by Lexi Whitlow
“I’m serious.”
I put on my serious face, which makes her giggle.
“I’m really glad you apologized,” she says.
“So am I.” She can’t begin to imagine how glad.
“And we just proved that we have great sex together.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.”
“But that can’t be all that this relationship is about,” she says. “I want more than that. Do you understand what I mean?”
Actually, I do know. She may act like the modern, corporate woman who knows what she wants and goes after it, but deep down, she’s still a country girl at heart. She’ll fight like a tiger against anyone who might suggest that, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.
It suddenly occurs to me that I just heard the R-word without shuddering. Astounding.
“Yeah,” I say. “So how about we finally get together with your friends and you can introduce me to them?”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously? I was just about to ask you that!”
I shrug. “It only makes sense. How else are they going to find out how awesome I am?”
“Yeah, don’t say anything like that when we’re with them,” she says. “You’re nowhere near as funny as you like to think you are.”
I feign shock. She smiles and grabs my shaft, which is instantly as hard as concrete again.
“Don’t worry,” she coos. “You make up for it in other ways.”
Then her lips are around me and I lose control of my all thoughts yet again.
13
Sarah
Margaret, right?”
“Margot,” I say as we wait outside the door to her apartment, a cute walk-up in West Harlem. “And he’s Bryan.”
“Bryan,” Justin says with a nod. “With a Y, not an I. I remember. She’s your VP Marketing, he’s a stockbroker.”
“Marketing Programs.” I drop a wink. “But I’ll give you that one. Three out of four ain’t bad.”
He’s in a casual Givenchy suit, with brown wingtips and belt, an ensemble that somehow says “hey, look at me” and yet “nothing special here” at the same time. Like a catalog photo where the guy is wearing a Rolex while he paddles a canoe. It goes perfectly with my sleeveless summer dress, a pattern of white roses on a solid navy background, and he didn’t even know what I was wearing until he arrived at my door in his limo to pick me up. I still can’t believe he has his own driver.
I feel like I’m in a movie. Except for the nerves, of course.
“And if they want to know about us?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
He sighs. “The whole ‘Ben’ thing was a misunderstanding. We laugh about it now.”
“Very good.” I reach behind and squeeze his butt cheek. “And if anyone asks about our sex life, just nod and smile.”
“Will they?” His eyes go wide.
“I make no guarantees when it comes to the Gang of Four.”
“Wish we were doing it right now.”
“Patience, tiger. You’ll get yours later, I promise.”
He leers at me. “So will you.”
A feel a flash of heat down below just as the door opens on Margot’s round face. She’s one of the most open people I’ve ever met, and I know the smile she’s wearing is genuine. But her expression changes ever so slightly when she sees Justin.
I wrap an arm around her neck and pull her in for a hug, but I can tell her eyes are still on him.
“Margot, this is Justin. Justin, Margot.”
She takes his outstretched hand, but her eyes never leave his face.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re just as gorgeous as Sarah said you were.”
He grins. “What a coincidence; so are you.”
The line seems to pull her even further into a schoolgirl daze. She stares at him for several seconds before finally shaking her head.
“Where are my manners? Come in, come in!”
Once inside, Justin hands her a bottle of the wine from the Blackthorn. She eyes it curiously.
“Domaine Leroy,” she says, pronouncing it DO-mayne LEE-roy. “I’ve never heard of that one.”
“It’s French,” I say. “How bad could it be, right?”
Margot giggles. “Any wine’s good if you drink enough of it!”
Justin and I share a glance and smile.
Inside are the rest of the “Gang of Four,” their spouses, and several people I don’t recognize, whom I assume are friends of the groom-to-be. Judging by their suits, I’m guessing they’re all finance types like him.
“Thank you very much for inviting us,” says Justin. “You have a beautiful home.”
Margot’s schoolgirl act is still in full swing as she openly stares at Justin. Another man might have been uncomfortable, but he’s taking it in stride. In fact, he might even be enjoying it.
I make a mental note to remind him later that I’m the only woman whose attention he should be craving.
“Uh, thank you,” says Margot. “Why don’t you go on into the living room? I’ll be in to introduce you in just a second.”
Justin does as he’s told, and the next thing I know, Margot’s mouth is at my ear.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe this,” she babbles. “My nipples actually popped when he said that line about me being gorgeous. And he’s a billionaire?”
“Mm-hmm.” I draw it out to emphasize my satisfaction.
“I swear, if you weren’t my boss, I’d slap that shit-eating grin right off your face. What, being the best looking woman in the office and the CEO isn’t good enough? You have to go plucking the best fish out of the pond, too?”
I give her a stern look. “Bryan is a perfectly nice man, Margot.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “And we both know what that means.”
We look at each other and suddenly burst into laughter like a pair of teens at a sleepover. We’re still giggling as she escorts me into the living room, unknowingly carrying a bottle of $30,000 wine with her.
