Boss's Virgin - A Standalone Romance (An Office Billionaire Boss Romance) by Claire Adams, Joey Bush (19)

 

24.

Daisy

 

I didn’t know what I was supposed to think.

I went for a walk, hoping that some exercise would help, or at least clear my brain from thinking any thoughts. Really, that should’ve made everything clear. It should’ve put everything in a crystalline perspective: No way was I going to get involved with a guy who was going to have a baby with someone else! That was too much. I didn’t want to be a stepmom. I didn’t want to be with someone who was going to have the responsibility of a child with another woman.

But there was another part of me that was trying to argue it wasn’t such a big deal; people did it all the time. I myself had a stepmother, technically, even though we didn’t really have any sort of relationship.

My phone started to ring, and I pulled it out, telling myself that if it was Ian, I wasn’t going to answer it. Hadn’t he just said that he’d give me time to think about everything? But it wasn’t him; or at least, it wasn’t a number that I recognized. Normally I would’ve ignored it, but I decided to pick it up.

It turned out to be Carl, my mother’s colleague. He thanked me for getting in touch with him and asked if I wanted to get together on Saturday morning, if I was still interested in being part of the project.

“I do have plans Saturday afternoon,” I said, “but I could do Saturday morning.”
“That would be great,” he said. He had a very calm, mild voice that made me feel at ease, even though we’d only been on the phone for about a minute. “I’ve done a number of interviews already, and some have been fairly quick. Others have been longer, but we can make sure that you’re done in time to get to your next engagement.”

He told me where his office was located, and I agreed to meet him there at ten o’clock. When we got off the phone, I circled back toward the office, hoping that Ian would have left by then, or at the very least, I wouldn’t run into him when I was getting into my car.

Of course, at the very moment I was pulling my keys out of my purse, the door to the office building swung open, and he strode out. I could tell he wasn’t expecting to see me right there, and that it had actually taken him by surprise. He started to smile and say something, but then he stopped, as though remembering the last conversation that we’d had. There were about twenty feet between us, and we both just stood there, looking at each other, neither one saying anything. That’s when I realized he was going to wait for me to say something first, but I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I just got into my car and drove away.

 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Carl said. I was sitting on the couch in his office, which was a big, bright room lined with bookshelves. He was seated in an armchair that was next to the couch, and he turned the voice memo on his iPhone on and placed it on the coffee table, so the microphone was facing me. “Has your mother told you anything about the project?”

“Not really,” I said. “Just that you were writing a book about the quarter-life crisis.”
He smiled and nodded. He reminded me of a teddy bear, or one of those animal characters in a children’s fiction book, with a light sweater vest pulled on over a collared short-sleeve shirt with light blue checkers. He had a sandy colored beard and slightly disheveled hair. He was also wearing Birkenstocks. “Correct. And that’s good she didn’t give you too many details; I think that’s better for the subjects that I’m interviewing. Though ‘interviewing’ is perhaps too rigid of a term—this is really more of a conversation. I’d like to hear about your experience so far. I’ll ask you a few basic questions to get us started.”

“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-four.”

“And did you graduate from college?”
“Yes, with a B.A. in creative writing.”
“And what has your experience been like since you graduated?”
“My experience . . .” I paused and took a deep breath. “My experience has honestly been nothing like what I thought it would be. I can remember being a teenager and being so excited to get to graduate high school and go off to college because I was certain that was when my ‘real life’ was going to start. And I spent a good part of my teenage years just waiting for this real life to start, thinking that I’d know when it happened because I’d feel like an adult. I would know that I had arrived because I would feel different. But I don’t feel different. I feel exactly the same—only maybe worse, because now it seems like something is wrong with me. It seems like I somehow missed the turnoff for the road to adulthood, because I feel like I’m just playing pretend.”
Carl nodded. “What sorts of things have happened that made you feel this way?”

“The jobs I’ve had since graduating have nothing to do with what I went to school for. Though I realize that a creative writing major might not have been the most practical thing—my mother was always very fond of telling me that. But I thought she, of all people, would have encouraged me to pursue my passion, not just what might have made sense financially. So I haven’t had much success with my writing, but that’s really because I haven’t been doing any writing.”

