Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“It gets better.”
I roll my head to the side to face him. “That’s never a good start.”
“No, it’s not. They want us there for an extended stay to manage the next quarter or three of our biggest clients have threatened to pull their money and move it to the competition.”
“That’s bullshit. They were happy at the end of the meeting.”
“Guess they changed their minds.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck me.”
“I’m just the messenger, but I’m going to put it out there—New York is my home now. It’s Natalie’s home. We’re thinking about starting a family soon. We have no intention of moving.”
“At the risk of your job?”
“Yes.” His answer is firm with no wiggle room left.
If he’s willing to walk away from the company for his family, there’s only one other option. As the CEO, I already knew whose shoulders this would fall on. Anyway, I have no choice. We need their money to turn a profit. That’s how we get paid, so I can’t afford to lose them.
I just worry about what Juni will say.
“It’s my responsibility.”
“I’m sorry. I hate putting this back on you.” His words are filled with remorse. I don’t want him to carry that load as well.
“No, I’m used to it and would do the same thing in your shoes.”
“What about Juni?”
We just started talking about living together before I left. Now what happens to that plan? “That’s a good question.”
Walking through the doors of the apartment building, Pete says, “Welcome home, Mr. Christiansen.”
“Thank you.”
I don’t go to my floor but head straight to hers, so ready to kiss her again and have the feel of her soft skin under my hands. Dragging my suitcase down the hall, I stop in front of her door, unsure what I’m going to say about Seattle.
I need to say something, but what do I say? Nothing is decided. It’s a board recommendation. They’ve asked us to consider it. I roll my eyes. I’m attempting to spin the truth and make it only a possibility. I can’t let my family down. Their legacy. And if I have to move, it would only be for a little while, wouldn’t it?
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Looking down, I wait. The door is a stark reminder of everything she was doing to protect herself, even from me, within the past few weeks. Then I gave in to her notions, in to her and my weaker needs, and started to think about the future together.
The door opens, and I’m kissed so hard that my shoulder blades hit the wall opposite her apartment. I give in, needing this, her, and the hope we can come out on the other side together.
Dropping to her feet with her arms still wrapped around me, she practically hangs from me like a swing from a tree. All smiles, she asks, “When did you get home?”
Home?
There it is again, but this time, it feels right. It’s not the building; it’s her. “Three minutes ago. That’s all it took to get from the front of the building to your joy, beautiful.” That earns a smile. I hold her around the lower back and try to see the differences since I last saw her. Carefree in a loose sundress that hides all the good stuff.
She still has makeup from going into work. Then I’m reminded how she still works at CWM to stand my ground and save my reputation. She stayed despite giving me her resignation. Any investigation would reveal she enjoys working here and never felt pressured by me or any other staff, excluding Justin, of course.
I say, “Let’s get inside.”
She’s quick to roll the suitcase right into her life with no questions asked. She’d have questions if she knew I was leaving. Am I lying by omission?
She asks, “Are you hungry? I was thinking homemade meatballs and red sauce.”
“That sounds incredible.”
Since we’ve been dating, the cooking concerts have moved to a more sociable hour. I never complain anymore and score with the food created.
While she cooks, I shower, hoping some of the guilt will wash down the drain. I feel a lot better clean and on a full stomach. “I’m so tired. I never adjusted from East Coast time.”
“We might be able to save you just yet,” she says, reveling because I used to say my heart was West Coast all the way. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way—since last April.
I’m tempted to hold her, but when we climb under the covers, one kiss leads to another and two orgasms. I can willingly admit that I felt no shame a few minutes ago as I lay in recovery. But then it sneaks back in without my permission. I’m not going to get a night’s reprieve to enjoy our relationship before it falls apart.
I’m a realist.
I know her tendencies, and although I started to believe in the big d-word—destiny—I was a fool for letting my guard down. “Babe?” I whisper so slight, hoping she’s asleep so we can tackle this tomorrow.