Loving My Best Friend

by Reid, Roxy

  She sighs. “I’m trying to help, Eva. There are already a lot of eyes on this story, given McBride’s place in the industry, and the anti-workplace-sexual harassment reforms Mel McBride’s been pushing for on the city council. The sooner we get it out there—”

  “When’s your deadline?” I interrupt firmly, with ice in my voice.

  There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Amy says, “I can hold until six tonight.”

  “Thank you, Amy. I’ll have a quote in your inbox by then.” I hang up the phone, numb.

  Jack is yanking on his clothes. He’s still on the phone. It sounds like he’s talking to Mel. I should get dressed, too, but when I look down at my crushed party dress on the floor, it seems too frivolous and insubstantial. I wish I had one of my suits. I need my armor.

  I go grab one of the hotel bathrobes. When I come back, Jack’s off the phone.

  “I take it you know?” he says, his voice grim.

  I nod. “That was a reporter. I have until six tonight to give her our statement.”

  “Mel’s furious at me,” Jack says, running a hand over his face. “Apparently, her opponents are already cutting ads. It’s been drilled into me that if her reforms don’t pass, hundreds of women across the city will stay stuck in vulnerable professional situations because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.”

  I flush to hear what we did together described so crudely. “I kissed you.”

  “Yeah. Why did you do that?” he asks, and I step back as if struck. Immediately he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, Eva. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He crosses to me and takes my shoulders, then kisses me softly on the forehead. “I’ll fix this.”

  “No,” I say. I take a deep breath and step out of his arms. “I’ll fix this. I told you, this is what I do. I saw this coming.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “Well, not this. You know what I mean.” I grab my clothes and head to the bathroom to get dressed where he can’t watch. “I’ll figure out our options and call you with a statement to approve this afternoon.”

  “What options?” he asks, following me to the bathroom. “There’s one option. We tell the truth.”

  I whirl to face him. “Think about how that sounds! Yes, we knew each other our whole lives. No, we had no romantic relationship until the month I was working directly under him. No, we couldn’t wait a few months until I was no longer working for him. No, it has nothing to do with the job. Yes, we were at the place of my employment. Yes, we had consumed alcohol. No, we’re not dating. Do you really think it helps Mel if either of us says that to a reporter?”

  Jack’s jaw ticks, and then he turns around and hits the wall.

  I soften a little. I’ve seen this with clients before when they finally realize that no matter how powerful they are in their regular lives, they can’t control the press. I want to go wrap my arms around him and press my cheek into his back, but that won’t help either of us.

  I dress quickly, tie my hair back, and clean the make-up smudges from my face. I’m about to slide out the door when Jack turns around and stops me. He takes my face and kisses me fiercely.

  “I’m so sorry, Eva. I’m so sorry my family dragged you into this.”

  Something inside me uncoils at his apology. “I kissed you,” I remind him.

  “And I’m really, really glad you did.” He kisses me again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over and help?”

  “No offense, but you’ll just slow me down.” I step back and grab the hotel door room. “I’ll call you, I promise.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Jack jokes, and for a second, I want nothing more than to wrap myself in his arms, stay in this hotel room, and ignore the world. Let him rescue me again.

  That’s not how this works, though.

  This time, I have to be the one to rescue him.

  * * *

  At four that afternoon, I’m pacing my apartment like a caged tiger, hopped up on six cups of coffee. After examining the problem from all angles, I’ve come up with one solution. Now, I just need to get the courage to propose it to Jack.

  Propose. Ha. Punny. I choke back a hysterical laugh.

  I look at my phone sitting on the table. It stares back at me, daring me to call Jack and tell him my evil-genius solution.

  “Liquid courage,” I say to myself. “That’s what I need.”

  I’m about to pour myself a glass of wine when I reconsider and pour myself a shot of whiskey instead. I take a deep breath and reach for my phone, and I jump when someone pounds on my door.

  I go to answer it, grateful to put off talking to Jack, if only for a few more moments, but when I answer the door, Jack’s standing on the other side. He looks distracted and exhausted—I did keep him up all night—but he’s as beautiful as ever. Also, he’s holding a pizza box. It smells even better than he looks. My stomach growls, and a smile tugs at his lips.

  “I guessed this was still your last-minute, down-to-the-wire cram food. Was I right?”

  “I’m not cramming for a test,” I say, annoyed.

  “Close enough.” He smiles at me, but the smile fades as I stare at him.

  “I don’t have to stay,” Jack says, at last, passing me the box. “I’ll let you go back to thinking. I’m fine with whatever you come up with. Unless you’re planning on doing some dumb fall-on-your-sword shit to save my reputation, in which case, we’re just telling the truth.”

  He starts to leave.

  “Wait, Jack,” I say. “You might as well come in. I came up with a way to get us out of this without damaging our reputations, or Mel’s, but you’re not going to like it.”

  His face darkens. “Don’t do something stupid to save me.”

  I laugh bitterly. “It’s stupid, but if we pull this off, it saves us both.”

  Jack’s face clears, and he nods. “Okay, then.”

  I step into the apartment, and he follows. I set the pizza box down on the coffee table. Jack snags a slice and plops down on the couch.

