by Emily Childs
“I plan to be,” he says. “Besides, hopefully you won’t be my assistant soon.”
“You know, someone else might take that as insulting, but that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He laughs and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m glad we cleared things up last night, Laney. After you mentioned it at the café, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something about what really happened.”
“Ah, but I probably wouldn’t have believed you. Honestly, I should’ve said something when I first heard about it. Nicole would’ve set me straight months ago and all this could’ve been different.”
“I like how it’s gone. Maybe I needed the time to get my head out of a fog.”
“True. You are a grump.”
“I’m not—” He makes a sort of growl in his throat. “I’m not grumpy. I’m thoughtful.”
“You know, I think it’s your face.”
“Not helping.”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “You have a resting face that looks like a frown. That’s all. I’ve started to watch your eyes, anyway.” I press my forehead to his, letting my lips leave the slightest touch near the corner of his eye. “They give away what you’re really feeling.”
“Yeah? And what are they saying now?”
I look at him and the pit of my stomach burns in a wave of heat. “Things that make me want to jump you and drag you into a broom closet.”
“We’re professionals, Brooks.”
“Yes, we are.” And at that I push away, leaving him a little dumfounded.
“Where are you going?”
“Mr. Olsen, I am working.” I say at the door. “You’ll need to wait until quitting time.”
He rolls his eyes and goes around his desk to his chair. “You’re kind of a tease, and I kind of love it. Fine, go assist me. But you’re coming home with me tonight, right? For the party?”
Heat floods my cheeks, thinking of the belonging I felt in the front dining room of that bakery. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
***
“If I’d known you believing Bass was the unfaithful type was holding you back, I would’ve said something,” Oscar says for the third time as we pull alongside the bakery.
Nicole is in the front seat, and it’s kind of fun being here with them, but with my own plus one sitting next to me in the back seat. I’m always the third wheel with Nicole and Oscar. A smile curls over my face as I thread my arm through Bastien’s. He smiles at me. Being a third wheel is a thing of the past.
“Well, it’s all cleared up now,” Nicole says, winking at me over her shoulder. “And it’s about time.”
Oscar stops the car and Nicole digs out their gift bag stuffed with a tea set and a new doll for Kirstie. Bastien’s gift is divided into two since we couldn’t figure out how to wrap it all as one. I like the way his face lights up when he talks about his niece seeing the vanity, it’s a sweet, gooey side to him I’ve never noticed, maybe never allowed myself to notice.
I added to the present with a set of play princess shoes, a tiara, and necklaces. It’s a funny feeling, sort of tight and fluttery, giving a present with Bastien. An official stamp of coupledom if I do say so myself. My head is still spinning by how quickly everything is changing.
“My mom’s not going to know what to do with me coming home back-to-back like this,” Bastien says.
“Give me the credit,” I say. “Now that you can’t keep your hands off me, I want her to like me for the long haul.”
“I think it’s more like your hands are all over me,” he says and adjusts the big box holding the vanity so he can take my hand. “And she likes you. I’ve gotten like twenty texts since Sunday demanding I bring you back.”
The idea of being wanted by a big, loud family again sends warmth through my chest, and I squeeze his hand tighter. The whirlwind begins when we open the door, only this time it’s worse. All the Jacobsons and Olsens take up Philip Jacobson’s front room. The house is connected to the market, and hardly large enough to fit everyone, yet we do somehow.
I’m introduced to Brita’s mom and stepdad this time. It’s surprising and refreshing how her parents, despite being divorced and remarried, laugh and act like the best of friends as they watch Kirstie and her cousins bounce through the room. I haven’t much experience with divorced couples or blended families, even though my dad died when I was twelve, my mom always used to say he was her missing piece, and she looked forward to rejoining him again. Of course, I doubt she planned to die as young as she did too. But I like to think they’re back together, watching us.
Oscar and Nicole are swallowed up by his parents and Agnes, talking about the final plans for the wedding, pausing long enough to watch Kirstie open gifts.
“Are you going to survive?” I whisper to Bastien as Kirstie squeals over Axel and Elle’s pony present.
“It’s an endless competition,” he mutters. “To be the favorite uncle. When it’s Kaz and Bodie’s birthday, it’ll be between me and Jonas.”
“Sounds exhausting. Hate to tell you, boss, but I think she’s pretty taken by both her uncles.”
“Don’t say that,” he says.
But when it’s our turn, Axel watches with as much attention as Kirstie digs into the dress-ups and vanity set. I don’t think there is a winner on the presents, the little girl squeals and attacks the room with hugs and thank yous over everything. Although, I bite back a tear when both Philip and Viggo give her a hand painted dala horse, apparently a tradition to the Jacobsons when a kid turns six. Viggo doesn’t even make a remark over the Danes versus the Swedes. I guess it’s because Kirstie snuggles into his lap, showing off the intricate designs on her wooden horse.
Philip taps Kirstie’s nose. “Celebrating you, liten flicka, is important to this family. To think, giving up years of hatred would lead to you, a piece of both. What a wonderful gift you are.”
