by Liz Meldon
“I feel like I’m being scolded,” Cole remarked, grinning ever so slightly as he shut off both of his phones and set each on the table between them as proof. When Finn didn’t reply, his eyebrows shot up. “Am I being scolded?”
“Possibly.” Finn shook his head when Cole started to open the menu booklet. “I’ve already ordered for us.”
“Typical.” Cole let the weighted cover drop shut. “So, what have I done now? I haven’t had one of these little talks in years.”
“Perhaps I let it go on for too long, then.”
“Finn.” Cole cocked his head to the side. “Fuck off.”
They smirked at each other when the waitress arrived, setting a water down in front of each and rattling off the specials for Cole’s benefit on the off chance that he would change his mind. But Finn knew him better than that. Cole had fish and chips every time they dined at The Crest, Coral Bay’s exclusive harborside yacht club. Every bloody time. Fish and chips, like he was a caricature of English stereotypes. Finn had opted for an eel roll and a seaweed salad positively laden with sashimi.
The white linens strewn over the table fluttered in the seaside breeze, and Finn watched his friend take a quick sip of water after the waitress disappeared. No alcohol. Never. Caffeine? Always. Perhaps Finn should have ordered him a coffee too, judging by the bags under his eyes.
“We need to talk about Skye Summers,” Finn stated, noting the way Cole instantly stiffened, his grip tightening around the bulbous water glass in hand. “Is she the woman you’ve been…” Lips pursed, Finn refused to use the appropriate terminology—because it made him nauseous to even think it. “…financially supporting for the last few years?”
Cole swallowed hard before setting the glass back on the table. Carefully. Precisely. Cautiously. Three adjectives that had always suited him best.
“Did she tell you?”
Finn fiddled with the silverware, knowing someone would be around shortly to replace his fork with chopsticks. “In a way. I guessed the moment I saw you two together at my soiree the other night.”
Cole’s expression turned incredulous. “Soiree? Really?”
“Orgy,” Finn clarified, grinning at the plum-colored blush blossoming across his friend’s face, “is that better?”
Jaw clenched, Cole turned his attention outward, his gaze on the ocean. “Sure.”
“She’s rather smitten with you,” Finn told him, as if he didn’t already know. How could he not? “However, I think, recently, she’s become just a little smitten with me.”
“Is that why you called me here? To stake your claim?”
“Hardly. I appreciate that you think so little of me.”
Their eyes met and held for a moment before Cole let out a long, tired sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry. I know you wouldn’t…but…”
“But,” Finn chose his words carefully, “we appear to have found ourselves in a situation, one that seems to have left Miss Summers a bit flustered herself. I thought it best we discuss it before anything happens.”
“Have you two…?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.” Finn spied their waitress approaching, food in hand. “Just as I know that you two have recently…furthered your relationship.”
“And here we have the fish and chips,” the waitress trilled. She set the plate down in front of Cole, who looked as though he’d just smelled something ghastly, before expertly maneuvering Finn’s rather large plate into the small space before him. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“We’re fine,” Finn told her with a quick smile. “Thank you.”
The silence that followed was one of a handful of awkward pauses he had ever experienced with Cole. He had hoped to be frank and matter-of-fact about all this. After all, they were two logical, reasonable men. This was an issue that affected them both, and if they didn’t sort it out now, their future with Skye was in jeopardy. However, Finn hadn’t factored in that matters of the heart were not logical or reasonable. If he played his cards poorly, he might end up losing both Cole and Skye—which would be a devastating loss indeed.
“Do you love her?” he asked, watching Cole pick up a fry, then set it back down, then pick it up again. At no point during that little dance did the damn thing end up anywhere near his mouth.
“I don’t have time to love her.” Cole grabbed the ketchup bottle and shook it over his plate. When nothing came out, he smacked the bottom. When that yielded no results, he set it back down on the table, slamming it harder than necessary.
“That isn’t a no,” Finn told him. In the following silence, he unwrapped his chopsticks and started eating. Cole had always been a man who was quick and decisive in business. Tech was his game and had been long before the rest of the industry caught up. Where he faltered, however, was just about every other category of his life. He forgot birthdays, and, on the off chance that he did remember, he always chose an inappropriate gift. He was infamously terrible at punctuality and struck many in their social circles as awkward. He couldn’t flirt worth a damn—and Finn had tried to teach him many times over; Skye was something special if she managed to bring out the charming side of him. Other women Finn had attempted to set him up with the past hadn’t been quite so fortunate.
Finn had been able to look past all of that years ago, spying a socially inept diamond that just needed a polishing. His friend had certainly changed over the last decade, all for the better, but his near-absolute dedication to his job, to his company, and to the thousands and thousands of people he employed had not.
Yet to Finn, it was clear that Cole’s inability to separate, to step away from the job, hindered him. It was also obvious that when it came to Skye Summers, it pained him, too.
“You know I would never do anything to ruin our friendship,” Finn said softly as Cole added a liberal amount of salt to his beer-battered cod. A head bob told him the man acknowledged, understood, and agreed. Finn knew him that well. “So, let’s sort this out, then. If you could be with her, would you?”
