by Lila Monroe
I’ve already been without her too long.
I lift her face to mine and kiss her, fierce with all the emotions I still haven’t found words to say. Right away, Jules kisses me back, wrapping her arms tightly around me like she never wants to let go.
Fine with me.
The driver leans on the horn again, and finally Jules pulls away. “My Uber rating is going to be total shit,” she says with a grin.
I laugh. “Fuck your Uber rating,” I tell her, reaching down and cupping her face in my hands. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” I kiss her again, more gently this time, biting softly at the edges of her million-dollar smile. “Want to come be a weird family together?”
“Yes,” Jules says immediately. “Cal. Yes.” She reaches down and laces our fingers together, squeezing once before abruptly letting go. “There’s just one thing I’ve got to do first.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “What’s that?”
Instead of answering she trots over to the Uber, reaching out and pulling some cash out of her purse. “I’m sorry!” she calls, handing it to the driver through the window. “Turns out I found another ride home.”
23
Jules
Back in New York a week later, I head uptown to meet with Olivia.
“Hey,” I greet Alice at the front desk.
“Olivia’s just finishing up a call,” Alice says, handing me a glass of fizzy water with a perfect slice of lemon floating in it. “She should only be a minute.” She’s wearing a navy-blue sheath dress and a sky-high pair of nude Louboutins, a set of delicate gold hoops at her ears.
“Can I say something weird?” I ask her, dropping my massive purse on the sofa. “Every time I see you I feel like you ought to be solving capers at, like, James Bond’s office. Actually, fuck that. I feel like you should be the female James Bond.” I pause. “I mean that as a compliment, PS.”
Alice lights up. “Thanks,” she grins. “Moneypenny is the best.”
“He would be so dead without her,” I agree.
I’ve barely gotten settled before Olivia slides open the pocket doors that lead to her office. “Jules,” she says with a smile, “come on in.”
I make my way back, and Olivia hands me a file folder. “Your exit paperwork,” she explains, as I glance through the contents. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you to cash the check?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel right to me,” I tell her. “Since Cal and I are . . . you know. For real now.”
“I do know,” Olivia says. “I have to say, this is getting to be a pattern. First Hallie and Max, now you guys.”
“Maybe you’re just that good at your job,” I laugh.
“Except this is definitely not in the description.” She sits back in her chair as I sign the paperwork. “So what’s next for you?” she asks, once I’ve handed it back. “I heard you had an offer at Harper Wells. Alice,” she adds at my questioning look.
See? James Bond shit. How does she even know that? “I’m thinking about it,” I tell her honestly. “I just . . . haven’t been able to pull the trigger yet.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I just don’t know if that’s the life I want anymore, you know?” I sigh. “The long hours, the insane pressure to bill. The vague but nevertheless constant suspicion that you’re aiding and abetting the downfall of everything good about humanity.” I pause. “And then there’s the fact that the office is here, and Cal and the kids are . . . not.”
“Long distance can be hard,” she agrees.
“It’s already getting old, driving back and forth all the time,” I confess. “But what am I going to do, uproot my entire life and move to Boston? It’s ridiculous.”
Olivia nods, a glint in her eye. “About as ridiculous as pretending to be someone’s fiancée and falling in love with them for real, I’d say.”
I grin. “Fair enough.”
Olivia gives me a warm smile. “Look, Jules, I always tell my clients that they deserve the absolute best. And now I’m telling you the same thing. Think about what’s going to make you happiest here. Imagine your best possible outcome. And then go get it.”
I laugh again, I can’t help it. “Sure,” I say, “like it’s that easy.”
Olivia smiles like a Mona Lisa, inscrutable. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, reaching for her teacup. “Maybe it is.”
Back on the sidewalk, I decide to stroll downtown. The evening is warm, and the streets are busy with tourists and commuters, rushing for the subway. I’m just debating some “end of business” donuts when my phone rings: when I look at the caller ID and see the firm, I wince.
“Hi, Ms. Millstei—ah, Barbara,” I say, closing my eyes briefly. “How are you?”
“Good, Jules, good. I wanted to check in and see if you’d thought any more about our offer.”
“I’ve been considering it,” I tell her honestly “But it’s just—”
“Is there another firm after you?” she asks, sounding slightly impatient. “Because I’ve spoken to the other partners and we’re prepared to double what you were making before the . . . altercation.”
Double?
Holy shit.
I stop where I’m standing right there in the middle of the sidewalk, earning a nasty look from a suited businessman for my trouble. “That’s . . . extremely generous,” I tell her, thinking fast.
“Oh, I know,” Barbara says immediately, obviously pleased with her own largesse. “But it’s also good business sense. We want you, Jules, but the clock is ticking. I do need to know by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I tell her. “I understand.”
“I have to admit, I’m a little perplexed by your hesitation,” she continues. “If this is about trying to leverage a better offer, then—”
“It’s not,” I promise. “Really, Barbara—you’ve been more than fair.”
Barbara tsks quietly. “Well, in that case: what is there to think about, exactly?”
