by Aven Ellis
But with each question, I find myself falling more for him. How Beckett loves his family, how Landy is his best friend and makes him laugh, how he has a weakness with anything that has the flavor of birthday cake in it.
In turn, I share stories about things I’ve done with Livy. And, of course, he already guessed my food weakness was French fries. Followed by pastries.
Gradually our conversation shifts to more serious questions.
“What’s the most important value to you?” I ask. “I mean, the most important value for a woman to have?”
“That’s easy,” Beckett says. “She has to be genuine.”
I love that answer, that being genuine is the most important thing to Beckett.
“And why is that the most important value?”
“Ever since I started excelling at hockey,” Beckett says slowly, “girls pursued me. But I knew it was because I was a player. It wasn’t because of anything I said, or how I treated them, or if I could make them laugh. It wasn’t a genuine interest, you know?”
I nod. I can see that.
“I want to find someone who likes me for Beckett,” he explains. “Who genuinely doesn’t mind that I’m awkward in social situations. Who doesn’t care that I’ll watch a shark documentaries a million times over. That I want someone who likes all the pieces of me and would still like me if I wasn’t on the ice. I want a woman who will be herself with me. Who will act how she wants and not to impress me or be the woman she thinks I would want. I need genuine.”
I absolutely fall harder for him with this answer. It was so real, so honest, and so straight from his heart.
“What about you?” Beckett asks, linking my hand in his and interrupting my thoughts. “What is the quality you value most?”
“Acceptance,” I say. “I want a man who will accept me the way I am. That I ramble when I talk. That I get mad too easily, that I’m obsessed with rules. That’s the quality I want the most.”
Beckett gazes into my eyes. I see warmness in them. My heart flutters, and he brings my hands to his lips and kisses it gently.
“I like your answer.”
“I like yours, too.”
We’re silent for a moment. I know we’ve just grown in this conversation. We’re finding the things we’ve been looking for, and finding them in each other.
“So how many children do you want?” Beckett asks.
I grin at him. “Three,” I say. Beckett lifts up his hand and begins looping his fingers through my hair again, and I relish the feel of his touch. “What about you?”
“Eight.”
“What? Eight?”
“I can afford it,” Beckett says seriously.
I bite my lip. Okay, I see serious potential with Beckett and I’m falling for him at the speed of light, but eight kids? Eight?
Then I see the crooked smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and I know he’s kidding.
“Beckett!” I cry, mock hitting him on the arm. “I thought you were serious.”
He closes his hand over my wrist and places it over his chest. “No. I’m one of four. Four is good. I was teasing you.”
“You’re so mean,” I say, laughing.
“I’m sorry,” Beckett says, lifting his other hand underneath my hair. “Let me make it up to you.”
As Beckett presses his lips against mine, I know this is the best first date I’ve ever had. Filled with conversation and laughter and kissing. It’s perfect for me.
And I’m beginning to think Beckett is perfect for me, too.
“I don’t want this to end,” I murmur against Beckett’s full lips.
The whole evening has been beyond what I’d hoped. We drank wine and laughed and talked about everything under the sun. Sometimes it was serious, other times it was anything but. And of course, loads of kissing and caressing in between.
“You can stay,” Beckett murmurs back before kissing me again.
I’m lying on his sofa, wrapped in his arms, and we’ve been kissing for hours. My lips are deliciously numb. And right now Beckett is kissing the side of my neck, which makes it incredibly hard to even entertain the idea of leaving.
“Mmmmmm,” I moan as his warm mouth reaches my collarbone, and I shiver from his touch. I rake my fingers through his hair and close my eyes, wanting to stay in his arms forever.
“You smell so good,” Beckett whispers against my skin. “I love the scent of your skin. Have I mentioned that?”
I giggle. “Maybe once or twice. Or five times.”
He finds my lips and we kiss again, this time slowly and sweetly as we both know the evening is coming to an end.
I break the kiss and put my hand to his face. “I need to go. I don’t want to, but I should.”
Beckett gazes down at me. “I know. It’s late.”
“And you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah, this whole hockey thing,” Beckett teases. “Gotta do it.”
He pushes himself up, and I sit up, too. I retrieve my shoes from underneath the coffee table and slip them back on. Then I turn to Beckett and smile at him.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say, my heart feeling full with joy. “It was the perfect evening.”
Beckett reaches for my hand and kisses it. “It was for me, too.”
He stands up and brings me with him.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
I laugh, and he does, too.
We hold hands as we leave his condo and head down the hall to the elevator.
“You still good for brunch on Sunday?” Beckett asks as we wait for the elevator.
“I want to do something for you,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine. “I’m going to cook for you.”
“You are, eh?” Beckett says as the doors open.
I nod happily. “I am. Except it has to be at your place because Sunday is a show day, and I can’t make a mess.”
