Sweet Surrendering

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Thanks, Fin.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Enter awkward silence.

  We both just sort of sat there, neither of us knowing where to start.

  “So. This is terribly awkward.” Thank you, Fin. We both laughed and I shook my head.

  “So don’t feel any pressure for this at all. I’m not expecting anything, if you were worried.” Well, I wasn’t until now. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? He must have seen my look of horror.

  “And I did that thing I do and made this already awkward situation even worse. I’m going for the record today.” He shook his head at himself.

  “Well, how about we move onto less awkward ground. How’s your job going?”

  He mimed shooting himself in the head.

  “That good?’

  “It’s not the job, exactly. I enjoy it, and I like traveling, but I feel like it’s time to stay in one place. I know that’s odd for a guy to say, but I just wish I could stop living out of a suitcase and getting an email with a plane ticket and an order to be here or there in two weeks. Most of the time I don’t even get to see anything, except from afar.” He kept going and it was like I’d unleashed something that had been pent up inside him for a long time and he just needed someone to talk to about it.

  When he finally took a breath, I realized we’d been talking for almost a half hour.

  “Wow, I am not normally this much of a talkaholic. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to lay that on you.” He stuck his scone in his mouth as if to stop any more words from coming out of it.

  “No, it’s fine. Really. Everyone needs to bitch every now and then. I feel honored that you chose me.”

  “Anything you want to talk about? Lay it on me.” He finished the scone and sat back and I felt like this was some sort of date-slash-therapy session.

  “Well, work is going well, I’m living with my best friend and I don’t have much to bitch about.” Something told me that he wouldn’t really want to hear all the sordid details of my relationship, or whatever it was, with Lucas. Mr. Blaine.

  He stared at me for a minute and then shook his head.

  “You almost had me there. I almost believed you. But it’s been my experience that when someone says everything is going great, it means the opposite, and when people say that things are terrible, it’s the opposite. Not in every case, but in most cases. So, what is it that’s got you down?”

  He leaned forward and propped his head on his fists and gave me a sweet puppy dog face that made me burst out laughing, startling the people at the next table who glared at me as if my laughter had somehow disturbed their enjoyment of their double tall half-caff soy mocha whatevers.

  “Come on, lay it on me.” I took a deep breath.

  “Okay. I’m about to share some very personal stuff with you, but sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know very well than a best friend. So there’s this guy in my office and we’ve been flirting back and forth and I’ve told him to stop, but he won’t. It’s not entirely his fault because I keep saying no, but then telling him yes in other ways.”

  I stopped for a moment to see if he was following me.

  “Did you sleep with him?” Well, be blunt, why don’t you?

  “Yes. Twice. Once before we worked together and once in the office.”

  “Wow, bravo. I feel like I should be giving you a round of applause for that.”

  “No! What I need is advice on how to stop letting this happen. I’ve never let my personal life get in the way of my work life. I mean, I found out my fucking boyfriend cheated on me and the same day I had to make this huge presentation that millions of dollars rode on and I nailed it. When I’m at work, all that stuff goes away, but now that stuff is at my work and things are getting mixed together and I don’t like it and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  I put my head down on the cool table and then realized how many germs were probably now on my face, so I sat up.

  “That is a conundrum. Have you thought about letting it happen?”

  “That’s not what I want.” Liar, liar, Spanx on fire.

  “Well, if saying no is that hard, then maybe you should say yes. I’m sure you’re not the first person who’s had an indiscretion in the office. And you won’t be the last. Just don’t get caught.” He winked. Was he for serious?

  “Are you always this good at advice? Because that’s pretty much the worst I’ve ever gotten, except for that one time when one of my friends in high school told me to put vodka in water bottles because my parents would never figure it out.”

  “Hey, I’m just telling you what I think. You don’t have to follow it. That’s on you. It’s also on you to figure out how to carry on this thing without anyone knowing, but you seem like an intelligent girl, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out. If you want it to happen, make it happen.”

  “You sound like one of those motivational posters with a guy standing on top of the Grand Canyon with his arms raised.”

  “I get all my best advice from crappy posters. And bumper stickers.”

  I shook my head and finished my tea.

  “I can’t let the wants and desires of my ladyparts get in the way of my job. That’s not me.” Or at least it hadn’t been.

  “Maybe your ladyparts know something you don’t. Or don’t want to admit.” He raised his eyebrows and I crumpled up my napkin and threw it at him.

  “You are completely useless, Fin.”

  We stayed at the coffee shop for another hour, just talking about whatever. I could tell people around us thought we were on a date. Yes, Fin had turned into quite a male specimen, and I found him attractive, but not attractive in the way that I wanted to see him naked. He was funny and sweet and cute, but he just didn’t make those feelings erupt.

  I didn’t believe that a straight man and a straight woman couldn’t be friends without eventually having sex. Sure, if I was drunk, it might be a possibility, but only if we were both very drunk, and he would have to make the first move.

  “So, how long are you going to be in town for?” I said as I walked him toward a cab.