Brita leans against Jonas’s shoulder as though remembering a different time. Listening to the laughter in the room now, it’s hard to imagine these people despised each other once.
Kirstie kisses the cheeks of both her great-grandfathers’ and jumps into the mess of wrapping paper with her cousins.
When the kids are drunk on cake and ice cream, Agnes and Brita settle them upstairs with a movie, while the rest of the group goes into the bakery with Nicole and Oscar to talk wedding. It’s all we can talk about now, but I love hearing her laughter and seeing her endless grin. I wish our mom and dad could be part of it.
Instead of losing myself and crying over it, I study pictures in the front room, stopping at an old, framed picture of Oscar and Bastien. They’re both in basketball jerseys, sweaty, but beaming. Bastien is a head shorter than Oscar in the picture, and lanky with long hair that sort of waved over his ears. I plan to tease Oscar about the awful bleach blond he had in his hair because it looked terrible.
“That was the first picture we ever took of them, even though they played together for years before.”
I turn around as Sigrid crosses the room to stand next to me. I smile at her and touch the glass. “I can’t imagine you all not being friends.”
“Believe it. That night,” she says pointing at the picture, “was the night we tried to make amends. Took a little longer after that, but Inez snapped the picture since Jonas and Brita already dropped the big scandal that they were dating. We figured it was inevitable.”
I chuckle staring at their faces. “They were so skinny.”
“And ate like an army. I suppose they grew into themselves,” Sigrid says.
Yes. Yes, they did. One in particular grew into himself masterfully.
“I’m glad you came,” Sigrid says softly. “And grateful you helped Bastien come back to us.”
My breath catches. “Oh, I don’t think I had much to do with it. He loves you guys.”
“I know,” she admits. “But he was stuck. As a mom, I could see him growing more distant. I always admired your fire, and the way yo
u teased about him right to me when I had to call you simply to get in touch with my son. You’re real and direct. In my opinion, he needed it. I’m glad he has you, Laney.”
My eyes sting as emotion wells without mercy. “Thank you, that means a lot.” She couldn’t understand what it means to me. There are bits of the past, pieces not even Bastien knows, I always thought might mark me as an undesirable option. Nicole always told me I was too cruel to myself, but it took a long time to think a decent guy might want someone like me. I didn’t consider what it would feel like to have his family want me too. There isn’t a way to describe it; like a weight I didn’t know was there lifts off my shoulders. I grin at Sigrid. “I’m glad to have him too.”
Sigrid rests a gentle hand on my shoulder and simply smiles.
“Mom, are you saying things that’ll make me regret coming?”
We both turn as Bastien comes into the room.
“Always,” says Sigrid. “It is my duty as your mother.”
She pinches his cheek, well tries, and leaves us alone. Bastien groans when he sees the picture I was studying. “Don’t look at that. It’s like the worst picture and Inez chose to frame it.”
“According to your mom it was a momentous night.”
He shrugs. “I guess. But really, Oscar and I were already friends. No one likes to say we were first, though. Brita and Jonas always get the credit.”
I bump his arm with my shoulder. “I can see this is sensitive for you. Is sibling rivalry something that’ll ever pass or do I need to get used to it?”
“Get used to it. Honestly, I’m tame. Don’t pit Axel and Jonas against each other; twin level competition is something else.” He glides his hand into mine. “You ready to go? Oscar has an early meeting.”
I think I’d be content to stay forever, but I follow him through the bakery. Another thirty minutes of goodbyes and we’re on our way home. Bastien left his car at my house, and when Oscar drops us off, my stomach is in knots anticipating being alone with him again. Repeats of last night can only be good.
“Want to come inside?” I ask, a tremble in my voice.
The way his eyes kind of smolder pierces me straight through my chest. He takes my hand and steps onto my porch. “Definitely, yes.”
I’m glad I had the forethought to tidy up. My front room is smaller than his, but my townhouse has one more bedroom, and a larger kitchen. Bastien takes a place on my couch. I kick off my sneakers and nestle against him, reveling in the way his arm feels around my shoulders.
“This is going fast,” I whisper. “Do you think it’s too fast? We’re sort of going zero to one hundred.”
Bastien rests his cheek on the top of my head. “I’ve liked you for a long time. Before you even started working at Everett.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” I think of his briskness at times.
He gives me an embarrassed laugh. “As smooth as I seem, I’m not. Sometimes I never knew what to say to you, so I kept myself in work mode. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like you.”
I lift my head, my brows knitting together. “Wait, is that why you hired me? Because you liked me?”
Bastien tilts his head, amusement in his eyes. “Have you still not read my letter of recommendation?” Heat fills my cheeks. How did I forget about that? Bastien rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. “You are going to read this, or I’m staying here all night, like a squatter.”
I have no opposition to that idea, but I’m too shy to say it out loud. I take his phone; on the screen he has the email he sent to Holly before any of this began. Hugging one knee to my chest, I start to read:
To whom it May Concern:
I am writing in reference to Miss Laney Brooks, and her application for market research. Miss Brooks has been employed by Everett Inc. for less than a year, but I have known her longer through college and mutual acquaintances, before becoming her supervisor.
