Let's Talk About Sext

by Evie Claire

  It was time to face facts. Their spark wasn’t burning out. It was only flaming higher. And that scared the ever-living shit out of Phebe Stark.

  Chapter 16

  Phebe

  “Most workplace harassment cases are he-said-she-said. But this recording and your account of the incidences…” Brent tilted his head and sucked in air through closed teeth. “Marie gave great counsel on documenting the harassment. From what I hear on that tape, there are major questions surrounding your firing, and honestly, you should be asking for a lot more money here. I can’t imagine Burton Holiday will balk at any of this.” Jenn’s husband made notes in the margin of the papers Phebe had brought. It was a signed statement detailing the ways in which she felt harassed and unsafe while working at BHI. Fifteen pages total. “I’ll hand everything over to our workplace harassment team today. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

  Phebe took a calming breath and forced a smile, but her eyes stayed on the lip gloss smudge staining her coffee cup. Great. More people dragged into the mess her life had become. So not what she wanted. So embarrassing.

  “Thanks, Brent.” She bit her lip and drummed her nails against the porcelain cup. Jenn stirred beside her, turning and placing a comforting hand on Phebe’s forearm.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenn shook her head, reading Phebe’s discomfort.

  “Just the thought of bringing more people into the situation. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but it’s still embarrassing, you know?” Phebe sighed and shook her head. “I mean, I—a woman who has nothing but her career—got fired. It’s like the last five years of my life have meant absolutely nothing. My work is all I have, and he took it from me.” Phebe gritted her teeth at the admission. She was still coming to terms with her emotions over it all. Emotions sucked.

  “That’s not true,” Jenn pleaded with her friend. Brent busied himself with anything but the conversation across the table from him. “Without the last five years to make a name for yourself, Joel Stewart never would have made you an offer.”

  “You’re right. It just feels so…undone. There’s no closure with BHI. Just a lawsuit. Which I’m not backing away from.” Phebe reached across the table toward Brent to reassure him she was sticking to her guns. “I just expected more from a company I’ve given so much to. For HR or someone to stick up for me and say, ‘Yeah, Steve’s the asshole that needs to go.’ Stupid me.” Phebe forced a laugh, one that stopped with a small bounce of her shoulders.

  “Phebe, it’s not my area of expertise, but if you want me to represent you, I can.” Brent laid the offer on the table and sent a pursed-lip smile toward his wife.

  “Oh, sweetheart, that would be great!” Jenn beamed at him. “Wouldn’t it, Phebe? Then you wouldn’t have to involve anyone else. Just you and Brent.”

  “I would feel much better with you in charge, Brent. I trust you to be discreet. This is my livelihood we’re talking about. I don’t want it to be a news story, and it very well could be.” Phebe frowned and nodded at Brent, knowing he usually handled estate work. It was a big ask, but he was also a great general attorney. And with a case as strong as Phebe’s, she also knew he would be fine.

  “Of course. I’m happy to help however I can. Do you mind if I consult with someone from our harassment team? I’ll make sure they’ll be discreet as well.”

  “Not at all. Please, whatever makes you feel comfortable representing me.”

  “Well, ladies…” Brent stood and collected his things. “Looks like I have a lot of work to do. I’ll leave you to it.” He leaned over and kissed Jenn’s forehead and placed a reassuring hand on Phebe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna get that asshole.”

  “I know we will.” Phebe patted his hand, and narrowed her eyes playfully, letting him know she was ready to fight.

  “God, I love that man.” Jenn beamed as they watched Brent walk out of the café.

  “He’s pretty great,” Phebe agreed, turning to her phone to see if she’d missed anything important. Her BHI email no longer forwarded to her personal phone, which made the device uncharacteristically empty. “You never gave me the invitation for Joel Stewart. Don’t forget to before we leave.”

  “Right.” Jenn dug into her bag to find it, and pulling it out, placed the gold-embossed envelope on the table.

  “Wow. That’s fancy.”