“And why is that?”
“Because I have a lot of other stuff going on that’s distracting me from it. I know that’s no excuse. But I have a stalker and—”

“You have a stalker?”
“Yes. My mother doesn’t seem to think it’s anything, but there’s this guy that I met at the gym and he randomly shows up at my apartment and thinks that we’re meant to be.”
“I’m sure that’s rather distressing.”

“It is! But he hasn’t done anything yet that would warrant calling the police. And then I got fired from my other job because I found out the manager was embezzling money, and then the next job, this guy I knew from the gym basically got for me, but . . . I ended up sleeping with the boss there. That wasn’t my plan, but I just felt this attraction toward him that I’d never felt with anyone else before. It was unreal, almost, and then the fact that he seemed to feel the same way. These sorts of things never happen to me. Life felt really exciting for a little while, like I was excited for it to be Monday, the start of the work week, so I could see him, because all I wanted was to just be around him. I didn’t care what we were doing. I felt like I was in high school again. And then I found out that’s basically what he does with all his secretaries. I know how that sounds. I’m not really like that at all, either. I was actually a virgin until I met him. I felt like we had this connection, and to be honest, I think we still do, but he recently told me the girl he slept with before me is pregnant.”

“That must’ve been quite the shock.”

“Yeah, it was. And it’s made me question everything that I was feeling before—like, can I even trust my own feelings? Which seems to go hand-in-hand with the fact that I have no clue what I’m doing with my life. Maybe that’s the whole reason why I don’t to begin with—I can’t trust my feelings.”

“What is it that your feelings are telling you?”
“That he and I have this connection. That we’re—” this was going to sound so stupid—“meant to be together.” I looked down at my hands.

“Granted, I don’t know all the details of your particular situation, but perhaps your feelings aren’t wrong. You did say the person he got pregnant is someone he was with before the two of you first got together, correct?”
“Yes,” I said slowly.

“And from what you’ve told me so far, that sounds like it’s the major reason why you’re suddenly questioning your feelings to begin with.”

“Well, that and the fact that this person also used to be on his secretaries. So I sort of feel like I’m just another in this line of secretaries that he’s slept with.”
“That’s a valid point,” Carl said. “But it’s rooted in fear and projection. Has he been with anyone else since the two of you got together?”
“Not that I know of.”

“But you fear that he might discard you like he did this previous secretary after he’s gotten tired of you.”
“Something like that.”

“That’s totally normal,” Carl said. “Whether you’re twenty-five or forty-five. That part of your problem isn’t so much unique to the quarter-life crisis as it is to simply being human.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore then; my mom said that you just wanted to talk about the quarter-life stuff.”

Carl waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re here now, and I think talking about this is helping you to work through it.”

“I just feel like nothing is in my control. You know, when you’re growing up, you’re fed this idea that if you do the right things—if you get good grades in school, if you go to college—that life is going to work out, that you’ll have some clear direction and know what to do. But that seems like it’s one big lie, because I did all that and I don’t have any clue what I’m doing, and I’m even more confused than when I was younger. So for maybe a small percentage of the population, when it comes to people my age, maybe for them, it has worked out just how we’re led to believe it’s supposed to, but for the rest of us, we’re just kind of floundering around, feeling like we were duped.”

“You are certainly not alone in feeling that way.”

“And that’s what makes it even harder—when you feel like you can’t trust your feelings.”

“When you think you can’t trust your feelings,” he corrected me. “It is true that sometimes our initial feelings toward something might simply be a reaction, and that after we’ve had time to process it, we can see that there is a better choice to be made.”

“What do you think I should do?”
He smiled gently. “I can’t tell you what to do, Daisy.”

“You’re the professional, though, aren’t you? Isn’t that what people pay you for? Isn’t that why you’re writing this book?”
“I’m writing this book because this is a phenomenon that interests me. This is the first time this sort of thing is happening, in this magnitude, and I admit, I find it fascinating. But so far as telling people what to do—I think the best I can do is to say keep a clear head, listen to your thoughts and feelings, and don’t lose hope.”
I nodded. “Okay.”

