“Now it makes sense that you said you understood when I told you I needed time to figure out my mind.”
“That’s exactly why. But by that night, I was losing my battle.” Alex smiled and stroked my hair, growing visibly calmer. “I decided that even if I couldn’t be with you, I could tell you how I felt. That’s why I picked that particular song. Then when Victor insulted you, all the pent-up energy I had been suppressing came out in that punch.” He grinned at me. “Or should I say ‘those punches’? That was when I knew we were both ready.”
“I’m honored. I don’t think a man has ever put that much thought into my feelings before.”
“I highly doubt that. If you’re right, they’ve all been fools.”
I snorted. “I won’t argue with you there. Not that there have been that many. I don’t date much.”
“What? You haven’t found your soul mate on Heart+Soul yet?” His eyes crinkled in the corners with amusement.
“Not exactly. My friends put me up to that, by the way.”
“Let me guess—it involved the word ‘Pookie.’”
I laughed. “It most certainly did.”
Alex’s fingertips traced lazy lines up and down my bicep. “Do I get to call you Pookie?”
“No. Not even if you give me a kidney. You can call me baby, sweetheart, lover, whatever you want—but not that. Hell, even sugar tits would be better than Pookie.”
“Wow, I never thought I’d be on a date with Mel Gibson.” He pretended to shiver. “I don’t really know what to do with that.”
I propped myself up on one arm, sliding up his body until our faces were level. “What about this?” I kissed him softly, tasting his lips and just barely catching his lower lip in my teeth. “Do you know what to do with that?”
In answer, he pulled me to him, tangling one hand in my hair and caressing my back and butt with the other. My mouth was just as hungry as his, our tongues dancing as we sought to quench a thirst so long denied. I pressed myself against him, savoring his warmth, seeking to get closer and aching for skin-to-skin contact. His lips pressed against mine with an urgency that betrayed his own desire, especially when he pulled back and slid his lips down my chin to the hollow of my throat. I lost myself in him, arching my back as he pulled down one of the straps of my tank top.
Just then, a loud boom, followed by several successive pops, startled us both, breaking the spell. We both turned toward the sound. Sparks of red and gold lit up the evening sky over the pier. Then a line of blue shot into the sky before exploding into a dozen points of light.
“Fireworks,” I breathed. When I glanced at Alex, he wore a smug smile, and I shoved him. “You knew about this, didn’t you? But how? It’s after Labor Day.”
“It pays to have friends who work for the nonprofit that runs the pier.”
“Is that how you got the boat too?”
He waited for a gaggle of screaming, undulating gold firecrackers to explode before answering. “No, that was old-fashioned commerce.”
He pulled me back into his arms, and we watched the remainder of the show in silence punctuated only by the occasional “oh” and “ah” as we reverted to childhood beneath the glittering, dancing lights. Once, a particularly loud boom made me jump, and his arms closed protectively around me.
When it was all over, we lay in a silence, not unlike after a night of passion, listening to one another’s heartbeats.
“Can we stay like this forever?” I asked.
“Mmmm,” he murmured into my hair. “Fine by me.”
A few minutes later, his phone beeped, stirring us both from our reveries.
Alex grunted as he sat up to silence it, still holding me. “How does time go by so fast?”
I rubbed my face sleepily. “Oh, that’s right. We have a curfew.”
“Well, we don’t, but the boat does. Are you up for a little more adventure?”
I smiled at him. “Somehow I doubt you could top what’s happened so far even if you tried.”
“Milady, is that a challenge? If so, I accept.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November
Alex was already seated on my gray microfiber couch when I breezed in the door, announcing, “Honey, I’m home!” peeling off my coat, and kicking off my heels.
Alex looked up from the papers he was grading and kissed me. “Hello to you too. How was your day?”
“Meh. It was fine. Yours?”
Alex’s hands came around my shoulders, and he kneaded them without me even having to ask. “I’ve had better. I could use a glass of wine with you, though.”
I hopped up, heading toward the kitchen. “Say no more. What made your day rough?”
“Two interminable hours in conference with Dean McAllister. Need I say more? He was complaining about Nick, bemoaning that you were abandoning us. Honestly, you were much more on top of things, and you have unique ideas. Nick is just—” He struggled to find the correct word.
“An ass? Lazy? I could go on if you’d like.” I pulled on the cork of an already-open bottle of Shiraz, and it opened with a satisfying pop.
“No, I think you’ve about covered it. He’s more interested in schmoozing than being a coordinator.”
Red liquid flowed into two glasses as I tipped the bottle over them. “I’m sure he loves rubbing elbows at the special events. I’ve always thought he missed his calling as a fundraiser—or maybe even a politician. The man could convince a miser to part with his last penny.”
Alex laughed. “See, that’s the problem. He’s so busy chatting people up at these things that he can’t be bothered to be our gofer. That’s what we need him for. We have our own bamboozler.”