  “Thanks.” Jenn beamed again. “Brent and I are hosting this year. It is so stressful. There’s so much to do.”

  “Like what?” Phebe swiveled in her seat and propped her chin in her hand to listen. She knew nothing of gala hosting, but seeing as though her apartment was still just as empty as it had been when she left, she had no desire to return anytime soon.

  “Invitations, for starters. Organizing RSVPs. Working with the caterer. The venue coordinators. Music, presenters…” Jenn threw up her hands. “The list never ends.”

  “Surely, it’s not just you. That’s a huge event to plan.”

  “I have a committee. But I’m not entirely sure they know what they’re doing, either.” Jenn’s gaze fell to the table and she remained silent.

  “Would you like some help?” The offer was made before Phebe thought about what she was really asking.

  “Oh. My. Gosh!” Jenn’s eyes went wide at the thought. “Would you? You are so amazing at planning things. And you don’t have anything else to do for a few weeks.”

  Phebe shook her head, overwhelmed by the prospect, but also wanting to help her friend. “Um…yeah, sure. I mean, I do have one building I’m working on. But I could certainly help you, too. If you need it.”

  “What building are you working on?”

  Phebe stopped and looked over the restaurant, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. Was she even still working on that, or had Brody essentially fired her, too, given their conversation this morning? Shit.

  “Well, I’ve been working on a renovation project for Brody,” Phebe admitted sheepishly.

  “Wait, Brody?” Jenn’s face twisted in thought, then went slack with realization. “Is that the bartender you’ve been texting?”

  Phebe nodded, but said nothing more, instead beginning to fidget and wishing like hell she had the excuse of needing to get back to work.

  When her constant fidgeting found no release and perspiration pricked her nose, Jenn slapped a knowing hand on the table and blew Phebe’s horrible attempt at cover.

  “You slept with him.” Jenn waved the waiter down. “Good for you. We’re going to need some pinot for this.”

  “Jenn, it’s not even lunchtime.” Phebe giggled silently and shook her head at her friend’s serious expression.

  “It’s eleven-fifty. It’ll be noon by the time the wine gets here.” She waved down the waiter and ordered two glasses of red. Who was Phebe to judge anyone for day-drinking? She would’ve never met Brody if she hadn’t needed to soak her mid-morning sorrows in gin two weeks ago. Hell, had it really been only two weeks? “Tell me everything,” Jenn said once the order was placed.

  “There may be nothing left to tell.” Phebe let her hands fall to her sides helplessly and stared at the ceiling. “I think I really fucked up.”

  “Well, if anyone can fix a fuckup, it’s Phebe Stark. What’d you do?”

  “Oh, just the usual. You know me.” She traced a finger over the linen tablecloth, her stomach constricting over the words she’d said that morning. “A type A control freak who can’t stand to feel out of control.”

  “He makes you feel out of control?”

  “I have never felt less in control of my life than I do right now.” Phebe inhaled deeply, holding the breath as long as she could. “But it’s everything. Him, getting fired, a month with nothing to do.”

  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, and let’s see what needs fixing.”

  “Okay.” Phebe collected he
rself and shrugged. Maybe Jenn had some magic fuckup-fixing dust in her pocket, because Phebe was fresh out. “We sexted for the better part of a week. Then I got fired and we started sexing. And it was really hot. So hot, we decided we should do it more often—no strings attached. I also managed to talk him into letting me renovate this gorgeous building he owns. Then he went all MIA on me for a week, nothing but sexting. We finally hooked up again last night…then again this morning…and then…I don’t know.” Phebe sighed and frowned, shaking her head like she still wasn’t sure what happened. “He got in my space and I freaked out. I was working on his building—which he wanted no part of. I had the meeting with Brent. The thought of rehashing everything was putting me in a bad mood. I needed some space to think about it. He wouldn’t leave.”

  “Oh, shit.” Jenn, who up until that point had been smiling, now grimaced because she knew what was coming. “You did it big, didn’t you?” Her lips pulled down and to the sides into an uncomfortable grimace that said way more than words ever could. She was right, of course. Phebe did everything big. That was a good thing, until it came to fuckups. And blowing off Brody was colossal.

