by Ally Decker
For the next twenty minutes, Alyson walked them through the entire house from top to bottom, talking a mile a minute. Marissa didn't think she managed to get two sentences in. Dean definitely didn't, but outside of work, he was quiet when there was someone he barely knew around, so him staying silent wasn't surprising.
They didn't even have to answer too many questions about their supposedly about-to-be-newlyweds life, which was a relief. Marissa didn't feel like coming up with a fairytale that hit too close to home.
"Here we are. That's it for the tour," Alyson said as they came out from the kitchen right back to the hall entrance. "Isn't it a great house?"
No, Marissa wanted to tell her, but bit her tongue in the end. "It's very nice," she said with her work smile. "I especially liked the wooden floors upstairs." The same floors that, if the Dalio's previous housing development was anything to go by, would be ruined in less than three years.
"Oh, yes, they're always a hit." Alyson beamed. Marissa wondered how much of it was sincere. The woman was either a good actress or oblivious to what Dalio was actually doing. For the purpose of their little investigation, she'd prefer the latter. "They're from top-quality wood." Alyson glanced between them. "Long-lasting, even with kids involved."
Marissa opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know what. Thankfully, Dean found his unmute switch at exactly the right moment.
"Good to know," he said with a nod and a smile. "We're not used to thinking in these categories, but I guess it's important."
How the guy who looked like he could bench press a car and not even mess up his tie could appear so helpless at the mere thought of kid-proofing a house, Marissa didn't know. Alyson be damned, Dean was the greatest actor of them all.
It definitely worked on the realtor. She laughed and put her hand on Dean's arm.
"It is important when you plan to spend many years in your house," she said, voice lower. Marissa couldn't believe the girl was turning on the charm for a supposedly soon-to-be-married man right under his supposed fiancée's nose.
Before Marissa could react, Alyson seemed to catch herself in the next second and dropped the hand, blushing. She cleared her throat and looked between them. "Do you have any questions?"
"I do, actually," Dean said, turning around as if he was taking it all in. "This may be a weird question, but… is this the same model of the house as the ones at the previous Dalio project? I've been there once at the open showing exactly like this one, but… We were only getting to know each other back then, and besides, I didn't have the money." He gave Alyson a sheepish look, and Marissa tried not to stare. "I loved it, though."
"It's the same model," Alyson said, looking half in love. Marissa bit the inside of her cheek. "A lot of people seemed to love it, so the company decided to build another development exactly like it. We're happy that you can get your dream now."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, it seems almost too good to be true."
Marissa had to look away for a completely different reason now. She swallowed the laughter, but it took a considerable effort. Too good to be true, indeed.
"I assure you it's not. The same house, down to the same wooden floors," Alyson said, glancing at Marissa with a smile. "It's all here."
"I don't need convincing, but my fiancée is another story," Dean said and turned to Marissa. "She's so hard to please."
She blinked. He was playing a role, it was obvious, but that last remark…
"I—" She suddenly lost her train of thought. "It's not an easy decision," she finally said, running her fingers over the cabinet by the door as she tried to regain her balance.
"Of course not," Alyson cut in, and now her cheerful smile grated on Marissa's nerves. "Let me give you a gift from Dalio Developments, to show how much we care about the happiness of our clients." She opened her folder and pulled out a glossy card she handed to Marissa. "A special dinner for our favorite clients." She lowered her voice as she looked between the two of them. "There's an event next week where our top management will host you to show their appreciation. No strings attached," she added quickly when Marissa opened her mouth. "You don't have to decide to buy this second. But if you're worried, maybe that night will help you make the decision. There will be a presentation, going in deep about the project. Every one of your questions, whatever holds you back, should be answered there."
Marissa looked at Dean. It wasn't a part of the plan, but it was perfect—another chance to take a closer look, maybe learn something that would nail them. It would mean spending another evening with Dean, but, well. She wouldn't admit it to anyone but herself, but she liked the idea of that. It had been so long since she'd felt that—that rush at seeing him, playing off of each other. They'd always been good friends, too, not just lovers, and she missed that.
He looked at Marissa for a moment and then nodded.
"Perfect," he said, still staring at her. "We'll be there."
CHAPTER SIX
Dean waited until after they got back to the car to burst out laughing.
"Oh, wow." The adrenaline was bouncing in his veins, and the success of their 'mission' only increased the frantic energy.
Marissa shook her head with a grin. "Yeah, it went better than we thought."
"Other than her admitting something or us getting hard proof, you mean," he teased.
"You got her to admit that as far as she knew, the houses were identical. That means intent," she pointed out and burrowed deeper into the seat with a sigh. "We're getting somewhere."
Dean backed away from the curb and headed to the end of the street when a loud growl came from his stomach, and he remembered he'd skipped lunch today.
"Sorry." He glanced at her briefly. "I haven't eaten since breakfast." Then, before he could even register the thought in his head, his mouth opened again. "Hey, do you want to grab dinner?"