  “About two weeks, and then . . . who knows? I’m considering a radical life change, but I don’t want to say anything about it yet.”

  “Okay, noted. So, maybe you want to do something next weekend? My friends and I go to this bar and they have open mic night and if you can stomach it, it’s actually a lot of fun.”

  “Actually, that does sound like fun. Who wouldn’t want to hear a thousand renditions of emo guitar songs? I mean, sign me up for that.”

  “Fine, don’t come, but you’re missing out.” He looked at the cab and sighed heavily.

  “If you’re going to twist my arm, I guess I can come.”

  I told him I’d give him a call and tell him where and when, and then with a wave he was in a cab and I was strolling toward the T and turning over his horrible advice.

  Yes, it was horrible advice. I wasn’t the kind of girl who was good with secrets, especially secrets like this. I also sucked at lying to my parents. They knew EVERYTHING. More so than most parents, I think.

  Of course I had to tell Sloane every single detail and I told her about his advice.

  “That advice sucks.” Yes, I know.

  “That is seriously, like the worst advice ever. Your parents wanted to set you up with this guy? He sounds like a moron.” And then I showed her a picture of Fin I’d taken on my phone when he wasn’t looking.

  “Okay, so he’s a very attractive idiot, but still.”

  I also told her about my plans to invite him to the bar with us.

  “Hmm, I find this plan intriguing. You know what we should do, right?” I had no idea where she was going. Sometimes Sloane’s mind went to different places than mine and she had to practically give me a map and a GPS to get me there, and sometimes even then I was still lost. This was one of those times.

  “Look at him. Dark hair, blue eyes? Funny and slightly weird? Who likes all of those
things, and who is in need of a good sexy fuckfest?”

  I was still not following, so Sloane smacked me on the arm.

  “Marisol!”

  Okay, I had to admit that it made sense. Marisol was one of those adorable bubbly girls that everyone loved and I could absolutely see her and Fin together. But the only thing Marisol hated more than guys who spit in the street was being set up. She was all sweetness and light until you tried to make her do something behind her back and then the darkness came out. I’d seen that once and I never wanted to see it again.

  “We don’t have to actually do anything. Just make sure they sit next to each other. The God of Love will do the rest.”

  “The God of Love? We talking the Greek or Roman one?”

  “The American one. Alcohol.”

  Another point well made.

  “Oh, this is happening. I wonder if she’ll let me give her some of my lingerie. I could totally make it in her size.” One of the hazards of having a friend who made clothing was that she kept track of all your measurements, and was not above taking them in public if she thought you’d gained or lost a few pounds.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see her wearing anything like the ribbon ensemble.”

  “Of course not, I’d make her something maybe white and cotton candy pink. What do you think?” She dashed off to her studio room before I could answer. Another hazard of living with someone who makes clothes was that bolts of fabric became décor in your home, because there were only so many places you could put them.

  The rest of the evening was spent giving my opinion on what the design should look like, and how it would capture Marisol’s “essence”. Sometimes Sloane took fashion a little too far.

  We had another movie marathon, this time with 80’s classics. Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, Ghost, Dirty Dancing.

  “Why in the hell do we let ourselves watch this movie?” Sloane said, dabbing her eyes as we watched Ghost.

  “I don’t know,” I said, grabbing for the tissues as soon as she was done with them. “We should have done them in better order.” I blew my nose and then yawned.

  “We’re such suckers for this shit,” Sloane said, tossing her tissue angrily on the floor.

  “It’s why Nicholas Sparks is so successful.”

  “Douchebag.” I concurred.

  “So what are you going to do with Fin’s terrible advice?”

  Ugh, we were back to that. I’d thought we put that baby to bed.

  “I’m going to ignore it and keep trying to have a professional relationship, even though it’s hard. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Well, that’s not true. You could say, ‘fuck it,’ and just do what you want. Not that I’m saying you should. I know how important your job is.”

  “It is important. I’ve been working my entire life to get where I am. I’m not going to give it up and not over this.”

  “You go girl!” She held her fist up and we bumped. “Solidarity sister.”

  “Amen.”

  “How was your weekend, Mr. Blaine?” I had come once again with his cherry Danish and black coffee. It seemed that we had an unspoken agreement that we would alternate who would bring breakfast and it felt like my turn.

  “Lovely, Miss Clarke. Very relaxing. I partook in some golf and went deep sea fishing.” I looked up from the pastry bag where I’d been trying to find another napkin.

  His eyes were dancing with amusement.

  “I’m kidding. I hate golf and I get seasick, so I ended up visiting my nieces. This is the first time in two days I’m not wearing a tiara or glitter on my face.”

  Once again, unexpected.

  “How old are they?” I asked.

  “Four and two. Gracie and Fiona.” Fuck you evolution for making a guy who is good with children so fucking attractive. Especially right now.

  “Those are good ages.”

  “They’re great. So, how was your weekend?” Oh, now we’re talking about me again.

