It's Complicated (The Agency Book 2)

by Elizabeth Grey

  “I know I promised to tell Stella, but after everything that happened with Daniel and Rachel . . . You’ve seen the state Daniel’s been in these last few weeks. I thought it best to let the dust settle.”

  “You should have talked to me.”

  He takes another bite, and a splodge of pale-green pea mush falls down the front of his Valentino suit waistcoat. “Fuck.” He reaches for the napkin and starts dabbing, removing most of it but leaving a greasy splodge. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you’d see how impossible it was.”

  “The situation isn’t impossible, Ethan – not unless you want it to be.”

  “Can we not do this now?” Tears prick at my eyes when I hear the sharpness in his voice. If Zoe is his roller-coaster, then I probably am the sodding helter-skelter. I keep hauling my arse to the top, only to spiral back down, over and over again.

  I have to get away before I say something I won’t be able to take back.

  I knock back what’s left of my wine, then I slam the empty glass down on the table and take to my feet. “See you back at the office.”

  He doesn’t call after me.

  * * *

  I have the contents of my desk and half of Ethan’s packed into a plastic Ikea box by the time he returns from the pub. He’s been almost two hours, which I don’t find alarming; his understanding of time would make Doctor Who weep.

  When he finally walks into the office, his head is hung low and his posture is stiff. I step aside so he can get to his desk, but instead of helping me sort through the piles of files and papers we’ve amassed over the past five months he sits down, switches his computer on and starts working on a spreadsheet.

  I give up. Evidently I’m packing up the entire office by myself.

  I move on to Daniel’s desk. And with every huff, stomp and slam my body seems to have decided is justified, I get more and more exasperated that he’s ignoring the gigantic stroppy elephant in the room.

  “Ethan, I’ve chipped two nails and I jarred my wrist piling up these boxes for the removal company. Stella has booked them to come first thing tomorrow. I’d be grateful if you could help.”

  “I’m working on something.”

  He doesn’t look up from the computer, and our new reality slams into me again. I have no idea what he’s working on, and I always used to know. For over three years we were inseparable. I knew whether we’d be meeting clients, brainstorming a campaign or battling to meet a deadline by the outfit he’d chosen to wear and what he’d eaten for lunch. When we were just friends we were perfectly attuned to one another’s lives, but now that we’re lovers it’s like we know a little less about each other every day.

  “How long are you going to be?” The only adjective I can think of to describe my tone of voice is “snippy”.

  “Look, Violet,” he snips back. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a fair bit on my plate at the moment, and I’m afraid this” – he gestures to his computer – “is a bit more important than packing up.”

  “Oh, I see.” My hands go to my hips and one of my jagged fingernails snags my skirt, pulling a thread until the material bunches up. Great. Now he’s ruined my rainy-carnival dress. “What you’re saying is you’re far too important to be doing the office donkey work.”

  “What? No . . .” He pushes a pile of papers to one side and swings back in his chair. “Okay, there’s obviously something on your mind. You’ve been in this mood since we left Stella’s this afternoon.”

  I ease the skirt of my dress carefully back into place, lingering over the click in the hope I look too preoccupied to answer him.

  “Violet, if you have something to say, then please just say it and quit the bloody strops. You’re behaving like a child.”

  “Huh. I’m behaving like a child?” I say, my voice trembling. “You really don’t know why I’m pissed off, do you? What the hell were you thinking earlier suggesting you hire Zoe?”

  He looks shocked for a second, then shrugs. “That’s not an issue. I rang her earlier and she doesn’t want to come. She said she’d rather rip her toenails off with a pair of pliers, which I thought was a bit over the top.”

  “You asked her? Oh my god . . .” It’s precisely as I feared. He really is that dense.

  He looks at me, and the realisation that he’s been an idiot manifests on his face in slow motion. First his colour drains, then his eyes look to his feet and finally his shoulders sag in defeat. “She’s just a really good secretary.”

  “That’s not all she is.” It seems I’ll never be able to forget Zoe is beautiful, stylish, popular, professional and totally perfect. If he couldn’t make a relationship work with Zoe, what hope do I have?

