by J. Saman
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he sits back in his own equally impressive chair and taps his four-hundred-dollar pen on a notepad. “I appreciate you taking the time to fly out here,” he starts. “Our company is growing. We’re going global. I’m currently heading up the London office, and we’re in the process of opening branches in Germany and France.”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap and meeting his eyes.
“And as of now, we’re quite lax in the security arena. We have in-house technology and a small information security department, but it’s not what it should be for the caliber of clients we handle and the amount of information we’re responsible for. I’m hoping that your firm can change all that.”
Judy silently airdrops my coffee like a ghost, and I take a sip, looking at this guy with eyes that say I’m all business. I’m not really. It’s a freaking façade that I suck at portraying, but he doesn’t know that about me. Really, only Luke and Ryan do, simply because they’ve seen me in action.
I smile and intertwine my fingers after setting my coffee down on the polished light wood table. “We can help you with that.”
I pull out my laptop, open up the presentation, and then I launch into my pitch. The one Ryan has given a million times over. The one Luke can deliver like a fucking master. Me? Yeah, I’m learning how to be professional. It’s ironic really, because I write nearly all of our press releases—that Luke delivers—but presenting in front of people is not my favorite activity.
Mostly because I feel like I’m putting on a show.
But I am a business major, so I can rock this out.
This whole corporate thing is new to us, given how far we’ve come. When I first met Ryan, he was small-time. He was writing and developing security software, but he also had a lot of stuff going on the side. He’s given up most of that other stuff to focus on his growing business and Kate. But it’s not that far back in time when we were working out of his tiny studio. I know for a fact that both Ryan and Luke still like to play the hacking game. Even if it’s in a totally legal way.
I must deliver the speech well, because Tom says, “That’s precisely what we’re searching for.”
“Excellent.” I smile. “We’re working on new software that could enhance the security posture of your network and business. It will also allow for complete cloud protection, as well as securing your backups while integrating all your systems. I imagine this is important given the type of financial information you carry, as well as your plans for expansion.”
He nods, running a finger across his lower lip. “This chat was really crucial for us,” Tom says, leaning forward and pinning me with his light-blue gaze. “I don’t relish the idea of doing business entirely over the phone and computer. I like to meet people face-to-face. That might sound a bit old-fashioned, but I believe it’s simply smart business. I understand that you’re one of the original partners in your firm, and as such, I appreciate you taking the time to fly out. What I’m most interested in is your team assessment and specifically tailoring the software to our unique needs.”
I smile. “That’s why we’re the best.”
Clearly, he’s not privy to my exact title and position. But God love Ryan for saying that. And thinking it. Because even though he gives me a hard time, I know that’s how he views me. He may have asked me to fly out here because of Kyle, but he never would have done that if he didn’t trust me with this stuff too.
“I’m scheduled to fly back out to London tonight, but—” he continues to talk about how he’s unable to delay his flight, and as I continue to listen to his musings, I shift in my seat, tugging on the end of my itchy-as-sin wool skirt. I’m desperately trying to cross my legs, which appears to be an impossible feat considering the hem is cinched tightly against my thighs that are now starting to sweat. Scooting around, I pull on it this way and that, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. God, this outfit is the worst.
“Are you all right?”
“Sorry?”
He looks amused, his finger sweeping back and forth against his bottom lip again to hide his smile. “Is there a problem with your chair?”
“Oh. No,” I say through a laugh. “I just hate this skirt.”
He laughs, which isn’t really what I was expecting from him. “Well, it’s rather fetching on you. But it did look like you were having some difficulty with it.”
“That obvious, huh?” I feel like I should be embarrassed by his observation, but I’m not. Maybe it’s his accent that absolves all rudeness.
“Just a touch, but no matter. Are you staying around in the city this evening?”
“I am. My flight leaves at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Brilliant.” He pulls a small white rectangle that resembles a business card out of his inside jacket pocket and lays it on the table at an angle, like he’s about to write on it. “I do have to fly back home tonight; otherwise, I’d take you out for dinner to celebrate, but as you’re here for another night, I’d like you to have dinner on me.”
He begins to write something on the card as I’m shaking my head. “Thank you very much, but that’s really not necessary.”
“I insist. You flew all the way out here.”
“Thank you. That’s very gracious of you.”
“And maybe next time our paths cross,” his eyes flicker up to mine, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll be able to take you out properly. But until then, this will have to do.”
I tilt my head, checking him out without really checking him out. He’s hot. And I think he’s hitting on me. Normally, I’d be interested. But to be honest, all I’ve thought about today is Kyle. That aside, this dude needs to lighten up a peg or two. He’s as stiff as it gets, and I have to wonder if that’s how he is at home. You know, if he’s the type that starches and presses his underwear and socks. Never mind, I take that back. He’s the type that pays someone to do that for him.
No ring on his finger, either, but he’s the epitome of a catch.
Ryan may kill me for this later, but I can’t help myself. And besides, he already pretty much asked me out on a date, so I think it’s safe to say that pretenses are done.