  “Yeah. I really let him have it.” Phebe put her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath, and studying a hangnail. “Thing is, I had zero plans for this to ever become anything more. We aren’t on the same page in life. Not even in the same book. He’s completely relaxed about life—content to just let things happen. You know me, I would rather die than go through an hour unplanned. I have never thought we would be compatible long-term.” Phebe raised a hand like she was about to swear in court. “But this morning, when the door closed behind him, being alone felt worse than being out of control.”

  “Does Brody know what a control freak you are?”

  Phebe snorted. “Anyone who’s spent five minutes with me knows that. He doesn’t care.”

  Jenn nodded thoughtfully. “What’s your biggest fear in a relationship?”

  “Becoming my mother.” A shiver slid down Phebe’s spine at the thought.

  “Exactly. We both know you will never let a guy dictate life to you.” Jenn leveled a serious look Phebe’s way. “But, have you thought about what kind of man is going to let you dictate life to him? Because it’s certainly not any of the type A, control freak guys you typically date. I would argue that you need a complement. Not a twin.”

  Phebe nodded. Maybe Jenn was right. Opposites did attract. For years, she’d searched for a guy who was her equal in every way—life, work, and love. That had never worked out. “Brody volunteers with a Boys and Girls Club in East Atlanta,” Phebe said absently, knowing it would ingratiate him to Jenn.

  Jenn turned and dug in her bag again, coming up with another of her gold-encrusted envelopes. “Why don’t you hand-deliver another invitation, too. If Brody volunteers, he’s on the guest list. Get him to come. And get him to bring you. I would love to meet him. And you need to share something other than hot sex with the guy before you truly know where things can or can’t go.”

  There was something different in Jenn’s eyes. Pleading, hopeful, and awestruck, like she was on the cusp of witnessing a miracle. Hell, maybe she was. Phebe wasn’t ever guided by anything other than ambition. For her to be so in touch with her feelings meant something. As one of her oldest friends, Jenn knew that.

  Phebe took the second envelope and tucked it into her bag, then reached back for her friend and looped an arm through hers. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing Jenn was aware she wouldn’t want to discuss things further.

  “I need a drink,” Jenn said, reaching for her wineglass. “And you do, too.” She slid Phebe’s glass closer. “Crow is decidedly easier to swallow when you’re a few glasses in.” Jenn winked and toasted her friend.

  PHEBE: I fucked up.

  BRODY: No worries, fucking is the whole point here…right?

  PHEBE: I need to talk to you.

  BRODY: I’m working.

  A sick feeling clawed its way up Phebe’s throat. A mixture of bile and regret with a heavy dash of dread. From the tone of his texts, it was obvious Brody wasn’t over what had happened that morning. Phebe wasn’t, either. And the only reason she was racing toward The Guns in an Uber was the hope that it meant something. Something she could work with.

  Jenn was right, two glasses of wine made the prospect of eating her words and swallowing a massive apology more palatable. It was possible Brody was meant to be more than the greatest lover of her life. But if she didn’t hurry, he might not be anything more than her greatest regret.

  It was early afternoon when she pushed into The Guns, throwing up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. Forgiveness wasn’t something she necessarily deserved, but she hoped like hell he was in a generous mood. The bar was empty, something that roiled Phebe’s stomach now that she knew the financial stress Brody was under. Stress she could help relieve. If he let her.

  A young bartender stood behind the counter. A broad, welcoming smile greeted Phebe, until recognition broke over his face. Then he frowned. Shit.

  “Is Brody here?” she asked, tightly clasping her hands in front of her.

  “He’s out back.” The bartender nodded toward the door Brody had guided Phebe to the day her life fell apart. “You remember the way?”

