by Aven Ellis
“I love it,” I say in delight.
“Me, too,” he says, grinning. “I love it so much I’ll let you post it on my Instagram.”
“I love that idea,” I say happily. “And I can’t believe I’m living my favorite movie. How did you come up with this?”
“What, you had your doubts about my date plans?” Beckett teases. “All my YouTube interviews didn’t give you a hint this was up my sleeve?”
I burst out laughing, and he laughs, too.
“Um, no,” I say.
“Well, when you were talking about watching the movie with me, I wondered if there was something I could do from it that would be meaningful for you. So I watched it. You forgive me for watching it without you, right?”
I giggle. “Yes, you’re forgiven.”
Beckett grins. “Good. So yeah, I watched it and came up with this plan. That you’d put on your black dress and we’d go to dinner. But I had to do this opening with you. I knew you’d love it.”
“I do,” I say, nodding. “I love it so much.”
And I love you, I say to myself.
“You know,” Beckett says slowly, gazing into the Tiffany’s window, “Audrey was wearing pearls in this scene, wasn’t she?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I nod, taking another sip of my coffee.
“Then you need some to go with your dress tonight.”
My mouth pops open. “Wh-What?”
“I believe Tiffany’s has pearls,” Beckett says. “And you’re getting some.”
“Beckett, no,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve done too much for me already. I mean, the condo. You’re giving me a place to call home. You don’t need to do anything else. But in all seriousness, being you—as you are, the real you—is all I want.”
Beckett studies me. I can tell my words have touched his heart.
“I know you mean that,” Beckett says quietly. “Which means everything to me.”
“I do,” I say. “You’re my Valentine’s Day gift, Beckett.”
Beckett bends down and kisses me again, right on Michigan Avenue. I hear people yell “Becks!” in the background, and I have no doubt our picture is being taken, but I’m so happy nothing fazes me.
He breaks the kiss and smiles at me. “Come on. You’re getting a necklace.”
“No, I—”
“Nope, done deal. Audrey had one, so my Aubrey will, too.”
My Aubrey.
I’m so in love.
“So, are you coming? Or do I have to pick this out by myself?” Beckett teases.
“I’m coming,” I say happily.
We throw our wrappers and coffee cups in the trash, and I lace my hand in his. I gaze up at him as we enter the store, and I can’t wait to see what the rest of the evening has in store for us.
And the only thing that would make a perfect evening even more spectacular would be to hear the words “I love you” come from Beckett’s lips at the end of the night.
“This is a fairytale,” I declare. “You’ve made this date the most romantic one I’ve ever had.”
We’re bundled up and strolling on Armitage Avenue Lincoln Park. The snow has stopped, but everything is frosted and magical in the lights of Chicago.
Magical. That’s exactly how I feel about this whole evening.
At Tiffany’s, I picked out a simple, single-strand pearl necklace, one that is gracing my neck right now. And I’ve decided I’ll wear it whenever we go out somewhere fancy, as a reminder of how special Beckett is and how much I love him.
After Beckett purchased the necklace, we went back to my place and I gave him my gift to him, a Tassimo one-cup coffee maker with a huge package of Tim Horton’s coffees. Beckett was delighted with it, that he can have Timmy’s every day, and told me I was the best girlfriend ever. I also gave him a mushy card telling him all the qualities I adored about him, but I didn’t sign it “love.” I mean, I’m madly in love with him, but I’m not going to tell him that in a card for the first time.
Then we both got ready for dinner, with Beckett changing into a gorgeous suit and me in my little black dress. Beckett took me to Geja’s Café, a dark, intimate and very romantic fondue restaurant for dinner. Seated at a cozy table for two, we shared a fantastic dinner that included crusty bread dipped in cheese fondue, beef tenderloin and lobster tails, and finally, a flaming chocolate dessert fondue that was a luscious end to a Valentine’s Day meal.
And now we’re simply strolling along, enjoying Chicago on this winter night.
Beckett stops in front of a vintage townhome and draws me into his arms. “I’ve never done a date like this for anyone else,” he says, gazing down at me. “You’re different. We’re different.”
I draw a breath of the frozen air in anticipation. His eyes are soft and I wonder if this is our moment. That my shy boy, the one who is so methodical in his approach, so serious, so private—would tell me he loved me on a city street in Chicago.
“So are you,” I say, putting a gloved hand to his face. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, Beckett.”
He wraps his hand over mine. My heart is beating out of my chest.
“Aubrey,” he says softly. “I know we haven’t been together that long. But I know that I—”
Suddenly his cell phone rings, breaking the moment.
Argh! He was about to tell me he loved me. I know he was!
“Damn it,” Beckett groans. “Please ignore that. I’m so sorry. I turned it on to check messages while you went to the ladies’ room and I guess I forgot to mute it. Evan has called a lot and—”
“Evan?” His agent? “Beckett, you should take that,” I encourage. Suddenly fear grips me. “You . . . don’t think you’re traded do you?”
