While I stared at the site, she undid my trousers, pulling my cock free and bringing her mouth to it.

  "Van," I said, her first suck hard and fast. "I'm not coming in your mouth."

  She made a noise as if she had understood and then started to use her mouth and hand at the same time, licking the tip and the sucking, gently applying her teeth to the head of my cock before taking me deeper. Then all of a sudden, she stopped, removing her mouth and lying back in front of me, spreading her legs. Her pussy glistened, looking pink and swollen and I knew how tight it would feel around me when I entered her.