  He looks hurt, which I would find redeeming if I wasn’t simultaneously imagining placing my hands around his neck and choking the life out of him. “I didn’t think . . .”

  “Oh, you ‘didn’t think’? Off the scale with the stating of the freaking obvious, Ethan.” I fold my arms around my chest as he stands up and walks towards me. I step backwards until I can go no further, my back resting against the stack of plastic boxes.

  “I meant I didn’t think you’d have a problem with Zoe working for me.”

  “Why did you think I’d be fine with your ex-girlfriend perching her perfect behind on the edge of your desk whilst you give her dictation every fucking day? Let’s not forget you never had to keep Zoe a secret from the world. You were proud she was yours and you wanted everyone to know it.”

  “Violet, that’s not fair. I’m in a completely different situation now. You know that.”

  “Yeah,” I scoff. “Tell me about it.”

  He moves closer to me again, cocking his head to one side. “You know I was never in love with Zoe. That’s why I didn’t think it would be a problem.” He reaches for my hand, but I bat it away. I don’t trust myself not to bend his fingers back. “I’m sorry. I get it . . . It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think you’d view Zoe as a threat. Why would you? The whole time I was with her I was in love with you. I mean, jeez, it should be me who’s feeling threatened. I’ve never been properly in love before, but you have – and that guy does technically work for us. Well, he works for our sister company in the States. Stella met him in New York last week. Apparently he’s some fucking advertising strategy guru and she can’t stop singing his praises. Imagine how that makes me feel.”

  “What?” My brain starts to whirl. I haven’t seen Ryan since I left New York four years ago, and I never talk about him. “Why would you bring him up?”

  “When Stella mentioned him . . . well, it just bothered me. It bothered me that you were in love with this guy who I know next to nothing about. I don’t even know what happened between you.”

  “Ethan, listen to me. Ryan Rafferty was a long time ago.” He rolls his eyes at me and I want to shake him. Why can’t he understand me? “I don’t talk about what happened for a reason.”

  “That’s the problem, Vi. You never talk because you don’t want to talk, but maybe I need to hear it.” His voice is consumed with frustration, and it hits me how different we are. Are we ever going to truly get each other?

  “You know why I’m like this, Ethan—”

  “I want you to talk to me! When we got together you asked me to fix you, but how can I when you won’t let me in? I know your sister’s death and all those things your father said to you over the years affected you . . .” He closes the gap between us and reaches out for a moment before having second thoughts. He rests his arm on the boxes instead. “The only things I know about Ryan are that you worked together in New York, he was married and he broke your heart. After three years of knowing you, and loving you, that’s all I know. I learned more about him from a ten-minute conversation with Stella.”

  I don’t want him to know who I was back then. Or what I did. “It’s not that I don’t want to . . . I just . . .”

  He takes my hand. “I know, Vi. But I need you to understand how hard this is for me. You act like you�
��re broken, but you’re the strongest, most amazing woman I know. Your only problem is you believe what you were told growing up. Don’t let that stuff define you. You never had to change one damn thing about yourself to be loved by me. You are loved. I love you. Please let me in so I can show you how much.”

  His words make my eyes water and my chest ache with guilt. I feel guilty for not trusting him and stupid for getting jealous over Zoe. I know he loves me, and god, I know I love him too – that should be enough, shouldn’t it? How do I make it enough?

  I reach up and stroke his cheek. His skin is peppered with stubble. I like how it feels under my fingertips. The embodiment of him – smooth and polished, but with a discernible edge. “I’m sorry. I guess I need to work a lot harder at accepting myself . . . and believing this is real.”

  “This is real.” He mirrors my touch, running his fingers along the edge of my jaw before bringing his mouth to mine.