I carried two glasses back to the couch, offered one to him, set mine on the glass coffee table, and snuggled in next to Alex. “There shouldn’t be much for him to do this month. Your professors are coordinating your National Novel Writing Month activities, right? Maybe this is the perfect time to tame him.”
“And how do you suggest I do that? A whip and a chair? He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Alex said, taking a long swallow of wine.
“Tell me about it. He should respect your wishes and methods as a client though. If he doesn’t, you need to talk to Laini.”
“I think the dean is going to. What does that mean for us if they replace him?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think they will, at least not right away. He’s just now officially your rep, so she’ll be lenient for a while. He’ll get a verbal warning first. If I know Nick, he’ll shape up for a while then backslide when he thinks no one is paying attention. You may have to keep on top of him.”
Alex sighed. “If I wanted to babysit, I would have hired an intern. Can’t we just have you back for the next six months?”
“Well, I can’t date clients if I’m managing their accounts.” I sat up, snaking an arm around him. “Can you wait six more months for this?”
I kissed his lips, leaving a matching trail of kisses down to his collarbone then to his bellybutton, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as I went. My eyes flicked up to his, and I let them fill with longing and desire. His pupils dilated, and he readjusted me in his lap so that I was straddling his hips. I slid my skirt up over my hips, giving him a glimpse of the lacy thong beneath.
“I know I can’t,” I purred as I nipped his earlobe.
Alex pulled off his shirt. “No, you’re right. I’ll put up with him if I know this is what I’ll be coming home to.”
“Every single night.”
The next morning, Laini steered me into her office after our weekly staff meeting. Once she had taken her place behind her desk, she fixed me with a stern look that made it clear we were not going to be discussing upcoming writing assignments as I had expected.
“I had a most unsettling conversation with Dean McAllister last evening.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Oh?”
“Yes, ‘oh.’” She laced her fingers together on the desk. “He told me at length, and wit
h more than a little color, of his displeasure with Nick Zarrino.” She was silent as though she expected me to speak.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“You trained him, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I still didn’t know what she was driving at.
“Then the dean’s displeasure is just as much of a reflection on you as it is on Nick. I will speak with him, but you need to correct his behavior. I must say I am highly disappointed in you, Annabeth.” She was looking at me like a disapproving schoolteacher chiding a student.
I would not let Nick do this to me. I would not be a victim of his games. I summoned all my courage, balling my hands into fists at my sides, and took a deep breath. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s fair for you to blame me for Nick’s missteps. I trained him as carefully as I could, but he is a grown man. I can’t be held responsible for his choices. If he blatantly ignores what I’ve shown him, that’s on him. I am not his mother, nor am I his boss. If you expect me to act in that role, then promote me. Give me the power I need to put him in line.”
Laini considered me, sliding her glasses down to the tip of her nose. For a while I thought she might fire me then and there, then her expression softened. “Be careful what you wish for, my dear. For now, go and talk to him, and I’ll do the same.” Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up. “Yes, Angela?” She motioned with a wave for me to leave.
I was shaking as I closed her door behind me. I paused to catch my breath, then I straightened my plaid skirt. At one time, I would have hidden in my cube for the rest of the day, mortified that Laini had called me to the carpet unjustly, but not now. I was determined to use this frustration-born adrenaline to put Nick in his place.
I didn’t even bother to knock before bursting into his office and slamming the door shut.
At first he was startled into silence, pushing back from his computer to face me in his chair. “Annabeth, I always dreamed one day you’d burst in and take me in this office, but I didn’t expect it to be today.” He adjusted his tie as though that was exactly what he expected me to do.
“Shut it, Zarrino.” I towered over him, taking advantage of our relationship to get right in his face. “Your childish insistence on following your own whims has cost me respect it took me three years to build. Do you have any idea how it feels to be dressed down for something you did simply just because I trained you? Well, that will not”—I emphasized the word with a shake of my finger—“happen again. Do you understand me?”
Nick stared at me, open-mouthed and unblinking like a fish.
“Here’s the deal—Dean McAllister wants you fired.” So I was exaggerating a little. Maybe the fear of unemployment would straighten him up. “The only thing that saved your ass is that you’re new and we can’t terminate you right away simply because you aren’t living up to the client’s expectations.”
“I—what did I do?” Nick spluttered.
I leaned back from him, crossing my arms. “Apparently you spend too much time chewing the fat with guests at the events and too little time being available to our clients. Laini will be talking with you later, but I’ll give you a little piece of advice. From now on, consider yourself an intern, a lackey, because that’s the crux of your job. You do whatever the clients need you to do. Volunteer doesn’t show up? You fill in. Speaker spilled coffee on his notes? Hand him the fresh set you just happen to have. If the mic isn’t working, find someone to fix it. Get the picture? You aren’t the head of philanthropy or one of the boys. And when you’re in this office, you are the go-between who relays information from us to them and vice versa, nothing more. The sooner you get that through your head, the longer you’ll have a job.”
I headed toward the door, keeping an eye on him. Nick opened and closed his mouth a few times, but before he could formulate a response, I was leaning over his desk.