  “What’s this idea?”

  “We get married.”

  He chokes on his pizza. I pound him on the back until he can breathe again, and then I pop back up and start pacing again, nervous.

  Jack sets his pizza down and taps his fingertips together, watching me. “Run that by me again.”

  “We say we’ve been engaged since before I started working for you. We just didn’t say anything before the wedding because we didn’t want to steal your cousin Ally’s thunder. Also, we say I haven’t been working for you.”

  Jack shakes his head. “Eva, people have literally seen you working for me.”

  “But we say you’re not paying me. I was just helping out my fiancé while you were short-staffed. My first paycheck hasn’t happened yet. If you think your payroll department won’t go to the press, then we can just say it was a misunderstanding. That we didn’t realize everyone else thought I was being paid. Of course, we understand why they made that assumption since they didn’t know about our engagement.”

  Jack sinks back against the couch, working it out in his head. “If you’re not my employee, it doesn’t hurt you and me. If you’re my fiancé, it gives you a reason to have been working for free.”

  “And neutralizes any attack ad that Mel’s opponents could run. A man kissing his fiancée isn’t particularly scandalous.” I nod eagerly.

  Jack looks up at me. “Only one problem. You need that paycheck. Even if you didn’t, I can’t let you work for me for free.”

  “That’s why we actually need to get married. So that when we get divorced after the first year, the alimony will be the value of the money I would have made working for you.”

  For a second, Jack just stares at me. Then, abruptly, he gets up and starts pacing. There’s only room for one person to pace in my apartment, so I drop down onto the couch and reach for a slice of pizza. Now that I’ve gotten all that out, I remember I’m starving. I shove piz
za in my face while I wait for Jack to make up his mind.

  He rounds to face me, his hands shoved in his pockets. “How long would this all last?”

  “Six-month engagement. A discrete, private service. One year of marriage. Then we quietly divorce, and if anyone asks, we love each other greatly, but we’ve realized we’re better off as friends.”

  He stares at me. “A year and a half.”

  I shrug apologetically. “I think it’s the least we can do and still look respectable, and respectability is the whole point.”

  “Right. For this year and a half, we’re …” Jack trails off.

  Of course he wants to know what this means for us. Of course he wants reassurance that I’m not going to use a fake marriage as an excuse for a relationship he’s not ready for.

  “Friends. If we still want to do … other stuff … we can, but I think we keep that part just between us. It’s going to be hard enough to explain to our families that this is fake without adding the other layer onto it.”

  “I just meant, are we living together?” Jack asks.

  “Oh.” I blush. “Yes. We probably should.”

  I look around my tiny apartment that’s barely got enough room for one person. I guess that means I’m moving in with him. I expect to feel sad at the idea of walking away from this place, but all I feel is this great sense of relief. I used to love it here. I felt so proud that it was mine, but over the last year, it’s become tarnished with all the other less fun things that are mine—my bankruptcy, my stress, my loneliness.

  I don’t fit here anymore. Plus, on a practical level, I can’t afford it anymore.

  Jack ducks his head, studying me. “Do you want me to cover the rent for the next year and a half so that you can still have it when this is over? Or I can help you find a sub letter.”

  Slowly, I shake my head at him. “I appreciate it, but I think it was time for me to leave here, anyway. I assume your place has room?” It hits me that I’ve never actually seen his condo. I know he bought one about five years ago, and I know it’s somewhere glitzy and not too far from the hotel, but that’s it.

  Jack barks out a laugh. “Yeah. You could say there’s room for another person, but, since you brought it up, I don’t want this to change anything for us, romantically.”

  I think of his promise to work his way through all of my fantasies and feel my face heat.

  “It’s a bigger risk,” I say, trying to be practical. “If we fight, if we get sick of each other, we’re still stuck together for another year and a half.”

  “I’m okay with that risk,” Jack says, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Like the chance to have me in his bed is obviously worth any risk.

  Then why did he wait so long to make a move? Then I remember. I made the move.

  Has he been waiting? Could I have had him years ago if I just grabbed him and kissed him without hiding behind a mask?

  It’s too overwhelming to contemplate. One problem at a time.

  I twist my hands in my lap, dragging my focus back to the problem at hand. “So, this is it then. We’re really doing this. I’ll give the reporter our statement, and then we can call our families and tell them the truth before they read it in the news.”

  “Actually…” Jack sits down next to me and takes my hand. The old, comforting familiarity is there when he touches me, but it’s also laced with a spark that’s hard to ignore. “We can’t tell our families.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jack squeezes my hand, imploringly. “I can’t put Mel in a position where she’s lying to cover for us. Which means we can’t tell my mom—”

  “Because your mom tells Mel everything, and your dad tells your mom everything.” I close my eyes. Shit.

  “I know this isn’t fair to you, but if my parents found out we told your parents the truth but not them, they’ll be so hurt,” he pleads.

  “I can’t keep the secret from everyone! Maybe you can do that, but I can’t.”

  “Okay, fine, tell Tracy, but don’t tell anyone else.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Tracy’s a reporter.”

  “Can’t you just say it’s off the record?” Jack asks.

