by Piper Lawson
“And?” Xavier asks.
“And you lost by twenty-five seconds,” Holt’s wife tells us.
Groans go up.
“Can’t believe this,” I mutter. “You’ll be crowing about this all through dinner.”
“We will, but not to you.” Daisy holds out a hand. “Card.”
“Huh?”
“We’re going for dinner. There’s a table for three waiting for us. You gentlemen can go wherever you want. Ladies,” she comments to the wives, “I’ll see you at eight.”
They voice agreement and delight before heading past us for the change rooms.
Unbelievable.
“You played me,” I accuse as Daisy and I start toward the doors together, in no particular hurry.
“No. You wanted Xavier to see you in a new light, and he did. But in talking with Amy and Tania”—she gestures to the change room—“I learned that you men end up talking work over dinner anyway. So rather than feign interest, we’ll leave you to it and go to dinner ourselves. Amy runs a nonprofit, and Tania was an executive at one of the largest restaurant chains in the world. Which is how we scored the reservation. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.”
I can’t decide if I want to kiss her or strangle her.
Possibly both.
Instead, I wrap my arms around her and pull her against me. Neither of us is crazy sweaty, but she’s warm, and I love the heat of her body mixing with mine.
“You were unbelievable,” I murmur against her hair. “I couldn’t have been more proud if you were my girl for real.”
“Well, I haven’t been here in a while because of work. It feels good to get back at it. It was fun.”
But as I pull back, fun doesn’t feel like the right word. It was challenging and fascinating. Like a high I never expected, and now that I’ve felt it, I crave more.
Could I be the perfect boyfriend for a month? The question comes out of nowhere. It’s tantalizing because it's the one mountain I haven't climbed, the one challenge I haven't conquered, and one far more interesting than the one we just completed.
If some part of me wants to do it for the way she’s looking at me, to make her eyes shine even brighter, to make her feel proud and happy every second she’s with me like I am with her…
Then I guess that’s life.
“I’m taking you out,” I decide. “I’ll pick you up at the office tomorrow for a real dinner.”
She balks. "We never do dinner. You hate extra meals in restaurants because you eat out for work every night."
"Well, this one's on me."
Her lips curve and she looks pointedly at my pocket.
“Again,” I grunt as I reach for the AmEx in my wallet and hand it over. “On me again.”
11
“The Connexion account is coming up for renewal in a few weeks,” Rena says from across the table. “They seemed pleased with our work the last quarter, and their new genealogy product is doing well.”
Despite her words, I’m not convinced. They’re my client, but Rena’s been handling them since the Vane work started.
“Let’s meet with them. They had a rough quarter this time last year, and I want to head off any chance of repeating.”
I look up to see Rena and Kendall staring past me. I turn to follow their gazes.
Ben strides across our lobby from the elevator. He's dominance, elegance, a combination of ease and strength that's endlessly attractive. His suit fits him to perfection, blue with a tie a few shades lighter that sets off his dark, wavy hair, clinging to the hard planes and strong lines of his body.
I take the excuse to devour him with my gaze. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Ben might have traded his jeans in college for Hugo Boss, but I'm not complaining.
Or if I am, it’s because he’s far too appealing for his own good, or for mine.
He leans in the open conference room door. “Hey, Rena. Kendall.”
Since the climbing gym, he seems different. As if he's present with me, but running some private game behind those dark eyes.
“You ready for dinner?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Hmm? Yes. I lost track of time.” I make a note on my computer before shutting my notebook. “Rena, I’ll find us a time to meet Connexion in person. I don’t want any surprises.”
She shifts out of her chair, adjusting her sleek blond ponytail. “I’ll do it. You guys go out on your date.”
“Thank you,” Ben says dryly. “She owes me.”
“I tricked him out of dinner the other night,” I explain.
“You’re conniving.”
“You say that like it’s a compliment,” I reply as Kendall and Rena leave and I head for my office, Ben on my heels.
“It is.”
I set my computer on my desk and grab lipstick out of my drawer. It’s my turn to catch him staring as I reapply it.
“I’ve never seen a woman put on lipstick. It’s sexy."
He’s leaning near the door, a relaxed animal that could spring into action at any moment.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes. It makes me imagine how you’d wear it off.”
Heat floods my body at his husky voice. I gather my things and he meets me in the middle of the small office.
"Ben...why are you doing this?”
He frowns. "I want to be a good boyfriend. Does there have to be a reason?"
Yes. Because if there's not, I'm going to start imagining you just want to. I was concerned it might be hard to pull off this charade, but the only hard part is remembering this is supposed to be for show.
As he leads me out of the office, I can’t help turning over how the last couple of days I’ve been slammed with work, but when I’m not, I think of him. As much as I care for him, I’ve always tried to confine him to part of my mind, and my heart. He’s bleeding into the rest of my consciousness.
The desire on his face feels real. The warmth in his eyes can’t possibly stop at friendship. Can it?
We reach street level and he holds the door, his hand on my back as I pass through. He falls into step next to me.
