The Shacking Up Series

by Helena Hunting

  He slides them calmly across the desk and shuffles them together. “I’ll have my lawyer review them.”

  I fight with my fists not to slam into his horrible, smug face. With shaking hands I withdraw my letter of resignation from my bag and drop it on the desk. “I quit, by the way.”

  “Are you certain you want to do that?”

  I don’t understand how he can be so calm. I think he might actually be psychotic. “I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.” I lean in close, meeting his placid blue gaze. There’s no emotion behind him. Nothing at all. “I hate you, Armstrong. I loathe you. You make me sick, the thought of you ever touching me again makes me want to vomit. If I never see you again it would be too soon.”

  “Well that’s not going to happen, is it? Your best friend is dating my cousin. It’s only a matter of time before Bancroft proposes. I’ve heard he’s only holding off because of your unstable mental state.”

  His words are a slap in the face. Ruby and Bane having been living together for a while, but it hasn’t even been a year. I can’t tell if this is Armstrong’s way of baiting me, or if this ridiculousness he’s spewing actually has merit.

  “And even if he doesn’t propose, we’re bound to be at the same events, dinners, that kind of thing. You’ll come around eventually, Amalie. I’d hoped your time in Bora Bora would have gotten all this rebellion out of your system, but it’s clear you need more time. You should try to get yourself under control soon, before you completely undo all my hard work.” He gestures to my face. “I’m amazed you would leave the house looking like that.”

  “You’re unbelievable.” I have to force myself away from him, lest I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his stupid, unjustly inflated head pops off.

  I leave before I can say or do anything else that could get me sued. Or sent to prison.

  Eighteen: Home

  Lexington

  “I’m impressed.”

  Those are words I rarely hear from my father. I keep my fingertips pressed against the table so I don’t give away my nerves. “Based on the stats I ran, with the proposed changes we could see an increase in revenue by five percent this year.”

  My father taps on the arm of his chair, exactly the way I want to. All the Mills men seem to have adopted that habit. I’m working to curtail it. “Those are excellent numbers.”

  “It should also translate into a boost in ratings, putting us back over a four-point-six for the review sites.”

  “That’s even better news.” My father leafs through the spreadsheets. “You really put in some serious effort, Lexington. I was worried when you wanted to extend the trip that maybe things hadn’t gone as I’d hoped, but you covered a lot of ground and managed projects I hadn’t intended to tackle until next year. We’re well ahead of schedule. I know this was a difficult situation for you, so I’m glad so much good could come out of it. I’m proud of the way you handled this.”

  Instead of coming home when I was finished working on the Bora Bora projects the week after Amie left, I took it upon myself to head to California, with my father’s permission. I spent an additional three weeks planning a similar overhaul to the spa services department there, emulating closely the changes we made in Bora Bora, thanks to Amie’s suggestions.

  I haven’t heard from her since she left. Nothing. Not a single text. I figured she’d at least message to let me know she made it home. But it’s been silence since she walked away from me in the airport.

  It should be a good thing. We agreed that what happened between us would stay in Bora Bora. It’s far too complicated to bring it back here. She’s fragile. But during the time we spent together it felt like more than just sex and distractions, and that’s not her fault. It’s mine. These are the things I keep telling myself every time I compose a message to ask how she is. I delete it before I give in to the urge to send it. I can’t delete her contact though, even if I should.

  If things were different, then maybe . . . but they’re not.

  And now that I’m home, back in the same city she is, all those what-ifs are clawing their way to the surface of the mental grave I buried them in.

  “So what’s next?”

  “You should take a few days off. You deserve it.”

  I nearly fall out of my chair. That’s huge coming from my father. But I can’t do that right now. I need to get out of my head. I need something to focus on that isn’t Amie. “I just spent the better part of two months by the ocean, I’m good. I just want to get back to work.”

  He’s silent for a few moments, possibly shocked. I’m usually the first one to jump on the chance for a few days of sweet fuck all. “Griffin and Bancroft are working on the New York hotel renovations. Would you like to consult with them about the spa service upgrades you’re proposing in Bora Bora and California and see if anything would work here? I’m sure Bancroft would be happy to have the help with Griffin heading to Asia in a few weeks.”

  “I can do that. What about an independent project after that?”

  The tapping starts again. “Everything okay with you and your brothers?”

  “Everything’s fine.” I’m just worried Bane is going to pick up on things I don’t want him to. We talked regularly while Amie was in Bora Bora, mostly him checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t doing things I shouldn’t, even though I was.

  “Give me a couple of days, I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Dad.” I gather up the folders, already mentally reviewing what I think will transfer seamlessly from the Bora Bora hotels to New York.

  “Lexington.”

  I shift my gaze from the stacks of paper in front of me to him.

  “This is the kind of work I’ve been waiting for from you. Keep it up.”

  This is what I’ve been striving for, and I’m surprised by how much it means to have my dad’s approval and praise on this. I worked hard, despite being a little distracted for a couple of weeks. This proves, not only to my father, but to myself, that I can do this. I can take over this company and make my father proud.

  “I can’t take full credit for it. Amalie was a big help.”

