Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “You’d look so cute in the penguin. Are you sure?”

  “I know it’s your favorite. Why don’t you wear it?” I ask, unzipping the dress and letting it pool around my feet, leaving me standing in my white cotton undies and strapless bra.

  Myla eyes my plain-Jane undergarments with dismay and gives me a thumbs-down.

  “I wasn’t exactly planning on anyone seeing them,” I say, stepping out of the dress and into the worn flannel pajama bottoms. I’d trade Myla the dress for the pajamas straight across. Even though I could sell the dress and buy a thousand pajama sets if I wanted.

  “So,” Myla says, drawing out the “o” until she runs out of air. “You two weren’t sleeping together at all?”

  I practically choke on my tongue as I spin around, eyes wide. “God, no. Ew. No. Myla. No!”

  She holds up both hands in surrender. “Just a question. You were living together. And jerk or not, he is really good looking. I wouldn’t blame you.”

  I’d thought about it once right after I was hired. Sebastian was standing in a doorway, and I tried to squeeze behind him without disturbing him, but instead, my hand brushed his butt. The butt brush made him turn around, and he had a thermos of coffee in his hand, and his knuckles grazed against my boob as he turned. We both apologized and walked away, but the awkward encounter was burned in my mind for the entire week. And naturally, I wondered what it would be like to touch his butt not on accident. Now, however, the idea made me feel sick to my stomach.

  “We absolutely did not sleep together,” I assure her, staring at her until she nods, and I’m positive she believes me.

  I turn around to slip out of my bra and Myla actually boos. The two of us lived together during college, and Myla would prance around the house in nothing but her underwear. After she got out of the shower, she preferred to drip-dry rather than towel off. I, on the other hand, would take my change of clothes with me into the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to walk the ten feet to my bedroom with nothing but a towel on. Over the years of knowing her, I’ve become more comfortable, but not enough to strip naked in front of her.

  “So, you really don’t mind if I stay here?” I ask, flopping back on Myla’s bed. “You only have one bedroom, and I don’t want to be a burden. You can totally say no. Though, if you do, I’ll have no choice but to go stay at Sebastian’s penthouse.”

  Myla barks out a laugh. “Are you trying to guilt me into letting you stay?”

  “I’m just speaking the truth. If the truth makes you feel guilty about kicking me out, then that’s your problem, not mine.” I give her a wink.

  “Fine,” she says, stretching out on her side next to me, one hand under her head. “But if you want to share the bed, you have to wear the penguin onesie.”

  I grab one of Myla’s dozen pillows and jump off the bed like it’s made of lava. “That onesie is your favorite. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Myla’s couch is bright orange and lumpy and frayed from at least thirty years of use, but I prefer it to Sebastian’s perfect velvet sofas. Myla’s place feels lived in. I can see her personality all around me. The penthouse is just a generic penthouse. The color palette is neutral except for a few splashes of blue here and there, and it’s always spotless thanks to the maid service Sebastian hires. If I didn’t know anyone lived there, I’d walk in and think it was set up for showings to potential owners.

  I’m adjusting my pillow and pulling a lime green crocheted blanket over myself when Myla bounces into the room with something behind her back. She’s dressed in the penguin onesie, and I’m trying not to laugh. She’s way too cute.

  “How bummed are you right now?” she asks. “Too bummed to open your birthday gift or just bummed enough that you need a pick-me-up?”

  “Pick-me-up, pick-me-up,” I say, bouncing to the end of the couch and tucking my legs underneath me, hands extended for the gift.

  Myla reveals a blue bag with a sparkly ribbon hiding behind her back and drops it in my outstretched hands. I tear into it like a rabid animal and pull out…

  “A fox onesie.” I stand up and unfurl the deep red onesie complete with tail and fabric flaps that pull down over my hands and have cloth claws attached. My eyes fill with tears. She loves her onesie and wanted me to have one also.

  “To match my penguin,” Myla says, bouncing up on her toes. She runs forward and presses the fox up against me, checking the length and width. “Wanna try it on?”

  “Of course! Thanks, girl.” I go into the bathroom and exchange the flannel pajamas for the fox onesie from my best friend.

  Mya claps her hands when I get back to the living room and model the fox onesie for her. We smush together and take a selfie with our animal onesies on full display.

  Myla has a huge smile on her face. “Okay, that was too fun. Do you want your real gift now?”

  I pull back just enough so I can see her out of the corner of my eye. “Real gift?”

  She reaches over to a side table drawer and pulls out a tiny black box. I jump away from her.

  “Are you proposing to me?”

  “You wish,” she snorts, throwing the box at me. “Open it, foxy lady.” She cracks up at her own joke.

  I flip the box open, expecting a friendship necklace from the dollar store or a gas station mood ring, and instead find a tiny golden apple on a gold chain. My eyes fill with tears instantly.

  “Because of the orchard at your parents’ house,” Myla explains needlessly. “And also because of ‘The Big Apple.’ I know you hate when people call New York that, but they do, which means, whether in New York or Maryland, apples are home for you. So, I hope you like it. If not, we can return it and—”

  I pummel Myla in a hug, my arms wrapped around her tight enough that she taps on my shoulder to let her go. “I can’t breathe.”