I can say with conviction that there are few people with more natural talent for analysis, creativity, and the kind of out-of-the-box thinking needed at Everett than Miss Brooks. These professional attributes are personally why I was excited to hire her into the analytics department. She has exceeded her job duties in every way and proven what a valuable addition she would be to the marketing department. However, beyond her business acumen, Miss Brooks is honest, charitable, and the hardest worker I’ve ever met. Her position in analytics has not always been easy, yet she has worked with unrelenting determination from the first day.
Due to these characteristics, I would not only recommend Miss Brooks as a member of the research team, but more. It is my firmly held belief it would be a disservice to Everett Incorporated if Laney Brooks were not considered for the new head of Digital Marketing. She has the character, the conviction, and the patience for the position, and would exceed the expectations the same as she has exceeded mine.
Please feel free to contact me if further discussion is required.
All the best,
Bastien Olsen, Data and Analytics
I reread the letter once, twice, then slowly hand his phone back. Speechless. If he’d written a love letter it wouldn’t have laid such an impact as the sincerity in his simple letter of recommendation. He thought I deserved to be a leader in the department, at the same level as him, the same pay scale, the same responsibilities. He’d written it before I’d ever agreed to date him for convenience.
My heart is really going to break a rib this time.
When I stay quiet, too lost in thought to speak, Bastien takes my hand and traces the lines of my palm.
“I like my job, and I really like working at Everett,” he says softly.
His attention is on my hand, and I take a guess he’s about to be vulnerable and doesn’t want to look at me. I’m all ears.
“I told Oscar to make sure you applied for the job as my assistant because I knew it would get you in the door, and with such a low turnover rate it’s hard to get in that door. I knew you’d be a good fit for the company. That’s why I hired you, my personal feelings aside. I never expected you to stay my assistant long term. Even if I didn’t care about you on a deeper level, I would’ve said those same things, Laney. You deserve the promotion. One hundred percent.”
I don’t know what my smile looks like, it feels a little giddy and silly, but I don’t care. Trapping his face between my hands I kiss him, slowly, thoroughly. Until his fingers are digging through my hair.
“Bastien,” I say when we break apart. “Don’t think I’m pathetic, but the way you described my work ethic and character is probably the sexiest, sweetest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
He laughs and curls my head against his chest. “Brooks, I really question your judgment in men if a reference letter can be called romantic.”
“So what does that say about you?”
He hesitates. “Never mind, you are a great judge in character.”
I wrap my arms around his waist, simply being close, and laugh. “That’s what I thought, boss.”
The truth is, the guys I dated before, they don’t hold up in the slightest compared to Bastien. Funny, how not even two weeks ago I planned out the insults I could toss at him, and now, I can hardly imagine going another day without his hands on me.
For the next several days I feel like I’m floating. Take a bit of thrill stealing glances at Bastien, sneaking away to be alone with him.
Until my bliss halts all at once. I don’t know what to think when my phone flashes with a new message. I hardly breathe at all.
Amy wants to get in touch with Bastien.
Chapter 21
Bastien
Late nights with Laney are going to kill me. In more ways than one. Blinking to keep my eyes open, I try to finish a report before the workday is even supposed to begin. The sun is still deciding if it’ll wake up or not.
No regrets or anything. I simply might die younger than planned.
I don’t mind the quiet, but when it’s dead silent and some
one crashes through the door it’s enough to freak anyone out. There isn’t any time to get to my office door before Laney crashes through, breathless.
“Hi,” she says.
Her curls are wild on top of her head and she’s wearing knee socks. Seeing her, knowing everything is open between us now, having her be mine for real, real, it takes some effort not to blurt out ‘I love you’ right there.
“What are you doing? Did you break in?” I lift a brow, suspicious. “Lane, we probably shouldn’t, you know, get too crazy too soon.”
Pink flushes her face. “Bastien,” she says a little shriller. “I’m not here to seduce you! Let’s date at least a month before I start pulling out all the stops.”
I visibly slump. Worth it to draw out her laugh. “What’s up then, crazy? I could hear you crash off the elevator.”
“Sorry,” she says, hurrying to me. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Laney tosses her phone in front of my face, so I need to back up to focus on the text message she’s showing me. I feel blood drain from my face when I register the name.
Amy Newman: Hey girl! It’s been too long. Listen, this is extra random, but I know you work together. Would you mind telling Bastien I really want to talk to him? I’m holding onto so much resentment and would love to clear the air. I’d call him, but he told me to delete his number. Thanks, babe!
My jaw tightens. I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling myself curling away. This time Laney doesn’t let me. She brushes a hand across my cheek, unaware how much she draws me in with the simplest touch.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“That she did tell the truth for once. I did tell her to delete my number the last time we talked.”
“What do you want? Do you want to talk to her?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what she’s doing. If anyone is holding onto resentment it’d be me.”
“Are you?”
I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. I pull her against me, and use my index finger knuckle to tip her face toward mine. “I’m over her, Laney. I swear.”