“Can I ask you a totally inappropriate, definitely rude, and possibly insulting question?”
His eyes glance up at me, pen paused mid-line. “Um. Yeah, sure. Alright.”
“Are all English men this formal?”
He laughs loudly, angling himself back in his chair and rocking once for good measure. “No. Definitely not. Are you implying that I am?” He points to his chest with mock indignation. He’s teasing me now. I think I like this guy.
“A little.” I shrug sheepishly. “But not in a bad way,” I amend quickly. “I mean, this is a business meeting and all. But you’re young and attractive. I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to you than this.” I wave my hand around the office.
He’s smiling. Really big. I’m a bit relieved that he finds me entertaining; otherwise, I could have just blown a multi-million-dollar deal, and then Ryan really would kick my ass. Or have Luke do it, which is not necessarily worse, just more annoying.
“Miss Sullivan, much the way you’re wearing an uncomfortable skirt that does not fit who you seem to be, this,” he waves his hand around the office much the way I did, “as you say, is just window dressing. There is a lot more to me than business and expensive suits.” He finishes writing something and stands, white card in hand. I do the same until we’re both facing each other.
“I hope we meet again, Claire. I’ll be quite honest with you, I was not looking forward to coming back to New York for many reasons.” His eyes turn sad and downcast before coming back to me with a small smile. “But you’ve somehow managed to turn all that around. I hope you enjoy dinner tonight. Thank you again for a lovely afternoon.”
I don’t even make it to the waiting town car before my phone is blowing up in my hand with Ryan’s special ringtone screaming obscenities at me. “How’s it going on the west coast,
papa bear?”
“I don’t know whether to fire your ass or promote you.”
I sigh. Apparently, Mr. Masters is a tattletale. “Neither?”
“Jesus, Claire. Do you really not have any sort of filter on that mouth of yours?”
I slip into the warm car, nearly splitting the damn skirt in the process. Nodding a hello to the driver, we set off into traffic.
“You knew that when you met me, Ryan, and he didn’t seem too put off, considering he asked me out for dinner.”
Ryan sighs. “I know. He said he was, and I’m quoting here, ‘quite taken’ with you. So thanks for doing an awesome job. But next time, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
I laugh, shaking my head in the back of the car as we head back uptown. He would sound more convincing if he had even an ounce of edge to his voice.
“I’ll try, but no promises.”
“How was dinner with Kyle? Did he seem okay?”
Did he seem okay? I don’t know. I think so? Maybe?
“Dinner with Kyle was great. He took me to some Asian Fusion place that made unbelievable spring rolls and served large glasses of wine.”
Ryan sighs again, but it’s the relieved sort this time. “Good. Thanks for doing that. I worry way too much about him and it would piss him off if he knew I asked you to have dinner with him.”
“It was my pleasure. But seriously, what’s going on with him?”
Ryan groans, and I can practically see him running a hand through his black hair and pushing up the bridge of his equally dark glasses. “Nothing. He’s fine. He just works too damn much, and I miss him. That’s all this is.”
Liar. I really want to say that to him, but I don’t think it will get me very far. Besides, last night when I asked Kyle to tell me something, he told me about work. So maybe I’m reading more into this than I should?
Ryan and I talk the entire ride through traffic. We go over everything that needs to be done, who I need to email and call, the expense report that needs updating, and blah blah blah. I stop caring as we pull up in front of the hotel. He knows I’m on top of all of it.
“I have to go,” I say to Ryan. “I just got back to the hotel. I’ll call you when I land tomorrow, unless you need me before that.”
“Sounds like a plan. Be safe.”
“Always.”
I hop out of the car without waiting on the driver or the valet, because I’m just a bit too impatient. Kyle is leaning with his back against the building, suit-clad arms folded across his broad chest and one foot is propped up behind him, pressed against the stone wall. The sight of him makes my insides squirm and my heart go pitter-patter. He’s giving me a crooked grin, watching me watch him. And eyeing my stupid skirt with amusement as I walk toward him.
“How was your day, cupcake?”
“Not too bad, baby cakes.” I tilt my head, taking him in. “I didn’t think I was going to see you this early, if at all. Didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be available until at least eight?”
“I did,” he confirms. “But I decided you’re worth breaking the rules for.”
Wow. What the hell do I say to that? I know how it makes me feel. Incredible.
“I’m glad you did,” I tell him honestly, because saying anything else would be a lie. “I have a coupon for a free dinner at some swanky place in the village. Wanna join me?”
He pushes off the wall with his foot, standing tall and gorgeous over me. My eyes glide up until they meet his and for the life of me, I can’t stop my smile. Neither can he. So, we stand there, smiling at each other with high school giddiness mixed with very grown-up lust swimming between us.
“Lead on, beautiful.”
8
Claire
* * *
For the past two years, my life has been a sort of suspended reality. I graduated college and then everything—and I do mean everything—changed. I realize that’s not an uncommon phenomenon for people. Graduating college is one of those monumental life-altering events where you go from being an irresponsible child to an adult, expected to not only contribute to society, but make a difference as well.