  I reluctantly release her and stare down at the box again. “This might be the best gift I’ve ever received.”

  “It’s nothing,” Myla says, grinning from ear to ear.

  “It’s everything.”

  I rub my thumb over the apple before pulling the necklace from the box. During the last month, I haven’t felt at home. Not in the penthouse or with Sebastian. Even my job feels like a temporary stop on my way to somewhere else. To be reminded of home in such a thoughtful way—especially when I wasn’t sure I’d receive any gifts at all—is almost too much to bear.

  “Enough crying,” Myla groans, pecking me on the cheek as she shuffles past me to the couch. “Are we going to watch a romantic comedy together or will I have to cry alone tonight?”

  I clasp the apple around my neck, pat it against my collarbone, and then cannonball onto the end of the couch, scattering the blankets and thoroughly annoying Myla.

  “Where did that tissue box go?”

  Chapter 6

  Grace

  Leaving work on Monday, I can’t decide if my day was better or worse than I expected.

  Sebastian made no attempt to reach out to me over the weekend, and I was still torn about what I wanted to do. Like a tiny, red-headed devil on my shoulder, Myla kept repeating that I should kick him to the curb and hit the dating scene with her. Apparently, there was a new marketing intern in her office and she’d already texted him to see if he would be interested. He was. By Sunday night, she was scoping out two-bedroom apartments so we could live together again like in college.

  “Imagine the debauchery,” she said, as though that was a selling point.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t looking to relive my college days, so I just nodded and smiled.

  Walking into the office Monday morning, I expected to show up before Sebastian to have time to settle into my desk, go through my to-do list for the day, and ground myself before he arrived. When I got to my desk, however, his office light was already on.

  I poked my head through his door, and he looked up at me, steely eyes unseeing. He assessed me for a moment and then went back to work. It was the most attention he show
ed me all day.

  If anyone in the office noticed the coldness between us, they didn’t mention it or show any signs of discomfort, but from where I was sitting, the tension had to be cut through with a chain saw. Every time Sebastian walked out of his office, I flinched. Most of it was just from the anticipation. When is he going to pull me into his office and hash this out? Are we still engaged? Do I need to rework my resume? Then, he turned off the lights in his office and walked out half an hour before five without acknowledging me.

  First day back after what Myla had taken to calling “Leon-gate,” and I left the office still employed. My engagement status is blurrier than ever, but I will deal with that on another day. Maybe Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Honestly, I’m content to go upwards of a week without once speaking to my boss. In fact, that sounds like a dream.

  Especially because I have no idea what I’m going to do. I grew up the child of incredibly moral people. My parents would always advocate for the right thing over any amount of money or possessions, and I agree with them. Except, what is the right thing here? Is the money Sebastian is offering me some kind of temptation that will lead me away from the “moral road”? Or, is the right thing to do to be a woman of my word and follow through with the agreement I made with Sebastian?

  I’m so deep in thought I almost miss the subway entrance. My old apartment was close enough to the office that I could walk to work, and when I was staying in Sebastian’s penthouse his driver would pick us up. It was a luxury I have to admit I kind of miss. But Myla’s place is too far to hoof it, and I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to have a regular income, which makes paying for a taxi an unnecessary expense.

  I move down the stairs and wait with a herd of people without really seeing anything around me. My mind just circles around the same thoughts and questions that have been plaguing me all weekend. What am I going to do? How did I get here?

  When I look around again, I’m standing on the train, and I kind of panic. How did I get here?

  When the train reaches the next stop, a lot of people shuffle out, freeing up some seats. I walk towards the back of the car, clutching my leather laptop bag to my side so it doesn’t swing and hit anyone, and take a seat next to a middle-aged woman with a sketchbook in her lap. She’s working on a rough line sketch of the subway train, the other passengers just squiggles of heads and arms and legs. I try to look and see if I can find my own crudely drawn silhouette among the pack, but before I can properly get into eavesdropping position, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  I turn slowly, expecting it to be another passenger accidentally brushing against me, but instead, I see a dark, chiseled face smiling down at me.

  “Leon.” I say his name at the same time my brain realizes who I’m looking at. I stare at him without saying anything else, trying to decide in real time whether I hate him or not.

  “Are we on speaking terms?” he asks with a smirk, a small dimple I’d never noticed forming in his right cheek.

  The sight of it makes me want to groan. As if he wasn’t genetically blessed enough.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it.”

  He frowns, looking wounded. “You haven’t thought about me at all?”

  That’s not at all what I said. I’ve thought about him plenty. Myla made sure of that, mentioning him constantly, pushing me to give a big middle finger to Sebastian and run away with Leon. I’ve thought about the way his hands felt on my waist when we were dancing, the way it felt to be on the receiving end of his smile and attention. I’ve thought plenty about what would have happened on that roof if Sebastian hadn’t interrupted us. But considering I’d never seen Leon face-to-face before a few nights ago, I hadn’t given much thought to what I would do when I saw him again, assuming it would be months or years in the future, if at all.

  “I’ve been preoccupied.” This is as close to the truth as I’m willing to go.

