Back for more, p.15
Back for More, page 15
Suddenly, I feel like buying new car insurance.
Roger and his broker watch them go and then give me a sideways glance. I look down at the file folder and pen in my hand and hold it up. “Better go sign these papers,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Could you give me your assistant’s number?” the broker mutters.
I don’t verbalize my answer to that question, but he gets the idea.
“Guess we’re buying a resort,” Roger says, grinning.
Four hours later, after Lily has toured the entire lodge with Patty and talked-up Ashland’s Shakespeare Festival over a long lunch in the restaurant, she is now convincing Patty that Ashland is the next Napa Valley while I frantically scroll through my emails to make sure we haven’t missed anything important by being out of the office. This is one of the bigger deals I’m closing of late, so I can justify spending a few hours with these people, but not at the risk of slacking off. I know Lily had the calls forwarded to her cell phone, but I don’t see how it’s possible she managed to stay on top of everything while also dazzling my client. And yet—it seems as though she has.
I overhear Patty and Roger suggesting that Lily and I join them for wine tasting at one of the local vineyards when I excuse myself from the table to go out to the lobby to take a call. It’s Jasper’s assistant Tina, and she only calls me when he needs to talk to me right away. “This is Wes,” I say when I reach a quiet corner.
“Hey, sweetie. I’ve got Jay calling from Seattle. Can I put him through?”
“Yeah, put him through.”
I clear my throat and try to sound like a guy who definitely did not have his mouth all over this man’s daughter’s naked body yesterday morning.
“Wes?”
“Hello, sir.”
“I’m about to step into a committee meeting, but I learned about an upcoming foreclosure at an office park in Central Point. I think it’s a good fit for the Barnes Group’s own portfolio. Tina will be emailing you the information shortly. Look into it, will you?”
“Sounds good. I will do that and get back to you.”
“How’s Lily working out so far?” he asks.
“Lily?” I ask, trying to sound like a guy who absolutely did not make out with this man’s daughter in his living room yesterday.
“Your new assistant… I heard Tina say she’s not at her desk this afternoon. Did she not show up for work today?”
“No, she’s here, actually. I’m at the resort in Ashland with our clients, and I asked Lily to meet me here because Mrs. Triplett was getting cold feet. I had an instinct about her and figured she’d respond to Lily’s encouragement.”
“And?”
“And I think we all have Lily to thank for closing this eight-million-dollar deal.”
“Nice of you to say so. You’re the one with the good instincts.”
I turn to look into the restaurant, where Lily is still busy engaging with Patty while typing on her phone.
“She really is a natural, I think. Definitely runs in the family.”
I think I hear air blowing out of his nostrils. “Get back to me about that office park as soon as you can” is all he says before hanging up.
Does that man really not see in his daughter what everyone else on earth can see?
I have never been able to figure Jay Barnes out, especially when it comes to Lily. I know she hasn’t been able to figure him out either. But I know she wants to. I know she wants to prove herself to him, and I know she wants the respect of her only living parent more than she wants anything else in life right now. And I know I want her to get what she wants.
Fuck.
That First Love that we deserve is gonna have to wait.
This is gonna hurt.
Fucking hell. Why the fuck did I agree to come to the most romantic fucking vineyard in the Rogue Valley, with the girl I’m obsessed with, who I can’t fucking get involved with if she needs to stay on her game at work? And why the fuck can’t I stop drinking this fucking delicious wine and staring at her, when we should both be back at the fucking office?
I’m all about keeping the clients happy, and yes—we’re going over a lot of their contingencies and details of financing, and once their broker has gone home, I’m able to discuss their business plan and revenue growth projections with them—and that means I probably won’t have to come back here to meet with them as many times as I’d planned to this week while they’re staying in the area. So I guess it’s saving time.
But fucking hell. Why does Lily have to keep smiling at me so sweetly? Why does her foot have to keep grazing mine under the table? Why can’t I stop picturing her naked and remembering the sounds she made when she came all over my face yesterday?
Patty keeps asking her if she’s going to be in any plays at the Shakespeare Festival, and Lily just laughs it off, like she’s not that kind of actor—not that good of an actor. But she was. She was dazzling on stage, back in high school.
“You knew her in high school?” Patty asks me.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
Lily’s eyes have gone wide, and her lips press together.
“Barely,” I say. “I mean, we knew each other a little, sure. My dad was the groundskeeper for the Barnes property. Still is. So, we knew each other because of that. We should try to get Mike on the phone, to get him up to speed,” I say to Roger in an attempt to change the subject.
“Wait,” says Patty as she grasps Lily’s wrist. “Are you a Barnes? As in the Barnes Group? And you’re an assistant?”
The Tripletts are from out of town, and they were a referral from their San Francisco business manager, Mike, so they haven’t met Jasper and they probably don’t give a shit about our personal history or our weird current predicament. But I feel like a fucking idiot for letting that slip anyway.
“I am a Barnes, yes,” says Lily, “but I’m just getting started in this business. Learning the ropes.”
