The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  And this was clearly an opportunity taken advantage of. Why did I choose to stand in the middle of them?

  I eye the open doors button wondering how far I’d be willing to plummet to avoid this conversation. The elevator is on ten. That’s death level. I’m probably wanting more broken leg or mild concussion outcomes from the second or third floors. “You don’t have to whisper,” I say, not whispering at all. “It was a terribly kept secret. Everyone knew—”

  “I didn’t,” replies Laurie. “I actually don’t think many people did know until that weasel Justin tried to get fifteen minutes of fame by leaking it to the press.”

  Deciding it’s best if I don’t try to escape, I’m resolved to the fact that I’m currently the hot story for office gossip. I’ve been down this road before with my parents. It will pass in time when something else more exciting or tragic happens.

  The doors open, and we stand in a line that weaves a fair distance through the lobby. That means more time to talk about me and Drew. Yay! Not . . .

  Rocking back on my heels, I point out the art I’d never seen in the lobby before. I’m usually rushing to get to the car. I miss the car rides with him. We gave up dropping me off, and now I just ran like the wind and ducked in the back. Pent-up sexual tension soon fogged the windows, and steamy make-out sessions behind the privacy glass became a regular thing.

  I can afford a private car to drive me places, but it wasn’t the car that was fun. It was the man.

  The man.

  The man.

  . . . The man.

  I’m not sure what’s coming over me. I haven’t cried once this week. There’s pride found in controlling your emotions. But my heart starts racing, and my eyes are burning. “I have to get him out of my system.”

  Mary gives my hand a squeeze. “It’s only been a week.”

  “A week of hell.” My hand trembles, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Oh no, not here. “I need to go.” I rush back to the bank of elevators and hop on one that was just about to close.

  As soon as I’m deposited back in CWM, I rush to the office, the one I won’t name. I open the door and am hit with his scent again. Pain sinks as I go to get the ivy. I’m not leaving it here any longer.

  I only make it to the doorway before I see Mary staring at me. I take control of my emotions again, cuddle the plant to my stomach, and raise my chin. “I’m taking it with me.”

  She nods.

  And just when I’m about to pass her desk, she says, “If you ever need anyone to talk to, it will stay between us.”

  My lip wobbles, but I nod, taking my broken heart and the plant to my desk.

  I finally found the perfect spot for the ivy on the table in the waiting area. At least until I take it home later. “Hi, Juni, how’s it going?” Nick asks.

  Gesturing to the microphone on the headset I’m wearing, I mouth, “Sorry. Got a call.”

  Leaning over the counter, he points at the phone on the desk. “No lights.”

  “Dammit.”

  He rests his arms on the counter like he’s going to stay a while. “Nice try. Are you avoiding me?”

  Am I avoiding him and every other human with the last name of Christiansen? It’s probably a safe bet, but he’s still one of the company owners, which makes it hard to figure out how to play this hand. Mental gymnastics are rough when your heart is yelling louder. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “Yes.”

  He smiles, earning the Christiansen name. I blame Cookie for her sons’ good looks. Of course, I haven’t met Corbin yet. Yet? Probably never. Definitely never. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m good. I’m fine.”

  He’s staring at me, and when I realize why, I snap, “Drew doesn’t own that phrase. Anyone can use it.”

  Maybe it’s my bite on the last comment, but he takes a step back. “Absolutely, use away.” He taps the counter, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him nervous. “He didn’t go willingly.”

  “He still went.” I stand, disconnecting my headset, ready to finish my coffee in the break room.

  “One of us had to. Natalie’s job is here—”

  “I appreciate the effort, Nick, but there was no compromise or talk of a long-distance relationship.” I swallow hard, the pain of him leaving me still stuck in my throat. “He told me what he was doing, and then he left.”

  “I heard a different version. I’m not here to defend my brother, but—”

  “But you’re here to defend him?”

  “Pretty much. He likes you, Juni, and I know he can be a real grumpy asshole. But you know he’s all heart on the inside. He’d do anything for his family and friends. I know he’d do anything he can if you asked him.”

  “Except stay.”

  Straightening upright, he looks down with a laugh, but it lacks its usual joyous sound. “I know you’re hurt and mad, but I’m asking you to hold off judgment until you two can talk things through.”

  I’m getting it from all sides today, it seems. “We’re not communicating at all. That’s how breakups work.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It is, but that’s reality.”

  Shifting toward the door, he says, “Interesting. Andrew was always the realist. I pegged you for more the dreamer.”

  “As fun as this banter is, you’ve delivered your message, and I need to get back to work.”

  He chuckles. “You sound like my brother.”

  “Apparently, we have more in common than we realized.”

  “You do, did.” He stumbles through the right word to choose. “I’m just gonna go before I screw this up even more.” He leaves.

  And I don’t know why I do it, but I hop up and run to the door. “Nick?”

  Turning back, he looks at me. I say, “Thank you,” and receive just a nod, but it’s enough.

  The last few hours of work are uneventful. Thank goodness. And when it’s time to go, I take the ivy with me and ride the subway.

