by Lila Monroe
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but laugh a little. Sure, it’s a bit over the top as far as greetings go, but I actually appreciate her straightforwardness—after all, it’s not like everyone else in the group isn’t checking him out too. At least she’s open about it. And Liam seems to take it well enough, grinning good-naturedly as they shake. “I’m excited to meet you all, too. Although I have to admit, I’m a little worried I’m going to be a liability here. I don’t think I’ve played kickball since the third grade.”
Despite Liam’s earlier protests about not mixing well with friends, he fits right in with the group. He and Justin do have a lot to talk about, in fact, but he’s also genuinely interested in Katie’s next book and April’s plans to expand her flower shop. And as far as kickball goes, turns out he hasn’t forgotten anything since elementary school.
The hours pass in a blur of friendly competition, gossip, and good-natured smack-talk. Once the game is over, we head to one of the gang’s favorite spots in Brooklyn, a hip bar with a massive deck out back that’s normally teeming with people on a summer afternoon. Today we’re in luck, though—the crowds have fled the city, and there’s enough room for all of us to cluster around a big wooden picnic table, shaded from the afternoon sun by a huge white umbrella. We order a few pitchers and some snacks while Natalie (who’s something of an amateur astrologist in addition to her job as an award-winning journalist), figures out Liam’s rising sun and moon signs. “Looks like you’re embarking on a sexy new relationship with a super-hot girl,” she deadpans, and I throw a peanut in her direction.
“Wow, maybe I ought to pay more attention to my horoscope,” Liam says, laughing.
I head inside the bar when it’s my turn to buy a round, dropping a tip into the bucket for the bartenders and picking my way through the crowd with a pitcher of wheat beer in one hand and a double IPA in the other. I’ve nearly made it back out onto the patio when I hear someone call my name. When I turn around I spy Jen Hannaford, an editor at a competing publishing house, waiting in line for the ladies’ room.
“Thirsty?” she asks with a smile.
“Parched,” I joke, holding up my pitchers. I’ve known Jen almost as long as I’ve been in publishing. We’ve attended a bunch of the same conferences and industry parties over the years and even had lunch a few times, though there’s always a spark of competition between us. In fact, I narrowly outbid her for Katie’s book just last year.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says now, lifting her cocktail in a toast. “Word around the water cooler is that you finally got Verity Lange to deliver the goods.”
“News travels fast,” I say with a smile. “But it was definitely a team effort.”
Jen nods. “Speaking of teams,” she says, lowering her voice a bit, “if you’re ever looking to make a change, there’s room on mine. I was actually going to call you this week and let you know that we’re looking to hire a senior editor.”
I can’t deny that my ears prick up a little bit—a senior editor job would be a huge step up for me, one that I’ve been working toward for years—but then I glance back in the direction of the patio, where Liam is laughing at something that Wes said. I shake my head. “You’re sweet to think of me,” I tell her, “but I’m happy where I am, thanks. I want to see this thing through.”
“You sure?” Jen raises her eyebrows. “It could be a great chance to get off a sinking ship.”
“What, Sterling?” I frown, a bit taken aback. “We’re doing fine. I mean, sure, things were a little bit in flux after Harry passed away, but Liam was able to get everything under control, and with Verity’s new book out in a few weeks I don’t think there’s anything for us to worry about.”
Jen nods quickly. “That’s right,” she says, but I’m not sure if I’m imagining that she doesn’t sounds entirely convinced. “My mistake.”
The door to the ladies’ room opens just then, and Jen and I say our goodbyes. “It was great to run into you,” I tell her with a grin, holding the pitchers up one more time. “I’m going to go chug these.”
Back out on the patio, Liam and April are chatting about his cousin’s plan to expand his burgeoning nightclub empire into pizzas. “I mean, you have to admit it makes sense,” April says admiringly. “Literally all I want to do after a night out is stuff my face with an extra-cheese pie.”
“I just had the weirdest conversation,” I tell Liam, filling him in on my encounter with Jen.
I’m expecting him to laugh it off, but he tilts his head to the side, like he’s actually considering it. “I mean, it doesn’t sound that weird to me,” he says when I’m finished. “They’d be silly not to want you.”
“Well, thanks,” I say, pleased. “But I don’t want them.” I start to change the subject, but Liam stops me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to at least go interview, and see what they’re offering?”
I pause, thrown. “It’s a senior editor position,” I explain slowly. “But, I couldn’t leave Sterling. Not right now.”
“It sounds like it’s worth considering,” Liam says, looking serious. “That could be a great opportunity for you.”
I frown. “Do you want me to leave?” I can’t help but ask.
“I don’t want you to do anything,” Liam says amiably, reaching for a fried pickle chip from the basket on the table. “But if it’s good for your career—and it sounds like it is—why wouldn’t you at least think it over?”
I don’t have an answer for that. But as we finish our beers and head back to Liam’s apartment, I feel weird and unsettled. And it’s not until we’re parked on his massive leather couch with a boatload of Chinese takeout that I figure out why. “Listen,” I tell him, turning to face him. “I’ve got no plans to leave Sterling, okay? This company has been good to me, and loyalty matters. My authors matter. I wouldn’t just cut and run and leave them stranded just because Jen Hannaford dangled a new job in front of me.”