“I can tell you’re a smart girl. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to make mistakes, or things won’t be difficult for you sometimes, but I think you will ultimately find what it is that you’re looking for, even if you yourself don’t know exactly what it is at this moment.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” I said. “Thank you for letting me talk about all of this.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll leave my address,” I continued. “Or do you just want to use my email?”
“For what?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Um, for the bill. You know, for talking to me.”

“Daisy,” he said, smiling. “I’m not going to bill you. If this helped you, then I’m thrilled to hear it. You also helped me. I’d very much like to include significant portions of what we’ve talked about in the section of my book that goes over feelings, and how learning to trust our feelings is a crucial part of overcoming the quarter-life crisis. Any crisis, really.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling silly. “And . . . thank you. For talking to me. It really did help.”

I left his office, went home to change, and then headed down to the gym to meet Jonathan, feeling as though maybe I should just trust my feelings after all.

 

Jonathan had a big smile on his face when I showed up at the gym. I felt a little intimidated, as most of the people there were guys and they were all in stunningly good physical shape. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “Glad you could make it.”

I tried to ignore the looks of the other guys as I followed him through the gym, which was located in a converted warehouse, with an exposed ceiling. We went into a room near the back, which had a mirrored wall and a floor covered in green mats.

“I think it’s great that you’re interested in learning some self-defense techniques,” he said. “I think it’s a good thing for any woman to learn. But are you interested in it because of that guy? Is he bothering you?”
“He’s . . . been around. He hasn’t done anything yet, but it’s getting pretty creepy. I mean, I would’ve thought that he’d get it through his head by now that nothing was going to happen, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. So I was thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I learned how to protect myself.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan said. “And you’re right—it has been a pretty long time for him to be dogging you like that. You know, I’m thinking . . . maybe we should have a few guys watch out for you.”
“A few guys? You mean from work?”

“Yeah.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “It’s not that bad yet. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“I know you don’t, but this guy doesn’t seem to be getting the hint.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I appreciate the offer. Why don’t you just teach me what you know about self-defense.”
“All right,” he said. “But if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.”

“Great,” he said. “Let’s get started, then.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon going through various self-defense techniques. At first, I felt completely uncoordinated and unable to get the timing down for anything, even though he was obviously slowing things down, talking me through each step. He showed me what to do if someone tried to grab me from behind, how to break a hold if someone had my arm, how to pull an attacker’s head down so I could knee him in the face.

The last thing we worked on was how to break away if someone came up behind you and grabbed you in a bear hug. For each of the holds we’d previously done, Jonathan had pretended he was the attacker, and this one was no different, but now he was standing behind me, with his arms wrapped around me.

“First,” he said, “you’re going to shift your body to the side, enough so you can get your inside leg behind—yeah, just like that—and you’re going to jerk your own leg forward into the back of my knee. Do it with enough force behind it so it buckles the knee and then you’ll have the person off-balance. He’ll fall forward, and as he does so, use an elbow, right to the face. Just like that. Okay, let’s try it again.”
He positioned his arms back around me, and again, I wondered why it was that I couldn’t be interested in someone like him. I doubted that he had ever slept with anyone at the office, not because he wasn’t necessarily attracted to any of the girls that had ever worked there but because he just wasn’t like that. But there was no feeling there, for me anyway, other than a person who had his arms around me; it was nothing like the way it was with Ian, whose touch was electrifying, as though every cell in my body could feel it and was clamoring for his attention.

I took a deep breath, trying to remember the sequence of motions that Jonathan had just told me. It was a little bit halting, and not perfectly executed, but I managed to do it, and when he told me how good of a job I’d done, for a moment, I felt as though I’d gained a bit of control back over my life. 

 

After the gym, I went back home and took a shower and then changed. I didn’t feel like staying in though; it was Saturday night, after all, so I went down to Failte. I left a message for Caroline and told her that I was going to be there if she wanted to meet up. I was just sipping my first beer when she texted back and said that she was on deadline and had been working all day and she had to stay at the office but she’d try to get down there if she could. I sighed and slid my phone back into my purse. I figured that I was supposed to feel a little better now that I’d had a talk with Carl, and gotten all that off of my chest. Not that it was a therapy appointment, but wasn’t that the whole point of talk therapy anyway? That you were supposed to feel better once you were able to vocalize what it was that was bothering you?