  I bury my head in my hands. Already, this is getting out of control. “If it ever gets out that we did this, we are so damned screwed.”

  He rubs comforting circles on my back. That shouldn’t feel as reassuring as it does, given what we’re considering doing.

  “Is there another option?” Jack asks quietly.

  “Not one that solves mine, yours, and Mel’s problems,” I say miserably, my head still in my hands.

  Jack falls silent. When he pulls his hand from my back, I miss his warmth. I assume he’s coming to his senses when he stands up and moves away. Except, he’s not moving away. He’s just moving the coffee table, making room so he can come back and kneel at my feet.

  Jack peels my hands from my face and takes them firmly in his. “Eva Price. Smartest woman I know. Best friend I’ve ever had. Will you get married to me for one year to save both our asses?”

  My heart is beating fast. Suddenly, this feels way too real. A whole year of living with Jack. Longer if we move in together now. For some reason, it feels more intimate than anything we did in the hotel room. Jack raises an eyebrow, and I realize I’m leaving him waiting. It was my idea, and I’m leaving him kneeling in front of me with his heart out there.

  Well, maybe not his heart, but definitely his pride.

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, Jack. I will lie to all of our friends and family for you. Let’s get married for a year.”

  A brilliant smile steals across his face like I’ve just agreed to go paintballing with him. Although, this feels more like skydiving. Without a parachute.

  “That’s my Evvie,” he says and kisses me firmly on the lips. Like we’re sealing a pact.

  He stands up. “Okay. Go email your reporter.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he pulls out his own phone.

  He winks at me. “Telling my family that you finally said yes.”

  He goes outside to call his parents while I try to ignore the storm of butterflies that his wink set loose in my stomach.

  What have I done?

  * * *

  I expect Jack to leave once he lies to his family, I lie to the reporter, and we finish the pizza. Instead, he pours himself a glass of wine and sticks around as I start to pack up my apartment. It’s surprisingly fun.

  With him there, it’s easier to let go of the parts of my life that aren’t fitting me anymore and to laugh while I do it. Books I’m never going to read. A suit I never liked. A pair of designer heels that always give me blisters. All of it goes in a giant pile for donation in front of the couch.

  Surprisingly, a lot of my furniture also lands on the donation pile. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s cheap IKEA stuff, and the cost of storing it for a year and a half isn’t worth it.

  The pile gets bigger and bigger, and I feel freer and freer. A glance at the clock tells me it’s three in the morning. I’ve been at this for hours. And Jack’s still here. Interesting. I don’t stop to examine why that’s interesting. I’m on a roll. I’ve got a life’s worth of crap to clear out.

  Jack protests when a lacy bra goes sailing over his head onto the pile, but I don’t like that bra.

  “You’re the one who told me to take some time to reevaluate my life. Well, I reevaluated my life, and I don’t like that bra.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” Jack says, grinning, as he follows me to the bedroom.

  My art is still on the walls. I love my art. Also, some framed photos from college. My favorite suits and shoes are lined up in a now spacious closet. Everything else is gone, except for my bed. I purse my lips. I like the bedframe, but I’ve never liked that comforter. The color wasn’t what I was expecting when I ordered it online, but there wasn’t anything technically wrong with it, and I’ve always had bigge
r problems to deal with, so I just kept it. I’ve been sleeping under a dull, ugly purple for two years when the whole world is full of beautiful colors. I bet Jack doesn’t settle for boring colors.

  I reach for the comforter, but before I can grab it, Jack scoops me up and tosses me on the bed.

  “Easy there, Marie Kondo,” he teases. “Leave us something to sleep on.”

  I start to protest, then realize what he just said. Us.

  “I didn’t invite you to stay the night,” I say as he crawls over me, tensing and relaxing as he covers me with his heat and strength.

  “You’re moving in with me. Why wait? Besides, they robbed us of a lazy morning together today. I want a do-over. Morning sex. Waffles in bed.”

  His lips find mine, and for a while, I lose myself, letting him tug me under. The waves of want rise over us faster than I’m prepared for. His hand sneaks up my shirt to caress my breast like I’m so soft that he can’t resist touching me, and I let myself sink into the sensation.

  Jack breaks the kiss, panting. “Full disclosure. It probably won’t be waffles. I’m pretty sure you threw out the waffle maker.”

  I laugh, and he smiles down at me like it’s the best thing he’s seen in a long time.

  I could fall in love with you.

  The thought comes unbidden. A warning. Jack doesn’t stay in romantic relationships. I know that. It’s one thing to let myself fool around. It’s another to let myself fall.

  I half sit up, gently pushing him back, needing to put distance between us. “Maybe I need to spend one more night by myself in my apartment. Cherishing the time I had here.”

  Jack raises an eyebrow. “Is that what that giant pile in the living room is? All the things you’re cherishing?”

  I laugh, and he steals another kiss.

  “If you don’t want me here, just tell me,” Jack says softly against my neck. “I don’t have to stay. Or I can stay, but we don’t have to have sex.” He kisses my neck again, effortlessly, tenderly.

  He’s going to crack me open, and he doesn’t even know. I should send him home. Get my shields up. It’s the practical thing to do.