by Lila Monroe
Weird bad.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach dropping.
“This program is supposed to be a revenue stream to expand the business. I’m not running a charity.”
“Oh, I know!” I say quickly. “And we’ll still charge fees, but I thought this would be a great way to save our clients money on clothes and other services while developing community partnerships.”
Her weird look isn’t going away. In fact, it’s turning into a deep frown. “Gemma,” she says, leaning forward, her elbows on her desk. “We have investors who are expecting returns. Big ones. This project is to highlight our premier partner companies. I’m expecting each client to bring in four-figure fees and commissions from purchasing items from our featured suppliers. Multiple suppliers. That’s why we’re doing the whole lifestyle thing. To maximize the revenue we can take from each client.”
It takes a moment to process what she’s saying. “We’ve never taken commissions before,” I say slowly.
“Exactly,” Serena nods. “Which isn’t a sustainable business model long term. But if we have full market penetration with each client: wardrobe, interior design, booking spa and salon appointments, we get a cut of each. Imagine the possibilities!”
She’s obviously excited, but I’m having trouble catching that excitement, because what was supposed to be a cool way to treat clients and help them with all their needs now feels like a money grab. I push my papers across the desk toward her. “I think you’ll see that with my plans—”
“No, Gemma,” Serena says, interrupting me. “This isn’t what I wanted. I just don’t understand,” she adds, frowning. “I thought you wanted this job.”
“I did! I do!” I take a breath. “I … just think I misunderstood the vision of the program.”
Serena sighs and nods. “Why don’t you take the weekend and rethink your pitch? Add in some projections for commissions. Oh, and also I want you to strategize on some corporate partnerships.”
“Corporate partnerships?” I echo.
She nods. “That’s where the real money is. Bring me ideas on who you can approach. If companies can pay us to recommend them to our clients, we can build some really profitable relationships.”
“But, what if they’re not the best solution?” I can’t stop myself from asking. “Would we really recommend companies who don’t do the best job? Our clients trust us,” I add.
She gives a dismissive laugh. “Of course they do. And we’ll only be working with the best, most high-end companies, so don’t worry about quality. No mom-and-pop shops. They’ll be worth every dollar.”
She takes my silence as agreement. “Good,” she says, smiling at me. “We’ll try this again on Monday when I’m not jet-lagged. OK?”
I nod, pushing back from the desk, pasting a smile on my face that I’m really not feeling. “Thanks, Serena.”
Except, I’m suddenly not so sure I have anything to be thankful for.
* * *
I head back to my desk to get started on the new pitch, but I find myself staring blankly at the computer screen.
This job is not at all what I signed up for.
Too restless to sit at my desk, I leave work early and head to the shelter. Cynthia’s office is empty, I follow the voices down to the room where we keep the clothes. It’s been a while since Zach and I brought all those boxes over, so I brace myself to see empty racks, thinking I’ll need to start sourcing donations again.
When I get to the open doorway, I stop in my tracks.
The racks are stuffed full. The tables against the walls are piled with clothes. Underneath are bins filled with shoes and bags.
Cynthia and Trina—another shelter employee—look up and smile. “Gemma!” Trina exclaims. “I hope you’re here to help!”
“Sure,” I say, starting toward the table. “Where did all this come from?”
“It’s been non-stop all week,” even the usually stoic Cynthia is smiling. “And not just clothing, either. We’ve had toiletries, school supplies, even kitchenware, too.”
“That app is just a miracle-worker,” Trina agrees.
“What app?” I ask in confusion.
She pulls out her phone and holds it out toward me. “Second Chances! It connects charities with people looking to donate. We can make a wish-list, calling for supplies, and people just print off the labels and send them in.”
“Whoa, seriously?” I take a closer look. “That is so cool.”
Cynthia pauses. “You didn’t know about it?”
“No,” I say. “But I’ve been sort of … busy.” Wallowing in sadness and ice cream.
“But … It’s your friend’s app,” Cynthia frowns. “He was here last week and asked if we could be his beta testers. I thought you sent him.”
“Wait, Zach?” I stop dead.
She nods. “I have to say, it’s refreshing. We don’t usually get people investing time and money into the system. I’ve already heard from a number of other shelters in the area who want to sign up, it could really revolutionizing our donations.”
“Wow,” I manage to murmur, and busy myself helping them fold and sort.
“Want to stay for dinner?” Trina asks. “It’s pizza night.”
“No, I should get going. Thanks though.”
“Say hi to Zach for us!”
I head out, walking to clear my head. I’m so proud of Zach for coming up with this amazing idea, but it makes me think about my own skills, too—and what I’m using them for. Because I’m good at my job—at making people look and feel good. Changing their lives for the better. The transformation part is what I love.
But now, the new job feels like it’s not that at all. It’s feels so…corporate. Misleading, even. I don’t want quotas and projections and to have to answer for why my monthly revenue is too low because Client A didn’t need all those things and I refused to sell them to her. We shouldn’t be pushing expensive stuff on our clients, not if we want them to trust us, or make the choices that are right for them. Some of my clients have been happiest in thrift store outfits, or Target accessories. Am I supposed to shove them towards Gucci now? Or, worse, not even take their business at all.