I imagine myself in my brand-new corner office. I imagine myself making partner by thirty-five. I imagine slipping right back into my old life, like the last few weeks never even happened, and then I take a deep breath. “You’re right, Barbara,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing to think about at all.”
The next morning I find Cal, Lottie, and Ezra in the backyard at the Brookline house, kicking a soccer ball around like something out of an L.L.Bean catalogue.
If L.L.Bean dressed their kids in mismatched dinosaur outfits and a Wonder Woman shirt. “Hey team,” I call, shutting the car door behind me. “You got room for one more?”
“Hi, Jules!” Ezra calls cheerily. Lottie raises her hand in a wave. Cal looks over, his face breaking into a slow, easy grin when he sees me. He’s dressed in jeans and a soft-looking V-neck T-shirt—the very definition, I think with a smile, of a dad I’d like to fuck.
“Hey,” he calls, kicking the ball to Lottie and heading across the lawn in my direction. “You’re early.” He slides his arms around my waist, tilting his face down for a kiss. “Couldn’t wait?”
“I didn’t want to wait,” I say, the words coming out all in a desperate rush. “I don’t want to do any more waiting, actually.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to slow down and speak clearly. “What if I moved up here?” I ask him. “Full-time. To Boston.”
Cal’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “I know it’s crazy,” I say quickly. “It’s so fast. And I don’t have to live with you guys. I could get my own place in town, build my own client list. We’ll see how it goes, and then in a few months or maybe even a year we can—”
“Jules,” Cal interrupts, laughing. “Yes.”
It takes a second to register. “Yes?” I repeat.
He nods, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face. “Move here. Live here, with us.”
My heart sings. “Really?”
“I was going
to ask you this weekend,” he confesses, “but I was worried it was going to scare you off.” He exhales. “I wanted to ask you weeks ago, Jules. Fuck, I wanted to ask you the night we met.”
“I’m not scared,” I tell him, smiling ear to ear. “Shit, Cal, am I ever not scared.” I let myself imagine it for a moment, what it might look like and what it might mean. “What about the kids?”
“I talked to Lottie and Ezra about it,” he tells me, “and they’re into it. Lottie said you were, and I quote, ‘not terrible,’ which is about as high praise as it gets.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “Come home, Jules.”
I wrap my arms around him, and Cal ducks his head to claim my mouth in a hot, searing kiss.
“Gross!” Ezra calls from across the yard, and we break apart just in time to witness him turn an impressive somersault on the trampoline.
“You’re gross,” Cal calls back cheerfully. “I, um, have to talk to Jules about something inside. No breaking your necks while we’re gone!”
They nod and he takes my hand, yanking me through the back door and around the corner into the hallway where nobody can see us. “Hi, roomie,” he mutters quietly, then shoves me up against the wall.
We don’t even manage to get our clothes off. Cal shoves up my skirt and I yank at the button of his jeans. He touches me, slipping one finger deep inside, and then another, as his palm presses against my clit and I moan out loud.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I gasp, and Cal bites down gently on my shoulder.
“Missed you, too.”
We stumble back, slipping to the floor, and then Cal is bracing himself above me, pure lust in his eyes as he sinks all the way inside. I clench around him with a shudder.
How could I ever think I could go without this? All the time, every damn day of my life.
He surges higher inside me, and I’m already on the edge. “Cal,” I gasp, bucking to meet him, every stroke. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growls, kissing me again, hard, as his cock strokes deep inside, driving me wild. I want to make it last, make up for lost time, but my body breaks apart and pleasure shatters through me with a cry.
Cal groans my name, coming hard and fast, joining me on the other side of the fall.
“I love you, Jules Robinson,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you so fucking much.”
I smile even though he can’t see me, reaching up to mess my fingers through his hair. “I love you too,” I promise. We’re quiet for a moment then, just breathing, the only sounds our heartbeats and the shouts of the kids outside.
Epilogue
Olivia
As a rule, I don’t socialize with clients. My job is to be the invisible hand pulling the strings behind the scenes. Think of me as a modern-day Mary Poppins – with more stylish shoes. There to discreetly organize whatever they need before melting away when the job is complete. I don’t linger to see the payoff, and I definitely don’t get involved.
But recently, my match-ups haven’t exactly followed the rules. So, I guess it’s only fitting that I break a few myself, too.
“Olivia!” Cal greets me with a smile as I step through the doors. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I kiss him on the cheek and look around. It’s the launch of the new McAdams hybrid car, and the elegant hotel is packed with media and celebrities. “Congratulations. It looks like a great turn-out.”
“Let’s hope they all place orders,” Cal says with a wink.
I smile. “That won’t be a problem,” I say, before I’m smothered in a hug from behind me.
“Whoops!” Jules laughs, “Did I mess up your hair? Sorry,” she says, grinning. “You always look so perfect and put together.” Jules slips an arm around Cal’s waist and beams up at him. “I hope you were thanking her profusely for bringing us together,” she says, and Cal laughs.
“You mean besides the flowers, the fruit-basket, and the offer of a free car?”
“I can’t believe you turned that down!” Jules turns back to me, mock-scolding. “There’s a waiting list a mile long.”
