The One & Only: The One Lover Series Book 1

by La Serra, Maria

  I could feel his frustration. Who thought irritating Greg would be so much fun? I never promised I would play nice, yet Greg had acted like the perfect gentleman. I wondered what it would take or how far I could push until he cracked. Then, he’d have no choice but to take me off this project, then I can go back to Starlet until I was ready to move on to something else.

  * * *

  Later—way later—Greg came back, holding in one hand a white plastic bag with a purple logo that had Andy’s Gourmet Salads written on it.

  “What’s that?” I asked as he took the seat next to me.

  “Your salads—as in plural. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I bought the avocado salad and the Asian sesame vinaigrette. Take your pick, sweetheart.” He held out two clear plastic containers.

  “I didn’t know they sold Andy’s Gourmet at the food court.”

  “They don’t,” he said, meeting my eyes.

  “You went out?” I said, knowing the game had already started and he had missed twenty minutes of it.

  “Don’t say I do nothing for you.”

  I couldn’t believe he had gone through the trouble, but then again, he probably wanted me to write about our date, making him out to be the swoon-worthy guy.

  “I’ll have the avocado. Thank you,” I said. After a moment of silence, I asked, “So, doesn’t your father have a suite here?”

  “Yes, he does—up there, just below the bridge level.”

  “Oh. Why aren’t we sitting there?” I asked. I looked around. I wasn’t sure if these were the best seats in the house, but I guessed not since we were far from court level.

  “Because I didn’t want you to accuse me of showing off. Anyhow, I knew it wouldn’t impress you.”

  “And you know what would?”

  “I’m awesome; it should be enough.” He winked, and I snorted.

  “That’s why you’re single.” I dug into my salad.

  His eyes scanned the court before meeting mine again. “I’m single because I choose to be. I’m looking for the one.”

  “The one right now, you mean,” I added.

  “Nope, the one and only. What’s so funny?” He cast a look my way.

  “Oh, come on, Greg. You write about how to pick up girls at the bar or which lingerie to buy your girlfriend for Valentine’s Day,” I said, playing with my food with my plastic fork. “You wouldn’t be able to write those articles if you didn’t think you were a ladies’ man.”

  He looked at me. “This coming from a woman whose last article was called ‘Seven Lap Dance Moves to Make Men Melt.’”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Okay what? You think you’re any different?” he asked. “Don’t judge me, we’re in the same boat.”

  I wondered how he could say that. I’d spent most of my childhood in a small apartment in Jackson Heights, raised in a bilingual home. Greg McAdams’s life had been spent living in a big house with an au pair. His parents never had to worry about money as mine did.

  He was trying hard to get on my good side because, if he thought there was no difference between us, then he was dreaming in Technicolor.

  “The one, huh?” I said. “That’s a fairy tale idea.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I shot Greg a look. “I didn’t take you for the sappy, romantic kind.”

  “I’m not. It’s from my experience that made me want to believe in it more. I come from a broken home. My father married twice, and my mother is going on her third in a few months. I have to wonder if they settled too fast,” he said, his eyes focus on the court. “I never had anything in my life that was stable. I don’t want that for my children, which I’ll hopefully have one day. I want to do better for them than what my parents did for my siblings and me.” He glanced back, catching me staring. “What’s that look for?”

  “That’s sweet.”

  I never believed in fate or the one. It always felt like a mythological concept, but now, sitting next to this man, sharing his ideas about family and love, it had me wishing for it.

  “So, you read my article?” I said, the first to break away from our gaze.

  “Of course. All of them. My favorite is ‘How to Be More Playful with Your Boyfriend,’ especially number three—the slap and tickle,” he said, and I laughed. “If you’re ever looking for a candidate to try these things out, I’m your man.” He pointed to his chest with his thumb.

  I slowly looked him over. “Well, you could use some slapping.”

  He chuckled. “All jokes aside, I’m a man who’s doing his job,” he said. I had the urge to roll my eyes, but I held off until he finished what he had to say. “I don’t believe in half of the things I write.”

  “So, why do it?”

  “Because I’m hoping to set myself up for something better.”

  “Can’t Daddy open some doors?”

  “Sure—tomorrow morning if I want. But what good would that be? No, I want to earn things on my merit,” he said with his eyes on the game.

  I stared at him when he wasn’t looking. I had to admit, I admired him for that, not wanting to take full advantage of the McAdams name.

  “Do you ever come here with your dad?”

  “No, not unless it’s a corporate event or we’re entertaining clients. My dad is not even a fan of the sport.” He shrugged. “To be honest, he never brought me to a basketball game. My father was always busy building Nast Publishing,” he added.

  My stomach clenched. Maybe Greg had missed out on a lot of things growing up. My family hadn’t come from money, but my father would find a way to take us to the zoo or take my sister and me skating. I saw how Mr. McAdams Senior behaved with his son at the office, and I could see how hard he had been with Greg. Maybe he hadn’t had a happy childhood. But I didn’t ask.

