by Haley Oliver
But it isn't Owen's voice, the one I had been expecting to hear. "Hello Ms. King, this is Marcella with human resources," a capable female voice states. "I'm just calling to let you know that we need you to come by Sway International this evening to tie up a few loose ends. We'll need to see you in person. Please be by around seven this evening. Thank you, and we look forward to seeing you."
"Well," I say to Lucy as the call hangs up. Lucy lifts her ears and looks at me from the other room. "Guess they didn't really leave me with a choice, did they?"
Of course, I know I don't have to go and tend to whatever mystery business or paperwork the firm has left for me. I can have them send it to me through the agency. Still, I'm not going to be the type of person who runs and hides forever, I think as I dress myself to go out again. Besides, the odds of Owen being there, or of me running into him, at this hour are slim.
My emotions war with my stomach and my brain. One minute I feel completely ill and pace back and forth from my bedroom to the bathroom, and the next I'm coaxing myself with positive messages of confidence. I take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out through my mouth. You've got this, Amanda. You’ve done enough crying and feeling sorry for yourself. Now, get your behind out there and stand tall.
I leave the apartment, patting Lucy's head on my way out. I can do this. One more stop at Sway and it's over. I'll never see Owen again. My heart clenches, but I know it's for the best. We're from two different worlds.
As the Sway Investment building comes into view, I can feel my heart banging around inside my chest. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and take a deep breath. I see the back of Jane's head near the revolving entrance door. It's after 6:30. She must still be working. I don't know if I can handle conversing with her at the moment, so I wait. Maybe, I can wait it out until all the familiar faces have left the building and are on their way home. Well, that seems impractical, but I can linger on the sidewalk for a few more minutes, just to be safe.
My eyes lift to the digital marquee to see the time. I don't want to be too late. I see the DOW. And the NASDAQ. I watch the date scroll by, and then I see something so staggering, I have to wait for it to scroll around a second time, just to be certain I actually saw it. Am I dreaming? The date goes by, and then it comes again. I find myself reading the words aloud as they roll across the lit screen: "AMANDA KING, PLEASE COME TO THE ROOF."
I stand frozen like a statue. What is this? Could this be Owen's doing? No, of course not. Owen would never do something so blatant, so visible. Probably something Jane set up as a farewell from the secretarial pool. That would explain her hovering in the lobby. Definitely the work of Jane Fox. So much for getting in and out unseen.
"How long are you going to stand out there and keep him waiting, Mandy?" Jane's hands are on her hips, her ginger hair blowing about her face as she tries and fails to give me a stern look.
"Him?" No way.
"Get your cute little self up there and see for yourself." She smiles and hugs me as I pass.
I take the elevator to the top floor and find a service stairwell door propped open for me. I know it's for me because there's a lily tied to the handle with a sheer pink bow. I stop to study it for a long moment, then I reach out and undo it, taking the flower with me. I need something to cling to for support in my final, breathless moments ascending the stairs.
And besides, I always regretted throwing that beautiful bouquet away.
When I finally make it out to the roof, I gasp and nearly drop my flower.
The cool city air wafts through the doorway as the dusk fast approaches. It takes several minutes for my eyesight to adjust. I blink and then blink again. The scene set out before me is amazing.
At the dead center of the open roof, a candlelit dinner has been laid out. The silver glitters on a gorgeous lace tablecloth. A bouquet of lilies acts as the centerpiece to tie the scene together. I lift my hand to my mouth to smother a laugh when I see that the table has been set with two rolling desk chairs from downstairs.
Strings of twinkle lights dangle overhead and wink back at the flickering candle flames. It's like someone has plucked the stars from overhead and strung them like tinsel to set the scene. In the distance, a crescent moon just begins to appear in the darkening sky, closer to earth than I can ever remember seeing it. Then again, I don't know if I've ever looked out at the city from such a lofty vantage point.
A warm breeze blows from Hudson Bay, ruffling my hair around my shoulders. I didn’t think to brush it into my usual up-do before leaving the house. I didn’t think to dress for this, either. I'm standing here in blue jeans and a thin ivory-white blouse, half-untucked, gazing at the most romantic picture I've ever seen.
There’s only missing one thing. One person. But the culprit couldn't possibly be…?
How long are you going to stand out there and keep him waiting?
"Have I been Jane Fox'd?" I murmur to myself. I move closer to the table. I think I recognize the smell—Italian cuisine, freshly prepared—or delivered, rather. There's no mistaking the meal is from Lascas, considering I'm a regular there.
I hear muted footsteps behind me. I close the cover back over the platter and turn. I inhale sharply when I find Owen standing in the doorway. His hair is styled back neatly, and he's dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit. There's a small lily tucked in his breast pocket.
"Owen? Did you…?"
"I did," he agrees. He steps onto the roof and holds his left hand out to me. "Dance with me, Amanda?"
I go to him. A million questions are bubbling inside me like the effervescent champagne fizzing in twin glasses on the table, but I don't let them pass my lips. Whatever may come, I want to enjoy this moment.
I never want to forget the feeling of being in Owen's arms.