“It’s fine.” I reassure both of them. “Really. Cal paid handsomely for the Agency’s services, and I’m just glad everything worked out. All I need is a successful outcome to the contract.”
“And the satisfaction of knowing you were right about me,” Jules adds.
I smile. “That too.”
“Well, if you won’t take gifts, at least get a drink,” Jules insists. “It’s an open bar, and there are some delicious crab puff thingummies floating around here somewhere…”
“Thanks for the tip. Enjoy the rest of the night,” I tell them. “You deserve it.”
I move on, knowing that Cal will have a long list of people to meet and greet tonight. But when I glance back, his focus is on Jules alone; he leans in, whispering something in her ear that makes her whole face light up. She laughs, and then leans in for a kiss, holding him like there’s nobody else in the room.
I feel a wistful pang in my chest.
They’re a perfect match, and over in the corner, I see another of my clients, Max with his fiancée, Hallie, dancing together, happy and in love. The Agency was never designed as a match-making service, but this year, my contracts have had a funny way of lasting long after the original job is over.
To think, I started my whole business as the antidote to romance.
I turn back to the bar, and look for the bartender, but it’s such a scrum, I’m buried in jostling guys. I’m reaching up on my tip-toes in my strappy sandals when a pair of broad shoulders push in beside me – and a heavy foot comes down hard on my bare toes.
“Owww!” I yelp in pain.
The owner of the linebacker shoulders turns, and his blue eyes widen. “Shit, I didn’t see you there. What are you, hiding?”
Not a linebacker, but a quarterback instead. Ex-NFL star turned entrepreneur, Ryan Callahan.
Also known as, my new nightmare client.
“Ryan,” I say with a cool smile. “How are you?”
“I’ll be better with a drink,” he gestures to the bartender – who immediately rushes over.
“Hey man, what can I get you?” the guy asks eagerly. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m such a fan. That play you made in the final seconds at the Superbowl… Man, that was epic.”
“Thanks,” Ryan flashes the wide, easy grin that’s landed him a dozen magazine covers in his career – and now a prime-time sportscaster gig. “I never get tired of hearing that. How about a bourbon, and for the lady…?” he turns.
“White wine, thanks.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t argue, just signs a napkin for his new fan and then hands me my drink.
“Work or pleasure?” he asks. “Let me guess, you’re scoping the crowd for new clients.”
I give him a look. He makes it sound like The Agency is something tawdry, when in fact, we have a waiting list longer than people lining up for the McAdams car – and that’s after my trusty assistant Alice screens out the ones who don’t meet my high standard. Or income requirements.
Ryan made it past both, which means I’ve spent the past month trying to find the perfect fake girlfriend to help him move from sports into the business world.
Trying. And failing. And trying again.
“I don’t have time for anyone new right now,” I say with a smile, “Not with you keeping me so busy. Who are you with tonight: Charlotte?”
“No, she isn’t working out,” Ryan says casually, and takes a sip of his drink.
“What?” I exclaim. Charlotte was perfect: a gorgeous Ivy League grad with an MBA and a lifelong sports fan. “I don’t understand, what’s wrong with her?”
Ryan shrugs. “She’s not what I need. Didn’t feel that spark, you know?”
“You know they’re not actual girlfriends,” I remind him, sighing. “You don’t have to fall in love, you just need her on your arm at business dinners to schmooze the wives.”
“Oh, you’re right, that won’t work.” I make a mental note to take Charlotte off my rosta. “So back to the drawing board?”
“Yes ma’am.” Ryan flashes me that panty-melting smile – which I’m luckily immune to, unlike the girl beside me, who I swear lets out an audible sigh of longing. “Think you’ll have someone by Monday?” he asks. “I’ve got a drinks thing I could use the backup.”
“Absolutely.” I say, even as I come up a blank.
There go my plans for the weekend. Not that I’ll be cancelling any hot dates; no, I had a crazy day planned reorganizing my closet. But this will be the third time Ryan’s blown off his date, and I’m wondering what it will take to keep him happy. Someone with class, beauty, style, brains…
It’s a shame Meghan Markle’s already taken. And sure, Ryan’s hot, but he’s no royal prince.
“Monday,” I say again, stifling a sigh. “I’ll see you in the office.”
“Looking forward to it,” Ryan gives me a wink, then turns his attention to the girl beside me. “Are you trying to get the bartender? Let me…”
He leans in close, and the girl gives him a breathless smile. “Oh my god, thank you so much. Wait, are you Ryan Callahan? I’m your biggest fan!”
“Well, I’m a fan of yours, too.” Ryan grins wider. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Aaand that’s my cue.” I leave my drink and head back to the exit. I could stay and mingle, but now I have my marching orders, I know I won’t be able to relax until I’ve found him the perfect fake match. It’s like a puzzle to me: assessing strengths and weaknesses, figuring out who will suit the other person’s needs. Be the right companion – or teammate, or ally in battle. It’s what we’re all looking for, really. I just spell it out in black and white.
Love? That’s unpredictable and messy. What I do is neat. Simple.
Well, usually.
But something tells me, Ryan Callahan is going to be trouble.