  5

  HIS KISS DEEPENS AS HE tilts my head back and seeks my tongue with his. I tug his head closer to mine, my fingers grabbing fistfuls of his dark, feathery hair, and I kiss him so forcefully that he almost falls backwards. He breaks free – just for a moment to regain balance – and that’s all the time my brain needs to remind me of Zoe and our argument and the girl in the pub and the fact I’m a complete mess. Nothing short of pixie dust combined with the breath of thousand unicorns can give me my happy ever after.

  He takes me in his arms again, but I push back on his chest.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks. His breathing is laboured.

  “Nothing . . . I . . .” This is normally the time when I’d make an excuse: something along the lines of not wishing to make out in broad daylight in our office would be plausible. But I think back to what he said earlier about letting him in and telling him how I feel. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck up. Maybe I’m not ready for this. Maybe you’re not . . . maybe we should never have tried to—”

  He places his finger gently on my lips. “Shush. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

  “What if we can’t make it work? Office romances are a nightmare, Ethan. We’ve both been there before. Stella put that clause in your contract for a reason, and maybe she was right.”

  He sighs deeply. “She put the clause in my contract because of Quest. I slept with a client who went on to drug herself into a coma. I have to earn Stella’s trust back. I need time to prove myself. She’s given me an opportunity I never asked for and didn’t expect – the chance to make something of myself – but although I’m grateful, she can’t control who I love. What we have isn’t relevant to work and, like I promised you, when the time is right, I’m going to tell her.” He gives me one of his most beautiful smiles and I feel my doubts fade as a cheeky glimmer lands in his eyes. “Anyway, there’s something undeniably hot about a forbidden romance.”

  “No there isn’t.” I say, screwing up my nose. “If you read anything other than music magazines and restaurant menus you’d know that forbidden romances are the absolute worst, most tragic, type of romances and they usually end in death. I don’t want to be Juliet, Ethan.”

  He grins. “I better keep my poison stash under lock and key then.”

  “It isn’t funny,” I say. He takes hold of me again, his forehead resting on mine and his arms circling my waist. “I don’t want people to think I slept with you to get my position either. I’ve been worrying about what Daniel said about it being better if I worked elsewhere—”

  “No, don’t even think it. I need you at Tribe. We’re the best advertising team in the city.”

  “But we’re not a team anymore. You just asked me to let you in – to talk to you. This is me telling you how I feel.”

  “You really want to leave Tribe?” He’s looking so intently into my eyes that I have to look away in case I cry. “Tribe isn’t just my dream; it’s a great gig for you too. You were thrilled to be working with Belle Oaks, and I know you were worried about managing people, but you’re doing great. You’ve been so excited about building your team these last few months, haven’t you? Why would you give all of that up?”

  “I don’t want to give it up, but what if I get you fired?” The hand that was caressing my face rests on my shoulder while the other one falls from my waist. Panic is set deep in his pleading eyes, and I wonder if he really does need me like he says, after all. “A woman who sleeps with her boss earns herself a reputation, Ethan. I don’t want to open that can of ugly worms, because the label sticks. I should know . . . I’ve had it before.”

  “Ryan?”

  I nod. “I don’t want to be accused of sleeping my way into a job.”

  He exhales in a way that makes his body tenser. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead of talking he merely breathes.

  “We can’t be the same as we were. I’ve known it since we got together, but reality keeps dishing up big, scary warnings. We’ll never work together as two best friends ever again.”

  “Violet,” he says in a voice which is both insistent and terrified. “I never want to stop working with you. We’ll still work on ads together. Sure, it’ll be different, but we’ll get plenty of chances to set the world alight – just like we always have. I need you—”

  “And what about what I need?”

  He reaches out to place his hand on my arm, but I just look away. His hand falls to his side and he sighs. Then he turns back, locks me with a gaze that makes my skin burn, and kisses me. “We’re a team. We’re too strong to fail at this,” he says. My head is cradled against his neck and I can feel his heart thudding under his shirt. “We just have to hold on to the best of who we were.”

  A soft moan escapes my mouth when his tongue slides against mine again. He picks me up and carries me over to his desk, placing me down gently and standing between my legs. His tongue explores every inch of my mouth, over and over again, and I feel light-headed because I’m breathing in his breaths, but I don’t want him to stop. I nip his lip with my teeth and his entire body groans.

