by J. Haymore
Portfolio Manager
Northeastern Capital
I stare at the e-mail for a good ten minutes, my mind officially boggled. Either the universe is working in mysterious ways with this coincidence, or… Or I don’t know what else.
I glance at my phone, but it remains silent. I really wish Ethan would call.
The rest of the afternoon passes excruciatingly slowly. Ethan texts me at around six.
“Been a hell of a day. Still stuck in meetings. ETA unknown.”
I gaze at the message with tears welling in my eyes. I need him right now, and I know that if I told him it was urgent, he’d drop everything and come to me. But I’m not going to interfere with his work. I can tell him all about this later, when he’s here, when I have his full attention.
My phone buzzes again. Miss you.
Miss you too, I respond. Let me know when you know your ETA.
I can see that he reads the message, but he doesn’t respond.
The hours drip by. I pace my apartment, my mind going in circles. I stuff the new suit I’d laid out for tomorrow back into my closet. I turn on the TV and flick through the channels, but nothing catches my attention.
Is this how I’m going to spend my days now? Sitting around doing nothing and wondering about my tomorrows? That’s what I’ll probably be doing if I don’t jump on this opportunity from Northeastern Capital…
Ethan calls me and says he’s still swamped—he’s closing a deal today and it’s not going as smoothly as usual. Probably because he was away for so long.
“Will I see you tonight?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not sure if I succeed.
He hesitates. “I don’t know. But if not tonight, then tomorrow. We still have that date to celebrate your first day, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to stand you up for that one.”
My mouth opens, then closes. I’m not going to get into this on the phone. It might have to wait until tomorrow when we’re supposed to be celebrating, but I can handle that. I tell him I’m going to miss him, but I hope he gets everything done he needs to, then I hang up. It’s not even ten yet, but I get ready for bed anyway. I lie down for an hour or so, but sleep is hopeless. It’s not going to happen.
I prowl around the apartment, racking my brain for ideas on how I can make myself fall asleep. I make myself warm milk the way Aunt Jo does, but it doesn’t taste as good as hers. I’m so full of restless energy, I can’t sit still. Finally, I turn on the TV to a late-night talk show and alternate between sit-ups and push-ups, only half watching it.
It’s past eleven when a key turns in the front-door lock. I jump to my feet and turn to the door just as it opens to reveal Ethan, looking scrumptiously disheveled in his white shirt and loosened tie. The TV light flickers unevenly over him—I don’t have any of the lights on—and passes over the hungry expression on his face. Instantly, my body tightens. Something primal inside me understands and interprets the look he’s giving me.
He stalks forward, the door thudding shut behind him. And then he yanks me into his arms. “Thank God you’re not asleep,” he rasps out. His lips crash over mine, sending intense heat bolting straight through my body.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, but he tears his lips from mine. “Bedroom,” he grits out, but I’m already on my way, my hand slipping into his and pulling him along with me.
We stumble into the bedroom, pulling our clothes off at the same time, leaving a trail of shoes and socks and pants and shirts. By the time we make it to my bed, we’re mostly naked, and we tumble onto the mattress, laughing. God, just having him close, touching me, makes me feel like everything might be okay.
He kisses me hard on the mouth. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too.”
“I thought I was never going to get that deal closed. All I could think about was how I’d rather be here. With you.”
That sends a warm feeling spreading through me.
“I need you, Tara. Being apart from you rips something out of me. Something essential. It physically hurts me to be away from you.”
I understand this, because I feel the same way.
He cups my cheek in his palm. His hand is warm and gentle.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve fallen in love with you. It happened a while ago, but I couldn’t…” He closes his eyes. “It was hard for me to say. But I can’t remember a life without you. I can’t imagine a life without you. You’ve brought me to life, and I never want to lose that.”
Something in my chest squeezes tight. I can’t speak; I can hardly breathe.
His fingers tighten over my cheek, and he presses his lips gently to mine.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “I love you so much.”