Liam nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Your career matters too, doesn’t it?” he asks,. “I’m sure they’d understand. Are you telling me they wouldn’t jump ship to another publisher if they got offered a better deal somewhere else?”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, feeling my temper flare. “But I think I’ve put in enough time and effort with them—and earned enough respect—that if that happened, they’d come to me first so that we could work something out.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Liam says slowly. “And I know you’ve worked hard on the relationships you’ve made at Sterling. But this is business, not a romance novel. It’s not all happily ever afters, with everyone staying together until the end of time.”
I freeze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Right away, Liam shakes his head. “That came out wrong,” he says, busying himself with a takeout container. “All I meant to say is that you’re very talented, your reputation is stellar, and any publisher would be lucky to have you. You deserve to be appreciated wherever you are.”
I exhale slowly. “I can be appreciated just fine at Sterling,” I insist, still not relaxing.
Then Liam fixes me with a smoldering grin. “I know that,” he says, drawing me closer. “In fact, you can be appreciated right here, too…”
He kisses me, and I close my eyes and sink into him, trying to forget about Jen Hannaford and Verity Lange and everything but the feeling of Liam’s warm, hard body next to mine.
And for a while there, I do.
19
Liam
I’m expecting things to slow down once Verity’s book is finished, but instead the days seem to speed up. As the launch date approaches, my life becomes a blur of conference calls and marketing meetings—and cozy late-night dinners with Eliza. Not that I’m complaining. In fact, events are working out better than I could have imagined. I’ve been able to cut costs at Sterling, things with Eliza are incredible, and with the book shipping out to stores in just a week’s time, I feel confide
nt our creditors won’t fuss too much about extending the repayment terms on our loans. For the first time, I’m able to think past the next payroll cycle, and start wondering about my long-term plans.
If I can stick around here longer. If there might be future for me in NYC, after all.
One morning, I roll over and look at Eliza sleeping in bed. She opens one eye. “Hi there,” she says, looking amused. “Did I drool in my sleep again?”
“Not tonight.” I smile, and push back a lock of her hair. It still floors me that I get to do this—just lay around like this with her. “But I was thinking… I want to talk to you about something.”
“Uh-oh,” she says, sitting up in bed and tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “Sounds serious.”
“No, it’s nothing bad,” I assure her. “At least, I hope not.” I take a deep breath, sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside her. “I think you know that I had always planned to go back to San Francisco once Verity’s book was published.”
Eliza nods slowly. “I figured as much, yes.”
“But lately...” I trail off, gathering my nerve. “I’ve been thinking that maybe New York has more to offer than I initially realized.”
That makes her smile. “Oh you have, huh?” Eliza raises her eyebrows teasingly. “Like what, exactly?”
“Well, you know,” I say, pretending to think about it. “The sights. The culture.” I reach out, trailing a finger over her bare shoulder, nudging the spaghetti strap of her nightgown down her arm. “The company.”
“There it is.” Eliza tilts her face up for a kiss. “I was hoping you’d decide to stay,” she confesses softly, her words a quiet whisper against my mouth. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was putting pressure on you, or trying to rush things between us. But I was always, always hoping you’d decide to stay.”
I can’t help smiling at her words. “I’m all in with you, Eliza.” I admit. “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t think I’ve ever let myself.”
Eliza nods in understanding. “I spent my whole life reading about this in novels,” she confesses, looking a little bashful. “But I don’t know if I ever really thought it would happen for me.”
She kisses me again then, leaning back into the pillows and tugging me down on top of her, then rolling us over so she’s straddling my hips. I tug her nightgown all the way off her shoulders, hiking it up so it’s pooled around her waist and letting out a low groan when I realize she’s not wearing anything underneath it.
Her body is familiar to me now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be bored, exploring every inch. Eliza laces her fingers through mine as she lowers herself down onto me, rocking her hips until I’m deep inside her. She looks like some kind of goddess in the morning light, her long hair steaming behind her as she arches her back in pleasure. I know I won’t last long watching her like this and I reach down between us, finding her clit with one thumb. Eliza breathes in sharply, her eyes flying open wide in pleasure and surprise. “Like that,” she whispers. “Just like that…”
I keep stroking, thrusting up inside her as she rocks her hips, taking me to heaven and back. When we come, it’s hot and fierce, pleasure spreading up my rib cage and down my limbs as she collapses down onto my chest, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder. We lie like that for a long, quiet moment as our breathing returns to normal. I can feel the curve of Eliza’s smile against my skin.
“So,” she says finally, lifting her face to look at me. Her cheeks are sweetly flushed, her hair tangled like a messy blonde halo. “Does this mean you’re finally going to unpack?”
“I did unpack!” I protest. “It would have been extremely inefficient to be living out a suitcase this whole time. The ironing time alone would have eaten up my entire day.”