“I don’t entertain the thought because I can’t,” Cole said hoarsely, stabbing his fork into his lunch with thinly veiled anger. “My work is my life, and sometimes that makes it difficult, but you know I could never step back and sign everything away to a board of trustees.”
“Even if you chose them yourself?”
“I want to make sure my people are taken care of,” Cole muttered. “At every level, down to the person sweeping the floors at our factories. How can I promise them they’ll be looked after if I’m not steering the ship?” He dunked his fish in tartar sauce. “Skye… Sometimes I wish I didn’t care.”
“About her?”
“About the job,” he stated, frowning. “I wish I could just walk away. I wish I could pull myself out. I’m not in it for the money. I could sign on the dotted line now and never have to work a day in my life again. I wish… I’d give anything to be that man, but I’m not.”
Finn wouldn’t have admired, respected, or enjoyed Cole as much as he did if he were that man.
Halfway through his eel rolls already, Finn set the chopsticks down. “Cole… If you could be with her, would you?”
“Yes,” Cole whispered, then cleared his throat, his voice louder—and his hand flexing in and out of a fist, signaling a spike in stress, “but I’ve fucked it all up. I’ve been a complete twat, and she’s going to cut and run.”
Straight to you. Cole didn’t utter the sentiment aloud, but Finn could read it plain as day in his eyes. He exhaled softly and took another sip of his drink. At that point, one of the ice cubes had melted completely. Not that he minded. It was barely noon, for goodness sake. No need to delve into the hard stuff—although, thinking of where he intended to steer this conversation now that he had the facts, perhaps he could have used something stronger.
“What if we could offer her a solution that would be suitable for both of us?” he asked, snatching up a gorgeous piece of raw octopus from his salad. By
the time he’d popped it in his mouth and savored it, Cole appeared to have recovered from his funk.
“Such as?”
“Polyamory.”
“For fuck’s sake, Finn.”
“No, no, listen”—he held up a hand to stifle Cole’s indignation—“because clearly she’s upset over this. I think it has a little to do with your, well, ridiculous inability to express yourself, but also because she’s realized she has feelings for both of us—”
“Because you know her so well, right?” Cole pushed some fries around, though Finn wasn’t sure he had seen the man take a single bite of his meal yet.
“Who, out of the two of us, has actually spoken with her in the last twenty-four hours? Hell, the last week?” Finn raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response—and ignoring the fact that Skye hadn’t responded to his usual good morning text message yet. “Hmm?”
Cole pursed his lips for a moment. “Fair enough.”
“What if,” he steeled himself, fully aware that this was a long shot, “we present her with the opportunity to date both of us? Exclusively.” Cole’s expression turned skeptical, as expected, but Finn carried on, finally releasing what he’d been mulling over since last night. “You can continue to work knowing that Skye’s emotional needs are met by someone, someone who has a shared understanding of the expectations of the relationship. She can get over this fear that falling for two people is some sort of mortal sin.”
Finn had always had an open mind to the full spectrum of sexual proclivities that the world had to offer. Sex parties. Bi-curiosity. Multiple partners. The rest of his family had been appalled when he shared his philosophy of healthy sexuality with them back in his twenties, and he hadn’t broached the subject since. Besides, it wasn’t that he frequently found himself in open relationships where he or his partner dated other people. In fact, all of his past relationships had been unfulfilling and painfully ordinary. He was just open to the possibility of more than what society dictated. He’d never wanted to attempt such a complex affair with anyone either—until Skye and Cole. Finn wanted to be with Skye. Cole was one of his best friends. Finn was seldom the jealous type, and Cole had never struck him as such either. The likelihood for success here was high if everyone gave it a fighting chance.
“This way, I don’t have to sever ties with either of you. For Christ’s sake, Cole, I can fly her out to wherever you are in the world when you’re missing each other.” He paused to catch his breath, then offered what he suspected Cole truly desired out of all this. “And you two can finally eliminate this ridiculous contract and just be with each other without you worrying you’re going to lose your business… or her.”
“That…” Cole licked his lips, and Finn stilled, noting that he looked like he was considering it. However, a quick headshake and scoff dashed all his hopes in an instant. “That sounds positively mad. Absolutely insane.”
“Does it? We’ve shared before.”
“Skye isn’t a one-night fuckfest in Istanbul, Finn,” Cole said pointedly. “Sharing a girl for a night is, is… easy. What you’re talking about is sharing an entire relationship.”
“Obviously we’ll need to figure a few things out,” Finn argued, “with Skye’s input, of course.”
“Why would you even want this?” Cole sat back in his chair, appraising Finn with the same calculating gleam in his eye that he used on rivals in the boardroom. “Why not just let her and me crash and burn, then swoop in and get the girl all to yourself?”
Finn frowned. “What in the history of our friendship suggests that I would want that for either of us?”
“Perhaps I’m just failing to see what you get out of this proposed ménage à trois. I know you’ve slept with her, but what other interactions have you had? Why the sudden interest?”