“You going to tell me where we’re eating?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I guess I am hungry. I’ve been trying to troubleshoot some clients and missed lunch today.”
“Then it’s a good thing I came to collect you. Can’t have my girlfriend starving.”
We take the subway a handful of stops, and when we emerge, it’s another block to the side door of a walk-up. The restaurant is on an open rooftop, strung with fairy lights. It’s simple and elegant, not to mention romantic.
I smile at the setup. “This is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” His boyish grin looks pleased. “I’ve never brought anyone here.”
We take our seats at a reserved table, one of only half a dozen on the rooftop, and I tilt my face up to take in the waning fall sky.
The woman who comes out to greet us looks to be midforties and strong, her hair tugged back in a low bun and her smile generous as she hugs Ben.
“Haven’t seen you in a long time,” she chastises, shaking her finger at him.
“Cara, this is Daisy.”
She smiles at me. “I’m glad you brought me someone.”
We catch up for a few minutes, and when she grabs us menus before leaving, Ben says, “Two of her kids attend programming for Soar, the mental health non-profit whose board I sit on.” He doesn’t disclose the specifics, and I wouldn’t expect him to. “Cara tried to access various programs before, but they weren’t configured to make it easy for working single moms. A lot of the healthcare system assumes we can drop everything to attend to these challenges. And we can, but it just means more challenges on the other side. Anyway, since then, they’ve been much more focused. Which Cara says has made it easier for her to say yes to opening this restaurant.”
My heart expands. “That’s amazing, Ben. I know you’re passionate abou
t it.”
He shrugs modestly. “I want more kids to learn self-reliance. We come into this world without any skills. Some people get good hands, others get terrible ones. It’s unfair. But we can help level the playing field for them.”
“But it’s not only for them,” I say. “No one’s an island. It spills over to others in their families, the communities.”
He nods. “I suppose it does.”
“This is why I want Vane’s business,” I comment after we’ve ordered drinks and glanced at the menus. “I want to help people. I want to employ people. Leave the world better when I’m gone than when I entered. It’s not about his couples’ resorts, it’s about the resources that would bring in, the platform to support people thinking more flexibly and inclusively about relationships. Being happy doesn’t have to be poster-worthy moments in bikinis on the beach with tanned abs.”
Ben lifts his glass in a silent toast. “But why now? Besides Lil's tuition, but that's not what made you get a meeting with him in the first place. You could’ve started pursuing the Richard Vanes of the world a long time ago.”
His question catches me off guard. “There’s always been someone more ready, more worthy. I worry that one day I’ll get up and look in the mirror and see what I’ve built and feel like a fraud. I don’t want that to happen.”
“Then stop thinking it.”
My chest tightens, the past rushing at me in a jumble of memories that make me ache.
I know what it’s like to have someone close to me decide they don’t believe in me anymore. Vi as much as said it. The thought that my team and clients might someday feel that way is awful. But as I sit there, I realize there’s something worse—if Ben didn’t believe in me anymore.
Our drinks arrive and I take a long sip of my wine. “This is good.”
“Cara knows what she’s talking about.” He smiles over his glass, and I let go of some of the darkness.
“What are you afraid of?” I catch a drop of wine on the edge of my lip with a finger.
He follows my movement with heavy eyes that take a heartbeat too long to return to mine. “When you start to build wealth, people decide you're worth taking advantage of, and it has nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with what you have. Holt is sharpening his dagger, which means I have to stay three steps ahead of everything.”
“Even love?” The implication makes me ache, for him, not for me.
He shakes his head. “Love can destroy as readily as it can save. It didn’t protect my mom. She still fell under my dad's spell, and it cost her everything.”
“Cities fall to time, or war, or politics. Does that negate the fact that they were built? Diminish the people who lived in them?”
Ben slings an arm over the back of his chair, turning to look out over the skyline. “I’m not a city. All I have is myself. If I crumble, there’s nothing left for me.”
The admission is so thoroughly Ben, and I squeeze my napkin.
I say, "There's a poem by W.H. Auden called 'The More Loving One.' It's about love unrequited. How the stars don't love us the way we love them, and how it's better to be the one whose love is unreturned than the one who's indifferent."
Ben’s gaze finds mine and lingers. “You believe it.”
“I want to. There’s beauty in it, and power. Knowing we don’t need another person to experience love. That it’s not a transaction, but a way of being that you can feel anytime you want to.”
His heavy gaze lingers on me as our food comes: caprese salad for me and a steak for him. We eat and talk about everything from work to our families to movie and music.
On the way out, he cuts me a look. “I never want to lose what we have. And I meant what I said. I want to be there for you this month.”
The one thing I want you to give me is something you don’t want to give.
“What would you want your boyfriend to do?”
I sigh. “Make me baths. Bring me dinner when I’m stressed. To believe in me, when people are watching, but mostly when they’re not. When I’m great, and when I’m just me.”
“You’re always great. Especially when you’re just you.”