The phone stops ringing, and Beckett grins at me.
“No, I’m pretty confident I’m not being traded,” Beckett says, kissing me on the lips. “But here, let me shut this off.”
He retrieves his phone and it starts ringing again.
“What the hell, Evan?” Beckett scowls as he studies the number.
“Take it,” I plead.
“Okay, but I’ll get off quick,” Beckett assures me. “Hello? Evan, why have you been blowing up my phone for hours? I’m spending some time with my girlfriend . . .”
I watch as Beckett grows silent, listening. And then I’m shocked to see a look of pure anger pass over his face.
“Okay, that’s fucking bullshit,” he says, his voice shaking with rage. He steps away from me, but I can still hear him. “No! I will not . . . This is ridiculous. No!”
I bite my lip. Something horrible has happened. My stomach freezes over. Please don’t let him be traded, I pray. I know how much he loves this city and this team. Beckett would be crushed to be shipped somewhere else.
“I don’t believe it . . . It’s fucking absurd, that’s what this is.”
God, what’s happening? My chest clenches in fear. I bite my lip as Beckett is now pacing on the sidewalk, once again not giving a damn if anyone is listening or taking his picture. Whatever is being discussed, it obviously has his full attention.
“I will tomorrow. And I expect a fucking apology for this.”
Then he angrily hangs up and drops the phone into his pocket.
“Beckett?” I say softly. “Are you okay?”
He turns toward me, and when his eyes meet mine, I see the anger begin to dissipate.
“I’m fine,” he says, moving back toward me. “Some huge fucking misunderstanding I don’t want to get into right now.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, putting my hands on the lapels of his wool overcoat.
Beckett gazes down at me. “Yeah. I’m just pissed off.”
I swallow hard. I’ve ne
ver seen him so angry, but my captain is not going to burden me with whatever is troubling him.
“You know you can tell me anything,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. “I’m here for you, Beckett.”
Beckett puts his gloved hands on my face and presses his forehead to mine. “I know. And I will later. Not now, though. Not tonight.”
I close my eyes and breathe in the cologne on his skin, finding comfort in the familiar scent. The moment has passed. I know Beckett isn’t going to tell me he loves me tonight, but right now that doesn’t matter.
All I want is for whatever has upset him so much to be made right.
And hopefully by tomorrow it will be.
Chapter 30
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #30: When faced with a crisis at work, proceed with a cautious hand. Do not show anger. Remain poised, in control, express your point in an articulate and non-confrontational manner. Validate the other person’s feelings while calmly expressing your viewpoint.
**Amendment** When my privacy has been violated, there is no calm.
**Amendment #2** And when you’ve threatened what I have with Beckett, you’ll see fury like you’ve never seen in your life.
I’m still in a blissful state when I stroll into the offices of ChicagoConnect the next day. I loosen the scarf around my neck as I make my way to my desk, thinking of the wonderful, romantic evening I had with Beckett last night.
No, he didn’t say he loved me. That moment was broken with the phone call that upset him so much but he didn’t let it ruin our night. I know he’s going to say those words to me, but he’s going to do it when the moment is perfect for us. And I know that moment will be soon. Especially after the way we made love last night . . .
Okay. Can’t think about sex with Beckett or I won’t focus all day. He was meeting with Evan at his agency to discuss whatever pissed him off, and Beckett promised me he would tell me everything once it was over. I reassured him this morning that no matter what it was, I would be here to help him in any way I could. While I wished he would have told me last night, I know he simply wanted me to have a romantic evening, and I love him even more for putting me first.
“Good morning,” Charlotte says, smiling at me. “Did you have a good date last night?”
“Good morning,” I say happily. “And yes, I did. The best ever. Thank you.”
Charlotte smiles and goes back to work. I begin to unwind my winter layers, still wondering what made Beckett so mad. But one thing I’ve learned with Beckett is that he will get all information and think it through before making any kind of decision, or even telling me, for that matter. I expect nothing less from my methodical, serious captain.
I take off my coat, switch out my boots for heels, and turn on my computer. I glance at my email, and see that Mallory sent one yesterday around five saying she had an out-of-office meeting with Tom this morning and would return by ten. Yay! I don’t have to deal with her for another hour.
I open the drawer to put my tote bag away. I pause for a moment, glancing at my desktop. I always carry my Kate Spade notebook with me, as I’m constantly scribbling rules and more than rules, amendments to the rules these days but I forgot to put it back in my purse when Beckett picked me up yesterday. I noticed it was gone this morning, but remembered leaving it on my desk yesterday after scribbling all my gushy love notes about Beckett.
Hmmm. I don’t see it on my desktop. I move some things around, lift up a pad of paper. Not here. I concentrate, retracing my steps. I had it out, then Mallory called me, and I knocked all those folders on the floor—
I freeze. I remember scooping everything up in a hurry and taking it to Mallory’s office.
I gasp. Oh, no, did I leave my notebook on Mallory’s desk?