As soon as the words were out, he clasped the wheel tightly. Fuck. He shouldn't be allowed to speak on adrenaline high, especially around Marissa.
He forced himself not to look away from the road. It was only a throwaway question, he told himself. If she said no, he would eat after he dropped her off. No big deal.
Even if his heart rate was telling a different story.
"Sure, I could eat."
Her words, when they finally came, took him by surprise. He expected a refusal, he was already wording the answer in his head, and now he just…blinked.
"Great," he said after a beat. He could feel his mouth stretching into a smile as he glanced at her. "Point me to your favorite place. I'm out of touch with the best vegan cuisine."
"Oh, Tatiana's still the best." Marissa turned to look through the window on her side. "But we have a few good places along the way, too."
"I'm game for whatever." Dean hadn't eaten vegan in years, but it wasn't because he hated the cuisine. It just happened.
"Head towards Brooklyn Heights, then. There's a nice place near the promenade."
Dean nodded and signaled the left turn. There was no way to completely avoid traffic at this hour, but he was in no hurry. He glanced at Marissa, and the memories of all the date nights when they would drive to whatever place struck their fancy came back to him.
This was not the same thing, though, and he'd better remember that if he wanted to avoid heartache the second time around.
"I hope they have red beans curry," he said, and his stomach growled again.
Marissa chuckled, turning to him. "Yes, they do. But we better stop talking about food, or your stomach will start a full on rebellion."
"Tell me what's been going on with you, then," Dean said. Ever since they'd met at the gala—and he couldn't believe it was only last week—he'd caught himself time and time again wondering about her life now. What had changed, what had stayed the same, what was she reading these days? She'd always been a voracious reader, but she would go through phases of fascination with one particular topic and then read a bunch of books about it before moving on to something different.
He'd listened to her talk at length about everything from Russian ballet to unconventional financial investments, and she could make everything sound interesting.
"I'm good, I'm really good," she said, straightening in her seat and resting her hands in her lap. "I'm still a junior partner, but there's been talk… You know how it is." She shrugged. "Natasha's putting in a good word for me, so I guess I'll see what's going to happen next year."
Natasha Moore had been their mentor when they started out as associates and she was still one of Dean's favorite people in that firm.
"Are you still learning Yiddish?" he asked, trying to steer away from her job.
In the corner of his eye, he could see she turned to him with raised eyebrows, probably surprised he'd remembered. There were not a lot of things he'd ever forgotten about Marissa.
"Yes, my grandma even says I've gotten pretty good, and she's always been the hardest to please." She smiled. "I think she's secretly happy I stuck with it."
Dean nodded. He remembered Marissa's grandmother was always disappointed that most of the family didn't care more about their Jewish heritage, especially her grandkids. Marissa had finally started learning Yiddish about five years ago when she'd gone through a reading spree about the Second World War. She ultimately changed her reading material after about two months, but kept up with the language lessons. And apparently, she hadn't stopped.
"Are you the golden child now?" he teased, and Marissa laughed.
"That's never going to happen. Rachela has the spot covered forever, Yiddish or not. But I may be the runner-up now."
"Well, she is the oldest." Dean had met most of Marissa's family at Rachela's wedding, and he remembered the woman as very serious, even at her wedding party.
"That argument shouldn't even work during childhood. 'Listen to her, she's the oldest', 'I'm the oldest so I'm right'," she mimicked in a high voice. "Damn, it drove me crazy."
Dean snorted. "You never liked someone telling you what to do."
"True." She nodded. "But Rachela made it particularly hard, I think."
The silence that followed was not nearly as tense as before, and Dean found himself wishing he could keep that moment—that easy camaraderie. He wasn't naïve enough to think it solved every problem between them or that there wouldn't be any tension going forward, but he hoped that this, now, could help. He didn't know what he wanted out of this whole thing, but he suddenly realized he didn't want Marissa to leave his life again.
"And what about you?" she asked, breaking the silence and pulling him out of a surprised turn his thoughts had taken. "How's life been for you?"
"Good, it's been good. Work, mostly, you know how that is." Dean snorted. "I definitely didn't leave the long hours behind, that's for sure. But now that the firm's more established, we've been cutting it down slowly."
"More established?" She shook her head. "Please, is that what you call a smashing success these days? F.Y.U. is the talk of the town and you know it."
Dean smiled, pride swirling in his chest. "I wouldn't call it a smashing success, but yes, we've made great progress."
"I was surprised I even managed to get an appointment so quickly. I thought you were booked through the roof."
"It comes and goes," Dean admitted. "It's not like we can book months in advance. When a crisis happens, it happens now, and there's no room for waiting so long. It makes for unpredictable schedules, but we've gotten good at handling that."
The three of them definitely preferred it over the false stability of being lawyers in a large firm, once they'd gotten through the shaky beginnings. They thrived under the demands of short-term projects, ever-changing circumstances, and fast results.
"Do you think of growing the company? Hiring more people?"
Dean swallowed the first thing that came to his mind—Why, are you looking for a change of careers? It was intended to be a joke, but it wouldn't necessarily come off like one between them.