He makes love to me. It’s not frantic. It’s not rough. It’s gentle and reverent, and it’s the most intense sex we’ve had so far. He surrounds me, fills me. At this moment, he is my world. My everything. A part of me knows that I will never let him go. No matter what happens between us, he will always be a part of me.
I come so hard I see stars. Just like the stars I had in my eyes when I first laid eyes on Ethan Williams.
Afterward, we lie there, our limbs entwined. My face is pressed comfortably against Ethan’s chest. I feel quiet, completely lucid and relaxed for the first time all day, that anxious energy dissipating as Ethan took me to heaven. I am calm now, and suddenly, I know I can handle Javier’s bomb.
When I feel myself drifting off to sleep, I force myself to pull back and scoot up a little until I’m face-to-face with Ethan.
“I need to tell you something,” I say softly.
“What is it, baby?” His brow furrows in concern. There must be a hint in my face or in my eyes telling him something’s not quite right.
“Javier Lombardo, my new boss, called me today.” I take a moment to inhale deeply. “He rescinded the job offer. I’m not starting tomorrow. I no longer have a job at Continental Bank.”
Ethan’s body has grown harder, his muscles tightening more with every word I say. “That doesn’t make sense. A few days ago, he was telling you that you could start working for them earlier.”
I swallow hard. When I speak, there’s a rare bitterness in my voice. “He said my drug test came back positive for methamphetamines.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his jaw working. Then, “That’s bullshit.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell him that? Did you ask to be retested?”
“I told him it was bullshit. But he said they had a zero-tolerance policy for new hires and that there was nothing he, or I, could do.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Neither can I,” I say honestly. “And it gets weirder.”
His eyes bore into me. “How?”
“I got an e-mail from one of the companies that offered me a job in the spring. They said they were still interested and the job offer still stands if I want it.”
He takes a deep breath but doesn’t relax. “Who was the offer from?”
“Northeastern Capital.”
His eyes close for a long moment. Then he opens them, and says flatly, “Northeastern Capital is based in Boston. They want you in their corporate headquarters, don’t they.”
I nod, and we stare at each other. “Do you want to go?” he asks.
“No.” I think about today, pacing like a caged lion for hours within the confines of my apartment. I’m done with that life. I’m done with being afraid. Done. I want to live. “But I…” Even saying this makes my chest squeeze hard. “…I might not have a choice.”
Silence. After a moment, I continue, “I’ve done my due diligence. It’s a good offer. It’ll be a challenge for me, and there’s huge potential for career advancement.”
I don’t want to go. I haven’t wanted to go for one second. But a part of me knows it’s the wise choice. The mature choice. Yo
u can’t give up a career, a life, for someone you’ve been dating for less than a month. Can you?
That rare vulnerability seeps into his expression, his eyes shining as he stares at me, and my gut clenches. “Don’t take it, Tara. I need you here.”
Now the tears sting at my eyes. “I don’t know what else to do,” I whisper. “I have no other prospects.”
His mouth presses against mine as if to prevent me from saying anything more. Then he pulls me against him, at the same time nudging my knees apart and turning us so I’m on my back and he’s leaning over me. He reaches over and grabs a condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth and using one hand to roll it over his length.
And then he pushes inside me, granite-hard, and I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders and my body arching up into his.
He drags out of me slowly, thrusts all the way back in, and holds still, gazing down at me in the dim light of my little bedside-table lamp. His eyes search mine. “This is where I need to be. Where you need to be.”
I keep my muscles stiff, fighting against pulling him to me and making us both forget everything but the connection between us.
He pulls out again, and he hovers there, on the edge, pressing lightly against my opening but not penetrating. It’s a tease, and it makes me groan in frustration.
“Don’t go.” He bends his head and pushes it into the notch at the intersection of my neck and shoulder. “Don’t go,” he murmurs, his breath warm, tickling against my skin.