  He sits up straighter. “Oh? In what way?”

  “Revamping the spa services. The best suggestions are hers.”

  My father smiles. “Well, I’ll have to send her a thank-you for that.”

  “I could do that.” What am I thinking, telling my dad about her involvement?

  “You don’t need to worry about that. Just have Ursula organize it. Maybe Amalie would like some services at one of the New York hotels.”

  “That would be perfect. I could include Ruby. They could go together.”

  “Excellent idea. I feel bad for that poor girl. Your cousin’s behavior has been unconscionable. Your mother is just disgusted with the whole thing.”

  “Is Mom okay?” The stress of this would be bad for her emotionally and physically. I spoke to her at least every other day while I was away, but my mother is very good at covering things when she needs to. It’s how she made it through the cancer scare with very few people being aware.

  My father drums on the desk. “She’s not talking to Gwendolyn right now, which, between us, isn’t a bad thing, but it’s upsetting your mother and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  My father has never been a fan of my aunt, but he tolerates her because he loves my mother. Despite the love-hate relationship my mother has with her sister, she’s always been close to her, as close as she can get, anyway.

  “I’d planned to stop by and see Mom this afternoon.”

  “I suspected you would. She’s missed you, as she does.” The tapping resumes. “I would never say this to your brothers, and she would never in a million years admit it, but if there was a favorite . . .” He lets it hang before he switches gears. “She’ll be free this afternoon. She always tells you things she won’t tell anyone else. Take the afternoon off and spend some time with her, that’s an orde
r.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I gather my things and call my mother, who’s ecstatic to have me home and can’t wait to see me. I’m not exactly a momma’s boy, but she and I have always been close. When I was younger and got into trouble—which happened most when I was around Armstrong—she was always the one to come to my defense. I think she felt some level of responsibility for always throwing us together, even though we didn’t always get along.

  Since my mother won’t be available for a while and the jet lag is starting to catch up with me, I pack my bag, tell my assistant I’m leaving for the day, and head out. I need some coffee if I’m going to make it through this day.

  There’s a nice little café a couple of blocks down and the walk will do me good. I can stop and grab a bite to eat before I call the car. The café is busy, the smell of fresh-baked bread and coffee making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. I join the line, pull out my phone, and check emails out of habit. There are fifteen new ones since I left the office. I review them as the line inches forward, slipping the phone back into my pocket when I reach the counter.

  “Hi, Jennie.”

  “Lex! It’s been forever! Have you been somewhere warm? You’re so tanned!” She’s in her early twenties with dreads and more piercings than I can count. I like that she doesn’t treat me differently than the bearded hipsters.

  “Away on business. Nothing like a beach and a laptop.” I wink.

  “So jealous, except the laptop part. The usual?”

  “That’d be great. Double espresso, I need the caffeine today, and the Coronation Chicken wrap with the soup of the day, please.”

  “Good call. The coconut pumpkin curry is to die for.”

  “Everything’s to die for here.” It’s not a chain, which is why I come here.

  I pass over my credit card, drop a tip in the jar, and move aside to wait for my order. I scan the tables, there doesn’t seem to be an empty spot in the place.

  And that’s when I notice the cascade of blond hair across the room, close to the window facing the street. I know that hair. I’ve had it wrapped around my fist. I’ve had my nose in it, buried my face in it, touched it countless times. I know how it smells and how it feels on my skin.

  Her elbow is propped on the table, coffee cup held in one hand. Long legs are crossed over each other, her foot bouncing restlessly, a red heel lying on the floor. The jolt in my chest is echoed in my pants. The chair across from hers sits vacant, a jacket draped over the back. A coffee cup indicates that someone has been sitting across from her recently. I can’t tell if it belongs to a man or a woman. Electric jealousy propels me forward before reasonable thought allows me to better assess my actions.

  She doesn’t look up right away as I move into her personal space. I step closer, until my shadow crosses the papers scattered before her and her toe brushes my pant leg. Her head lifts slowly, her coffee cup held daintily in her hands. Her nails are pale pink. The same color they were in Bora Bora.

  A thousand images flash through my mind, all of them lurid, all of them making the sudden stiffness in my pants that much harder to control. She sucks in a quick breath and nearly drops her cup. As it is, the contents slosh over the side, onto the papers scattered on the table. The cup rattles against the saucer as she sets it down and lifts her fingers to her lips.

  Her eyes, those blue, fathomless eyes, widen as they move over my face and then down my chest before they come back up. She can’t see that I’m hard. My coat covers that issue.

  “Lex.” It’s barely a sound in the noisy, crowded café.

  I gesture to the empty chair. “Lunch date?” Bitterness serrates the words. It’s an emotion I have no right to.

  She glances at the void space, confusion knitting her brow. “What?” Her fingers drift down her throat.

  I follow them to the open buttons of her blouse. It’s white, crisp, now dotted with coffee stains. I wonder what kind of bra she’s wearing under it. I wonder if it’s pale satin, or lacy. I wonder if I’ve seen it on her before. If I’ve taken it off her body.

