by Meg Watson
“You know, honestly, I don't think Carl ever really give you enough credit. I mean, you basically built Carl's business —”
That's what I'm saying!
“— and yeah, sometimes people fall out of love. But he had so much respect for you, he was really always in awe of you. You must know that… I think he was just too scared to admit how weak we had been.”
I blinked, finally drawing her into focus. The way she was talking to me, it was like she didn't even know me. But really, that wasn't such a bad thing because the person she was describing was a hell of a lot cooler than I ever felt.
I tried to see what she was seeing; to see myself as a stranger. I was an elitely educated woman who had rolled up her sleeves to save her boyfriend’s business without complaint or giving the attitude that I was better than that job. Did that make me tough? Is that how she saw me? I didn't really know.
Frankly, as the days went by I was finding it harder and harder to continue giving a fuck, either.
She twisted her fingers together nervously. I stared at her like she was specimen in a zoo. Her rusty upper lip twitched as she shifted from foot to foot, apparently waiting for me to say something.
We hadn't really been good friends, I had to admit, though somehow I felt like I had ownership over all the female friendships in the relationship that Carl and I had cultivated together. She sort of came with the condo, along with Mike and Chad (our preppy gay neighbors) and Mrs. Lucek (the Polish busybody downstairs). We’d only hung out a few times over cocktails in the tiny walled patio.
I wracked my brain: was there ever a sign? Did he favor her margarita over mine when we sat on the concrete patio in metal mesh chairs? Why didn’t I pay attention? After the other times I had uncovered his cheating, why wasn’t I more vigilant?
Melita would know. I wished I could ask her.
Hey Melita, why didn’t I keep a closer eye on Carl? Why didn’t I notice he had a new girlfriend right under my nose? Was I really that checked out of the relationship? Is Whitney… right? If he fell out of love, did I fall out of love too?
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why did I feel so safe? I knew Carl was vain and self-centered. I knew he was obsessed with his appearance and constantly checked the eyes of women we passed to see if they were checking him out. Knowing that, why didn’t I watch him like a hawk?
Mostly, I think it was too damn tiring. I gave up. And I wanted to feel safe in my circle. Whitney was in that circle and I expected all the women to be sort of on my side. So, yeah, we weren't that close… We weren't Bree-and-Melita close. But she was in my circle, dammit. I still felt that she had betrayed me almost as much as he had.
Then again, obviously these twits deserved each other.
So what do I deserve?
I nodded slowly with my lips pressed together as though I was really considering what she had said. I tried to play the words over in my mind but frankly they just slipped like sand through my fingers. I had other things to think about, and now she was getting in my way. I wanted to salute her, almost.
My hand rose to the side of my face and sort of hung there for a moment. I wasn’t sure if it was making a palm-out Stop gesture, a nervous hair-push, or trying to flip her the bird. After a few seconds it fell back to my hip and I nodded once, then turned around and walked away without saying anything. I had no time for detours, and I didn’t really know what to say anyway.
Thanks for the springboard, Whitney Fucking Avery. Thanks for the jetpack into orbit.
I realized as I walked back through the gallery that I was sort of happy to have her gone from my world. And I was definitely happy to not have to share my cool new future with a man who would treat me like this. He didn’t deserve me. He really didn’t.
So what did I deserve? That's what I was going to find out.
CHAPTER 4
The blast of cool air that hit me as soon as I walked into the lobby of the Jacks’ building chilled my thin t-shirt all the way through to my skin. I shoved my thumbs in the front pockets of my dark-washed jeans and stood near the door for a few seconds, wondering how I was going to get up there to see them.
Before I could formulate a plan, the security guard came out from behind his desk and walked toward me.
“Ms. Colson,” he said politely, his voice reasonably hushed so that it carried distinctively across the marble space without booming, “are you here to see Mr. Jack? I can show you to the private elevator.”
I nodded uncertainly, glad that he had offered the answer before I had formulated how to ask the question. He bowed his head and began striding diagonally across the space. I followed behind, grateful for the cool breeze on my t-shirt. It's so hard to stay fresh in Chicago in the middle of summertime.
As he rounded the corner into a small, dead-end hallway, I couldn't help but notice that my mouth had suddenly gone dry and my pulse was thudding against the pit of my throat.
I can't tell if I am turned on or terrified.
The guard placed his palm against a charcoal black panel and then took a half step back. He smiled politely for me with his hands clasped in front of his hips. I nodded once, trying to appear as though this is exactly the procedure I expected.
After a few moments, the elevators doors slid silently open and he took another step back with his hand out, indicating that I should go in.
“Thank you," I mumbled as the doors slid closed again, but he was already gone.
There were only two buttons on the panel next to the door, up and down. I felt the elevator shooting upward and had to fight to breathe. Dimly I knew that there was music playing in the car, but all I could hear was the sound of the blood in my ears.