"We've been thinking, but we're not there yet. We like how it is now, and we're not sure adding more people would be beneficial, to be honest, other than financially, of course. We have a good team, and it's hard to mess with what's working so well. But in the future, who knows."
"Are there only the three of you and… Alicia?"
He noticed the hesitation, and it surprised him. Marissa had an incredible memory when it came to names.
"No, there's Kevin, too. He handles most of the tech stuff. If anything, some additional help in that department would be our first hire." Dean shook his head. "So many things are digital now, especially in our work. We can do some things, but not nearly enough."
"Oh, sure, of course. If the law firm needs it as much as we do these days, fixers have to need it even more."
"In law, it's mostly research, in fixing, it's research and means. People can ruin themselves easily on social media, but they can build themselves up, too. Or," he added with a smirk, "Kevin can do that for them."
"So you're masterminds, and he's the one doing all the work?" she asked with a tease in her voice.
"Busted. The deal's up now, damn."
She grinned at him. "Sorry."
Then he remembered he hadn't finished answering her question.
"Oh, there's Lisa and Terry now, too. Our PIs. We don't have them on the regular payroll, but there are times when they are very useful. We handled things without PIs for some time, but finally decided it wasn't worth the effort."
They crossed Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard, so the conversation switched to directions as Marissa told him where to go. It wasn't a place they had ever been together, and he found it was a relief. Going somewhere they'd had memories from could have been painful in ways he hadn't considered earlier. He wondered if she'd picked that restaurant on purpose.
She probably had. She'd always been smarter than he was—in court and outside of it.
He found a place to park miraculously fast, and then they headed to the restaurant. Dean curled his fingers in as he resisted the impulse to put his hand on her lower back. Not allowed.
His gaze dropped to the place in question and further down, to her ass, before he forced himself to look away. Not allowed either.
Dean cursed himself in his head. He was slipping, and that really wasn't like him. He knew better than to cross certain lines, but hell if Marissa wasn't always the exception to the rule. It looked like some things never changed.
No, he thought, watching her toss her hair back and laugh at something the maître d' had said. Some things never changed at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Some things never change, Marissa thought as she put the napkin on her lap, taking a moment to escape looking at Dean.
She hadn't thought it through, bringing him here. She'd picked a place they'd never been in together, but that only made it one more restaurant she wouldn't be coming back to on her own. She was always going to have the memory of seeing Dean on the other side of the table, relaxed and confident as he studied the menu. The low light cast shadows on his face that made him look particularly good—although, to be honest, Marissa was yet to find light that would make him look bad to her.
She picked up the menu and scanned it without really seeing anything. She already knew what she was going to order, but she needed something to do that wasn't staring at him. It was easier in the car, when he wasn't facing her, and he barely spared her a glance. Now her whole body seemed tuned in to him, his little gestures, and every time his gaze moved up to meet hers.
It isn't a date, she had to remind herself, because it felt like one. It felt like countless others they'd had in the past, and her heart sped up at the memory of how those dates had usually ended. She dropped her gaze to his lips and then down to his shoulders and arms while he wasn't looking. Damn, Marissa missed running her hands over his skin, missed the way he could pick her up so easily, missed his mouth trailing down her body…
She shifted in her seat, and that made him look up. Their gazes met and fuck, there was no
mistake he read her like a book. He'd known how to recognize desire in her eyes, and from the way his nostrils flared and his fingers tightened on the menu, he recognized it now, too.
Marissa's throat was suddenly dry, and she blinked a few times. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then the waiter appeared.
"Good evening, what can I get you tonight?"
She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Hummus special, please." Was it her imagination, or was her voice lower than normal? Damn it. When the waiter asked if she wanted something to drink other than water, she just shook her head.
Dean ordered red beans curry and also stuck with water. When the waiter left, the silence was heavy and charged, and she needed to come up with a distraction right now.
"What happened to Sylvia?" she finally asked, after searching for a safe question that wasn't work-related. Nate's sister was as safe as anything.
Dean blinked and tilted his head slightly to the side. "I'm sorry?"
"She was working as your office manager at the start, right?" Before Alicia, her mind supplied unhelpfully.
"Ah, yes. You don't follow gossip at all, do you?" Dean asked with a smile he was obviously trying to hide.
She raised her eyebrows. "Should I? Wait, did she get on Broadway somehow?" Sylvia and Marissa weren't friends, exactly, but they'd met multiple times over the years, and Sylvia's Broadway addiction came up pretty often in the conversation.
Dean laughed. "No, no. She met a guy, fell in love, and now she spends half her time in New York, and half flying all around the world with her fiancé."
"Lucky girl. Who's the guy?" A bunch of people needed to fly around for their job, but not many of them landed in the gossip press.
"Greg Abrams."
For a few seconds the name didn't register. And then…
"Wait. Greg Abrams, the movie star?"
Dean nodded.
"Wow."
"I know." He shook his head. "The whole thing is… yeah. But Sylvia's as happy as I've ever seen her, so that's good."