It doesn’t feel right, and the more I think about it, the more the pit in my stomach grows.
But I fought so hard for this promotion. I sacrificed my relationship with Zach to win at all costs. I can’t just walk away from it now.
Can I?
My phone rings with a call, interrupting my thoughts. “Hey Zoey,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Gems!” she yells into the phone, sounding frantic. “Where are you?”
“On my way home from the shelter. What’s wrong? Another food truck emergency?”
“I need you, stat!” Then she blurts out an address and once I repeat it back to her, hangs up without an explanation.
According to Siri, it’s not far, so I change course, powerwalking to find her. But when I get to the address, it doesn’t exist. The street number she gave me is forty-seven, but there’s a forty-five and a forty-nine on either side of an alley.
Shit. Did she tell me the wrong place?
I look around. It’s dark and creepy, not the kind of place I want to hang out in, especially by myself. I take a few tentative steps into the alleyway.
“Zoey? Helloooooo?”
Man, I hope there isn’t an axe murderer down here.
Suddenly, the lights flip on: lanterns are strung between the buildings, and under them is a cute bistro table set for two, with white linens and a vase of roses.
What the hell?
Then a three-piece mariachi band steps from the shadows and starts to play.
I look around wildly. Am I on some kind of YouTube prank show? What is Zoey doing?
Then I realize, the song they’re playing is weirdly familiar.
Pretty Woman.
It can’t be …
My heart stops. I almost don’t want to hope, but when I turn around, there
he is.
Zach.
And he’s got a smile on his face.
26
Gemma
My breath catches in my chest. Zach looks so good—clean-shaven, dressed in non-tomato-crushing pants and a slim, black button-down, open at the neck. I recognize the clothes from the box I left at his door.
“I’m guessing there was no big food truck emergency?” I start, feeling nervous, but excited at the same time.
He grins. “Zoey was cool enough to play along.”
“She was in on this?”
“Only to help me orchestrate,” he says. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not,” I say because how could I be? He’s set up the perfect romantic scene, right down to the wine chilling in a bucket, and a tarp hiding the trash cans.
Does this mean he doesn’t hate me anymore?
“I’m glad you came.” Zach’s voice is quiet. Sincere.
My heart beats double-time.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt. “I don’t know what Arielle said, but you have to know, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. And I definitely didn’t, you know, start our relationship to win the bet!”
“I know,” Zach says slowly, and a huge weight lifts. “And I owe you an apology, too.”
“No, Zach—“
“Please, let me get this out.” he interrupts. I fall silent. “I’m sorry for comparing you to Lisa. That was completely unfair. I shouldn’t have … well, you know my history and I guess I’m sensitive, about being good enough. All that old bullshit. So, when Arielle told me about the bet …”
“It got out of hand,” I can’t stop myself from piping up. “I didn’t realize, when we started, just where it would lead. And I know it’s no excuse, but I never meant to change you. I was only trying to help!”
“I know.” He smiles. “I get it now. I read your letter,” he adds, and a flush. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”
“It’s OK. I probably deserved it.”
Zach shakes his head. “You didn’t. Not by a long shot. You brought me back, Gemma. I was … lost. You made me want to be me again.”
I have to swallow back the lump in my throat, because I can tell he means it.
“So if you’re sorry, and I’m sorry. Does this mean …?” I almost don’t want to say it in case all this is an elaborate fake-out, but then Zach gives me a smile, and I know, everything is right again.
He closes the distance between us, and pulls me into his arms.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, and finds my lips for a kiss.
Yes.
It’s everything I’ve been dreaming about. I part my lips and taste him, our tongues tangling as the kiss deepens.
And then the music starts up again. I pull back, laughing.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say, looking around. “This is hands down the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“I knew I had a lot to live up to,” he grins. “What with all those movies you watch.”
“Real life is better,” I assure him. “So much better.”
“Well, in that case …” He holds out his hand, his eyes full of sexy emotion. “Dance with me?”
He doesn’t have to ask twice. I rest my head on his shoulder, loving the feel of being back in his arms.
Where I belong.
27
Gemma
Two weeks later
I wake up to the beep of the alarm, and soft kisses on my neck and shoulder. I yawn, nestling back against Zach as he hits snooze and spoons me from behind.
I can think of worse ways to wake up.
Also a lot of great ones. Many that we’ve tried in the past two weeks of waking up together. I could never tire of all the ways. I mean, who needs an alarm when you have a guy like Zach?
And he’s always up in the morning.
I turn to face him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Mmmm …”
He gives me a sleepy grin . “Good morning.”
“Great morning,” I correct as I press my hips into his. He hums as he kisses my neck, sucking gently on the skin just under my collarbone. I arch against him happily, reaching to tease his already-hard cock. “You’re better than an alarm clock,” I joke—until the feel of his mouth on my breast makes me gasp. He sucks my nipple into a stiff peak, sliding a hand between my thighs.