When the door slid open again, I had to force my legs to move. The room was enormous and lit on two sides by tall, floor to ceiling windows that met at the corner. The whole space was flooded with sunlight and almost as big as their penthouse apartment. I stared into it for a few seconds, not really processing what I was looking at. But when I commanded my legs to walk me forward and heard the elevator closing behind me, I realized that I was not alone.
Behind a large, carved desk the size of a formal dining table, Owen stood with his back to the windows. One hand was steepled against some papers in the middle of the desk, and the light behind him reddened the outline of his unmoving form.
I had to stop for a few seconds and just drink it all in.
“Brienne,” I heard his voice from across the room, low and cautious.
How have I waited this long to see him? It feels like… a lifetime.
I swallowed hard and managed an inelegant smile, then walked a few paces toward him. When I open my mouth to say something, I found my tongue seemed to be paralyzed against the back of my teeth.
He pushed his hand through his hair and it fell smartly back into place. I watched the outlines of his torso underneath the bright borders of his shirt. My fingers twitched and burned with longing.
“I got your emails,” I started hoarsely, opening my hands and walking cautiously toward the desk. The closer I got the louder my heartbeat sounded, and I was gripped with fear that he could hear it too.
He nodded and glanced toward the floor.
"Oh, you didn't have to come in,” he said with a mild scowl. “You could've just called.”
“But I wanted to,” I said in a quavering voice.
I reached the other side of the desk and laid my fingers against it, happy to have something to hold me up. I could barely make out his face because the sunlight behind him cast him in shadow but I saw his eyes flicker toward me.
“That's… nice to hear, actually,” he said in a low voice.
I blinked and took several deep breaths, trying to understand what was happening. Every part of me wanted me to jump on top of the table and crawl toward him.
“You asked me for status,” I said, falling nervously into what I hoped sounded like professional patter. “Everything has been successfully prepared, with the except
ion of a few changes that I needed to make to the floor plan. But everything is on schedule, and the adjustments were rather minor.”
He nodded silently, his eyes downcast.
I chewed the inside of my lip. “Did you… Would you like this in writing, or something?”
His aquamarine eyes flickered up to me, startling me with their intensity.
“That won't be necessary.”
“I've drafted an invitation,” I continued, hearing the confidence in my voice crumbling slightly. “I was hoping that you would be able to distribute the invitation for the opening next Friday. To your contacts, I mean.”
The muscles at the back of his jaw knotted and unknotted a few quick times. I took two deep breaths, one right after the other, trying to crush rising feeling of panic in my gut.
“Owen?"
His nostrils flared and he nodded as if to himself then stood up straight.
“Did I — is something wrong?”
He finally met my eyes and I almost wanted to flinch backward. The connection was so intense I could practically hear it in the air.
“That's what I wanted to ask you,” he replied.
“I don't know what you mean,” I said in a low voice, practically a whisper.
His arms folded in front of his chest, and I felt as though an invisible wall slid down between us.
“I haven't — we haven't heard from you in days. I don't even know if you like the space. I don't even really know what you're doing at the space… I just thought we would have more to talk about.”
“Oh my god, Owen, I love the space,” I babbled in a rush. The panic that rose in my belly swiftly transformed into remorse and guilt. I stumbled around the end of the desk trying to reach him as he looked at me from under his knitted eyebrows.
“You didn't say anything,”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
What did I do? Why didn't I say anything?
“You're right…” I admitted freely, wishing I could go back and redo everything. How could I explain? “I've just been in a mad rush. I wanted to get everything together for you, so it would be perfect when you saw it.”
Now I was standing only a foot away from him, suddenly sweating and panting like I had run up all the stairs to get here. “Owen, I just wanted time to prepare. I want you to be… I don't know, impressed?”
Oh my God, why am I so terrible at this?
“Are you sure?”
I nodded avidly. “I'm absolutely sure. I'm sorry, I just wanted the chance to gather myself, you know, professionally. This whole thing has caught me at a bit of a disadvantage —”
“— are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with Carl?” he interrupted.
I blinked into the silence between us. His arms folded across his chest again. I swallowed hard.
“Oh. Yes… I guess you know about Carl.”
“It's my job to know things.”
Your job. It’s your job.
I stood up taller, embarrassed as though I had fallen into some kind of professional trap. It sounded for a moment there like he was disappointed. Like he was emotionally invested. But of course not, it was just silly of me to think that.
It's just a job, Brienne. Get yourself together.
“All right. Um. I was a little surprised the Carl and Whitney have the space next door on Michigan Avenue,” I said in a coolly professional voice, waving one hand in the air as if to brush away any sense of impropriety. “But I can assure you this is not a problem going forward. I really appreciate everything that you have done for me. This opportunity couldn't have come at a better time in my life. I really think that you're going to enjoy the gallery opening. I've always want to pull together something of this sort, and with your resources suddenly everything is possible —”
I faltered, the words catching in my throat. His lips pressed together into a hard line and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cry, like I was breaking up with him by mistake. I tried to catch his eye but he had gone icy and I just stood there for long seconds, breathing in and out through my nose, trying to find a way backward in the conversation to some point where I could start over.
