by Liz Meldon
“Just know that my offer is genuine,” he told a somewhat skeptical looking Cole, hoping that years of trust and friendship would validate him, “as is my affection for her. I mean, she’s not just a beautiful face with a body designed to be made into marble statues. She’s… challenging. Witty. Bright. Engaging. When you talk to her, she seems to listen and process and respond with thought and care I’ve never experienced before. Most of all, she seems to have no interest in changing me or reining me in. She doesn’t want anything. She makes me work, but not in some childish game for her attention. You know my past relationships. You know they wanted my money, or my family name, or a chance to further their careers. Skye hasn’t asked for anything. In fact, she seems rather taken with me just as I am. I… I…”
Holy fucking Christ. Finn swallowed hard, then grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in a single gulp. He had been trying to figure out what it was about Skye that he was so infatuated with. Love at first sight had seemed like an easy theory. One needed no rhyme or reason there. It just happened. But in trying to convince Cole that he was serious about this, about her, Finn had spelled it all out for himself. Plain as anything. Skye didn’t want to change him. She put up with his oddities and quirks with a smile and a laugh, genuine and open in her interest of him—Finn, not Finn Rai, inheritor of the Rai’s Sweets empire.
Finn had never experienced that sort of affection from a woman before. It had always been models and actresses and party girls interested in squandering his money on alcohol and private booths at exclusive clubs. Skye just wanted to talk. She asked questions. She confided in him about her day, her fears, her career aspirations, everything. They watched TV together, in separate homes, just to have a laugh over the phone. Of course Finn was falling in love with her a few weeks after meeting her. How could he have been so thick as to not piece it together before?
He set his glass down and realized his mouth was hanging open slightly. When he looked up, he knew he wore the expression of a bewildered, love-struck man, and to his surprise, Cole’s mouth twitched into a little smile. They stared at one another for a few moments, then Cole’s whole being seemed to relax as he finally dug into his meal. Knowing the conversation was nowhere near complete, Finn returned to his own meal, deep in thought, and polished off his rolls before slowly working through his salad. He watched the waves roll in, a few birds divebombing the water, and studied the other diners around him. By the time Cole next spoke, Finn had nearly finished eating, yet Cole was perhaps a tenth of the way through his basket of deep-fried fish.
“If we take her aside and propose this, we’ll scare her off,” he stated. “I can’t risk that.”
“We could let her choose,” Finn offered, the idea distasteful. “Tell her we’ll honor and respect whatever decision she makes.”
“I won’t risk that either—”
“Well, you have to make a decision, Cole.” Finn had been trying not to veer into the lecturing tone he had once used, eons ago. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself—and from the look on his friend’s face, perhaps that was the tone needed here. If it woke Cole up to the dangerous realities of their situation, so be it. Skye’s heart was worth a bit of lecturing. “You have to fight for her at some point. You can’t keep paying her rent and buying her clothes and believing that amounts to what either of you really want… or need.”
Cole’s lips parted. Finn tensed. A lesser man might have blown a fuse, stormed off, given up. Instead, Cole straightened in his seat, cracked his neck from side to side, and nodded.
“I choose option number one,” he said carefully, and Finn detected a slight tremor in his hands as he spoke. “I think it has merit. It will need to be discussed more thoroughly, of course”—he eyed Finn, whose head bobbed quickly in agreement—“but it’s the best chance I have to… to… love her as I can right now.” His breath hitched in his throat, but he shook it off. “We’ll propose it to her together.”
Grinning, Finn offered his outstretched hand halfway across the table. “Agreed.”
They shook on it as gentlemen, and finished the remainder of their meal as friends.
6
Done Deal
“Oh… shit.” Skye’s eyes widened as her teller computer screen jumped suddenly to a page she hadn’t visited yet, leaving her scrambling to correct it before this ridiculous system did something that would make her seem like a complete moron. New job. Day one. It was hard not to feel like a moron, especially since she hadn’t technically worked anywhere in four years. Still, it was Wednesday at noon. Skye worked at a sex museum. Thus far her day hadn’t exactly been jam-packed with eager patrons of the arts desperate for a peek inside Gallery Sens.
There had been the little old couple who showed up shortly after opening. Back then, Hans had walked her through the step-by-step process of museum admissions. The pair of them were regulars and came to see the new weekly instalment religiously. They had more know-how about the front desk computer system then Skye did, and she spent much of the transaction beet-red and fumbling.
After that, it was radio silence—excluding the family of German tourists who had ripped her a new one for not allowing them in. Skye didn’t make the rules: no one under eighteen permitted, parental consent or not. She had just stood there, deer-in-headlights, behind the two feet of desk separating her from the general public. Nod and smile. Apologize. Explain the rules. Do it again. Smile. Apologize again. Customer service was still customer service, even in a museum. After they had left in a huff, she had a few traumatic memories of her fast food days flash before her eyes, where getting screamed at by a customer was a daily occurrence. While it had left her rattled, at least she was still standing—and no one had demanded to speak with a manager.
