by Amelia Wilde
Sam shuts the door behind us and flips the lock, then comes to stand beside me. “Well, this is it.”
I look around one more time. “Nice.”
“It is nice.”
“Do you have any roommates?” It seems like a good question to ask, in case some other woman is about to burst out of a second bedroom I haven’t noticed.
“Nope. Just a one-bedroom.” She glances up at me, her lips pressed together. She’s telling me something, because when we were living in the dorms, she said she’d never share less than a two-bedroom apartment with anyone. Back then, she meant me. She wanted space for visitors, space for a desk. She really hasn’t been with anyone, then.
She’s been waiting for me, just like I’ve been waiting for her, even if neither of us was ever willing to admit it.
“I had some things I wanted to say to you.” Her voice is soft, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “That day in the woods?”
“I remember.”
“I meant what I said. But I didn’t say enough.”
“You don’t have to—”
She silences me with a glance. “I said you didn’t have to make up for what happened with the baby. You didn’t have to work at a cement plant to avoid hurting people. But I should also have said that it wasn’t your fault. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
The memories come back like a thunderstorm. Sam discovering that she was pregnant, and me—me trying to take control. Every day that we woke up, I was trying to wrestle her pregnancy into submission. I told her we should keep it a secret. I drove her to a clinic three towns over so that nobody would know. I didn’t want any interference from her parents, or from my mom. I stayed awake at night researching what things would be best for her to eat, if it was okay for her to go running, which medicines she could take if she got a cold. And I couldn’t stop telling her everything I learned, even when I saw that it made her nervous, even when I saw the blood draining from her face whenever I brought it up.
“I could have lightened up.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think you could. We were really young, and it was intense. But what happened was not because of anything you did.” Sam steps up to me, puts her hands on my face. “It wasn’t because of you. Do you know that? Tell me you know that.”
Something shifts in my chest, and suddenly there’s a lump in my throat that I have to swallow down hard. I didn’t know. Not until right now. “I do now.”
There’s a sheen of tears in her eyes, but she keeps looking right into mine. “Do you swear?”
I laugh a little. It’s an old quirk of hers. Do you swear? Do you double-swear? “I swear.”
She runs her hands down my chest. “Okay.” The breath that she lets out is slightly shaky. “As a follow-up, what happened at Cerberus is not your fault, either.”
My jaw tightens, and there’s an answering spike of anger in my gut. “Damn right it wasn’t.”
Sam rises on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Not—not what he did. I mean, it wasn’t your fault that he fired me. He was going to do that anyway. Have the police called you?”
The topic shift almost gives me whiplash. “What?”
She presses her lips together, nodding. “My boss took me to file a report with the police here. They’re working with the station in Lockton. And you…you were a witness. I thought they would have been in contact with you—”
At that moment, my cell phone rings in my pocket, but I don’t reach for it.
“That could be them,” Sam says, casting a worried glance toward the sound.
“I’ll get right back to them. I swear.”
“Okay.”
“I have some things to say, too.”
Sam smiles at me and steps closer. “Like what?”
“You know, there’s just so much that I don’t…I don’t think we have time for it. You’re on your way to work.”
She frowns a little, and I start backing up, toward what I’m pretty sure is her bedroom. “Where are we going?”
“We’ve got too much to say right now, but I think we have time for something else…just to tide us over.”
Then her mouth is on mine, and I don’t have to say another word.
Chapter Forty-Five
Samantha
I took another quick shower before I came into the office, but Beck’s scent still seems to linger on my skin.
I can’t believe he’s here.
He kissed me goodbye at the door to my apartment, my spare key in his pocket, and told me that we’d talk tonight. Tonight seems like it’s a million years away, but there’s plenty of work here to distract me.
At least, it should be distracting me.
Instead, what’s breaking into my thoughts—which involve a confusing mix of sorting out the two projects I’ve been assigned and the way the light played over Beck’s hard muscles as he worked over me in my bedroom—is Michelle, calling to me from the doorway of her office.
“Do you have ten, Sam?”
“Yeah,” I say, shuffling the papers on my desk into some semblance of order. “Of course.”
She’s sitting behind her desk when I take my place in one of the other two chairs. “Are you settling back in okay?” Michelle lifts her mug from her desk and takes a sip of her tea.
“I am,” I tell her with a smile. “These new projects look great.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Then she lowers her voice. “Did you have a chance to speak with anyone yesterday?” I can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows she’s venturing into personal territory, things you’re not supposed to discuss at work, but this is a special circumstance.
“I did. Yes.” I add a nod for emphasis.
“Good. Good.” She lets out a breath that sounds like relief, straightening up in her chair. “I just want you to know that you have the firm’s full support in this, Sam. I wanted to be one hundred percent clear about it.”
My throat tightens, but she’s not done yet.
“You’re a valuable member of our team. And I know—I know that sounds like corporate B.S.—” Here she laughs a little. “—but it’s true. I hope you know that nothing is more important than your safety.”