Then I mentally will everyone who views the condo on Sunday to hate it so I don’t have to worry about moving away from Beckett.
Beckett laughs. “Okay, I can agree to that.”
As the doors close, Beckett pulls me into his arms and I feel the butterflies swirl happily in my stomach. Funny. I’ve run out of red flags for Mallory but have an endless supply of butterflies for Beckett.
“We can do a Connectivity video chat tomorrow if you want,” Beckett says, dropping another kiss on the top of my forehead.
“I do,” I say, thinking he hasn’t even left and I’m already starting to miss him.
The elevator chimes on my floor. We step out, hand in hand, and he walks me all the way to my door.
“Thank you for coming over,” Beckett says, caressing my face with his hand.
Oh, I like him, I like him, I so like him.
“Thank you for making it perfect,” I say truthfully.
I take a moment to unlock the door, and then I turn back to him. Beckett wraps me in his huge arms and gazes down at me.
“I’m glad you thought it was, Aubrey.”
He drops his head down and presses his lips against mine. We share a sweet kiss, and Beckett breaks the kiss.
“Okay, if I don’t leave now, I won’t,” Beckett says, framing my face in his hands. He gently brushes his lips against my forehead. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I say, smiling at him. I step inside and shut the door behind me, collapsing against the solid surface.
I know I have the stupidest smile on my face. My heart is pounding, my lips can hardly work anymore, and I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow. My rules have been ripped up and for all intents and purposes, been thrown down Lake Shore Drive. I don’t care if I’m not professional. I don’t care if I should be proceeding with caution.
All I
know is one truth.
I’m crazy about Beckett.
And I can’t wait to see him on Sunday morning.
Chapter 17
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, #17: When at work, your primary focus should be that. Minimal time spent on the Internet, or cell, or talking around the coffee machine in the break room. I’m here to carve out a career and get things done, and show management how serious I am about building my future in social media.
**Amendment** Well, since my new boss is a self-absorbed idiot, I have to use the Internet for stupid personal things . . . for her. Like researching a spa that can give her a tranquility massage with lavender essential oils to reduce her stress level from studying marble tiles.
**Note** And being that my boss is thinking about tiles and getting massages, it’s more than okay that I spend time thinking about Beckett.
**Note #2** Okay, so I’m probably thinking about Beckett more than Mallory is about tile.
**Note #3** But can you blame me? He’s sweet and gorgeous and sexy and adorable . . .
**Note #4** His plane hasn’t even left Chicago, and I already miss him.
I print another page detailing massages to put into a folder I’m going to present to Mallory. It’s nearly eleven, and so far this morning I’ve gone out for coffee and an egg white omelet, recycled her reading materials, and researched massages.
Oh, and the super important report I had to stay late and do? That’s still showing as an unread email. Un-freaking-read! She gave me that assignment to be a bitch and nothing more.
I narrow my eyes as I stare at the image of a lush, tranquil spa rolling across my computer screen. She should be paying for me to have a massage after the hell she’s put me through for five days now.
Or maybe Beckett can rub my back when he gets home. He has strong hands. I bet he’d give a great massage.
Gah! My face turns hot at the thought of Beckett rubbing my shoulders and back. I can’t think about this now. I can’t concentrate if I allow myself to imagine his hands on my skin and to—
“Aubrey?”
Startled, I whip around in my seat and find Tom Hung standing at the edge of my desk.
I gulp. So while I’m researching spas for Mallory, and having sexy daydreams about a potential client, the owner of the firm walks up. I can’t even begin to count the levels of wrong in this moment.
“Hi, Tom,” I say brightly, hoping I don’t look flushed.
He glances at my computer screen. “How’s it going?”
Oh, I’m so glad he asked that.
“Very good. I’m researching spa packages for Mallory.”
A crease forms in Tom’s brow. “What?”
I grin at him. “Yes, she asked me to prepare a list of packages available near the office and I have to have it turned in before noon today.”
Oh, Tom is not happy about this. He’s trying to hide it, but I can tell this is not his idea of a good use of my time.
“Really?”
Suddenly, Mallory comes flying out of her office. “Oh, hi, Tom, I have my final preparations for the Beckett Riley presentation. I emailed you my part of the PowerPoint.” Then she glances from me to Tom and then locks in on my computer screen.
“You’re having Aubrey research spas?” Tom asks pointedly.
Mallory plasters a smile on her face. “Of course not, that’s silly.”
Tom shifts his eyes back to me.
“No, I am, per your direction, Mallory,” I say sweetly.
Mallory shoots me daggers.
“No, you misunderstood me, Aubrey,” Mallory says with a fake tone. “I said I wish I had time to go to a spa and needed to research some around here, but I never implied you needed to do that.”
I chew my lip for a moment to appear thoughtful. Then I drop the bomb.