  His eyes focused on the game, and a thought came to mind. I placed my plastic container at my feet, pulling out my notepad from my purse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing some notes,” I said.

  “Okay …” He stood up, his eyes going back to the court.

  I got up and tapped him on the shoulder. “So, how do you play this game? Do you have to kick it in the net?” I wasn’t ignorant when it came to playing basketball, but distracting Greg from watching the game was way more fun.

  He looked at me like I had two heads.

  “That’s soccer. Have you been watching this game at all?” He chuckled.

  “No. I’ve been looking up there, wondering how many people are in the stands,” I said, looking around me.

  When my eyes went back to Greg, his lips went thin.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a fast rundown, so pay attention.” He leaned closer, enough that I could feel his warm breath on my ear.

  “There are twelve active players, five players on the floor on each team. A player can dribble the ball, pass, or shoot. There’s more to it, but I’ll explain later, I want to watch the game.” When he realized he’d lost my attention, he said, “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m writing it down,” I said, biting the side of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. “What’s that?” I shouted over the sound of the horn blaring.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Game over.” Greg sighed.

  “Already? Just as I was getting into the game.”

  I smiled, and Greg’s shoulders slumped. It was the look of a defeated man. It served him right. Maybe next time, he’d think twice about forcing us to spend more time together.

  A way to know if a man is into you is by his actions. Does he gush about you to his friends and family? If he can’t shut up about you, then it’s a big sign he’s head over heels in love with you.

  “10 Signs to Know He’s in Love”

  by Staci Cortés

  6

  Greg

  I was meeting my friend Jack at the Volary Bar in the Upper West Side. It was too fancy for my taste, but I guessed its extensive collection of mid-twentieth century whiskey
and its panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline justified the price I paid to be a member. Inside, the decor imitated an up-to-date gentlemen’s club. The dark mahogany bookcase contrasted with the cow-printed club chairs scattered around the room, adding a charming and cozy touch. I spotted Jack at the end of the bar, already nursing a glass of tawny-color alcohol.

  We had been trying for weeks to get together, but with our busy lives, it made it difficult to carve time for each other. Luckily, men weren’t like women. Jack and I could go months without seeing each other, and when we hung out, our relationship was rock solid. No dramas, no hard feelings. We just got each other, but I guessed you could say we had gone beyond the bro code requirement. We were brothers even though we didn’t share the same gene pool or hadn’t grown up under the same roof.

  I met Jack back in college, but it felt like we’d known each other all our lives. We’d had a different upbringing. Jack wasn’t a trust-fund baby like me. He had worked hard to get to where he was today—an attorney and partner at Brookman Farlow Turner Lit Law Firm, which I admired him for. He was lucky though. I was continually trying to prove my self-worth. People didn’t see me; they saw dollars signs—the kind I had not earned.

  But tonight, it wasn’t about business or my father, and definitely not Staci Cortés.

  “Hey.” Jack tossed a nod in my direction.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes.

  I’m no psychologist, but it took a man to understand another. Men converted one feeling into something else. I knew he’d been taking new clients when he shouldn’t and drinking more than usual. This was a way he was coping with his grief.

  A year ago, his godson, Luke, had died, and Jack had played a significant part in all of Luke’s five short years. When Luke had first been diagnosed with leukemia, it had been a real blow, but Jack had been set to do everything possible to save him. Flying him all over the world, getting him the best doctors, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough.

  As a friend, I worried about him because Luke had been the only stable person in Jack’s life.

  “I have my good days and my bad days. I miss my godson terribly.” He looked up from his glass and met my eyes.

  I tried hard to think of something to say, but I’ve never experienced a loss like that. I could only imagine Jack’s pain.

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it. If there’s anything you need, I’m here for you, man. Whenever you want to talk,” I said.

  “I know. Sorry I stood you up the other day.”

  He tapped me on the shoulder as I sat next to him at the bar.

  “You said something came up. Was this something a woman?” I asked.

  He flashed me a confirming grin.

  “Come on, tell me. Who is she?” I said, relieved he had something else going on in his life besides work.

  “Victoria Fairfax.”

  “As in Fairfax Developers Group?” I asked.

  Everyone in Manhattan knew who the Fairfax family were. At some point, I had read their profile on Forbes magazine or seen their pictures in the New York Times.

  “Yes, but her relationship with her family … is not on the greatest terms.”

  “Huh, kind of like mine,” I smirked. “So, are you seeing her? Dating?”

  “Not exactly,” he said before he took a sip from his glass. “I don’t know … Victoria is amazing, but she doesn’t need someone like me in her life.” When he finished his glass, he got the attention of the bartender and ordered another one.

  “Why do you say that?” I frowned. “You think you have nothing of value to offer?”