“And one more thing,” I said. “If you ever, ever get me in trouble again, I swear you will regret it. If I go down, you’re going with me. So shape up, or find another doorstep to darken because no one here has time for your bullshit. This isn’t college anymore.”
“How goes it?” Alex kissed my temple after he closed the door to his Hyde Park apartment one cold November evening about two weeks later.
We were practically living together already. I had half his closet space and rarely went home, especially now that National Novel Writing Month was consuming all of my waking hours.
Tearing my eyes away from my laptop, I smiled at him, watching him unwind a bright blue scarf from around his neck. It had been my “just because” gift a few weeks before. “Slowly. But I only have another five hundred words to make my daily word count.”
“Does that mean you’re caught up?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Hardly. At this rate, I need to write two thousand words a day in order to win.”
Alex hung his coat in the closet and leaned back on the closed door. “I still don’t understand the fascination with writing fifty thousand words in one month.”
“It’s fun.”
He made a derisive noise. “You haven’t looked like you were having fun since the sparkle of the first few days wore off.”
I rolled my eyes, not wanting to admit he was right. “Fine. It’s a challenge.”
“It sounds like torture to me.”
“You’ve been around enough writers to know we’re all a little crazy.”
“True enough.” Alex ambled over to me, wrapped his arms around me, and read over my shoulder. “So this is another Millie mystery, right?”
“Yeah. In the first one, we got to know her world and saw her work with Dean O’Banion’s gang. Now she’s caught Capone’s attention. The only problem is she kinda likes the guys on the north side, so she’s conflicted. By the end of this book, she’ll have made her choice as to where her loyalties lie.”
“You know the North Side Gang really only held power until the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. If she’s going to get with anyone on the north side, you’re going to have to play that very carefully so you don’t end up with Capone having to whack her in the end.”
I opened my mouth to object, but then I realized he was right. “Crap.” The screen blurred as I thought through the whole plot. “What if the whole thing is set up wrong?” I looked at him for some sign of reassurance. “I’m already thirty-seven thousand words in. I can’t abandon it now.” I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling on it as I went. “What am I going to do?”
Alex squatted so that his face was level with mine. “You’re going to finish writing your story. You know better than anyone how much stories evolve as you write them. There may be snags now, but they’ll be gone by the time you’re ready for anyone to read this. Let your characters tell you how it’s going to work. They haven’t let you down so far, have they?”
I hugged him, burying my head in his shirt collar as tears of fear and frustration ran down my cheeks. “What would I do without you?”
He didn’t answer, only chuckled.
I pulled back, shooing him toward the living room. “Now get out and let me write.”
“Have you eaten? Silly question—of course you haven’t. I’ll make us some dinner. How does stir-fry sound?”
I inhaled, imagining the pungent scent of sesame oil and ginger. “Lovely.”
Alex disappeared into the kitchen and rattled pans around as he began to cook. A minute later, he stuck his head around the corner. “Just don’t have any of your coppers say, ‘Welcome to Chicago’ with a Scottish accent or run any baby carriages down the stairs, okay?”
“Noted.”
The world around me faded away as I sank deeper into the writer’s trance. Alex was right—I just needed to get out of my own way and let the characters take over. And they did. My fingers flew over the keys, and their story slowly diverged from anything I’d ever seen or read. Untouchables be damned. This was its own creation.
But when I read back
through it, just before obeying Alex’s summons to the table, I realized it was also horribly written.
“You can fix it in January. Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling out my chair for me. “Just keep going. But not today. For the rest of the evening, you are mine.”
“Yes, I am.” I forced myself to smile through the frustration churning in my stomach and threatening to eat me alive. “How was your day?”
Alex huffed. “You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do.” I hoped I sounded more sincere than I felt. My mind was still half on my story, teasing at a rough plot point I’d either have to skip or unravel before I could make progress. I blinked, pushing it to the back of my mind. “Try me.”
He took a fortifying sip of wine. “Okay. Well, in my first period, I caught two students cheating and had to discipline them. Then Dean McAllister wanted a word. I like the guy, but sometimes he can be such a buffoon. He kept going on and on about this inane idea to match current English majors with potential recruits as pen pals. Pen pals? Do kids even have those anymore? Anyway, he talked for so long he made me late for my next class. Then I had a student drop by during the office time I was hoping to use for some research for my next journal article.” Alex ran his hands through his hair, tousling it attractively, and let out a forceful breath. “It was just one thing after another.”
“It sounds like it,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in the comment. My brain had drifted back to my story, and I was trying to mentally record the dialogue running through my head.
Alex was quiet for a moment. “Are you even listening to me?”
I shook myself to attention. “Yes. You had one thing after another go wrong today.”
“What was the last thing I said?”
I searched my brain. The last thing I remembered was a mental image of Dean McAllister in a harlequin costume when Alex had called him a buffoon. But that hadn’t been the last thing he’d said.
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