I moan.
“Yes?” he teases.
“Yes, please.” I manage, already panting.
He reaches for a condom and moves into position above me. I grip his shoulders, and pull him closer, loving the slide of our bodies, and fuck, the thick friction as he drives inside.
“Zach …” I moan, bucking against him, but instead of taking me fast, he pauses, braced above me.
“What’s the magic word?” he asks, a wicked look in his eyes.
“More.”
He shakes his head.
“Harder?”
“Try again.”
I make a noise of frustration. “Now!”
Zach chuckles, showing no sign of giving me what I need, so I reach out suddenly and swipe his arms from under him—rolling us so that I’m on top.
I sink down on him, taking him all the way inside, and groan.
Fuck, that feels good.
“God, Gemma …” Zach grips my hips, with a glazed expression on his face. “Don’t stop.”
“No way,” I gasp, starting to thrust against him. “Never. Going. To. Stop.”
I find my rhythm, and then there’s no more words. Nothing but the grind of our bodies, and the tension rising higher, and fuck, the way it feels to just let go, knowing he’s right there with me. Knowing, I’m safe here in his arms.
Mine.
He surges up into me, hitting just right, and I climax with a cry, holding tight as the pleasure takes me over. Zach groans my name, and then he’s coming too, rearing up and burying his face in my chest as I feel his body shake.
We collapse back on to the bed with a sigh. “Wait a minute,” I say, squinting at the alarm. “It’s only seven. We’re not meeting the guys until nine. Why did the alarm go off so soon?”
“I set it early.” Zach grins. “So I could do this, and not make us late.”
I laugh. “Evil!” I protest. “Also, kind of genius.”
“Why thank you.” Zach smirks. “You know, we’re making such good time, we might even have time for another round …”
* * *
We shower and get ready. Which, yes, takes twice as long as it should under the suds—and includes another bonus orgasm for me.
Unicorns all over.
Until I read a work email from Serena, reminding me about an investor meeting first thing Monday morning.
“I wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.” I say reluctantly, tugging on my blouse.
“Serena’s still pushing the luxury partnerships?” he asks.
I nod. “ She’s still all about revenue. I mean, I get it, Styled isn’t a charity, but still … It’s not what I like to be doing.”
“Which is?”
“The consultations,” I reply immediately. “Helping people transform their lives. Really working with someone, to make a change.” I pause, “I’ve actually been thinking of going out on my own. Working freelance, as a stylist, so I can pick my own clients.”
Zach looks surprised. “That’s a great idea!”
“I don’t know …” I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a pretty cutthroat industry. I don’t know if I could find enough clients, or earn enough to get by …”
“Are you kidding?” he grins, pulling me against his chest. “If anyone could start a kickass stylist business, it’s you.”
I laugh. “You might be a little biased.”
“Nope,” he says, landing a kiss on my nose. “I know it for a fact. Just look how good of a job you did on me.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so,” Zach insists. “And I bet everyone you’ve worked with would be
willing to refer you. That’s a bunch of clients, right there. Plus, Martin and I can put the word out on our alumni network, there are tons of clueless tech guys with cash to spare who’d love someone making over their lives. And Brody’s clients, at the gym. And—“
“OK, OK!” I cut him off, laughing. “I’ll think about it. And thank you,” I drop a kiss on his lips. “For believing in me.”
“I’m just returning the favor,” he says with a wink.
* * *
We head over to the park, where Zoey is all set up in her usual spot.
“You brought puppies!” I greet Eve, and then the trio of fluffballs at her feet. Zach has them on their backs in seconds, competing for a belly-rub.
“You sure have a way with the ladies.” Brody cracks.
“Don’t you forget it, smart ass,” Zach says. “Are you ordering a waffle or are you full of smoothie?”
Brody clears his throat. “I’ve actually been reading that an all-liquid diet is really bad for your health. I’m getting extra bacon,” he says, going over to Zoey’s order window.
“I guess that’s the end of the smoothie girl,” Zach laughs.
“OHMIGODARETHOSEPUGPUPPIES?” I hear and then Julie is kneeling on the grass beside me, making grabby hands for one of the pups. I hand the littlest one over and she smushes him into her chest, making snorty baby talk at him.
“So apparently we’re getting a puppy,” Martin sighs.
“Who wants to do another escape room tonight?” Julie asks. “I just got a groupon for a new place, it’s supposed to be super-creepy.”
“Is that supposed to be a tempting offer?” I tease.
She laughs. “Come on, if we get enough people, we can do girls against guys, and really whip their asses.”
“I’m in.”
“Me too,” Zach agrees. “Brody?”
I look around.
“There he is,” Julie says, smirking. “Falling in love with that girl doing yoga over there.”
Sure enough, he’s leaning in, helping demonstrate a Chatarunga.
“Fuuuuuck,” Zach groans. “Here we go again. He’ll be kitted out in LuluLemon before the end of the week.”