  Finally he breaks away and pulls at his tie. Jesus Christ, what does he think he’s doing? It’s four thirty in the afternoon, and our offices are overlooked in every direction by banks of other offices, as well as flats, shops and a theatre. Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of doing something a bit risqué, but I’d rather not have sex in full view of the accountancy firm opposite.

  He peels his tie off in seconds, then he places soft butterfly kisses on my neck and untucks his shirt. “Ethan,” I growl from deep within my throat as he pushes the skirt of my dress over my thighs. Holy fuck, this is hot. It’s mad, racy, and totally outrageous, but my hoo-ha isn’t so much galloping now as spinning off the earth and poised to explode in a ball of horny glitter. Did my brain just say “hoo-ha”? What’s wrong with it? Why can’t it say “vagina”?

  “Ethan . . . stop a moment.”

  “Hmm?” His voice is lost in an eager kiss. He rolls my cardigan over my shoulders and trails more kisses down my arms.

  “We can’t do this, not here.”

  “Yeah we can,” he says, sucking lightly at my neck. “I’ve been fantasising about having office sex for months. We move out tomorrow, so this is my last chance.”

  “Okay . . . when you were fantasising about doing this, did you do anything about the door and windows?”

  “No. Imagining an audience makes it hotter.”

  “Ethan, close the fucking blinds. Now!”

  Without missing a beat he reaches over to the far wall and flicks the venetian blinds shut, then he walks to the door and bolts it. When he returns, he pushes a few strands of hair from my face and kisses me again. “God, I love you,” he says. It feels like it’s both the hundredth and the first time that he’s said it.

  I concentrate hard, forcing my mind to switch off and get into this. His fingers glide over my thigh until they’re under my skirt. I kiss him as his hands move to grasp my hips and pull me forward. I feel his erection through his trousers as it rests a
gainst my groin and I instantly feel a rush. “Oh . . . god . . . Ethan,” I say between raspy pants. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “I can’t either. I’m so fucking turned on right now.” He pushes himself against me and I fall backwards, accidentally nudging his keyboard and hard drive off the desk. They land on the carpet with a thump. “Oh, shit.” He glances at the hard drive at his feet. “That didn’t happen in my daydream.”

  His arm reaches around my back for added support, then he swipes piles of papers, a tub of pens and even his frigging telephone onto the floor. We have the desk to ourselves, aside from a pot plant, whose safety I’m a bit worried about, then he lets his shirt fall to the floor. I run my fingers over his pale skin, lingering a while over the centre of his ribcage to enjoy the feel of his heart beating rapidly.

  “Remember I said I’ve been dreaming about this?” he purrs into my ear.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Well, in my dream, you had your leg like this . . .” He wheels one of the office chairs over until it’s against the desk, and he places my foot on it. “And I removed your underwear like this . . .” He tilts me back until my back is flat to the hard surface, then his head dips between my legs. Oh sweet Jesus, save me. I feel a rush of heat, then his hair grazes my thigh as he moves his mouth between my legs.

  I feel like I’m going to implode when he pulls at my knickers with his teeth, easing them over my hips and down to my feet. “Oh my . . . fucking god . . . don’t stop . . . never ever stop,” I shriek as his tongue licks around my clit in short, delicious strokes. He teases me, hovering over the pressure point for way too long – the bastard – before finally pulling me into his mouth and sucking until my body melts into a pool of fizzing, rippling energy.

  “You’re going to love me forever for doing that, aren’t you?” he says with a proud wink as my post-orgasmic buzz begins to fade.

  “I already love you forever.”

  He gently pulls me into a sitting position and kisses me again. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, running his fingers through my wetness, exploring every shape and contour of my lower body with enough pressure to send my pleasure-o-meter skyrocketing. He nibbles my ear as his fingers find the entrance to my foo-foo. Christ, my what? Is my brain trying to kill me with cringe? Vagina, vagina, vagina!