  What struck me about Jack was, behind his attorney persona, he became bold, sharp, uncompromising. He was this force that drove him to get anything he wanted—women, money. He won just about every case he took on. Whatever he desired, he went out and made it happen. But I’d known Jack long enough to know he wasn’t what he appeared to be. Jack Turner was a good guy, and this unattractive version of himself was what every man wished to be. Ruthless, detached men didn’t get hurt, but it closed us off to something extraordinary, and we learned that the hard way.

  “Well, you know me better than anyone else. I’m committed to work. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  “I think you’re just scared, and your career makes a good cover-up,” I said.

  Jack sighed deeply, as if he had been contemplating what I’d just told him.

  “I know. You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” I grinned. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Are you going to psychoanalyze me all night? That mumbo jumbo might work with your readers, but not on me.”

  “Just go with it.” I shot him a look. “Do you want a long-lasting relationship?”

  “I … think I do.” Jack drawled, making an expression that made me think this revelation surprised even himself.

  “Do you think you want that with Victoria?” I asked.

  Jack diverted his eyes to the glass. “To tell you the truth, I might have made things complicated between us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I messed up. I took Victoria’s roommate out to an event last weekend.”

  “What? Why not take Victoria?” I frowned.

  “Because I asked, but she turned me down, so I took out her friend instead.”

  Classic Jack. He couldn’t take rejection.

  “That’s one way to burn a bridge.” I winced. “How many times do I have to tell you—playing games only invites players?”

  “I know. It was stupid of me,” he said. “So, how do I fix this?”

  “I don’t know if you can. They’re close friends, right?”

  “Yeah, but nothing happened between us. But I guess I was so charming, now, she’s developed feelings for me.”

  “Victoria?”

  “No, Scarlett, her roommate.”

  “This is a whole other mess. I need backup.” I pulled out my phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a woman’s perspective.” I quickly texted Staci about the situation.

  Staci: He’s toast. Tell him to forget about it. Women never go after a friend’s crush.

  Me: Even if she likes him?

  Staci: Yep, we women have unwritten rules too, you know.

  Me: *Facepalm* Where can I find these rules? In Starlet?

  Staci: Ha! I guess you don’t have all the answers, McAdams.

  Me: I never said I did. I have you. Why do you think I keep you around?

  Staci: How did you get my number?

  Me: I have it for safekeeping— your address, too! In case I find my car set on fire, I can direct the police to the culprit.

  Stacy: Ha-ha. I didn’t know you were so funny.

  Me: There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. What are you doing?

  I had thought of inviting her to join us since my membership did include a guest. Maybe seeing me in a non-work-related environment might make her view me in a new light. Three dots appeared before disappearing and reappearing.

  Staci: Good luck with your friend, but I have some grout to clean out.

  She’d caught on that I wanted to ask her to come out, so now, Staci was brushing me off. After our friendly date, I had thought she had opened up to the idea of us at least being friends. But I guessed not.

  “Is everything okay?” Jack’s eyebrows arched.

  I placed my phone down on the bar before looking up. “Okay, this is what you’re going to do. Tell her the truth. Be honest with Victoria. That’s the only way you’re going to win her respect. Women know when you’re playing them, so to get something you want, you have to give something … and when I say giving, I’m not talking about money or gifts,” I said. “I’m talking about showing her you are willing to make time for her in your life. Make her see you’re completely invested in making the relationship work. Show her you’re a great guy.”

 
“Okay, you’re right. That’s what I will do,” he said. “Enough about my problems. I want to hear about yours.” Jack’s eyes smiled.

  “I have no troubles.” I snorted. We both knew my life was nowhere near perfect. “My dad wants me to take over Nast Publishing when he retires at the end of this year, but I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Jamie is better at managing the company.”

  “I think you’re selling yourself short, and deep down, you want to take over the company, but you’re afraid you’ll fail.”

  I shrugged. Jack had a point. I loved my writing career, but it was always a dream of mine to run my own magazine. I guessed I felt like I never earned it.

  “How is your brother, Jamie? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He’s doing good. He’s putting an offer in on a vineyard in California.”

  “A vineyard? I didn’t know Jamie was a wine drinker.”

  “He’s not, I think it’s because of a girl—don’t ask. Anyway, he wanted to get out of New York. Jamie said something about wanting a slower pace of life.”

  “I can understand that,” Jack said, taking another sip from his glass before giving me a side glance. “So, who is this Staci … the one who got under your skin like a tick with Lyme disease?” He chuckled. “Is she the one you texted seconds ago?”

  “Lyme disease? Don’t remember saying that. I was probably having a bad day when you called.” I frowned into my tumbler glass.

  “She must be something else to get you all revved up like that.”

  “You have no idea. Staci Cortés hates my guts. I have no clue why … but I can’t stop fantasizing about kissing her.” I shot him a look. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Act like nothing bothers you? Not let anyone in?” I asked.

  “You just said it; it’s an act. I let people see what I want them to see,” Jack said. “I wish I could give you advice on how to grow a thicker skin. If it’s about business or law, sure, but love? I don’t understand a damn thing about it.” Then, he smirked. “You’re the love doctor. You should take your own advice.”