He pushes inside me again, then out. This time he doesn’t stop. This time, he isn’t gentle or reverent. He is powerful and relentless. His fingers twist in my hair and his teeth graze over my neck, my jaw, my earlobe. “Don’t go,” he rasps against my ear.
He rises up on his knees, bringing me with him so that I’m perched on his lap, and he’s still inside me. He cups my breasts in his palms, then pushes them together and presses his mouth to them, first their curves and the cleavage his hands have created, then the nipples. He licks, nips, and suckles me, murmuring, “Don’t go. Don’t go,” and moving deep inside me until I come, crying out, throwing my head back, and holding on to his upper arms with a death grip. Because if I don’t hold on, I might fly away.
When I come down from the orgasm, he wraps me in his arms and lays me back down as he keeps moving inside me. He isn’t gentle, but my just-sated body is compliant and open for him. He lifts one of my legs and places it over his shoulder, and I gasp as he rubs a spot inside me that sends a delicious shudder pulsing through me.
He is relentless, holding me there, pushing and pushing until I fall apart again. Afterward, he lets my leg fall limply to the side as I gaze up at him, feeling completely exposed, open, spent. His jaw is tense, his eyes narrow. His hips move faster and stronger, and I moan. I am slick and hot and sensitive, and it feels so damn good.
“Don’t…go…Tara,” he grits out. Then he gathers me to him and thrusts one last time, hard and deep inside me, and comes, his body shuddering, every breath that he releases a harsh gasp of air.
He collapses over me and I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, comforted by his heaviness and his warmth. Eventually he withdraws from my body and turns to his side, gathering me against him. After several minutes of silence, he murmurs, “That’s not true, you know, about you having no other employment prospects.”
I sigh. “It is. I put all my Southern Californian eggs in one basket. And they’ve been crushed under Continental Bank’s heel.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” he repeats. “They’re not crushed.” He blows out a breath. “I happen to know of a company that needs you right now.”
I frown. “There isn’t any.”
“There is,” he says. “Williams Funding is looking for a new finance associate.” His arms wrap around me and draw me tighter against his warm, naked body. He whispers against my lips, “Work for me, Tara.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Something about working for Ethan doesn’t feel quite right. Truth is, this is something I wanted to do on my own. It was necessary for me. For my confidence. Taking a job from Ethan makes me feel like I’ve just stolen all the wild cards in the Uno deck and feel like a fraud rather than someone who’s winning fair and square.
But I don’t tell him no. I don’t tell him yes either. Instead, I ask him to give me some time to think it over. He agrees and doesn’t talk to me about it again.
Thursday sucks. It was supposed to be my first day of work. Instead, I spend it doing shopping therapy with Aunt Jo. Aunt Jo isn’t a shopper, usually, but we are both taking Emily’s advice. She always said that shopping therapy was the absolute best way to get over bad news.
But it’s not. It’s a big fail. I don’t need casual clothes, and evidently, I don’t need work clothes anymore either. So we walk around aimlessly, and buy mocha lattes from the coffee shop and sit for a couple of hours and people-watch as we drink them.
Aunt Jo advises me to go with my heart in the decision whether to go to Boston or to accept Ethan’s offer of employment. Problem is, my heart is shouting at me from both sides. One part of it is telling me I can’t leave Ethan; the other part is screaming that my career is mine; that this is something I need to do for myself.
Thursday can’t end fast enough. But Friday is much better. On Friday afternoon, Ethan takes me to his Malibu house.
The house was built two years ago to Ethan’s exact specifications. As I’ve gotten to know Ethan better, I’ve learned that there is much, much more to him than his confident, handsome, wealthy-man veneer. He’s kind of a tech geek. His boyish excitement when discussing a new tech company or seeing a new gadget is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
He has that expression on his face now as he drives his Lamborghini down a winding driveway. When the house comes into view, I smile. Because it is exactly what I’d expect of Ethan. Not huge, but gorgeous, with modern angles, lots of steel, and tons of glass. Beyond the house, the Pacific Ocean stretches serenely into the horizon.