  If I were wearing my Louboutins, like I did for Drew, I wouldn’t dare take the subway, but my flats are fine on a train. I haven’t worn my heels all week. Originally, Mr. Fancypants inspired me to step up my work attire. When I saw how he reacted, I thought it would be fun to tease him. Looking down, I stare at the ivy in my hands, stroking the leaves and keeping it protected from others. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you now.”

  When I reach my block, the door is opened before I reach the awning. It’s Mike’s night. He’s fine, but he’s no Gil.

  I could really use a strawberry donut right now . . . and some of Gil’s great advice. If I texted or called him, he’d be here, but it’s his day off, and I need to give him a break. I’ll just have to wait to see him tomorrow.

  Comfy clothes are my sole mission as I hurry upstairs. I shouldn’t, but just to torture myself a little more, I pull on a pair of his sweatpants, tightening the strings at the waist so they don’t hang low on my hips, and tug my NYU sweatshirt over my head.

  Twisting my hair into a knot on my head, I pad back into the kitchen to see what I can find to eat. It’s not from lack of food, though. I started the week fully stocked. But for the fifth night in a row, I look in my pantry and fridge, and nothing inspires me. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve lost my motivation. Did Drew take my joy of cooking with him too?

  I check my phone, a bad habit I’ve picked up, but there’s nothing new. No messages. No calls. So I set it back down on the counter. It’s been hard not to text Drew when we used to have so much contact, to tell him about my day, to spend the night in bed together.

  I’m still so confused. There were no other offers. Every decision he made was based on the business. What about me? I thought we were closer since we had just talked about moving in together. What a mistake that would have been. Bullet dodged.

  Why wouldn’t he even offer to spli
t his time between the two cities? Am I supposed to pack my bags and leave indefinitely? I would have. If he’d asked again.

  Although, for me to leave, I’d need to find a replacement, and that’s not that easy. I could have contacted the temp agency to help find the proper fit.

  I have a good reputation with them, and companies request me on a regular basis. CWM has put me out of commission for a minimum of eight weeks, and it sounds like Melissa was taking the extra two Drew gave her.

  If there had been an offer from him to travel along, would I now be seen as a flake? It doesn’t matter. If he would have asked me to go with him, I would have found a replacement. If he’d wanted me by his side, maybe there could have been a temp job in the Seattle office. Doesn’t matter if I was working or not. I would have gone. I hate that I wasn’t a thought—personally or professionally. I hate that I didn’t get the choice at all.

  But did Drew? As CEO?

  My grandmother told me never to drink to comfort your emotions. I pour a glass of wine anyway. I’m angry, sad, frustrated . . . lonely. I drink half of it fairly fast and then pull up Drew’s text chat.

  A few sips more and the tears begin to fall. Seeing the photos we took and the memes we shared, the inside jokes we had, and the flirtations exchanged. Every emotion I restrained for the past week surfaces all at once.

  It doesn’t matter what I feel. It all comes back to him and the choice he made.

  Am I looking at this all wrong? Did he leave because he didn’t have a choice? Logically, that makes sense. He runs the company, and that branch needed his attention. But that doesn’t help my heart. I trusted Drew and let him in to my tightly controlled world, proving Gil was wrong. It wasn’t good to open my heart. It fucking hurts.

  Why didn’t Drew just leave me alone?

  With wine clouding my rational thoughts, I get angry, remembering it was me pushing to be friends. Friends. Fucking friends. Nothing more has ever worked out for me, and I just proved it again. But the anger doesn’t fill the hole in my chest.

  Only he can.

  Looking at the screen again, I type: I miss you.

  But I don’t send it. I’m confused. Why’d I type that? The lights are dim in here. Maybe I’m seeing it wrong. I click on the lamp, and yep, I typed that. Thank God I didn’t send because Drew hurt me, and even worse, he continues to. I reach to delete, not willing to give Andrew Christiansen the satisfaction that I contacted him first.

  I’m about to delete, but when I’m startled by a knock on the door, I accidentally hit send. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  What have I done?

  35

  Drew

  Did she just beat me to the punch?

  Don’t get me wrong. Juni did what I couldn’t. I give her full credit for that. I had a lame ‘can we talk’ sitting in our text box for three days and didn’t have the balls to send.

  After staring at her message for hours, I still don’t know how to reply. Am I missing something? Well, other than her. I’ve tried to read between the lines, but it might just be that she misses me.

  It’s a big leap from not talking to me to missing me, but she was brave enough to take it. I text: I miss you, too.

  And then send before I can second-guess my decision. It’s gone. Sent. It’s the truth, and that’s what we need to share right now. I’ve been more miserable than the weather. Whiskey’s become my friend in this pocket of the Pacific Northwest. It does what she used to do—keep me warm and my mind off how unhappy I am.

  Juni was softer, sexy as all fuck without even trying. She made me laugh and threw me mental curveballs. Whiskey fails to do that pretty much on all levels. I’m thinking drinking my troubles away doesn’t suit my type A personality.

  It’s not my friend. It’s happy to remind me of all my failings. How pathetic, Christiansen. I get up and empty the glass I just filled.