  How could she forget? With a nod, she gave a simple smile and ducked into the darkness. It wasn’t lost on her as she walked through the black hallway that her path was lit by nothing more than the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. But the way things were going lately, it was oddly appropriate. A lot of her life was out of her hands. Brody, she hoped, was the one thing still within her grasp.

  In the outside doorway, she lingered. Brody sat in a metal chair he’d pulled up to the small brick knee wall. Legs crossed, feet propped on the ledge, a glass in hand, he stared into the bustling void of downtown Atlanta—the skyscrapers in the distance, the traffic noise on the streets. Cloistered in his own haven, tucked away from it all. Phebe didn’t want to interrupt the calm he seemed to have found. The only reason she did was because she wanted to feel that same kind of calm. And the only place she currently found it was in his arms.

  “Ahem.” She cleared her throat and stepped onto the worn brick. Brody didn’t move. His phone lay balanced on his thigh. Had the bartender texted him that she was there?

  “Well, if it isn’t the best fucking friend I’ve ever had,” he said, recalling the conversation that had started it all, word for word. Still, he didn’t bother looking at her. “Sit down. Stay a while.” He pointed his glass in the direction of a nearby chair. Phebe slid into the seat, righting her shoulders, pushing confidence into them as she did.

  “Don’t be a dick about this, Brody. I’ve come to say I’m sorry.”

  “I thought you liked my dick?”

  “Stop it.” Phebe landed a blow on his upper arm.

  “What do you want me to say, Phebe?” Finally, he turned to look at her, and she wished he hadn’t. She was used to her words hurting people. It had never bothered her before. With someone whose opinion of her mattered more with each passing second, it stung like hell. “I tried to be your friend this morning. Today could not have been easy for you and I tried to help. You wanted no part of it. So, what I am supposed to think?” He looked back over the city and took a sip from his glass. “We fuck. We renovate. We move on. Fair enough.” Brody pulled a stack of folded papers from his back pocket and handed them over. It was her stack of papers—his plans. She hadn’t seen him take them from her counter. “Here’s the signatures you need. Are we done?”

  Phebe flipped the pages out of habit. Every line that was marked for his approval had a bold black signature scrawled across it. “Thank you,” she said, tucking the papers away. “But, no. We’re just starting.” Sunshine caught the gilt envelope beside the papers she slid into her bag. She swapped one
for the other and handed it to him.

  He turned it over in his hand, reading the return address on the back. “Fancy” was all he said.

  “I want to be your plus-one,” she said, finding the strength to let the bag fall from her shoulder, to get comfortable and prepare to fight, if she had to. She slid her chair closer to his.

  “Fuck buddies don’t date.” Brody didn’t open the invite. He’d already gotten one, anyway. Instead, he gently tapped the heavy card stock against his jeans. Apparently, he was going to make her fight.

  Right. That was the trickiest part of this negotiation—reassessing the original terms of their agreement. Ones she had employed to get him out of her apartment when she freaked the fuck out just hours earlier. How could she make all that go away? It looked like there was only one path to that goal.

  “Brody, I’m going to put my cards on the table.” Phebe leaned into him, arms crossed and pushing her boobs over the top of her T-shirt. It wasn’t a negotiation tool she’d meant to use, but fuck it. If it improved her chances of winning, why not? She’d use everything she could. “I don’t think either one of us wants to be fuck buddies.”

  That got his attention. His head jerked up, stiffening his neck and the large muscles that ran like ropes into his shoulders. Just that morning, Phebe’s tongue had traced that exact line. Now she fought for the right to taste it again. The thought urged her forward.

  “I don’t think you know what you want. When it comes to relationships, that is.” Brody crossed an arm over his chest, raising his glass to his lips again.

  “I know I want another chance with you.”

  “Because the first one went so well?” Brody strained to laugh at his own joke and moved to set his drink on the ledge. “I get that we’re polar opposites. Opposites do attract, and I’m not denying there is major chemistry here, but I’m not sure I see the endgame with us.” Clasping his hands together, he dug the fingertips of one deeply into the sinews of the other. Like he wanted to squeeze that reality from their situation.