All He Wants

by Anna Cruise

  “I'm confused. He isn't pulling his funding, is he? He didn't threaten that; his daughter did. And I know you don't want to discuss her but she seems like a major bitch who just likes to create drama. With her wannabe fiance.”

  He shot me a look. “We are not engaged.”

  I made a face. “I know.”

  “I don't want to be put in that position,” he said. “Of having him tell me I'm shit out of luck next quarter. Of worrying constantly about where he is with his charitable giving. Of wondering if my fucking loyalties are in the right place.”

  “Okay.”

  “So we're taking you back to San Diego tomorrow.”

  “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

  He pulled to a stop at a red light and looked at me. “Because I need to go to New York. Talk to some people, see what my options are.”

  “Okay.” It seemed to be one of the only words I was capable of saying. And it was an absolute lie.

  Because, suddenly, my time with Stuart was coming to an end. Our mini vacation was over and he was taking me back home and he was leaving. And I didn't know what that meant for us. If I would see him again. If he would want to see me again. He was hyper-focused on his organization and his finances and there was little room for me in that equation.

  I tried to be a grown-up about it. I tried to take a deep breath and tell myself that this was something he needed to do, something he needed to figure out. But I kept coming back to that moment earlier in the evening, in his room. That moment where I'd looked at him and broke down and admitted that I wanted something I'd never wanted before.

  A relationship. With him.

  I hated that I wanted it.

  Because it was looking like something I wasn't going to get.

  TWENTY FOUR

  “So,” I said.

  It was a completely inadequate thing to say. But I couldn't find any other words.

  Stuart was standing in the living room of the sorority house. Holding his bag.

  Leaving.

  We'd made the drive back to San Diego the day before. Gotten in around dinner time and had spent the night in bed. I hadn't wanted to talk—about New York, about his organization, about us. He hadn't pressed and I'd eventually fallen asleep, half-wishing morning wouldn't come.

  But it did. And we'd gotten up and I'd made coffee while he took a shower. Sheridan was in Cabo with Kelly and the house was empty and the fridge still was, too.

  Stuart dug the keys to his rental car out of his pocket and held them in his hands. “So,” he said, his words as inadequate as mine.

  I gripped my mug of coffee and brought it to my lips. What was I supposed to say? I knew all the things I wanted to ask him—are you coming back? Is this goodbye? Will I ever see you again?

  But I was Annika. And I didn't ask those things.

  Still, the silence was awkward and heavy and I was desperate to fill it.

  “How long are you planning to stay in New York?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

  “As long as it takes,” he said.

  “To find donors?”

  “Sort of.” He played with the keys, shifting them in his hands. “I already have a few people who contribute. I just need to convince them to give more.” He tried to force a smile on to his face, but it didn't quite work.

  “You can be very convincing,” I said. “I'm sure you'll have millions of dollars lined up in no time.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me,” he said. “However inaccurate and misplaced it might be.”

  I sipped again. My heart was thumping so loud I was sure he could hear it. “And then?” I asked. “Is it back to Brazil? Or some other exotic locale?”

  “I don't know.” He paused. “It depends on a couple of things.”

  “Money?”

  “Sure,” he said, nodding. “That's one of them. But something else, too.”

  I waited.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, keys included. “You don't give an inch, do you?” he said, sighing.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Jesus, Annika. Tell me you want to see me again. Tell me you want me to come back.”

  “Of course I want to see you again,” I said automatically.

  “Not just for sex.”

  “Not just for sex,” I repeated.

  He took a step toward me, then stopped. “Why is this so hard for you?”

  “Goodbyes?” I shrugged, purposely misinterpreting his question. “I've never liked goodbyes.”

  “No,” he said. “Not goodbyes. We never finished our conversation.”

  “What conversation?”

  He took another step toward me. “From my parents house. About what it is you want.”

  A sigh caught in my throat. “I know.”

  “You have to give a little,” Stuart said. A frown creased his face. “You have to give something to get what you want.”

  “What do you want me to say? That I'd like for you to come back?” I waved my hand in the air. “Fine. I want you to come back.” I took a deep breath, then slowly expelled it. “And I will miss you like crazy when you're gone.”

  He bit back a smile. “Like crazy?”

  “Yes. Like crazy.”

  One more step and he was beside me. He reached out and pulled me into his arms and lukewarm coffee splashed on my arm and I didn't care.

  “You really want me to come back?” he murmured, his lips next to my ear. “And not just for sex?”

  My heart beat even faster. I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to admit that he'd become important to me. The sex with Stuart was fantastic but I'd had great sex before. A lot. But there was something different about this man who was holding me in his arms. He listened to me. He laughed with me. He asked for my opinions and argued with me and didn't take any shit from me.