He threads his fingers through mine, and I don’t know if it’s him practicing, or because he thinks I want him to, or because he wants to.
The backs of my eyes burn, lights blurring in front of me as we amble down the street. I blink and focus on the intersection ahead.
“If I had a girlfriend," he says, even though I didn't ask, "we’d have inside jokes. She’d call me on my shit. But she’d also smile when I’m grumpy, like it’s cute and not infuriating. She’d know me better than anyone. She’d be the light to my dark. I could tell her anything, trust her with everything.”
The words hang between us, a bubble I don’t want to break.
“I could have a car take you home," he says at last once we reach the outside of my office building. "Wait for you to go up and get your things.”
“Thanks, but I have some more work to do first.”
“In that case, I’ll see you at your place for Fortnite.”
“I’m going to the Vineyard,” I remind him. “But we can still play after I finish work.”
In the darkness, he looks disappointed or irritated, maybe both. "I could go with you, if you want backup."
Offering to spend a weekend with anyone other than his work and clients is so unlike him. And spending an entire weekend with him, sharing a room, acting like we're head over heels… I don’t know how I’d stay sane.
I try to stay grateful for what we have, our friendship.
But I want all of him, the parts he shares and the ones he keeps private.
“You showed up for me with Xavier,” he goes on, oblivious to my debate, “and part of the appeal for you was helping your case by showing Vane we're dating. I'll be your trophy boyfriend. Hold your drinks and golf clubs."
The idea of Ben standing on the sidelines of anything has me laughing.
But I want it. So much.
“Well, if I’m going to survive Martha’s Vineyard, I suppose I could use Jet,” I say.
“Jet.” He steps closer, the sudden heat of his body making my breath catch. “I’m much better company than a dog.”
“Sometimes you are a dog.”
He grins. “Damn straight. Now ask me.”
He's commanding again, the vulnerability from earlier gone. The way he’s looking at me, the way he makes me feel as though he’s my family even though he doesn’t have to be, has my heart hammering and every part of me wanting more, no matter what the consequences.
And there would be consequences. Because if we play out the attraction I’m starting to think isn’t all in my head, having him wake up and realize I’m not what he wants would destroy me.
My inhale is steady, deliberate. “Come to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend. I can promise rich people and lots of acting. You’ll also need black tie for one night.”
Ben strokes his thumb down my jaw. “My tux and I are at your service.”
12
I’m in physical pain.
In the most relaxing, charming place within two hours of Manhattan, my ribs are squeezing my organs so hard they might pop.
“Is it possible to add a second bed?” I ask the woman working at the front desk of the Vanes’ hotel, my voice deliberately low so we’re not overheard.
“I’m sorry, your reservation has a king suite listed and we’re full. I could inquire about moving some of the other guests…”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
This morning, Ben and I took the boat to the Vineyard. It’s charming network of farms and cottages. It’s easy to be fooled into forgetting the understated country scenery is a playground for the ultra rich and famous seeking an escape by trading their city island for a more rural one.
Ben hangs up a phone call and meets me in the middle of the lobby. He looks like a boarding school orgasm in a navy polo that fits his muscled torso pe
rfectly, exposing tanned arms and neck and linen shorts. His hair is wavy and long, his Ray-Bans stuck back on his head.
I smile brightly, and he returns it, cocking his head in curiosity. “Everything good?”
“Yeah. Great.”
The bellhop leads the way to our suite, and Ben sends him off with a tip. When the man’s gone, I survey the living area. There’s a couch and a wingback chair facing a TV, plus sliding doors that close off a separate area with a king bed.
I’m still staring at that bed, anticipation running through me, when he speaks.
“So you have some kind of photo shoot this afternoon?”
“I hired a photographer to capture the couple being more relaxed.”
“Smart.”
“I hope so. Then a reception tomorrow and the bachelorette.”
He follows my gaze toward the bed, and I grimace. “I asked for two beds but they couldn’t accommodate.”
Ben hangs his garment bag and mine in the closet by the door. “Vane expects us to be a couple.”
Irritation rises. I shift on my platform heels and smooth down the fabric of my black sleeveless D&G jumpsuit. “He won’t be dropping by our room.”
“So what’s the problem—you think I’ll attack you?” He turns back and his wolfish grin makes me press my thighs together.
I open my rolling suitcase on the luggage rack and take my small bag of makeup and hygiene products to the bathroom, avoiding his gaze. “Of course not. It’s a busy weekend and I want to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Which you won’t get on account of all this hotness in arm’s reach?” He leans in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me set out my toothbrush, toothpaste, and skincare products.
I turn toward him, folding my arms. “I’m regretting this already. Please leave me the dog and go.”
Instead of complying, he steps into the bathroom, stopping when his hips brush mine. “Do something for me, darling.”
My breath sticks in my throat.
“Scope out the liquor. If I’m on the clock, I’m damn well enjoying it.”
“If you promise not to call me that.”
“What would you prefer? Sweet thing? Baby?"