And yeah, I had that going on too. But it wasn’t the same for me as it was for everyone else. For starters, I already had a job I loved, working for Ryan. By some miracle, he and I just clicked, and it worked. He wanted to keep me, pay me well, and make sure I was happy. I love that about him.
I also had a place to live, and when Ryan decided to jump ship and move out to Seattle, I was excited by the prospect of starting over. Of running away.
But here’s the thing with running away. It never works.
Sure, you might be able to momentarily escape, but shit always has a way of catching up to you. Of finding you when you finally stop to take a breath. Or when you’re just comfortable enough to let your guard down. It’s there. As crushing and debilitating as it was before you ran.
I don’t regret my decision to leave Philadelphia and come to Seattle.
In fact, I think it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself other than tear off the slip on the handwritten advertisement for a personal assistant that was pinned to the bulletin board in my college library. So low-tech for Ryan Grant now that I think on it.
I had no real ties to Philadelphia. My dad lives in DC now, and I never see him. My mom lives in St. Louis, and I don’t see her much either. I have no real family bond, and whether my parents manufactured it to be so or whether I’m just a product of their lack of enthusiasm for me, I don’t know.
Even though I have no real ties to my family, I’m still related to them. I have their genes. Their blood. And despite the fact that I know it’s an irrational thought, I hate them for it. So, when I land at Sea-Tac and switch on my phone, I’m both surprised and apprehensive when I see I have a voicemail from both of my parents. Separately, of course, since they don’t live together or talk all that much.
I check my dad’s first, even though his came in after my mom’s. His voicemail is basic. Harsh. “Call me back,” it says in his clipped authoritative tone.
He can go fuck himself.
My mom’s is a different story, and while the plane comes in to park at the gate, my finger lingers over the screen, debating if I want to hear this or not. I realize she left this maybe five minutes after I shut my phone off. About six hours ago. I decide it’s better to do it surrounded by a plane full of people rather than on my own. So, I hit that button, but the instant I do, with her voice coming through my speaker, I regret that decision.
“Claire,” she says in that detached, depressed cadence of hers. I hear it in the slight hint of a warble at the end of my name. And I know what’s coming before she even continues on. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too much for me. Everything about this life is too much for me, and it’s only going to get worse. It’s time. I wish I had been a better mother to you. I wish I had had the patience and aptitude. Now I can only hope my life will not become yours.”
The message ends just like that, and I can’t even move the phone away from my ear as I shut my eyes and hold my breath. All around me, I hear things. People talking and laughing and the plane making that ping noise that tells you that the seat belt sign is off and that we’re at the gate.
I can get up and leave, but I absolutely cannot find the strength to do so.
“Excuse me,” a hesitant voice says an untold amount of time later. “Ma’am? We’re at the gate now, you can disembark.”
My eyes open, and I realize I’m alone on the plane, staring at the cautious flight attendant. I don’t respond, I just get up, grab my purse, and get the hell out of there. I’m in a fog. The world is going on all around me, and I’m not a part of it. I’m outside my body staring in, so I go through the motions like the disembodied person I am.
I get to baggage claim, find the carousel designated for my flight and freeze when I see him. Ryan Grant is standing there, watching the bags parade around on the black conveyer belt, no doubt searching
for mine. I didn’t know he was picking me up. I took a cab to the airport. And it’s Tuesday. Him being here doesn’t make sense.
Unless . . .
I’m half-tempted to keep going and not bother with my suitcase or Ryan. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see the look I know will be there or feel what I’m going to feel when I see it.
Damn it, Ryan, do you always have to be so fucking considerate?
Just as I’m about to spin around and head to the electronic doors, he spots me, and his eyes soften as a tentative smile curls up the corner of one side of his mouth. Ryan towers over everyone, but makes no move to come to me. He just stands there, watching me.
I don’t move to him either, because I don’t think I can do this. I can’t accept what I know he’s going to say. I can’t accept what I heard in my mother’s message.
Goodbye.
I knew this would happen. I knew she’d do this eventually. She told me she would when she was originally diagnosed, and I guess I’m not really all that surprised. But I can’t handle it. I can’t handle that sort of fate. And suddenly, I’m angry. Not at her necessarily, but at myself. Because I let my guard down with Kyle in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to since she was diagnosed, knowing her circumstance could be my own.
Ryan looks away from me, follows the belt for another moment until he spots my bag and lifts it up effortlessly. I wait as he raises up the handle and walks toward me, rolling my small suitcase that looks almost comical against his large frame, behind him.
“No,” is all I can say when he reaches me, because I see what he’s about to do and I can’t let him. The loving bastard ignores my plea and grabs me, pulling me hard into his chest, and all I can do is suck in deep breath after deep breath of his familiar scent.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I start to lose it. Fuck him. Fuck him for doing this to me in the middle of the goddamn airport. Fuck my mother for deciding that she was done and telling me over the phone. Fuck my father for being a cold, heartless bastard. Just fuck everyone.