“Well, I think that’s great,” says Patty. “Good for you. Gosh,” she says to her husband. “I guess that’s just what it’s like in a small town, huh? Must be nice. Roger and I both grew up in big cities and moved around a lot, so we’re barely in touch with our old friends.”
“Oh, we weren’t friends,” I say like an asshole. And an idiot. Because I could have just changed the subject and we could have moved on, but no. I can’t move on. Not when it comes to Lily Barnes. But I’m doing this for her own good, and because if she keeps smiling at me and looking at me with those warm doe eyes, I’m gonna get us a room at the lodge tonight and I’m gonna ruin everything. So I will ruin this moment instead. Fuck it. Patty and Roger won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow. “We had friends in common,” I go on. “But I went to a public school and she went to a private school, and when she graduated, she left town without saying good-bye to anyone and we didn’t talk for five years, and now she’s back and she’s my assistant. So that’s that story. That’s it. Anyone want another glass of wine? I think they’re closing soon.”
Patty and Roger exchange awkward looks, and I keep my asshole eyes fixed on Lily. She stares at me, so confused, and then she looks sad and then she looks mad and then she looks resigned and then she looks away from me and I want to fucking die, because this is what it’s going to be like for us for another year now.
“Actually, we have a dinner reservation, so we should probably get back to the hotel to change,” Roger says. “Can we get back into this tomorrow? You’ll come back down?”
“Sure,” I say, signaling to the waitress for the check. “I got this,” I tell Roger and Patty. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Patty gives Lily a hug, and the three of them walk across the grounds to the parking lot while I wait around to sign the credit card bill. I hadn’t noticed that it’s clouded over and there’s a sudden chill in the air. Or maybe it’s just me.
The Tripletts have driven off, and Lily is standing next to my car by the time I reach it. She’s holding a Ziploc bag and frowning at me. “Are you okay to drive?” she asks.
“I’m not drunk. I’m just an asshole. Are you okay to drive?”
“I am stone fucking sober. Are you going back to the office?”
“One of us should, don’t you think?”
“Sure. I’ll just go home and work from there for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Good idea.” I should just let the conversation end there, but I don’t. “You do realize you’d have to obtain a Bachelor’s in finance or real estate or at the very least get your real estate license and then broker enough deals to warrant a promotion. If you’re serious about staying on at the company.”
“Yes, Wes. I do realize it. I spent all afternoon and evening looking into it and thinking about it. I’m serious about a lot of things.”
“I just think we should wait. If you want to stick with this job and you want your dad’s respect and you want your trust fund money, then you should not get involved with me. Not now.”
She glares at me. “Not get involved with you? After all the things you said over the weekend? Sorry—all the things Other Wes said over the weekend.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you said that about us. In front of clients.”
“They couldn’t care less, believe me.”
“Well, you obviously still care a lot, about the past. So here.” She holds the Ziploc bag out for me.
“What’s this?” I take it from her. There’s an envelope inside, with my name on it. It looks like crime scene evidence.
“This is the other letter I wrote to you five years ago,” she says, her voice trembling. “This is the letter I was going to leave for you, inside Fanny’s cat carrier, but then my dad saw me, and something about the way he was looking at me… I don’t know. Like he thought I was making a huge mistake. He was standing there by the garage, watching me leave the carrier on your front porch. And when I put the letter back in my bag, he sort of nodded and went into the garage and drove off. So, I wrote that note, and that’s the one I left for you. But I kept it. I’ve had this letter with me every single day, and I’ve wondered what might have happened if you’d read it. Every. Single. Day. And now I’m giving it to you. Read it. Don’t read it. It’s all up to you. I just can’t carry it around anymore. Because I don’t want this to be about the way I behaved in the past, but if you’ll never get over it, then I don’t know what else I can do about it.” She turns on her heel and stomps over to her car.
“Lily,” I say.
“I’ll see you at the office in the morning, boss man,” she says before getting into her car and slamming the door and driving away and leaving me alone in a parking lot with the Other Letter.
And I don’t want to read it.
And I’m dying to read it, but I know what will happen if I do.
And I know there’s probably no scenario where at least one of us doesn’t feel like shit now, whether I read it or not.
And it’s a tragedy, because we were so fucking close to having something good.
16
Lily
*Whether You Like it or Not*
Fucking bad luck lingerie and cursed replacement panties and kiss of death condoms. I never should have packed them into my bag. They jinxed me. Or maybe I jinxed myself. Who am I kidding?
Yeah, this is all on me. I get it. I won’t be getting any nookie, but at least I don’t have to feel quite so guilty anymore. At least Wes Carver will know how I really felt. If he reads the letter, that is.
I actually feel lighter now.
Or maybe I’m just light-headed.
Or maybe I’m about to have a panic attack.
Oh God.
What have I done?
I just gave my boss a cheesy letter that I wrote when I was a teenager. A letter that told him I love him. In French. Because I thought that would make it easier to face him every day.
What is wrong with me lately?