Finn shook his head, smiling. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He had asked Skye if she believed in love at first sight the first time he showed up at her apartment with edible roses. Naturally, both had laughed the absurd notion off—but, when Finn had thought about it after seeing her last night, love at first sight was the only thing that made sense.
“Just know that my offer is genuine,” he told a somewhat skeptical looking Cole, hoping that years of trust and friendship would validate him, “as is my affection for her. I mean, she’s not just a beautiful face with a body designed to be made into marble statues. She’s… challenging. Witty. Bright. Engaging. When you talk to her, she seems to listen and process and respond with thought and care I’ve never experienced before. Most of all, she seems to have no interest in changing me or reining me in. She doesn’t want anything. She makes me work, but not in some childish game for her attention. You know my past relationships. You know they wanted my money, or my family name, or a chance to further their careers. Skye hasn’t asked for anything. In fact, she seems rather taken with me just as I am. I… I…”
Holy fucking Christ. Finn swallowed hard, then grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in a single gulp. He had been trying to figure out what it was about Skye that he was so infatuated with. Love at first sight had seemed like an easy theory. One needed no rhyme or reason there. It just happened. But in trying to convince Cole that he was serious about this, about her, Finn had spelled it all out for himself. Plain as anything. Skye didn’t want to change him. She put up with his oddities and quirks with a smile and a laugh, genuine and open in her interest of him—Finn, not Finn Rai, inheritor of the Rai’s Sweets empire.
Finn had never experienced that sort of affection from a woman before. It had always been models and actresses and party girls interested in squandering his money on alcohol and private booths at exclusive clubs. Skye just wanted to talk. She asked questions. She confided in him about her day, her fears, her career aspirations, everything. They watched TV together, in separate homes, just to have a laugh over the phone. Of course Finn was falling in love with her a few weeks after meeting her. How could he have been so thick as to not piece it together before?
He set his glass down and realized his mouth was hanging open slightly. When he looked up, he knew he wore the expression of a bewildered, love-struck man, and to his surprise, Cole’s mouth twitched into a little smile. They stared at one another for a few moments, then Cole’s whole being seemed to relax as he finally dug into his meal. Knowing the conversation was nowhere near complete, Finn returned to his own meal, deep in thought, and polished off his rolls before slowly working through his salad. He watched the waves roll in, a few birds divebombing the water, and studied the other diners around him. By the time Cole next spoke, Finn had nearly finished eating, yet Cole was perhaps a tenth of the way through his basket of deep-fried fish.
“If we take her aside and propose this, we’ll scare her off,” he stated. “I can’t risk that.”
“We could let her choose,” Finn offered, the idea distasteful. “Tell her we’ll honor and respect whatever decision she makes.”
“I won’t risk that either—”
“Well, you have to make a decision, Cole.” Finn had been trying not to veer into the lecturing tone he had once used, eons ago. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself—and from the look on his friend’s face, perhaps that was the tone needed here. If it woke Cole up to the dangerous realities of their situation, so be it. Skye’s heart was worth a bit of lecturing. “You have to fight for her at some point. You can’t keep paying her rent and buying her clothes and believing that amounts to what either of you really want… or need.”
Cole’s lips parted. Finn tensed. A lesser man might have blown a fuse, stormed off, given up. Instead, Cole straightened in his seat, cracked his neck from side to side, and nodded.
“I choose option number one,” he said carefully, and Finn detected a slight tremor in his hands as he spoke. “I think it has merit. It will need to be discussed more thoroughly, of course”—he eyed Finn, whose head bobbed quickly in agreement—“but it’s the best chance I have to… to… love her as
I can right now.” His breath hitched in his throat, but he shook it off. “We’ll propose it to her together.”
Grinning, Finn offered his outstretched hand halfway across the table. “Agreed.”
They shook on it as gentlemen, and finished the remainder of their meal as friends.
13
Done Deal
“Oh… shit.” Skye’s eyes widened as her teller computer screen jumped suddenly to a page she hadn’t visited yet, leaving her scrambling to correct it before this ridiculous system did something that would make her seem like a complete moron. New job. Day one. It was hard not to feel like a moron, especially since she hadn’t technically worked anywhere in four years. Still, it was Wednesday at noon. Skye worked at a sex museum. Thus far her day hadn’t exactly been jam-packed with eager patrons of the arts desperate for a peek inside Gallery Sens.
There had been the little old couple who showed up shortly after opening. Back then, Hans had walked her through the step-by-step process of museum admissions. The pair of them were regulars and came to see the new weekly instalment religiously. They had more know-how about the front desk computer system than Skye did, and she spent much of the transaction beet-red and fumbling.
After that, it was radio silence—excluding the family of German tourists who had ripped her a new one for not allowing them in. Skye didn’t make the rules: no one under eighteen permitted, parental consent or not. She had just stood there, deer-in-headlights, behind the two feet of desk separating her from the general public. Nod and smile. Apologize. Explain the rules. Do it again. Smile. Apologize again. Customer service was still customer service, even in a museum. After they had left in a huff, she had a few traumatic memories of her fast food days flash before her eyes, where getting screamed at by a customer was a daily occurrence. While it had left her rattled, at least she was still standing—and no one had demanded to speak with a manager.