He drives around the house and into a garage, parking next to a conservative Audi against a back wall made entirely of glass. I turn to him. “Seriously? The best view ever, and you made it your garage?”
He smirks. “I’m in this garage at least twice every time I come out here, so I consider it worthy of the view. But don’t worry—the view upstairs is even better.”
He helps me out of his car—I nearly choked in surprise the first time I saw the banana-yellow Lamborghini. Then I couldn’t help but tease him for buying the car of a Hollywood mogul in a midlife crisis, and one who loves bananas, to boot. He took it all in stride, promising me that after a few rides, I’d love it. And that maybe he’d let me drive it if I was a good girl. I have to admit, I do like the ride.
He grabs our bags and we take the elevator up to the second floor, which consists of the most massive bedroom I’ve ever seen. As soon as we step off the elevator, he drops the bags and turns to a panel on the wall. He presses a few buttons, and wall panels slide away to reveal a view of the Pacific that’s so incredible, I gasp. No hint of land appears outside these windows—just the endless blue of ocean and sky. “Wow,” I breathe. “It’s like we’re floating.”
He grins. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do.” I smile back at him, but it falters a little.
Him bringing me to his house for the first time… It represents us growing closer in our relationship on more than one level. I’m struggling—and he knows I’m struggling—with the thought of him bringing my sister here.
My gaze glances over the huge, modern-trimmed, king-size bed.
He slept with Emily there.
I jerk my gaze away and try to turn my focus back to the ocean. Ethan’s fingers slip into mine.
This house is where Emily was bringing me on the night of the accident that killed her. She was bringing me to meet Ethan, her “fantastically wonderful” new boyfriend.
Now he
’s my boyfriend, and as always, the connection twists my insides until my breaths come out in sharp gasps.
Ethan squeezes my fingers as I breathe through the impending panic attack. He doesn’t speak again until my breaths are regular.
“I could sell it,” he says quietly. “If you don’t like it.”
I close my eyes and bend my head forward. Without looking up, I say, “I’m going to get past this. It’s going to be okay. It’s a beautiful house, Ethan. I don’t want you to sell it.” Yet. I don’t voice that, though. I want to give this house a chance. There are some truths about Ethan’s past I can’t erase, as much as I’d love to. They are a part of him now, and a part of me too. There are some burdens that will never go away, but a person learns how to live with them. That’s what I’m going to do about Ethan’s past with my sister.
“Come on,” I say, “show me the rest.”
He does, and it’s all equally as impressive as the bedroom. Sleek, high-tech, and clean. It looks like a model home from an architectural magazine rather than where a person might actually live. And the entire home is tablet-controlled—all of its systems accessible at any time from Ethan’s iPad.
But Ethan isn’t here much. He’s at his condo in LA about 75 percent of the time, he tells me. And his two full-time employees, Katarina and Alec, keep the place pristine for him.
Katarina makes us a delicious dinner of beef stroganoff with vegetables and a cabbage soup. Ethan says he hopes I like her Russian cooking, because he hopes I’m going to be eating a lot of it. I tell him I love it, and I do.
We eat in candlelight on the balcony with the sound of the surf and the ocean as our backdrop.
I gaze at him, yellow candlelight flickering over his face, and I close my eyes, savoring this moment, this man who makes me feel so good. So strong.
He pours me another glass of wine, and I take a sip. “Being here…with you…it’s heaven,” I say honestly. “I can’t imagine a more perfect place. Or a more perfect person to be with.”
He laughs. “You’ve seen a lot of my imperfections over the last several weeks.”
“True. But the best thing about your imperfections is that they don’t come from a mean or dishonest place. They come from a place of caring. Of goodness. Of a man who wants to keep the people he cares about safe.”