  Before I can say anything else a tall man, likely in his mid-to-late thirties, approaches the table. I size him up. He’s average, at best, with a receding hairline. He looks at me uncertainly and then turns his questioning smile on Amie. The color has drained completely from her face.

  “Everything okay here, Amalie?” He glances my way briefly.

  She forces a tremulous smile. “Yes. F-fine. Norman, this is Lexington Mills, my um, best friend’s boyfriend’s brother, who is also . . . a friend of mine.” She laughs breathily and shakes her head at her explanation. “Lex, this is my colleague, Norman. We were having a working lunch.”

  “Your colleague?” The tightness in my chest eases a little. What the hell is wrong with me?

  She nods. “Um, yes. Norman has been very helpful showing me the ropes while I settle in at Williams Media.”

  Norman’s answering smile is one I want to erase with my fist. “You’re a quick study. It really hasn’t been work at all.”

  “You have a new job.” Of course she does. She was working for one of the Moorehead magazines.

  “I do. It was a necessary move, all things considered. And more in line with my interests and strengths.” The color rises in her cheeks.

  Norman, being the gentleman he apparently is, picks up his jacket. “I’m uh, going to head back to the office and uh, leave you two to catch up, unless . . .” It’s phrased in such a way that he leaves it open for her to join him.

  “That would be great. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Take your time. We’ve accomplished about four hours of work in one, so don’t feel rushed.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He holds out his hand to me. “It was nice to meet you, Lexington.”

  I take it because I don’t have another choice, squeezing back harder than necessary. “Likewise, Norman.”

  I watch him leave before I turn my attention back to Amie. Amalie. I don’t know who I’m getting right now.

  Her fingers flutter close to her lips, lingering there before they drift lower, down to the open buttons at the collar of her shirt. “How”—she has to clear her throat before she can continue—“are you? When did you get back?”

  I avoid the first question, because I don’t have an answer to it yet. “Just yesterday.”

  She motions to me. “How is it possible you can look this good with jet lag?”

  I huff a laugh. “I’m hitting a wall. I’m here for the intravenous caffeine drip.”

  “I’d like to hit your wall.” She closes her eyes and cringes. “That came out wrong.”

  My name is called, breaking the tension. “My lunch is ready.”

  “Do you want to sit with me?” She gestures to the now empty seat.

  “Do you want me to?”

  Her smile is small, nervous. She nods once.

  “I’ll be right back.” I take the empty coffee cup and plate across from her to the counter and grab my lunch, returning to the table, which Amie has cleared of papers.

  I shrug out of my jacket and pull my chair in close. “You look good.”

  She laughs and looks away, eyes dropping briefly before rising to meet mine again. “Thanks. So do you.”

  “How’ve you been?” I don’t like how awkward this is. It was never like this in Bora Bora, but then that was different I guess. We were isolated. Just us and endless hours of exploration without reality to dampen it. Without weeks of separation and another life to get in the way.

  “Good. Okay. Coming home was hard.” She fidgets with her coffee cup, opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but no words come out. She sighs and closes her eyes. “Dealing with all of this has been . . . challenging.”

  “Is Armstrong being a jerk?”

  “Isn’t he always?”

  “If you need anything . . .” I let it hang there, because really, what can I offer her?

  “Pierce deals with his lawye
r so I don’t have to speak to him directly. I just can’t believe I didn’t see how awful he can be. Or I didn’t want to. He just needs to sign the papers. Anyway, I have this new job, and I like it.”

  “Norman seems pretty happy about working with you.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s married.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

  “He can be interested all he wants, I’m not interested in making my life any messier than it already is.”

  I should keep my mouth shut and leave it alone, but I can’t. “Is that why I haven’t heard from you?”

  Her eyes, which have been focused on her coffee cup, lift to meet mine. I’m not sure how to read the emotion in them, but she seems surprised by the question. “I thought that’s what you wanted. What we agreed was best.”

  “To not hear from you at all? Amie, we’re going to see each other on occasion. It’s unavoidable. You can still talk to me. I can still be a friend.”

  Her fingers shake against the cup. “Can you?”

  The answer to that question is I don’t know. Probably not is more accurate. But seeing her, being here with her, makes me want to see more of her. “Be your friend? I can be whatever you want.” I reach across the table and stroke the back of her hand. Even the benign contact meant to soothe sends fire through my veins. All that electric lust shuts down every rational part of my brain. The parts that knows I should walk away, but can’t. Her eyes drift closed and her breath leaves her on a soft whimper. “Tell me what you want, Amie.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  She meets my gaze with an imploring one of her own. “I’m still married, even if it’s only on paper. If anyone found out about us, it would make this so much worse.”

  “That’s okay. No one has to know.”

  “Is that really okay for you?”

  “It is if you want it to be.” I shouldn’t be pushing her, but I don’t want to leave behind what happened in Bora Bora. It’s not fair of me. She’s right to say it’s not a good idea. The wedding was two months ago, and she’s only been home for a few weeks. Not nearly enough time to get over what’s happened. They’re still sorting things out with lawyers. She’s still technically married and trying to get her feet back under her, and here I am, pulling the rug out by offering her things I shouldn’t.