  He wanted more from me. He wanted pieces of me I'd never given to anyone else. It was easy to sleep with guys and give them my body. It was another thing altogether to give them my heart.

  “Not just for sex,” I whispered.

  “You better be telling me the truth,” he said. His arms tightened around me. “Because I want more from you. More than sex.”

  I turned my head and our lips met and his kiss was hot and sweet, filled with lust and tenderness.

  He lifted his lips and pulled away so he could look at me. His eyes were dark, his expression taut with emotion.

  “I want everything,” he said. “Everything.”

  TWENTY FIVE

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped.

  West Montgomery raised his eyebrows. “Sitting.”

  I marched into Abby's office at my parents' real estate firm. West was sitting in her chair behind the desk. It had been a while since I'd stepped foot in their place of work but everything looked exactly the same. Except my sister wasn't behind her desk.

  “Where is Abby?”

  “Why the hell do you care?”

  I parked myself in the chair across from the desk. “Because she's my sister.”

  He rolled his eyes. “As if that means anything to you.”

  “It does when I come in here and see your ass sitting where she's supposed to be.”

  My brother-in-law leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a light blue t-shirt with a picture of a rainbow on it. On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous. On him, it looked amazing.

  “She had a doctor's appointment.”

  I smirked. “Prenatal? Aren't you supposed to be going to those with her?” I clucked my tongue. “Huh. Guess this is all old hat to you now.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled. “It's a glucose test.”

  “So you only go to some appointments and not others? Wow. Didn't know you could pick and choose when you want to be part of the team.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”

  I crossed my legs and stared at West. I had not been expecting him to be in the office. Act
ually, I hadn't really counted on Abby being there, either. She only worked part-time and, with Amanda and being pregnant, I wasn't sure how many hours she was clocking these days. But there he was, the brother-in-law who still seriously hated my guts and who wouldn't give me the time of day, even if I begged.

  He was going to put a serious damper on my plans.

  “I need to look at some files,” I told him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Files. You know, the things kept on computers and in those cabinets next to you. I know it's probably not a term you're familiar with since all you do is hit a ball with a stick all day long.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes and he sat up straight and, for one second, I thought he might launch himself across the desk. At me.

  But he took a deep breath and muttered something under his breath. “Why?”

  “No reason,” I said, smiling.

  “Looking for your next fuck?” he asked. “Maybe you've run out of guys at the bars and are looking for someone else to stick it in you? Someone rich. With a nice house.”

  I bristled. “No.”

  “No?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Did your little outbreak scare you straight? Not straight,” he corrected. “Scare you abstinent?”

  “It wasn't an outbreak, asshole. It was a reaction. To a vaccine.”

  “So you say...” I gave him the finger and he laughed. “Fine. Tell me why you want the files. Give me one good reason and they're all yours. I'll even leave the office.”

  I stared at him, trying to decide what to do.

  Stuart had been gone for two days. We'd talked a couple of times and, even over the phone, I could hear the frustration in his voice. He wouldn't go into detail but I could tell he wasn't having as much success as he'd hoped in gathering contributions.

  It was the first time in my life I'd felt helpless. No, I reminded myself. Not the first time. The first time had been in Mexico, when I'd run out of books to hand out. But this felt similar because there was someone I was desperate to help. And I had no way of doing it.

  I didn't have a shit ton of money I could dump into his cause. And my parents didn't, either. The real estate business was doing fine but they'd paid huge out-of-pocket expenses when Mom was sick and their bank account was still recovering. It was one of the reasons we'd given up our annual vacation, and the main reason why I'd stayed at the sorority house instead of opting to look for an apartment. They didn't want me working while I finished school and they couldn't afford to pay for me to live anywhere else.

  So I'd stayed up the night before, trying to figure out a way I could help. I thought about Marcus Filmore. And I thought about all of the other people who might fit his profile. Rich people who were always looking for tax deductions and ways to make themselves look like good humans when they were really greedy assholes who parceled out just enough donations to lower their tax liability.

  And I instantly thought of my parents.

  Not because they were those kind of people, but because those were the kinds of people they sold houses to.

  If I could get into their files, get names and addresses, Stuart could connect with them. Send them information on company letterhead and work his magic and find money so he could say good riddance to Marcus Filmore and his insipid daughter who I was still sure wanted nothing more than to fuck my boyfriend.

  I squared my shoulders and told West, “I need to help a friend.”

  He made a face. “A friend? You have friends?”

  “Can you stop being an asshole for a minute? Just one minute? Or is that too hard for you?”

  “I'm always an asshole when a bitch shows up.”

  I held up my hands. “Fine. I'll drop the bitch act.”

  He chewed on his lip, studying me, like he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth.

  “Fine,” he finally said. “One minute. You need files to help a friend. How?”

  “I need to find money.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus.”

  “Let me finish,” I said.