If Justin thought all the women at the party were going to gush over him the way Margot did, I’m sure he’s sorely disappointed right now. Part of me is cringing inside for him. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me just the tiniest bit of satisfaction, too.
“So what do you think?” Jenna asks, leveling a cool gaze at him. “Am I wrong?”
I’m positive I can see just the tiniest bit of red blushing out from under his shirt collar as he nods. I’m reminded of a journalism course I took in college, where the professor talked about loaded questions. His example was the classic, “Have you stopped beating your wife?” There’s no possible right answer because of the way the question is worded.
Jenna’s coming dangerously close to that territory, and it’s all I can do to hold back a grin at the thought of making Justin squirm just a little.
He nods thoughtfully. “I guess when you put it that way, you could call me a workaholic.”
Smart move: agree with your girlfriend’s posse, no matter how crazy they sound. So far, Millie and Candice have been taking it easy on him, though Jenna is more than making up for their kid gloves. Through it all, Millie’s husband, Tim, avoids the situation by acting extremely interested in the Renoir print hanging above the fireplace.
“That said,” Justin adds, “in my defense, until I met Sarah, I didn’t really have a reason to leave the office. When there’s nothing outside of work for you, work tends to become your life.” He turns to me and smiles. “So that part of my life is already changing for the better.”
Okay. now it’s my nipples that are popping, and judging by the looks on their faces, the other three are suitably impressed, too. I really should have known better—Justin Lucas didn’t master the art of negotiating by letting someone else control the conversation. He swims with sharks all day, every day, and he does it with a smile on his face.
I can’t help but wonder if that makes me the prey. But right now, I say let me get eaten.
Okay, that thought doesn’t
help my nipple situation at all. Good thing I’m wearing a padded bra.
Candice squeezes Jenna’s hand—hard—and smiles sweetly. I’m hoping maybe that means a change of subject. Justin deserves a break.
“I’m curious,” she says. “What do you think of a company whose entire executive staff is made up of women?”
So much for that idea.
Justin shrugs. “I don’t know that gender has much to do with success, but I do know that the best companies are always the ones run by people who understand their consumers. And a company like PinkBook needs to have an even stronger connection to that clientele.”
“Why do you say that?” asks Jenna, clearly irritated. “Because our customers are women and women are fickle?”
Okay, that was off side. “Look, Jenna—”
Justin stops me with a gesture. “Actually, that’s your greatest strength as a company. You’ve created an inclusive brand that resonates with all women. You don’t obsess over the myth of ‘having it all’ success, or beauty, or celebrity culture the way so much of your competition does, and that draws people to you. What I meant was that, as a media company, PinkBook is in an extremely competitive marketplace right now, where consumers have an almost infinite variety of choices and can jump ship with the touch of a button. Any competitor that loses sight of that, and of the power their consumers have in the palm of their hands, will quickly find themselves out of business.”
The Gang, me included, stand there, silently blinking, as we absorb all that. Beside Millie, I see a smirk creep across Tim’s face, though his eyes are still on the painting.
“Well,” Jenna says after a few long moments. “I, uh, I don’t suppose I can argue with you there.”
“That means she appreciates the compliment,” says Candice. “Thank you, Justin.”
“I don’t believe in compliments.” He takes a sip of his bourbon. “I believe in telling the truth. I find it helps to speed up the process when everyone puts their cards on the table. Time is money, and when things drag on, everybody loses.”
And suddenly he sounds like the corporate raider that everyone was expecting to meet tonight. I pull a Candice and squeeze his hand, hoping to steer him out of that mode and remind him that this is a party, and that these are the people closest to me.
“Remember that thing you were just saying about being a workaholic?” I hope my smile doesn’t look as tight as it feels.
Justin’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment I can’t help but think this is how he looks in the boardroom when he’s making deals to take over companies: calculating and emotionless.
But just as quickly, the look is gone and his eyes soften as he squeezes back.
“You’re right,” he says. “Sorry, ladies, talking business still seems to be my default mode. Luckily all I have to do is look at Sarah and I snap right out of it.”
There’s just enough time for everyone to decompress a bit before Margot starts clinking a spoon against her glass. The room quiets down and we all turn our attention to her and Bryan. I can’t help but think of her line about him as I look over his plain black suit and lock-step haircut: we all know what that means. I meant it when I said he was a great guy, but next to Justin, Bryan might as well be my father.
“Thank you all so much for coming tonight,” says Margot. “Now, I think we all know you didn’t come here for my crab cakes—”
“Why?” asks a man I don’t recognize through a mouthful of food. “They’re not going to make me sick, are they?”
As everyone chuckles, I notice that Margot’s left hand is behind her back, and I smile.
“I hope not, Chuck,” she says giddily. “Because we really want all of you to be at our…” She whips her hand out to display a pear-cut rock on her third finger. “Wedding!”
I doubt any of the women in the room are actually surprised, but of course we all pretend to be and run over to gush about how beautiful the ring is and when’s the date and where will the ceremony be, and all the other little details that women obsess over when it comes to their friends’ weddings.