She decided she’d take that as a day one success story. Otherwise, she’d go home miserable. While issuing regular admissions was fairly straightforward, the computer system was convoluted, slow, and had ten steps to get from Point A to Point B when two would suffice. Illogical. Frustrating. Tedious. There were special days, special prices, special discounts—all of which she had to memorize as soon as possible. Skye was the first point of contact. She had to sell the museum confidently and speak knowledgeably.
Now, four hours into her first shift, she wanted to rip her hair out, cry in frustration, and celebrate the fact that she had a real grown-up job at last, with real grown-up possibilities in her future. It was a veritable clusterfuck of feelings, and she couldn’t wait to curl up on the couch with Oz and distract herself from her first day fumbles with a bottle of wine. Brynn had already asked if she wanted to hit up a bar after her shift, but Skye needed the solo time to decompress. Getting shit-faced surrounded by strangers just wouldn’t cut it today.
“Just play around,” her new boss had told her before he’d left her to her own devices. “No one expects you to know everything by the end of the day. Take your time. My extension number is written on the phone if you have questions.”
With the number literally taped to the top of the multi-line front desk phone, Skye could, in theory, ring up old Hans Timmons if she found herself struggling. But she hadn’t. Skye wanted to prove that she was better than that. She had spent so many years getting her degree. She was probably older than all the other applicants who had applied for this position. She could do this, damn it. First day jitters would not get her down.
Now, if only this stupid, terrible, time-consuming system would go back to the inventory page like she wanted… Why have a touchscreen system if you could only use it when ringing up an order?
Suddenly, the GUESTS ARRIVING box at the top of the screen flashed. Hooked up to the main doors, its purpose was to alert her, discreetly, that she had someone to pander to. Squaring her shoulders, she ran through a mental checklist of everything she should say, do, and prompt, then looked up with a bright smile.
One that vanished instantly when she realized who had just waltzed in like they owned the place.
Cole and Fin
n.
Together.
At her new job. On her first day.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and Skye could feel herself wilting as they approached. It had been about a week and a half since Finn had driven her home from her night of drinking, dancing, and belligerently gossiping with college friends. A week and a half since she’d kissed him and admitted to herself that she was in love with Cole—while also falling for Finn. A week and a half to realize that this wouldn’t work, for any of them, and it was time to be an adult and end this charade.
Only Skye was a coward. She’d simply stopped responding to messages from both men and buried herself in job prep, apartment hunting, and reconnecting with visiting friends. After all, if she was going to end this for the good of everyone’s heart involved, she needed to cut ties with her sugar daddy. Which meant no more gorgeous, expensive apartment. No more spending without thinking of her bank account. No more financial security.
And no more Cole and Finn. When she wasn’t staring blankly at apartment ads, halfheartedly reading her job contracts, and forcing a smile with her friends, she was mourning the loss to come. A brave person would have severed ties already. A brave person didn’t need days to build up the courage to do it. A brave person wouldn’t have forced these two men, these friends, to seek her out at work. Whatever was headed her way in the form of two perfect specimens in fitted suits, Skye only had herself to blame.
The thought of ending it…
Well, it broke her.
But that didn’t matter. In the long run, it made sense. Right now, it was devastating, and she could barely look at them as they sauntered up to her new front desk kingdom. A huge square with the middle cut out, Skye’s station was the only thing in the main entryway. A few tasteful nude portraits, steeped in shadow and intrigue, hung on the walls, but otherwise it was just her, the front desk cube, the tile, and the walls. Behind her, there was an entrance and an exit door, where patrons would start and finish their tour of the displays inside.
“Skye.” Finn tipped his head, sidling right up to her station and leaning against it. “Look at you. All delicious in your little outfit—”
“What are you guys doing here?” she demanded, smoothing a hand down the black collared shirt Hans had given her that morning. This wasn’t the time or the place for any of what she had in mind to go down. Her gaze flitted nervously to Cole, who wore an annoyingly unreadable expression. To his credit, his phone was nowhere to be seen.
“We’ve been discussing our situation,” Finn told her, “and, since you’ve been rather pointedly avoiding us, we figured it was time to come to you.”
“Congratulations,” Cole offered as he scanned the room, his voice soft and familiar, “on the job. I… I should have said something sooner.”
Skye exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two men before her. One whom she had been falling hopelessly in love with and pining after for years. The other who had reignited her spirit, who challenged her—who was both shamelessly uncomplicated and drenched in potential heartache.
“Today really isn’t a good day to do this,” she protested, crossing her arms when Finn stared pointedly around the empty room.
“We can wait until the crowd dies down.”
Cole shot his friend a narrowed look, and Skye braced herself when his lips parted, but, as usual, he had nothing to say. Fine. If they were determined to do this right this second, Skye could get onboard. Never mind that this was her first day. Never mind that her nerves were frayed and her head was full of fog. If they wanted to show up and demand to talk, then she would let them have it.
“Fine.” On wobbly legs, she stalked to the back of her little cube, struggled with the tricky door latch, and then motioned for them to follow her outside. No way was she recording the shattering of her heart on the security camera.