  He waited, his expression one of strained impatience.

  “Stuart...he's the guy I've been working with,” I told him. I put my hands in my lap and rubbed them together. I didn't want to discuss any part of my relationship with West. “He has a charity. An organization. And...well, he needs donors. People who can contribute.”

  “So you're gonna steal your parents files and cold call these people? Just to ask for money?” He let out a low whistle. “You have more balls than I thought.”

  “I don't have any balls,” I retorted. “Thank God. And, no, I'm not going to call them. I'm not that stupid.”

  He started to argue, saw my expression, and closed his mouth.

  “I just want to pass along names and addresses to him.”

  “So you're gonna sell him a list. Their list of clients.”

  “I'm not selling anything.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “Okay, not selling. Stealing.”

  “Fine. I'm stealing. But it's for a good cause. Like...like Robin Hood.”

  “Ha. You sure your parents would be cool with you doing that?”

  “No,” I said. “They probably wouldn't be. Which is why you aren't going to say anything to them.”

  West drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I don't know. That's sort of asking a lot.”

  “You want me to be a better person, right?”

  He stared at me blankly. “What?”

  “Me.” I jabbed my chest. “You think I'm a horrible human being. You've always thought that.”

  “Well, that's because you are.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “I'm horrible. Awful. I pretended to be my sister and tried to sleep with you. I tried to break you guys up. I sleep with lots of guys. I care more about myself than anyone else in the world.”

  West dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “Can you repeat all that? So I can record it?”

  I ignored him. “You see this?” I said, motioning around the office. “This is me, trying to be better. Thinking about someone other than myself. Knowing that if my parents found out I was in here, doing this, that the shit would hit the fan. And you know what? I don't care. Not because it's for me. But because I'm doing it for someone I care about.” I swallowed. “Someone I care about more than myself.”

  West stared at me, his eyes wide, and said nothing.

  “What?” I asked, irritated.

  “I knew I should have hit the record button.” He stood up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Fine. Do it.”

  It was my turn to stare. “Just like that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just like that? No fight?”

  “No fight.”

  I stood up. “Why? Why are you giving in so easily?”

  He shrugged. “I fight with Annika.” A small smile tugged at his lips and he walked past me, his hands shoved in his pockets. “And I don't think you're her anymore.”

  TWENTY SIX

  It only took me five minutes to copy the client address list from the office computer to the flash drive I'd put in my purse. I didn't thank West when I was done, just nodded cooly at him in the waiting room—where he'd parked himself while I'd done the transfer—and headed back to the sorority house.

  Once there, I unearthed my laptop and, for the first time all summer, powered it up for something other than Skype and transferred the information to my computer. I didn't have details about the clients on the list, just addresses and the purchase prices of the homes they'd bought from our agency, but I figured that was enough. It was a start, at least. And it felt like something I could do. I knew it was small, a gesture that might not amount to anything, but it was better than doing nothing.

  The Skype box flashed on my screen and my heart skipped a beat. I clicked on the button to answer the call and a few seconds later, Stuart appeared on my screen. He was sitting on a bed, probably in his hotel room, and he was smiling at me
. He was clean-shaven, his skin buttery smooth and he was dressed in a brown dress shirt that matched the color of his eyes. A brown and blue tie was looped around his neck, untied.

  “Hey,” he said, his smile growing even wider.

  My hand flew to my hair and I tucked a few loose strands behind my ear. I glanced at the smaller picture of me on the screen. I didn't have much make-up on, which sucked, but all of my spots had finally disappeared.

  “I wasn't expecting you,” I said.

  “Well, I wasn't expecting to see you on the computer. I had a few minutes so I thought I'd Skype you rather than call.”

  My stomach flip-flopped a little.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I hesitated. Did I tell him how I'd spent my afternoon?

  He tapped at a button on his computer. “Is the volume working? Can you hear me?”

  I spoke up. “I can hear you.”

  He smiled. “Good. Tell me what you're doing. What you've been up to.”

  “I went to my parents' office today.”

  “Yeah? For lunch or something?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  I found a piece of hair and started winding it around my finger.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, a frown creasing his face.

  “Yeah, everything's fine.” I pulled my finger from my hair and picked up a new strand. “I was looking at their files.”

  His frown morphed into a look of confusion. “Files?”

  I nodded. “I...I want to help.”

  “Your parents? I thought your sister worked for them.”

  “No, no,” I said. “Not my parents. I want to help you.”

  He waited for me to explain.

  “I just thought...well, there are a lot of people who have bought houses from my parents. People with money. Lots of it. I just thought maybe we could tap them as potential donors. You could send them info, maybe set up some meetings if they were interested...” My voice trailed off.

  He stared at me for a long moment, a muscle in his temple twitching.

  “If you don't want to, it's fine. I just—”