I spent a lot of my life reminding myself over and over that I’d never get married. But this seems joyful, happy—not like the trap I’d always imagined it would be.
Meanwhile, the men all stand around and slap Bryan on the back. I glance over at Justin to see if he needs rescuing, but he’s deep in conversation with two guys who seem to be hanging on his every word. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; they’re young stockbrokers, and he’s a billionaire. My only worry is that they’re trying to sell him something, but he takes care of that by laughing out loud at something Bryan says. If Justin isn’t enjoying himself, he’s doing a great job of convincing everyone that he is.
There’s a little flutter in my belly as I watch him. After everything we’ve been through, we’re actually acting like a normal couple. Or at least as normal as the two of us could possibly be.
Yay us!
“I suppose he’s all right,” Jenna slurs. “As soulless billionaires go, I mean.”
Candice slaps her wife’s forearm with one hand as she orders an Uber on her phone with the other,
“Don’t listen to her,” she says. “Justin is a perfectly nice man.”
In my own tipsy state, the line almost makes me bark out a laugh, but I manage to hold it in.
“Thank you, Candice. That’s kind of you to say.”
“It’s true. And he adores you. I could see it in his eyes.”
Blood rushes into my cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the booze.
Millie nods. “I saw it, too. And Tim thinks the sun shines out of Justin’s ass. They’ve got a bromance going already.”
“That’s cute.” I try not to look surprised as I feel.
We hug Jenna and Candice good night as they head down the stairs to their waiting car, then we head into the kitchen to join Tim and Justin, who are deep in conversation.
“D’oh,” Tim grunts as he sees us. “Act casual, it’s the cops.”
Justin pretends to straighten up and props his elbow on Tim’s shoulder.
“Ladies,” he grins. “Lovely evening.”
“What were you two on about?” Millie demands.
“Should we tell them?” Justin asks.
“Might as well,” Tim sighs. “She’ll just beat it out of me later, anyway.”
“I’ll beat it out of you right now if you don’t stop being a twit.”
Maybe it’s the booze, or the banter, or knowing what’s going to happen in my bed later on tonight, but I feel a fool’s grin spread across my face.
“Tim thinks the four of us should go to the Hamptons together next weekend,” says Justin.
Millie and I exchange a glance. She looks as excited as I feel.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” she gushes. “We’ve got our summer share in East Hampton for the rest of the month anyway!”
“That’s why I asked,” says Tim. “It sure beats paying and not going.”
“Let’s make it a long weekend,” says Millie. “We’ll head out on Thursday. Is that okay with you, Sarah?”
“Sure. I’ve always wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
But even as I say it, I see Justin wince and my heart drops a little.
“Sorry, guys, that doesn’t work for me,” he says.
“Awww,” Tim pouts.
“No, I mean Thursday doesn’t work. I’ve got a meeting Friday morning in the city that I can’t miss, but we can take off as soon as it’s done. Noon at the latest.”
Again I’m struck by how normal all this is. These are the kinds of things couples do. Are we really a couple? Two months ago, I would have said you were crazy if you even suggested that would be something I wanted. But now?
“It’s a deal,” says Millie. “We’ll have lunch ready when you guys get there.”
I frown. “I’ve never been, but isn’t it a fairly long drive to East Hampton? We probably won’t be there till dinner time.”
“Go ahead and make lunch,” Justin grins. “I hereby promise we’ll be there before one.”
“Perfect!” Tim holds his palm up for a high-five, which Justin returns. “What’s your brand of beer?”
“Cold.”
Millie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
“Men,” she says. “Can’t live with them, can’t push them under a subway. What are you gonna do?”
A smile is my only response, but as Justin catches my eye and winks, I tell myself that what I’m going to do later tonight will start with a little trip to the shower.
14
Justin
I stroll out of the meeting room, Nathan in tow, just in time to catch Sarah glancing at her watch. She’s in an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and cutoff jeans, which, while incredibly sexy, is a little out of step with the formality of the lobby sofa where she’s currently sitting and impatiently bouncing one knee on the other. A small suitcase and a funky denim beach bag are on the floor next to her.
She’s impatient as hell, and I wouldn’t have her any other way.
“I see you found the place.”
She looks up, startled but smiling, as Nathan and I walk over to her. Every other member of my staff is doing their damndest to not appear like they’re looking at us, and it’s hilarious to watch.
Nathan takes her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Sarah.”
“You too, Nathan. We didn’t really get to know each other that well the first time we met. I hope we can make up for that soon.”
“That’s up to this guy,” he says, cocking a thumb at me. “He’s pretty much the opposite of a social butterfly, whatever that would be. A social caterpillar? Social moth?”
“Funny,” I say dryly. “Maybe I should fire you so you can pursue your stand-up career full time.”
He ignores me. “Although I gotta admit, he’s been getting out more since you showed up. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”
“I think there is,” she says, taking my hand. “This trip to the Hamptons is proof.”