  Liquor won’t help me get over the woman I lost . . . not lost. I didn’t lose Juni. She was right there in my arms and in my bed, at my work, and filling my head with destiny. No, I didn’t lose her. I put her second to my work.

  Work—something a person has to do. Has to do.

  Juni—what I want to do. Okay, besides having great sex, I want to spend time with her. It wasn’t about entertaining me or stepping out of the box anymore. It was about her.

  My day.

  My night.

  My life.

  My world had begun to revolve around her sun.

  Even now, I feel lighter just thinking about her, so why the fuck am I texting her when I should be calling. I grab my phone and do just that.

  The worst thing I did was to put space, time, and distance between the woman who made me realize I deserve to be happy and me. Cliché as that might sound, it’s true.

  The company will not fold, the clients’ business may or may not be salvaged, but CWM will stay strong. And so will I.

  I run my hand over the top of styled hair, a quick check to make sure every strand is in place. It’s a bad habit. She can’t even see me, so I hold the phone to my ear.

  Ring.

  Ring. Why am I getting nervous?

  Ring. Come on.

  Ring. Please answer. Please answer.

  Ring. My chest begins to deflate.

  Ring. “You have reached my voicemail. Leave a message and have a great day!”

  If a voice matched her beauty, that was it—sunshine and a pretty melody. My Juni.

  Mine.

  I pull up my chat box again and read the message two times over. My stomach is full from my heart sinking to the bottom of it, and for the first time in years, I have no fucking clue what to do.

  Yes, I do. I know. I pick up my phone again and call the one other person who can help me through this. The call is answered on the second ring. “Andrew?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hey there. I’m surprised, pleasantly, to hear from you.”

  “I just wanted to hear your voice, talk to you about this miserable weather, or whatever else.”

  “You don’t sound like your usual self. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Dad, and Nick and Natalie.” I don’t care about my hair. I shuffle my fingers over it until bangs hang down. “I never saw myself getting married.”

  “Not everyone does. Not everyone feels that need. Some people prefer to live alone, and some have partners. The beauty of life is that you get to decide how to live it. Do you remember what I used to say to you boys when you hit your teens and were driving?”

  For as laid-back as Cookie is now, she worried a lot back then. “Don’t do anything illegal, be kind to others and yourself, and—”

  “Live the best life you can. Are you living your best life, Andrew?”

  My fear of failing grips me, and I hold my tongue. Truth and honesty are the pillars of my friendship with Juni and the words that give me strength right now. My mom only wants the best for me, even at the expense of the company. “No.”

  Her sadness comes through in a sigh. “How can you change that?”

  “I don’t want to let you guys down.”

  “You never have. Your happiness isn’t a disappointment to us. Being miserable because you think you have to sacrifice that happiness is. We never wanted one or the other. As parents, we all fumble the ball now and again, but we still want to help you reach the end zone, whether that’s carrying the ball or the team. It’s all a win if you’re happy.” It’s funny when my mom throws the random sports analogy into our conversations. She never grew to love the games, but as long as we were having fun, she loved watching us play.

  She adds, “You’ve carried the team for a long time now, even before your dad retired. How about you let someone else run the plays for a while?”

  “How so?”

  “Leave Seattle, Andrew. Get out of there and go where your heart is happy. You always said it was LA, but I think that might have changed.”

  “I never thought I’d like New Yo
rk . . .” I leave that there to lie between us.

  “You sure it’s the city you’re liking?” I knew she’d pick it up and run with it. And maybe I wanted her to. “I don’t know what it is with that city, and the women making the Christiansen men give it all up for them, but your heart knows its way home.”

  That’s a big statement coming from her. My mom always wanted us near, even setting us up to always have a place to come back to—Nick got the beach bungalow when he got married, and the Beverly Hills home, the place where I grew up and where they live now, is in the will for me.

  But she’s right about cities, and women, and the place we call home. She knows if I get on a flight tonight, I’m going to the East Coast.

  “Mom, I have another confession.”

  “Do I need to sit down?”

  “I think you’ll be okay. You know your list? I didn’t complete it.”

  Gentle laughter reaches my ears. “Oh honey, that list isn’t mine. It’s yours. Whether you complete it or not is up to you. What I wanted the most was for you to open your eyes to more possibilities around you. Maybe you only needed to mark off the items that were most important for your life to change trajectory.”

  Two for two. Juni was a part of both of them. Juni’s entry into my life has done exactly that. I just made a wrong turn. It doesn’t mean I can’t turn that back around, though.

  It wasn’t just Rascal who knocked the breath out of me when he landed on my stomach; Juni stole it altogether.

  Lying next to me after making sure everyone was back in their apartments safely after the fire. Sitting with Mrs. Hendricks telling me that Juni needs to spread her wings. They didn’t know, but she’d been doing that all along with me. From our friendship to a budding romance, she didn’t crack the door. She flung it wide open and invited me into her world.

  I won’t discount that she took the job and made it look easy. She committed herself in so many ways that she doesn’t even see it. Is she living on the edge? No, but for someone who’s experienced so much pain, she still took the first steps and raised her wings.