She stopped at the curb just outside the main doors, her arms crossed, if only to hide the way her hands shook. All Skye really wanted to do in that moment was hug Cole and kiss Finn—but that was part of the problem. She couldn’t have her cake and eat it too. That wasn’t the way the world worked. As desperate as she was to lose herself in Cole’s arms, to forget the spat they’d had and sweep it under the rug like always, she couldn’t. And as much as she wanted to kiss Finn’s smirking mouth, run her hand over his rock-hard body and feel alive again, she definitely couldn’t.
“Cole and I have been talking,” Finn started with a quick glance to Cole, who nodded, “and we’re all on the same page here about what’s been happening since my soiree last month.”
“Okay.” Skye could already hear what they were going to say. If they were angry that she had slept with both of them, they had every right to be. If they were hurt that she loved one while still managing to save a piece of her heart for the other, she couldn’t blame them. So, she figured she might as well save them some time. “But let me go first.”
“Skye—”
“No,” she said firmly, holding up a hand to stop Cole, “I need to say this.”
The pair exchanged looks, Cole seeming more hesitant than Finn, but he eventually gestured for her to proceed. Skye sucked in a soft breath, briefly entertaining the idea of zipping across the street to the loitering cab in front of the hotel. No. She had been running and hiding from this for long enough.
“First of all, I never wanted to come between two friends,” she told them, the rehearsed words flying out with more speed than intended. “I’d never want to ruin something, or put pressure or tension between you guys, and I’m really sorry if I did. It wasn’t my intention.”
Cole shook his head and stepped toward her. “No, you didn’t… Skye—”
“But,” she said firmly, “it’s helped me realize what I need to do. We need to end things. We have to cut ties, because I c-can’t keep doing this.” Difficult as it was, Skye ignored the panicked expression on Cole’s face, followed by the swift frown on Finn’s. “Now that I’m working and done with school, I think it’ll be best that we end our, uhm, contract as well. It’s too hard for me to keep on doing what we’ve been doing.” Her eyes darted to Finn. “Every time we talk, it’s just a reminder that I’m putting a wedge between two people I care a lot about. And… I… Both of you…”
Damn it. She blinked back her tears. She had practiced this, although she had never intended to say it in front of both of them—but maybe that was for the best. Just rip the band-aid off. Get it over with.
“Skye, you don’t have to do this,” Cole insisted, his tone gentle as he moved in, perhaps to take her hand, but she stepped back and shook her head.
“I do. I do have to do this. I refuse to put you two in a situation where you or I have to choose.”
Finn cleared his throat. “That’s not what we’re—”
“This hurts me too much,” she blurted, her eyes watery and her words tight. She swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, and I… I should pay the price for it.”
“No, Skye—”
“You don’t have to—”
“But that’s the decision I’ve made,” she told them. “It’s what I deserve.”
“Oh Skye, don’t be so dramatic,” Finn said with a slight eye roll. “We can talk about this.”
Mercifully, Hans took that moment to poke his head out the main doors, eyebrows up.
“Is everything okay out here?” he asked, ignoring Finn and Cole, his gaze fixed on Skye. She offered a frantic nod, mortified that all this had played out at her new job, potentially in front of the man who could make or break her fledging museum career.
“Fine,” she told him, clearing her throat as she beelined for the door. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back inside. This… This can count as my break.”
“Hardly,” her new boss remarked, finally looking Finn and Cole over. “This doesn’t seem all that relaxing. Gentlemen, are you here for a tour?”
“No, they were just leaving,” Skye insisted, her hand on the door. “Again, I’m so s
orry. For everything.”
Hans shot her one of those looks that said they’d discuss this later, but it didn’t contain the same kind of malice she’d seen with former employers. More like mild curiosity. When he disappeared inside, she lingered in the doorway for a moment.
“That’s my solution to our problem,” she muttered, unable to look at them—the ultimate coward. “If you want to talk more, we can, but I’m not going to change my mind.”
Knowing her resolve would shatter if either one of them tried to stop her, she forced herself back into the lobby, legs like stilts as she shuffled over to her new kingdom. After assuring Hans that everything was fine and apologizing a few more times, she plopped herself down in front of that troublesome computer system, determined to figure it out before the end of the day.
Briefly, her eyes darted up to the main doors. Through the tinted glass, she thought she would see Finn and Cole standing there—but they were gone.
And rightly so.
Skye wouldn’t have stuck around either after that disaster.
Her lips quivered and the screen blurred, and there, alone in the lobby, Skye Summers finally let her tears fall.
“Well, that was an absolute trainwreck.”
Finn ordered two coffees before the waitress could even reach their table, knowing full well that no one deserved the dejected wrath of Cole so shortly after, well, what had happened. She nodded and skirted back to the hotel bar. Sighing, Finn unbuttoned his suit jacket, then settled on the rather hard wooden bench on the opposite side of their booth. Through the window beside them, they had a perfect view of Gallery Sens, and in it, the woman they had made cry.
“It did not go according to plan, no,” Finn agreed stiffly, grabbing a packet of sugar and fiddling with it as Cole scowled down at the table, seeming to be forcing himself to take deep, even breaths. “I didn’t want to appear presumptuous and, well, pushy by speaking over her, but perhaps I could have done something to steer the conversation.”