“First of all, don’t act for one second like you do your own ironing,” Eliza says with a laugh, “and second of all, that’s not what I mean.” She props herself up on one elbow, trailing a delicate finger down my chest. “This apartment is incredible, but you have to admit it basically looks like a very fancy hotel room. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home at the end of the day to a place with a little bit of personality? Something that feels a little more like you?”
I look around at the walls and rugs and window treatments, which are—now that she mentions it—indeed overwhelmingly taupe. “I guess I could hire an interior designer.”
“You could,” Eliza agrees amiably. “Or once Verity’s book is out and things calm down a little bit, you and I could go shopping together.”
I consider it for a moment. “I like that idea,” I admit with a smile. I’ve never been furniture shopping with a woman before—I’ve never really been furniture shopping, period—but I like imagining the two of us strolling through the showroom hand in hand, making decisions together. Building a life together, bit by bit. “New couch, new table.” I bounce on the mattress, teasing. “New bed?”
“Better test this one again first just to be safe,” Eliza says, and pulls the crisp white sheets over our heads.
When I finally make it into work later that morning, I’m surprised find Celeste waiting in my office. “Celeste, hi,” I say, holding my briefcase up involuntarily, almost as if I’m going to use it like a shield. “I’m sorry, did we have an appointment?”
“No, no.” Celeste smiles, shaking her head. “I’m just barging in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine,” I tell her, then wince. “I mean, not to say you are barging in. Just that it’s fine that I didn’t expect you.” It occurs to me to wonder if Celeste and I will ever be able to manage a conversation that isn’t horribly awkward at its core.
To her credit, my stepmother-ish forges ahead. “You made some changes in here,” she observes, looking around the newly minimalist office.
“I hope that’s all right. It just helped me think, to clear out a bit of the, ah…”
“Clutter?” she supplies.
“Exactly,” I admit.
Celeste nods. “Harry certainly loved the finer things,” she recalls. I gesture for her to make herself comfortable, and the two of us sit down on opposite sides of the desk. Somehow it feels safer to have the furniture in between us, though I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. She’s a sixty-five-year-old widow, for Pete’s sake, not a comic book supervillain. But things have always been frosty between us—and I don’t blame her.
After all, I’m a living, breathing reminder that while she was giddily anticipating her wedding day, Harry was off… Well, giddily getting acquainted with my mom. Talk about putting a dampener on a marriage. Celeste and Harry found a way to make it work, and by all accounts were very happy together, but still… I’ll always be a symbol of that betrayal to her.
And she’ll always be a symbol of how I was never meant to be a part of Harry’s world.
As if she’s reading my mind, Celeste smiles at me a little uncertainly. “Liam,” she says, her voice soft, “I think I owe you an apology.”
That takes me aback. “An apology?” I echo, shaking my head like an instinct. “For what?”
“For…” She trails off, folding and refolding her hands in her lap. “Well, for all of it, I think.”
I frown. “I don’t think I understand.”
Celeste sighs sadly. “We never quite got to know each other, did we?” she asks. “And I’ve only got myself to blame. We got off on the wrong foot, certainly, but that had nothing to do with you. You were a child. Innocent. My relationship with your father was… Complicated…” She trails off for a moment, then seems to collect herself. “But that had nothing to do with you.”
It’s the closest she’s ever come to addressing my parentage directly, and I can honestly say I never expected her to say even this much. “You were never cruel to me,” I remind her. “You’ve been… perfectly civil.”
“But that wasn’t good enough, was it?” She gives me a faint smile. “And that’s something I truly regret.” She sits back in her chair,
considering me for a moment. “You remind me of him, do you know that?”
Hell, this woman is full of surprises today.
I blink. “I do?”
“You do. You’re a hard worker. You’re smart as a whip. And you’re quite charming, when you think nobody is paying attention.” She smiles at me then, almost girlish. “I do owe you an apology, Liam. I owe you thirty years’ worth of apologies, in fact.”
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not always the fastest to pick up on others’ emotions, but two things are immediately clear even to me: one, that Celeste is still grieving the loss of my father deeply, and two, that her regret is achingly sincere.
“Apology accepted,” I tell her, and I’m surprised to discover that I truly mean it. I’m not holding onto any hard feelings, toward her or toward my father. I suspect I have Eliza to thank for that. “It’s all in the past.”
I clear my throat then, motioning to the desk as I steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Actually,” I tell her, “I’m glad you stopped by. There are a few investor reports I’d love to go over with you, and—”
But Celeste shakes her head again. “Oh, Liam, that’s fine,” she says, waving a hand. “I don’t want to get bogged down in the details. Whatever you think is best for the company and the people who work here is what we should do. I trust you.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised again.
“Of course,” she says, reaching out across the desk and laying a manicured hand on my arm. “I love books, and I love Sterling, but to be honest, it was always Harry’s thing. I’ll be happy to move on. That’s why I brought you in to begin with. I know you’ll think rationally about what makes the most financial sense without getting wrapped up in sentimentality.” She smiles. “Personally, I’m going to enjoy my retirement. Take up gardening, do some volunteer work. Maybe take a cruise.”