“Owen?”
His eyes seemed to be darting everywhere but at me.
“Remember the conversation that you didn't want to have?” I asked.
He cocked his head at me, the question plain on his face.
“I would like to have that conversation now, please,” I said, trying with all my might to keep my voice even.
“It doesn't sound like you do.”
Be brave, Brienne. Just ask him.
“When you said that I had never met men with your particular tastes,” I began in earnest, “what did that mean?”
My fingers trembled on the table top. I wanted to touch him so I would have something to hold onto. The room felt like it was rocking beneath me.
“Brienne,” he sighed, "I don't know if we are there yet.”
“No, I think we are there,” I said, admiring the way that my voice seemed to get stronger the more than I used it. “And I think that if we are going to talk, then we have to be perfectly honest with each other. So in all honesty: I believe we need to have this conversation, for sure. In fact… I think that we are past the point we should have had it. I’ll tell you the truth: I think that you missed me.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me but I was almost sure that I saw the twist of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“I think that you missed me,” I said all in a rush before I could chicken out, “and I think that I missed you, too.”
He took a half step toward me but I put my hands up, Stop.
“I missed you too,” I repeated cautiously, yet loving hearing the words out loud at the same time, “but I have no idea what that means. I don’t know if I’m here to work for you or… other things. So I think we do need to have this conversation, plus the one where you tell me about how you’re different than every other man I've ever met.”
And there it was: that was definitely a smirk. His eyes twinkled. My heartbeat hammered but I still didn't know if I was turned on or terrified. At that point, it felt a lot like terror.
Okay. This is it.
“Brienne,” he said with a slow, heavy sigh, “I just want you to have enough time to be sure…”
“Sure of what?” I interrupted.
“Sure that you can handle all of this,” he said.
I hooked my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans and let my weight fall to one side. “You know what, Owen,” I said, suddenly sassy. “You're not giving me much of a chance to figure that out if you won't just tell me what the hell you're talking about.”
He smiled broadly.
"Now there's my girl,” he said in a half-growl.
“Excuse me?"
He nodded eagerly, his expression coming alive again. I fought back an urge to plant my body against his, to share that energy.
“That's the Brienne that I like talking to. You’re strong, probably stronger than you even realize. I wish I could explain to you how unbelievably sexy that is but at the same time, it's more than that. Lyle was right: you’re extraordinary. And I love having that around me… We love having that around us. But only if you're sure —"
“You keep saying that. And I keep saying: let’s be honest with each other. Now tell me what it means.”
“Honest with each other,” he said, nodding.
“Completely,” I shot back.
“You’re sure?” he asked, a sly gleam in his eye. “You’re ready for honesty?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure that you’re sure?”
I sighed through my nose and raised my eyebrows.
“Okay, okay, okay. I just wanted to give you the chance to change your mind. You have to be sure that you're willing to be a partner with us,” he said simply, his hands palm-up. “Both of us. In every way.”
“In every way.”
He nodded. “I spent a really long time looking for s
omeone like you, to be honest. I don't want to frighten you away, and if you're not ready that's all right. But Lyle is my other half. There is no me without him. And there is no us without… Someone like you.”
Again my heart began to race. Was he really saying what I thought he was saying?
What on earth did I get myself into?
“See, you’re scared,” he said, pointing at my chest.
“I am not,” I lied as my breath caught in my throat.
“You are,” he insisted, coming closer to me finally, “and that’s understandable.”
He knuckled the edge of the desk and leaned toward me. I raised my chin, breathing him deeply, letting his scent take over my lungs. I hadn’t realized how much of a void I held when I wasn’t with him. But now he was filling it, and I was flooded with relief.
“I don’t understand this,” I admitted in a whisper.
“That’s all right too,” he whispered back. His hand rose and twisted a lock of hair away from my face. I stood on the tips of my boots, leaning into him.
“I want to try,” I said, my lips parting.
“I want to help,” he chuckled shyly. “Being around you makes me better than I am. You inspire me to do bigger things…”
“Really?” I asked, stunned. How on earth could he possibly get any better? Was he going to sprout wings or something?
But still, I had to admit I knew that feeling. Being around him and Lyle opened doors in my mind and ideas flooded through me. Everything seemed possible when I was with them.
He nodded seriously, his lips brushing softly against mine with every movement. I nodded back. Yes. Yes.
CHAPTER 5
“All right,” came a voice from the elevator, “is this how it is?”
I sucked in my breath as Owen leaned back, somehow taking all the air with him.
“Lyle,” he started.
“This is just… great,” Lyle sneered, coming around the side. “I thought we had an understanding. Why would you — nevermind. You know what, just forg —”
“— All right, stop,” I interrupted. I backed away from both of them. Lyle sighed his frustration through his nose.