I finish changing into my sweatpants and T-shirt. I can’t spend another minute thinking about Other Wes today or for the rest of the week. I go downstairs to the kitchen. I’ve set up a workspace at the kitchen counter, and I will stay there, in work-mode, until I am too tired to work anymore, and then I will go to sleep, and then I will get up and work again. At the office with Wes. And it will be fine.
Maybe I can get a new prescription for beta blockers.
I check the fridge to see what Vicky left me for dinner and then fill the electric kettle with water for tea. I glance out the window above the sink and see that it’s raining. Pouring rain. The sun is just starting to set. I look out, down toward the gazebo. It looks like it has been fully built, but it needs to be stained. Toby Carver does good carpentry work. So does his son.
I groan, thinking about that glorious morning wood that I will never be able to work with.
When I walk over to the island counter, I pass by the patio door and scream.
There’s a man pacing back and forth at the edge of the patio in the pouring rain.
The man.
Wes.
His hair and clothes are soaked through.
I can see that his fists, his jaw, every single muscle in his body is tense.
I run to the sliding door, out onto the patio, still barefoot.
He stops and faces me. I take one step down so I’m at eye level with him, and I throw my arms around his neck. His hands are immediately clutching at my waist, equal parts pulling me to him and pushing me away.
I don’t even have to ask what he’s doing out here. I know.
“I read it,” he says, trying to slow his heavy breaths.
My fingertip tracks the bulging vein that runs down the side of his wet neck. “Good.”
He speaks through clenched teeth. “You really wrote that five years ago?”
I shower his whole face with quick wet kisses, coming at him faster and harder than the raindrops. “Yes.” I kiss his cheek.
“You wanted me to come find you?”
“Yes.” I kiss his forehead.
“You’ve felt this way all along?”
“Yes.” I kiss his mouth.
He instinctively responds with kisses even as he continues to say, in an unsteady voice that I barely recognize as his, “Je t’aime aussi.” It almost comes out like a question, but I’ll take it.
“Merde.”
“This is really going to change everything, you know?”
I suck on his lower lip before pulling back and whispering into his ear, “It fucking better.”
I take his big wet hand and lead him into the kitchen, sliding the door shut behind us.
He steps out of his shoes, and I lead him through the kitchen, down the hallway, to the stairs. As I lead him up the stairs, his free hand grabs at the waist of my damp sweatpants, and I can hear the soft, deep rumbling at the back of his throat. “Lily,” he says quietly, repeating my name over and over again. Alternately disbelieving, chastising, reprimanding, worshiping, accepting. With each step we take, I can feel him becoming more certain that we’re doing the right thing.
Even before we are through my bedroom door, he is pulling my T-shirt up off over my head and pushing my hair to one side so he can kiss my neck and reach around to cup my breasts. Squeezing. Not too rough, not too gentle. Possessive. My head rolls back and to the side, and I raise my arms up behind myself so I can grasp at his damp wavy hair while his hands roam all over the front of my body, pressing me into him. He is so hard against my back, and I have never felt so soft and smooth and wanted as I do now.
He spins me to face him, fists my hair, and lays a long, deep, punishing kiss on me that’s almost as long and deep and punishing as the years I’ve spent craving him.
I peel his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and finally just tear apart the top buttons so he can tug it off over his head and toss it aside. I place my trembling hands flat on his pecs and grunt, because Jesus, and then I slide my hands up to his shoulders and down to his biceps and I groan, because fuck. And just when I’m reaching down to unzip him, he yanks my sweatpants and panties to the floor in one swift movement and he’s on his knees, clenching his fingers into the flesh of my ass as he licks me and devours me down there in that place that is so very wet and throbbing for him.
I thread my fingers through his hair. “Wesssss.” I am so close to coming already, and I want this to last forever, but I also just need him to fuck me right now, dammit.
He growls and stands up and says, “I’m gonna fuck you now.” Because he has always known what I wanted, and he is finally, finally going to give it to me. Before I know it, a package is torn open with his teeth, and he is naked and on top of me, my legs bent and spread wide. His wide crown coaxes me open, slowly but assuredly. “Is this okay?” he asks.
I suck in a breath before I’m able to answer him. “This is the most okay thing ever.” The hot sting of him as he enters me is delicious and painful and satisfying, and I cry out, sounding relieved and angry because goddammit now I know what people mean when they say “it hurts so good.” This is what Wes Carver does to me… He stretches me out and fills me up and makes me feel so many things that I’ve never felt before, but now that I’m feeling this, I know that I will never, ever run away from him again. Because this, this overwhelming feeling is what I was so afraid of, and giving into it is the most beautiful thing there is.
“Fuuuck. Baby. You’re so tight,” he hisses. And then, as he realizes just how tight I am, he opens his eyes and looks at me. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Baby,” he says.
I nod once.
He lowers himself to kiss my cheek. “You waited for me too,” he whispers.
He holds himself up over me with ease, moving his hips slowly at first, waiting for a sign from me that it’s okay to pick up the pace. When one of his hands brushes the hair out of my face, I catch his thumb in my mouth and suck on it, hard, making him groan. I start to rock my hips in rhythm with his, placing my feet on the mattress so I can tilt myself up and let him angle in deeper.