  “It was fine. Boring.” I wasn’t going to go into details. He didn’t need to know details. We were keeping this professional.

  “Sometimes boring is the best kind of weekend.”

  “Exactly.” Ugh, awkward moment.

  “Well, I should let you get to work. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time, Miss Clarke.” Oh, that was a dig if there ever was one.

  I almost let it go, but I leaned toward him and whispered in his ear and ignored how nice he smelled.

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  “I seem to recall you sucking on mine. I can’t seem to get the image out of my head. Those perfect lips wrapped around my c—“ I didn’t let him finish as I went to my office and shut the door.

  Then I made sure my pants were smooth (thankfully, I didn’t have an erect penis to hide), went to my desk, sat down and got my ass to work.

  By lunch, I almost felt like my old self, pre-Lucas. We were getting ready to launch a new product in the coming months, and pretty soon I was going to be spending nights and weekends here while trying to make sure everything was on track and deal with the inevitable insanity that accompanied a new release.

  I had to be extra bitchy, and I’d already yelled at three people who hadn’t done what I’d asked them to for the third time. Everyone else was working hard, except for Mr. Craig, who had bailed for golf again. It was so cool that if I did the same thing, I would have been out on my ass a long time ago. Or maybe not. Dad probably would have given me a stern talking to and I never would have done it again.

  I didn’t actually mind the crazy and even looked forward to it. Everyone got hopped up on caffeine and went without sleep and lived on takeout, but it helped bring the team together to go through something like that. There’s no other bonding experience like it.

  There was only one problem. I didn’t want to do any further bonding with Lucas. Mr. Blaine. We had bonded quite enough already.

  But then there was a knock at my door and there he was, invading my space and talking with that voice and looking at me with those eyes.

  “It’s almost time for your meeting,” he said, pointing at the clock above my door.

  “I know.”

  “Well. I just thought I would let you know so you didn’t miss it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Blaine.” I didn’t point out that he could have called me to let me know. I expected him to leave, but he lingered, with only his head inside my office and the rest of him on the other side of the door.

  “I’m sorry I was a dick.” He shut the door before I could say anything.

  Well, that was progress.

  We made more progress over the next week, and I got to the point where I only got a lady boner every other time I saw him, and his lusty looks to non-lusty looks ratio went from 99:1 to 70:30. If we could get it down to 50:50, that would be great.

  By the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for the weekend. All the girls and I were going out to the bar on Saturday and I’d messaged Fin asking him to come, but then I started second-guessing myself. I mean, it was going to be him and four women. Most guys would think that was some kind of fantasy, but when you actually put them in that situation, it would be completely overwhelming. I was sure Fin could handle it, but I didn’t want him to get weirded out and then never hang out with us again.

  “Any fun plans for the weekend?” Mr. Blaine said as we both walked toward the elevator. It was an innocuous question, but I could tell he was really interested.

  “Oh, nothing earth-shattering.” Or panty-shattering. Or ripping.

  “Hm.” The doors closed and the air suddenly got thin and hard to breathe, like we were on Everest or something.

  Oxygen. I needed oxygen.

  We didn’t face each other and instead I stared at the numbers as they got smaller and begged them to go faster, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

  “And you?”

  “What?” He acted as if he’d forgotten I was there.

  �
��Do you have any exciting plans this weekend?” I fiddled with my purse. It was always great having a purse that you could use to fool with when you didn’t want to look at someone.

  “Not really. You, uh, heading to the bar?” Oh, crap.

  “Um, we might. But probably not. Why, you headed for open mic night again?” I still didn’t look at him, but I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye as the elevator door finally opened.

  “Haven’t decided. Maybe. Maybe not.” He motioned for me to leave first, so I did.

  “Well, have a good weekend, Mr. Blaine.” We faced each other in the lobby.

  “You as well, Miss Clarke.” He almost looked sad as he turned and headed for the revolving door.

  Boys. Are. Weird.

  Sloane couldn’t be dissuaded from her plan to hook Marisol up with Fin, so on Saturday morning she dragged me to the salon to get our nails done, because apparently going to the bar now required us to have perfect hands and feet. Marisol met us there too and I almost felt bad for her in her cute obliviousness.

  “I miss you guys. I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever, but I’ve been so busy.” Marisol was our only friend who was still in school and getting her PhD in Education. She already had two master’s degrees; one in Education and the other in Business. Yes, she was one of those people.

  “I know,” I said as we sat in massage chairs and soaked our feet. “God, I needed this. You have no idea.”

  “Oh, I think I have some idea,” Sloane said on my other side.

  “No comments from the peanut gallery, please.”

  “Wait, what did I miss?” I hadn’t wanted to share the rest of the story with Marisol, seeing as how she was swamped with all her work. It seemed almost crass to call her up and be like, Hey, what’s up? Well, I’m banging my assistant . . .

  “Ugh, okay. I guess I’d better tell you before someone else takes it and embellishes it and makes it into more of a big deal than it is.”

  Marisol put down her magazine and gave me her full attention. Lovely.