A sick feeling washes over me. I retrieve the key to her office and get up, making my way to her door. Okay, simply because I left it in here doesn’t mean she saw it. Besides, it’s not a floor sample. There’s no way she noticed it.
And if she did, she would have thrown it in the middle of my desk and sent me a shitty email explaining that I need to be neat and responsible for my things and not clutter her office with my crap.
I unlock the door and step inside. I flip on the lights and look at her desk, which is immaculate.
There’s no notebook there.
I fight the uneasiness that is creeping up in my chest. I know it has to be here. I rifle through her credenza, wondering if she stuck it in there. Nothing. I move to the bookcase, running my fingertips over the spines of the books, but no notebook.
Panic begins to take hold of me. I move over to her computer, looking on either side of it. Nothing but one legal pad of notepaper.
My heart is pounding against my ribs.
Did she take it?
No, surely not. In desperation, I get down on the floor to make sure it didn’t fall off her desk and somewhere that isn’t visible to me when standing up. I check in between her desk and wall, behind her huge potted tree, under her desk. Nothing.
I can’t breathe. My notebook has the most personal thoughts in the world, and more importantly, all of my feelings and emotions about Beckett. I would die if anyone read it. And the idea of Mallory reading my inner most thoughts makes me sick.
I stand up, but as I do, my foot catches the edge of her waste paper basket, flipping it over.
I pick it up, and then I see gold polka dots peeking out at me.
My notebook.
It’s buried under an HGTV Magazine issue from last month, but there it is. Mallory obviously threw it away.
I grab it and hold it to my chest, breathing a deep sigh of relief. I should be livid she tossed something of mine in the trash, but I’m so relieved she didn’t read it that I don’t care.
I quickly leave her office and put my notebook back in my purse and lock the drawer for safekeeping. Whew. That was a close one. I’ll definitely leave it at home in the future, that’s for sure.
So for the rest of the morning I get my coffee, monitor Beckett’s social media accounts, and smile when I see girls went all swoony over his Instagram post of us on our date last night.
About an hour later, I still haven’t heard from Beckett. I shoot him a text to see how the meeting was, but he doesn’t answer. Hmmm. I check the time, and it’s close to practice, so he’ll probably answer me later. But this time, I’m not letting him get out of telling me. We’re a team, and we’ll deal with this together, no matter what it is.
I hear heels against the hardwood and before I glance up, I smell Mallory’s perfume drift toward me announcing her presence. She strides up to my desk, a serious expression on her face.
“You’re needed in Tom’s office immediately. Come with me,” she says.
I notice her expression is grave. The uneasy feeling comes back.
Something isn’t right.
“Sure,” I say, trying to project confidence.
Mallory escorts me down the long hall to Tom’s office, not saying a word.
I rack my brain. What could I have done? He knows I’m dating Beckett, and he didn’t have a problem with it. What else? I show up on time, I work hard when I’m given actual work, I’m pleasant to coworkers. What could this be?
We reach Tom’s office, and Neilson averts my gaze as I walk past. Okay. Something bad is about to happen. The fact that Neilson is avoiding my gaze tells me everything I need to know.
I step into Tom’s office, and Mallory closes the door behind me. Tom appears stoic, when normally he’s the smiling, laid-back cool CEO. Stuart from HR is already seated in one of the guest chairs. Shit, am I about to be terminated?
“Aubrey, please have a seat,” Tom says, standing up.
I feel my knees shake. I drop down into the seat, grateful my trembling won’t be visible to them
.
Tom takes his seat, and Mallory sinks down into the chair next to me.
“We’ve returned from a meeting with Beckett and Evan,” Tom says slowly.
What? A meeting with Beckett? Beckett was having a meeting with ChicagoConnect and didn’t tell me?
“Okay,” I say, not understanding why Beckett wouldn’t mention this. Wait. Wait. This meeting was about whatever made him furious last night.
I glance from Tom to Mallory, who is smiling at me in a self-satisfied way.
I freeze the second I see her expression.
“Was-Was this meeting about me?” I ask.
Tom places a folder in front of me, one I don’t recognize.
“Is this your folder?” he asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s in your best interest to tell the truth,” Mallory says.
“I am,” I say, my head swirling. “That’s not mine.”
Tom flicks it open. “Are these your journal entries?”
I stare down at the photocopied papers in front of me. With horror I realize Mallory has copied pages out of my journal.
“That . . . those . . . are my journal entries,” I sputter in horror. “My private journal!”
Mallory tilts her head at me. “You left your folder in my office yesterday. I thought it was one of mine, or obviously I wouldn’t have opened it, but I did. And your entries about using Beckett to advance your career caught my attention.”
What?
“I don’t have anything like that in there!” I cry, all thoughts of remaining calm gone.
“But you do,” Mallory says, picking up the folder. “Rules about weighing out if Beckett is worth the risk. Rules about keeping him a secret. Rules about your career, keeping work and private life separate. How you thought he was awkward. I actually found emails you sent to Livy about that in your work account.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t.