“Oh, so I misunderstood your email asking me to do so?” I click out of the screen. “No problem. As of now I’m no longer working on it.”
Then I smile brightly at Mallory, who I know would strangle me with one of her Burberry scarves if she could.
“Good,” Tom says, shooting Mallory a questioning look before clearing his throat. “Anyway, I came by to see if I could borrow Aubrey for a meeting today. Neilson is out sick, and I could use someone to take notes for me.”
Yay! Now I get to sit with smart people and perhaps learn something.
“Of course, that’s fine,” Mallory says, nodding. “It will be a great educational opportunity for Aubrey.”
I repress the urge to laugh. It will give Mallory extra time to plot a way to kill me, which is considerate on my part, I must say.
“Great. Aubrey, it’s at one in the idea lounge. Neilson already arranged for lunch to be delivered around twelve-thirty, so if you could set that up it would be great.”
“My pleasure.”
Tom and Mallory share a few words, and as soon as he walks off, Mallory turns to me.
“In my office. Now.”
Oh, good times ahead. I’m going to be lit up like a Christmas tree. I stand up and see Charlotte staring at me, her mouth slightly open. Hmm. My guess is previous assistants took their beatings and hunted for a new job on the sly.
Well, I plan on doing neither as long as I get to work with Beckett like I anticipate I will.
I enter Mallory’s office.
“Yes, Mallory?”
“Shut the door.”
I comply and close the door behind me.
“What the fuck was that?” she yells, her composed mask for Tom flying out the window.
“He asked me what I was working on. I answered him.”
“So you enjoy throwing me under the bus?” Mallory spits.
“If you are going to have me work on personal projects, and someone asks me about them, I’m not going to lie to cover for you. As my manager you shouldn’t even put me in the position in the first place.”
Mallory blinks. I don’t.
“Fine. If you want to have a ‘business only’ relationship so be it. But you’d better pray you don’t make a mistake. A single one. Because I’ll be there to catch it. And just like you, I won’t cover it up. Now go back to your desk and get ready to help Tom.”
I leave her office, and as I do, an uncomfortable feeling washes over me.
What would she do if she knew I was seeing Beckett?
There is nothing in the employee handbook about dating a client, or even a co-worker. In today’s world, loads of people date people they meet in business. But a sick feeling washes over me as I think of what Mallory would do if she knew about me and Beckett. She would paint me out to be preying on a client or acting like a groupie or something equally as hideous.
My stomach clenches at the thought. I need to protect my career image. For myself and so I can guide Beckett in social media. We’re going to have to stay on the down-low until I can prove my ability to other people at ChicagoConnect and show what I can do with Beckett as a client.
Then, if we’re dating and serious, we can come out as a couple. Sure, it will raise eyebrows, but my work will speak for itself and if they want to keep me—and Beckett—it won’t matter.
I only hope Beckett will see it the same way.
I should be dead asleep.
But instead I find myself tossing and turning and trying not to stare at the alarm clock, but failing. Right now it’s almost one-thirty.
Officially Sunday.
And Beckett is coming home in about an hour from Buffalo.
I flip over on to my back and stare at the ceiling. The work week ended horribly now that Mallory knows she can’t boss me around. So she gives me pointless work reports to write, ones I know she will never read unless I type ‘Cremo Delicato Marble’ in the subject line.
> But in spite of that, I feel happy. I know I’ll get to work with Beckett and develop his social media presence from scratch, which I’m excited about. So Mallory can be a bitch and do what she wants, but I refuse to give her the power to ruin my time away from work.
So I went out with Livy Friday night. We noshed on Cuban food at 90 Miles Cuban Café, and brought a bottle of red wine and ordered the sangria mix pitcher to share. It was such a good time, and two of Livy’s old high school friends—Collins and Taylor—joined us as well. So we laughed and drank and had a blast.
Of course, my evening was enhanced by sharing texts with Beckett from Buffalo the whole time.
I smile to myself. We did talk via Connectivity video connect, and I shared messages with him while at dinner. He was out with Landy, and while I knew they were surrounded by hot girls—thank you, social media—I know he was talking to me the whole time, and that makes me feel so good about him. About the potential of us.
Tonight—wait, yesterday—I watched the whole game. And I got a nervous stomach anytime Beckett got smashed against the boards. Then Beckett got into a huge fight, and I wanted to be sick when I saw him being punched in the face. He was called for a penalty, and since it was near the end of the period, he was sent to the locker room. And the camera caught him with his hair all disheveled, a cut under his eye, and damn, Beckett was such a badass. It’s another side to him, and one I have to admit I find smoking hot.
I roll over on my side and pick up my phone. Okay, since there is no rule book anymore, I can totally text Beckett to say hi. Normally I wouldn’t even think of doing this, but staying true to myself, I want to do it. So I grab my phone and shoot him a message.