by Ally Decker
Then it struck her. "Did you get his autograph?" she asked and then laughed at the stricken look on his face. "Tell me someone teased you about this."
"No one knows," he said before shaking his head. "Thank God, or they wouldn't leave me alone."
"Wait, Nate and Shawn don't know? How's that possible?" As close as the three of them were, she'd always assumed they told each other everything. It had made her a bit jealous at first, she could admit it now, but she got over it after a while.
"They just don't." He shrugged. "I mean, they know I like his movies, but they like them, too. We've seen all the Collectibles movies a few times."
"But you were his number one fan since his early days," she teased. "It's one of the first things you ever told me outside of work."
"You asked who my favorite actor was, and I wasn't going to lie about it." He glanced down at the table. "Neither of them ever asked."
She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand and trying to be quiet. He looked up with a self-deprecating smile—the one she'd both loved and hated in the past, depending on the situation.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said as she got her laugher under control. "But it's… priceless."
Unflappable and commanding Dean Young admitting his favorite actor was Greg Abrams with a bit of a flush at the back of his neck had been actually the first time when her heart had gone Oh, shit years ago. She'd never told him that, because it seemed silly, but now it made her smile wistfully.
"I had to restrain myself from asking a bunch of very specific questions that would have given me away instantly," Dean admitted right after the waiter brought them their food.
She grinned. "And you missed the chance to ask what really happened in that old cabin with Cheeky and his friend?" she teased, referencing the first movie Greg had starred in.
"Shut up," he told her before shoving a forkful of his curry into his mouth, the flush at the back of his neck barely visible in the dim light.
And Marissa would laugh again, but she was too busy freaking out, because her heart just went 'oh, shit' again.
Oh shit, indeed.
***
Marissa got through the rest of the dinner by absolutely refusing to acknowledge her reaction. It was only a memory thing, dragging the good memories up, she told herself time and time again as she nodded through Dean's story about some of their more ridiculous clients. Nothing to worry about.
But as she sat there, she slowly realized that it wasn't only a thing from the past. This Dean—a little bit older and matured—was still someone who could split her heart wide open and remind her that no, she was nowhere near getting over him. Because this was still the same guy, the one who was smart and self-assured, who was quiet with strangers, but could talk with her for hours, who had the best poker face for deadpan jokes, who could melt her heart talking about his favorite actor, and who could drive her crazy in the bedroom time and time again.
He was still the guy she had pictured herself getting old with, only a few years ago, and that made her skin feel tight and her heart beat loudly in her ears.
She excused herself at some point, and she had to clasp her fingers together so they wouldn't shake as she felt his eyes on her back. What the hell, Marissa told herself when she got to the thankfully empty bathroom and looked at her reflection. Get a grip.
She was a little flushed, but other than that, there was nothing there to show for her freak-out.
She shouldn't have done any of this— should never have agreed to go to dinner, or trailed along as he went to see the open house. Damn, even hiring his firm seemed like a bad idea now. Sure, she'd known there could be complications, but she expected them at work. She hadn't expected this.
Or maybe you did, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. There was a part of her—the same one that compared every man she met to Dean, the same one that had never forgotten his touch or his scent—that knew it was going to be like this. Because no matter how much Marissa tried, she could not get Dean Young out of her heart.
She scrunched the paper towel up in her hand and took a deep breath. She had to go out there and pretend like nothing was happening. Like it was simply a dinner for convenience sake, or to catch up. Which it is, the voice at the back of her head supplied. No amount of wishful thinking would change that.
Marissa finally left the bathroom and went back to the table. The waiter had to have been there while she was gone because their empty plates were gone, and there was a lone cup of coffee in front of Dean.
"Would you like some dessert?" he asked.
She shook her head. "It's getting late, so I should probably head home."
"Of course." He signaled the waiter for a check as he curled the other hand around the small cup.
Marissa did not imagine those fingers running over her skin. She did not.
They waited in silence, and she tried to think of anything to say that wasn't sexual in any way, but she came up empty. Her starved libido apparently decided to come back with vengeance now and kept sending her downright pornographic ideas.
Finally, after Dean paid the bill, they walked out of the restaurant, and Marissa breathed the cool air in and fell into step with him while trying not to touch him, even accidentally. No need to make things worse for herself.
She only realized it as she sat in the car while he held the door open for her, but he was careful not to touch her as well. They hadn't even brushed against each other through the entire evening.
She wondered if their reasons were the same. If it was possible he was fighting the same feelings, the same temptations.
Probably not.
"You still live on Chambers?" he asked, breaking the silence, as they paused at the first light.
She nodded and bit her lower lip. They knew so much about each other, still, and there were moments when the last four years hardly mattered. But then something would strike her as different, and the memory would hurt like an open wound. For him, most of the things had changed. Meanwhile, she had the same job, the same apartment…
"Are you still living in Dumbo?"
"No, no. We've bought apartments Downtown, near our office."