He pulls me into him and begins to sway. I think at first that there's no music—that we're dancing to a nonexistent tune or one imagined—but when I push to listen past my own pounding pulse, I hear the distant drifts of ghostly music. From the park, maybe? They often have live music at the gazebo by the pond.
"Owen…" I press my face into his chest. I'm struggling with what to say. I still can't be sure this isn't a dream. "I guess now is a good time to admit I wrote those memos," I mumble, laughing into the wedge of exposed skin. When I turn my face to the side, I see the lily blooming out of his pocket.
"I guess now is a good time to tell you I figured that out days ago," he chuckles.
"How did you know? When did you know?" I exclaim, lifting my chin to look up at him. He tucks his in turn and smiles down at me.
"I'm ashamed to say, it took me longer than it should have," he says. His warm breath gusts across my face, and I flush. I didn’t realize how close our lips are. "Forgive me?"
"Forgive you?" I half choke on a laugh. We stop dancing, and I draw back. "Owen, are you serious? I betrayed your trust completely. From day one—from the first day we met."
"You've been showing me who you are from the first day we met," he corrects gently. He raises a hand and lets it hover, hesitating. He then releases it to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind my ear.
"But Nicole—"
He hushes me with an exasperated exhale. "Let's not mention her name, shall we? I've already dealt with that woman. Believe me. She won't be harassing you anymore." He glances down at me. "I'd rather not talk about her right now, and I have an inkling you might feel the same."
"I might," I admit. "I just…can't understand why you aren't mad at me for lying to you."
"Did you ever lie to me?" Owen asks curiously. "Aside from the times you signed the note with a name that wasn't yours?"
"I…"
"I have a feeling that what you did was give me a glimpse into the heart and soul of an exquisitely beautiful woman. An irresistible woman."
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "But Owen, you didn't have to do all this to let me know I was forgiven." I gesture to the exorbitant fairy-lit backdrop. Mainly it's an ex
cuse to look away. My face is burning and feels positively scalded where his finger brushed against my cheek.
"Is that why you think I did it?" Owen sounds amused, but I refuse to turn back and look at him to take in his expression. It seems silly, considering how tightly I'm locked in his arms. I'm afraid of doing anything to draw his attention to our compromising position because I want it to continue. For just a little while longer, I want to feel wanted by Owen Ridgemont.
"Why, then?" I hazard the question, peeking back at him over my shoulder. Yep. He's wearing that cocky smirk, the one that comes so rarely, and always seems summoned at my expense. "You know what this looks like, right? With the scrolling text on the marquee and...everything?"
"What does it look like?" He squeezes me a little in his arms. I swear he makes my knees weak with the power of his eyes alone.
"It looks like..." My tongue sweeps the inside of my mouth, trying to find better words than the ones that immediately leap to mind. Owen is staring at my lips. "It looks like a date," I finally admit. "A real one. But I know how ridiculous that sounds."
"Why is it ridiculous?"
"Because…" He's still staring at my mouth, with that corner curl to his lips that makes his smile lines so prominent. "You date girls like...like She-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, and—"
"I'm tired of all that," Owen interrupts me. "Believe me, Amanda, when I say that I was tired of it before it even began."
I feel like every nerve is on fire, every atom singing, as he strokes the curve of my cheek. No accidental touch this time, no way to dismiss it as anything but deliberate. I tremble as I await what he'll say next.
"There's no one..." Overcome with feeling, Owen clears his throat. His eyes drop as he gathers himself, and I reach up impulsively to touch the hand that touches me. "There has been no one like you that I've met, not in my entire life. No one I've met who shares your kindness, your compassion. That's something I've never encountered."
"You should get out more," I whisper as I lean into his touch.
"I think you get out plenty for the both of us," he replies. He raises his eyes to fix me with an intense look, and I go still in his arms. There's something more, something he isn't telling me. "Amanda, I admit I saw you at the bistro the other night. If you're already dating someone, tell me now. Or don't tell me, it's none of my business." He clears his throat and shifts his weight, awkwardly, moving me with him. I don't think he realizes he's still holding me, and that this definitely isn't how most consultants conduct conversations with their secretaries. "But you'd spare me some embarrassment now if you..."
"I'm fully prepared to embarrass us both," I state. I reach up, take Owen's face in my hands, and pull him down to me. When our lips finally meet, it's like the New York City skyline ignites with fireworks. I can't be sure it doesn't. My eyes are sealed tight, my lips crushed against his, my heart in his hands.
Owen enfolds me in his arms. His left hand slides up my back to cup the curve of my neck, and I press myself against him. He kisses me, finally, passionately, there on the rooftop of Sway Industries, for all the world to see and no one at all to witness. It's private, perfect, and too long in the making. How did we avoid this collision for so long? How did it not happen that first moment I entered his office when our eyes met? All those times I adjusted his tie, or our hands brushed in an exchange of coffee?
Owen draws back with a gasp. I blink as I try to regain my bearings. He looks as lost in the moment as I feel, so it's probably a good idea to find something else to anchor my attention. I look at the lily in his breast pocket, but it dislodges itself and drops to the ground between us, unable to withstand any more eruptive affection. Owen bends to pick it up. "Better keep this somewhere safe," he mentions as he tucks it behind my ear. "I heard it's someone's favorite flower."