A tear slips from the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away, trying to ignore the embarrassed color rising up in my cheeks. “I really didn’t—I felt awful to lose those opportunities for the company.”
Michelle puts both of her hands flat on her desk. “Understand this.” Her tone is level and deadly. “I never want to do business with a man like that. I don’t care how many other properties he owns. That’s not what we’re about.”
I nod, and then am forced by the tears I’m holding back to blow my nose, which of course comes along with a loud honking noise that makes both of us laugh.
“Get back to work,” she says, then sips more of her tea.
“Gladly.”
It’s true, too. My heart feels light when I go back to my desk.
The only thing that could be more perfect is if Beck was here with me, but that’s asking a little too much.
He’ll be waiting for me at my apartment, though.
That thought brings a smile to my face that lasts for the rest of the day.
I leave work as soon as humanly possible, which puts me right in the middle of rush hour traffic. Even taking the “back way” through Arbor Springs doesn’t make the trip back to my apartment any shorter than the usual fifteen minutes, and my heart pounds the entire drive. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait. I’m so glad he came. I’m so glad he didn’t let me walk away from him once and for all. I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.
But when I unlock the apartment door, I know right away that it’s empty. He’s gone.
My heart drops like a rock, and before I can even think about it rationally, there’s a painful ache in my throat.
Where did he go?
Did he seriously get into his car and go back
to Lockton after the morning we had? I can’t think of anywhere else he’d have to go.
Then I feel like an ass. What if there was some kind of emergency?
No, he would have texted me. There’s no way he would have left without at least sending me a message, if not actually calling.
Once I’ve worked myself back out of my idiotic panic, I spot the note on the kitchen counter. Sweet relief flooding my veins, I snatch it up so quickly that I almost tear it in two.
Sam—
I know showing up at your apartment without texting first was probably the most romantic thing I could have done, but I think maybe I should try a little harder. You deserve it.
I got you some fancy bubble bath (is that a thing all the ladies like?) and am giving you a couple of hours to yourself. Pick out a nice dress and meet me at 7:30 at Mark’s.
You didn’t think I’d leave without taking you on a date first, did you?
—Beck
He’s not kidding—there’s actually some fancy bubble bath sitting on the counter in the bathroom, so fancy that it comes in a little silver bag tied with a matching ribbon. I don’t know where Beck found this, but for the first time in years, I’m in the mood to take a bath. The bubbles add something extra that makes me laugh out loud and my heart light. I don’t think I’ve used bubble bath since I was five years old, but this is a nice touch.
After I’ve soaked in the warm bubbles clear up to my neck and finished toweling myself off, putting lotion on every inch of my skin, and sweeping my hair back into the most sophisticated twist I know how to do, I walk naked from the bathroom to the bedroom, the air caressing my skin. I wish Beck was here right now, because I feel damn radiant. It almost seems like a shame to put clothes on, but he specifically requested that I wear something nice and meet him for dinner.
And there’s no way I’m going to miss that. The fanciest things I ever got to go to in college was an all-dorm formal evening to which Beck wore cargo shorts. I’m into this date he’s planned for tonight, almost as much as I was into being in bed with him this morning.
The moment I open my closet, I see it: the perfect dress. It’s the only red dress I’ve ever bought, and it has a gorgeous halter top. It also hits at just the right spot on my thighs. Add one pair of heels, and I’m ready to go.
My heart trembles while I go through the motions of leaving. I don’t know what Beck has planned, but whatever it is, I know it’s going to be amazing.
Chapter Forty-Six
Beckett
I watch Sam out the front window of the apartment until she climbs into her car. The moment the car is out of sight, I spring into action.
I cannot just show up here with nothing but my hands in my pockets and have this be the start of the next forever with her. That’s fucking pathetic, and even if I didn’t have any ideas while I was driving down to see her, I do now.
It’s time to give Sam the romantic and perfect time she always deserved. The first of many nice times, if I have my way about it.
Not to say this morning wasn’t nice. This morning was damn incredible. And somewhere between circling her nipples with my tongue and making her come with both my fingers and my cock, I looked up into her face and it dawned on me that my old life is over. My old life of making up for all the things that hurt other people is done. I can’t play that part anymore. I can’t hide away up in Lockton, wasting my fucking degree like some kind of coward.
I can’t let Sam down like that. Not for another day.
She put out a towel for me in the bathroom, and so I jump into the shower, appreciating the no-nonsense body wash. Five minutes and I’m out and dressed, grabbing my keys from the floor beside her bed and taking the stairs out of the building two at a time. It’s a warm day—cold fall temperatures come later here than in Lockton—and it feels damn good, for the fifteen seconds I’m in the parking lot.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot almost too fast. Calm the hell down. Rushing is only going to make you fuck up.