"We?" For such a short question, it was sure hard to get out. Her throat ached, and she held her breath for a second before—
"Nate, Shawn, and I."
She exhaled slowly, the pictures of him and Alicia in their new beautiful apartment gone as soon as they came.
"…went with him when Shawn wanted to check out the apartment," Dean was saying. "Each of us ended up buying one."
Marissa snorted and hoped it wasn't as hysterical as it seemed to her. "You all bought apartments in the same building?"
It was so like them, but she still found it hilarious. Forget friends, she didn't know that many families as close as these guys.
"Shut up, we've heard every joke already," he told her, the corner of his mouth moving up. "At least twice."
"I don't blame people. I'm not sure I'll resist even with that warning."
"Try," he said dryly. "Besides, it's not like we live together. And now that Nate has a fiancée and Shawn's dating Alicia—"
"Shawn's dating Alicia?" Marissa cut in, not sure if she'd heard him correctly.
"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be moving in together soon, too. Claire, Nate's fiancée, is already living with him." He glanced at her, and there had to be something on her face to show her surprise, because he frowned. "What?"
"Nothing, I'm just surprised. I thought Alicia…" was dating you "…was only working for you."
Dean shook his head. "They started dating months ago. It's a long story."
Marissa wished she wasn't as relieved as she felt right then. She turned away to look through the side window and gather her thoughts. It doesn't mean anything, she told herself as her gaze swept over the streets they passed.
Before she knew, Dean was parking outside her building, and it was time to say goodbye. She turned to him and caught his gaze for
a moment before it dropped to her lips. The temperature in the car went up in an instant, and as he looked into her eyes again, she could see his pupils widen. Her heart felt like she'd run a marathon.
She wanted him to kiss her, damn, she was ready to lean over herself. Then, right as he shifted to unlock his seatbelt, his phone went off.
And just like that, the moment was broken. She sagged in her seat and he grimaced, muttering "Sorry". He declined the call and put the phone back in the container between the seats, but by then Marissa's hand was on the door handle, and she was back to business.
"Thanks for the dinner," she said, only glancing up at him for a second before looking away. "It was nice."
He nodded. "It was. Thanks for the evening. See you Monday?"
"You bet. And call me if you need something with the case."
"I will."
Marissa waited until she was inside the building before grimacing at the stiltedness of the exchange. Damn. They went from almost-kissing to barely-acquaintances in a few seconds.
You once went from basically living together to four years of no contact, Marissa told herself. This shouldn't be anything new.
It still hurt, though.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dean got lost in work for the rest of the week, and it almost—almost—let him forget about Marissa for longer than five minutes at a time. Dalio Developments case was coming along well. Jessica Chaplin agreed to do an interview, as did the Simpsons, the elderly couple, and it was going to air on Monday.
If it caught on and generated enough buzz, even Woodley wouldn't be stupid enough to pass on that opportunity, especially since it would bring the firm more money as well. Not to mention positive PR, if they managed to spin it right.
So that case was trotting along, and there was no need to contact Marissa about anything. He told himself it was good, time and time again, but he still caught himself wishing to hear her voice.
Fuck. He'd thought—hoped—he'd left that part of his life behind. He'd thought he'd left her behind, but now it seemed like he'd been lying to himself this whole time.
He forced himself to ignore it for the time being, at least until the case was over. After that…who knew?
The weekend was hard, even if he dragged more work home than was probably advisable. He'd caught up on everything by Saturday evening, and he was left to sit there on the couch and stare at the TV. Both Nate and Shawn were busy with their partners, and Kevin went out on yet another first date.
The guy had more first dates in a year than Dean had all the dates in his life, excluding Marissa. Which was really impressive, even taking into account Dean's "lack of game", as Kevin put it.
As it were, Dean was the one alone on Saturday night, thinking about his ex instead of trying to have a life and move on already.
Maybe it would have been fine if they'd never met again, if he hadn't gotten a reminder about how simultaneously easy and hard it was, being near Marissa. How the world seemed to rearrange itself differently around her.
Or only Dean's world. That was possible.
He rubbed his forehead with his hands and turned to lie on his back. Even today, he still couldn't really fathom how everything had gone to hell so quickly between them. One day, they were happy and together, and he'd started to look around for a ring, the next, they were fighting about work constantly and a rift grew between them until they were exchanging boxes of each other's stuff in Willis, Palmer, and Singer's parking lot.
Fuck.
He rolled off the couch. He needed to go for a run.
***
On Monday, Dean found himself trying to talk excited Talia down over the phone. She called right after she'd seen the interview.
"It's good, but let's not count our chickens yet, okay?" he said as he was waiting for the elevator in the lobby. He'd had an appointment at the client's house first thing in the morning, so he hadn't been in the office yet.
"Count our chickens?" Talia repeated. "Exactly how much time did you spend on a farm, Mr. Suit and Tie?"
"About eighteen years?" he tossed back. He'd never traveled further than a neighboring county until he left for the Army boot camp. His life today looked nothing like the one he'd lived growing up.