I laugh breathlessly. "You should have seen what I did to that poor bouquet."
"There are plenty more bouquets where that came from," Owen promises as he steers me toward the table. I'm glad his hand is in mine, and I'm glad he's taking charge. I feel a little weak kneed after that kiss.
We sit together on the roof of Sway Industries, enjoying the best meal I've ever eaten by candlelight. The traffic flows far below us, and the conversation flows between. Hours pass, and before I know it, Owen has slid his chair over to my side of the table. He drapes his arm over the back of my chair as we gaze out at the city together.
Epilogue
Six months later
I am stacking folder after folder into an empty file box, the fifth one I've packed in the last hour. Owen is in his office doing the same. As I stand and reach for the ceiling to stretch my back out, I catch a glimpse of him.
"For a man who shreds every single pertinent file I ever needed, you sure have a lot of stuff!" I tease.
We're packing to move Owen's fifth-floor office up to the seventh floor. Rather than head back to LA, he's decided to stay in New York and establish a new headquarters for his consulting firm here. The Sway brothers practically begged him to stay on as a part-time consultant. So, he'll keep the office in LA, but New York will now be his home.
Owen pokes his head around the corner of the doorjamb and grins. "Need any help with that?" He nods to the box I'm holding, and I shake my head. I set it down on the desk and move toward him, threading my arms around his shoulders. His warm hands settle on the curve of my waist. Standing together in his ransacked office at Sway, it still feels deliciously forbidden for him to have his hands on me…or his eyes. I still catch his eyes following me sometimes like he can't believe I'm real.
"Six months, and I still feel as though I'm walking in a dream," I murmur, letting my hands fall to his chest. I let them linger before I'm compelled to start adjusting the lapels of his suit out of habit. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll be awakened from this dream by a call from the temp agency."
"Let me assure you nothing about this is temporary." Owen catches my hands and presses a reverent kiss to my fingertips. My heart flutters as the firm softness of his lips marks me as his. Who knew that beneath his tough, no-nonsense work exterior, this man would have such a kind and tender heart? I guess it would be fair to say that I knew. The Owen Ridgemont who wrote me those memos is nothing like the one he presents to the world.
We stand together in his office at Sway, gazing out at the view of the city. Owen has his arm wrapped around my waist, and mine's around his. It feels so right to stand linked like this in contemplative silence. It's how we sometimes stroll together now down the park path by the pond while Lucy runs ahead of us, barking at and scattering ducks. I think I understand the unfettered joy she feels a bit better now.
"What are you thinking about?" Owen asks me quietly.
"My dog." I laugh at the absurdity and feel the reverberations of his own chuckle where our chests touch. "She loves you, you know that?"
"Does she?" Owen turns me in toward him again. I flush and look down at his tie. "I didn't realize."
"You knew." I sock him playfully in the chest. "Or do you need me to write it in a memo for you?"
"Something tells me we aren't talking about your dog anymore."
Six months in and we have already exchanged confessions of love. And no, it wasn't in a memo—we did it at the park. Owen surprised me by being the first to say it, even though the words had been bubbling up in me since before he found out Nicole wasn't the author of those memos.
I remember the fragrance of lilies, the soft, serious look in his steel-blue eyes. It's the same look I see as I gaze into his face now. I ease up slowly on my toes to press a loving kiss to his lips. I swear I can taste something lingering there, something unstated. There's an amused curl in the corners of his mouth when I pull back, almost as if he's silently laughing at a secret only he's privy to.
"What?" I ask suspiciously. I can't help the way my own smile suddenly mirrors his. "You're hiding something."
"I'm not," Owen replies. "Wanna go check out the new offices before we call it a day?"
"Allow me." Owen lifts the last box and walks it out into the hallway. I follow. I notice that the lights are out in Nicole's office down the hall. I haven't seen hide nor golden hair of hers since she kissed Owen in his office and he pushed her away (as I later learned). I wonder if she's gone on an extended vacation, or if she's simply avoiding being in the building when we're around. Maybe she's transferred to a different floor and I didn't get the memo.
But a memo is what I find waiting for me when we arrive at the new offices. "What's this?" I wonder aloud as I pick the folded piece of paper up. I turn, but Owen isn't behind me. Maybe he's gone back down to grab another box.
I turn back to the desk and unfold the piece of paper. Why are my hands shaking? Why is my heart thundering? Today's physical response is even more heightened than usual, and I used to get pretty excited reading Owen's memos before.
Because this piece of paper must be from Owen, right?
Amanda,
You are the love of my life. I know this absolutely and unequivocally.
I want you to have it in writing to always refer back to if, for any reason, I'm not around to tell you myself.
But I hope I'll always be around. I want to always be around. Always.
I want to soak in your smiles and your laugh, I want to be told when I'm wrong, and I want every minute of the rest of my life to be paired with a minute of yours.
Amanda, will you marry me?
P.S. Please.
I stare at the page, incredulous, even as my vision begins to blur and the words start running together. One line remains clear.
Amanda, will you marry me?