  He sits down in the seat behind mine, so I have to turn and look over the back of my seat to see him. His longs legs are stretched into the walkway.

  “Sebastian giving you shit?”

  “Everything’s fine.” I don’t want to think about Sebastian. Or talk about Sebastian. Not now. “I’m surprised to see you on public transit.”

  Leon notices my change in subject, gives me a subtle head nod to let me know he’ll respect my wishes, and then pats the back of his seat affectionately. “I prefer the train.”

  “Why?” I ask, thinking of the chilled water bottles and packets of ginger cookies in the back of Sebastian’s chauffeured car. He kept it stocked like an airplane.

  “I hate walking straight from my building to the car and then from the car into work. Without my morning walk to the train, I’d be stuck inside all day,” he says, nose wrinkling. Then, he nods towards a young girl in a school uniform lip-syncing along with the music pumping from her headphones. “The people watching is a lot better on the train, too.”

  “New York certainly keeps it interesting.”

  He nods and then looks at me from the corner of his eye, lips pinched to bite back a smile. “Plus, without the subway, I never would have run into you.”

  Is he trying to charm me or can he just not help himself? Leon is handsome and smiling at me, and the part of me that has always had a weakness for beautiful things wants to forgive him. However, another part of me—the same part that can’t forget when Lisa Graves told me I had teeth like a beaver in third grade—can’t forget what he said on that rooftop. I’m not the one dipping my pen in company ink.

  Is that truly how he thinks of me? Nothing more than an expendable office supply? Perhaps, because I’m not rich enough or powerful enough. Am I just a temporary pleasure he only cares about because I’m sitting right in front of him on the train? If we hadn’t run into one another naturally, would he ever have reached out on his own?

  “Why exactly are you here?” he asks.

  I cross my arms. “The same reason you and everyone else are.”

  “I’ve never seen you before.” He shrugs and looks down the train in a disinterested kind of way. “It seems strange that a few days after we meet at a party, I see you on my train. You aren’t following me, are you?”

  I bark out a laugh. “God, are you really so vain?”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Seems a little too coincidental to me.”

  I look over my shoulder to see if our strange conversation has drawn the attention of the sketch artist behind me, only to realize she has turned the page and is frantically sketching something new. Even looking at it upside down, it doesn’t take long for me to recognize the square jaw and smattering of stubble. Plus, she keeps stealing glances at Leon, her eyes glazed over with inspiration.

  Leon doesn’t seem to notice, which is good. He doesn’t need the ego boost.

  “I’m on the train because I’m staying at my friend’s apartment tonight. If I’d known you’d be here, I may have paid for a taxi.”

  He turns, his full attention on my face, and it takes me a moment to understand he isn’t just offended by my snarky retort. His eyes are narrowed, searching.

  “Staying at a friend’s place? Trouble in paradise?”

  Darn.

  “That hardly seems like it’s your business.”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess it depends on what caused the trouble.”

  He knows it was him. He was on that rooftop, too. Sebastian made it clear he didn’t like me being alone with Leon, and I’d made it clear enough over the course of the evening that I was less than pleased with Sebastian. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the two together, and Leon seems smarter than the average person.

  “I guess it does,” I say, giving him a wicked smile so he knows I’m not going to say another word. I used Leon as free therapy enough the night of the wedding. He doesn’t need any more glimpses into my relationship with Sebastian. Besides, I’m not sure what he’d think if he knew the truth. If he realized I didn’t really lo
ve Sebastian, that all of this was about money. Would he think I was shallow? And even if he did think that, should I care?

  He sighs and throws an arm over the back of his seat so his elbow is almost touching my shoulder. “How long can I expect to be regaled with the pleasure of your company?”

  “You find this to be pleasurable?” I find it all overwhelming and vaguely threatening, like I’m walking through a room with laser motion sensors, forced to avoid every topic of conversation that will lead to sudden destruction.

  He leans around the seat and wags a dark eyebrow at me. Even in the unnaturally bright lights of the subway, his eyes are like pools of sapphire, glimmering and flecked with green and yellow. They have a hypnotic effect, drawing me closer.

  Leon’s eyes trace my face as he speaks, his lips luxuriating around the word that flows from them, “Immensely.”

  I melt for only a second before I scoop myself up and sit straight again, staring down at my lap. “I don’t have a plan. I’m taking each day as it comes.”

  “How laissez-faire of you.”

  The announcement of an approaching stop crackles on the speaker, and Leon sighs and stands up, grabbing the overhead bar. I can’t resist looking at the long stretch of him. He has his suit jacket thrown casually over his arm with his shirt sleeves rolled several times, exposing muscled, tanned forearms. I can practically feel the sketch artist behind me scrambling to capture every detail of her subway muse in her journal. I wonder if she’d sell it to me.

  “That’s me,” Leon says, pointing a single finger towards the voice coming from the ceiling. He smiles down at me forlornly, head tilted to the side. “It’s a shame we didn’t meet here months ago.”

  A young blond woman with a baby sitting across the aisle is openly staring at Leon, mouth slightly open. I would have made the same face had I stumbled across him in the wild. He looks too handsome for this world.