"Damn, sorry. You're allowed to talk about the chickens, then."
He chuckled as he followed the small crowd into the elevator when it came. "Thanks, I appreciate it. But listen, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Sure thing." They said their goodbyes, and when Dean disconnected, his gaze fell to Marissa's number as he scrolled over the list of his recent calls. Later, he told himself. They needed to sort out their evening plans for the Dalio's special dinner anyway, so he'd call her later.
Kevin was already waiting for him in their office lobby.
"Have you seen it?" he asked before the door even closed behind Dean.
"Hello to you too, Kevin. Alicia." He smiled at the woman as he walked up to her desk. "Did you have a nice weekend?"
An impatient huff from behind made both Dean and Alicia smirk.
"Hi. Yes, I had a lovely weekend, thank you." She handed him a folder. "Your twelve o'clock will be five minutes late, but they're on their way."
"Okay. Kevin, you've got five minutes, start talking," Dean threw behind his shoulder as he headed to his office.
Kevin fell into step next to him and showed him a tablet screen with graphs. "This is the traffic for the websites where the interview is streaming and for her social media pages. I also checked web searches and the traffic to Dalio Development social media accounts. They are starting to get hit over there."
"That's good."
"That's awesome," Kevin corrected. "Besides, there are some rumblings about the lawsuit. Either someone leaked it, or they're very good at guessing. It's quiet for now, but I'm telling you in case it blows up and Dalio wants to fight back and accuse the plaintiffs of leaking."
That changed Dean's plans. He needed to call Talia and Marissa as soon as possible, and let them warn the others. The last thing they wanted when it was going so well was to have accusations like that ruin everything.
"Okay. Anything else?"
Kevin rolled his eyes. "No, man, I would say it's enough for a Monday morning, don't you think?"
"Good job." Dean clasped him on the arm and then pointed to his office. "I've got to go and call them, let them know what's going on. I'll find you later, and we'll go over it in detail."
"Sure, no problem."
Dean pulled his phone out and called Talia back even before he sat down behind his desk. He updated her on the situation, and she promised to remind other people to keep quiet about the lawsuit.
Now Marissa. He hovered over her number for a bit, but the passing time and the upcoming client meeting didn't give him room to contemplate for long. He pressed to call before he could talk himself out of it.
"Hi. Yes, I saw the video," she said, sounding like she was in a hurry. He must have caught her on her way somewhere.
"Well, I saw the numbers," he told her, sitting back in the chair and smiling. "It's spreading nicely."
He repeated everything he'd already told Talia and answered her questions best as he could.
"I don't have more data, because I talked with Kevin for maybe two minutes," he told her. "I'll know more tonight, and I'll tell you everything."
There was a second-long pause. "We're still on for tonight, then?"
"Of course." Dean frowned. "Did something happen? Are you having second thoughts?"
"No, no, I just wasn't sure if we're still on after the video went so well. But it makes sense to keep going, more material can be definitely beneficial to us."
"Exactly. Better to have more and not use something, than back away because we didn't have enough. And we both know Woodley will have to trip over the evidence to actually notice and use it."
She snorted. "There's that, yes."
Dean picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it betwee
n his fingers. "Since we're already talking, I'm going to pick you up at seven, is that okay?"
Marissa made an agreeing sound. "I'll be waiting."
"Great." He could admit to himself that he was really looking forward to tonight. He wanted to see her again, and he might not get many more chances after that.
Unless you play your cards right, the voice at the back of his head told him, but he wasn't sure what that even meant. Yes, he wasn't lying to himself anymore about being over her, but what that meant for their future—if anything—he didn't know.
The short ring of his phone alerted him that his next clients were there, and he stood up. It was time to get to work and forget about Marissa for now.
***
The anticipation that was slowly burning in his stomach throughout the day reached critical levels as Dean was driving to pick Marissa up. He had sneaked out early from the office, officially to shower and change before the event, but less officially to avoid another pep talk from Nate or Shawn. If he heard he needed to be careful one more time, he was going to explode.
He knew what the logical thing to do here would be. He'd known that from the start. He knew all about being careful and not going head first into a situation that was almost definitely going to end up fucked up. But his heart was apparently as stupid as his eighteen-year-old newly-enlisted self had been, tossing himself in all kinds of trouble in the Army. Risk wasn't important. He craved the high.
Now, with Marissa, it was a different kind of high, but the lure was just as irresistible.
Dean parked in the visitor slot at the front of her building and exited the car, looking up out of habit that apparently never died. The light was on in every room and he snorted. Some things never changed.
She buzzed him in without a word. He brushed his hands over his slacks and went up the stairs, trying to will his hammering heart to calm down. It isn't a date, he told himself for probably a billionth time, but this time it seemed like a straight-out lie. Tonight might be dedicated to their case, but it was also a dinner at an elegant restaurant, and the heat between Marissa and him was doomed to explode at some point.