My first stop is going to be the mall. I drove past a sign for it at some point last night, and it’s not far from Sam’s apartment, if I remember correctly. I pull into the closest parking spot by the entrance and go inside the anchor department store, slowing down just enough so that people don’t think I’m coming in to rob the place.
Inside, a saleswoman is standing near a display of women’s sweaters.
“Hello and welcome,” she says, but her greeting cuts off when she sees me coming toward her at top speed, her eyes going wide at the sight of my tattoos.
“Hi,” I say, flashing her my most charming smile. “I’m going to need a few things. Can you help?”
Her smile is tentative, but as I start to list off the items, her smile gets wider. “I know exactly what you’re looking for. Right this way.”
Two hours later, the man across the desk from me, one Martin Barnes of the Midwest Daily, grins at me, shaking his head.
“I have to say—you’re probably the first applicant to demand a same-day interview and actually get one.”
I return his smile. I’m acting confident as hell, but we both know this is a long shot. “I’m not much for giving up.” Now I’m not. I might have turned my back on all of this eight years ago, but those days are gone. This is my fresh start, right now.
Barnes leans back in his chair and screws up his mouth. “What kept you out of journalism, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I take a deep breath, but I don’t let my shoulders sag and I don’t break his gaze. “I know you’re supposed to have nice, wrapped-up answers for questions like this, but I don’t have one. After I graduated, I went back to my hometown and worked a hard job because—and this might sound stupid as hell—I was trying to make up for some of the times in my life when I’ve let other people down.”
Barnes nods slowly. “You didn’t go to prison, though?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just personal penance.”
A small smile returns to his face. “Personal penance. I see. But you’ve changed your mind.”
“I’m moving to town. I’m moving right now, this week, and I’m starting over. Look.” I lean forward a little, the fabric of my brand new suit moving smoothly along with me. At the mall, Christa—the woman who was initially a little wary of my tattoos but very interested in the commission that kept increasing with every item she slung over her arm—outfitted me in the nicest suit I’ve ever worn in my life. I didn’t even flinch at the cost. Aside from the bar and my house payment, I didn’t have a lot of expenses up in Lockton, which means I have a nice balance in my savings account. It’s time to invest in me and my future—our future—and I’m going to start with a couple important purchases.
The suit was the first. A fresh haircut was the second. And calling every news outlet with headquarters in Arbor Springs was the third. Fifteen calls, three interviews. This is the last one, and I’m really banking on some great news to take to dinner with Sam.
I’ve got to sell it, and I’ve got to sell it right now. “I don’t have a lot of experience, other than my work back in college, but I’m here for an entry-level position. You’re not going to find anybody who wants to work harder than me. No one.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and I don’t break eye contact. That’s why I see the shift in Barnes’ eyes when it happens. The slight narrowing of his gaze, the barest nod.
“What the hell,” he says, standing up and extending his hand across the desk. “Be here at nine on Monday. A guy like you deserves a shot.”
Victory.
I’m so fucking excited I can hardly contain myself, but when I get back out to my car, I take a big breath and try to settle the hell down. There are still a few things left to take care of.
That’s when I spot the boutique across the street from my parking space. It looks like the kind of place with fancy bath shit—something to make Sam’s after-work experience more relaxing—and that’s the first place I head.
While I’m crossing the street, I line up the rest of my ideas in a neat order. Bath gift. Back to her apartment to drop it off and write her a note explaining where I’ll be. Somewhere in there, I need to research a restaurant that’s conveniently close and upscale but that won’t cost me the rest of my savings.
Then, I need to put the final touches on tonight. Flowers. Maybe some jewelry. And all the things I’ve been waiting to say, all this time.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Samantha
Everything in me is buzzing with excitement as I walk into Mark’s, a narrow restaurant sandwiched between two larger ones on Main Street. Unlike Lockton, the Main Street in Arbor Springs has three solid blocks of upscale places that I almost never get a chance to go to. The friends I’ve made here are at least as busy as I am, and we usually go to the breweries on the next street over—places that don’t cost as much as Mark’s will tonight. I’ve only been here once before, for a girlfriend’s bridal shower, so it was privately rented and they served a different menu than what they offer to patrons.
But my excitement about the food pales in comparison to how I feel about seeing Beck again. Today has lasted approximately thirty lifetimes, and even the bubble bath couldn’t kill every moment until I’m looking into his eyes again. And that’s all I want.
I slip out of the light formal jacket I put on over my dress, and drape it over my arm. Despite how tiny the restaurant is, the entryway is separated from the main dining area by a wall and a hallway just wide enough for two people to walk down side by side. A man in a dark suit stands behind a podium just to the left of the hallway.
“Good evening,” he says to me, inclining his head like we’re in Victorian London. “How may I assist you?”
I approach the podium, trying not to grin like an idiot. “I’m here to meet Beckett Taylor.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile. This man can’t be more than fifteen years older than I am, but he’s giving me the impression of some kind of doting butler. “Please follow me. May I take your coat?”