And the thing was, I had felt better after I’d left his office, but now I felt more confused than ever, having this time to just sit here with my thoughts. Because there wasn’t going to be any epiphany, there wasn’t going to be any clear sign of what I was supposed to do. My feelings were entangled in a hopeless knot that I knew I had no hope of unraveling. I knew I could ask Caroline, or my mom, what they thought I should do and they’d have a definitive answer, but I also knew this was something I had to come to on my own. Hadn’t Carl been implying that I should trust my feelings? That what I was feeling was not inherently wrong? I tried to recall exactly how he phrased it, but now I couldn’t. The only thing I could really remember from that whole thing was the feeling I had after I left, that everything was going to be okay, even though now I wasn’t so sure.

I finished my first beer and got another. My face was already starting to get warm. I sat there and listened to the chatter all around me. People talking and laughing and generally having a good time. I couldn’t make out any specific conversations, just bits and snippets and it seemed like everyone there was with a group or a part of a couple, and I was the only one sitting alone, feeling completely sorry for myself. It would’ve been easy enough to strike up a conversation with someone, but everyone seemed so involved with the other people they were talking to, and I felt like such an outsider, which was strange because I’d been coming to Failte ever since I turned twenty-one. It was like my home away from home.

I was on my third beer when someone came over and sat next to me, their elbow brushing mine. I took another sip of my beer before I glanced over to see who it was.

It was Billy McAllister.

He was waiting for me to look at him, a smile on his face. “Well fancy meeting you here,” he said. He tapped his beer bottle against my almost-empty pint glass. “Waiting for anyone special?”

“No,” I said. My cheeks felt flushed, and I was suddenly very glad that he was here. “You, I guess. Just someone to talk to.”

“I’m so happy to hear that! And I’m told I’m a great talker. I can also be a good listener, too. You look a little down in the dumps. Everything all right?”

I took a swig of beer. “Yeah,” I said. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Your boyfriend’s not here?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“No?”
“No.”

“Ever?”

“Well . . . I’ve had a boyfriend before, but no, I don’t have one.”
“Not even a pretend one?”

He was ribbing me a little, I could tell, just trying to get me to crack a smile. So I did—a tiny one—because I did appreciate his efforts. And just by sitting down next to me and starting a conversation, he had banished that lonely feeling that had descended upon me when I first sat down at the bar. So for that, I was grateful.

“Believe it or not, I’ve had a boyfriend before,” I said. If he asked more questions, I would tell him about Emmett; I wasn’t going to utter a word about Ian. It might be better if I just didn’t talk about that.

“Oh, I believe it. But have you ever had a boyfriend who knew how to treat you right? The way you deserved to be treated?”

“Uh . . .” It felt like the room was starting to spin, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. “That’s debatable.” I patted his knee. “You know,” I said. “You seem like you’d be a very good boyfriend. You’re probably married though, aren’t you? You probably have a wife at home.” I giggled.

“Oh ha ha, you’re a bit of a funny one, too, aren’t you? No wife at home. That I know of, anyway.”

“You should find a wife.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah. Me, though—I don’t want to be a wife.” Was I really slurring my words this badly or had my ears just stopped working properly?

He clutched at his chest. “Don’t want to be a wife? You’re breaking my heart.”

I laughed and finished the last of my beer, thinking that it felt pretty good to be sitting here, laughing with someone. When Billy signaled the bartender to bring me over another beer, I didn’t object.

But when I finished that one, I knew I had most definitely reached my limit, and if I didn’t stop now, I’d probably start doing something stupid, like trying to climb onto the bar and dance. Or throw up everywhere. Or both.

“I should be going,” I said. “I think I had four beers. Maybe five. That’s a lot. I’ve got to go to work tomorrow.”

“On a Sunday?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Oh. Then, no. I don’t have to go to work on a Sunday. I didn’t know what day it was.”

Billy smiled. “Do you know who you are? What year it is? Who the president is? I’m just joking. Let me walk you home, at least. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
And so we left the bar, and I felt his hand touch the small of my back as we went out the door, but it was more like it was just guiding me out, making sure that I didn’t trip. When we started to walk down the sidewalk, we were close to each other, but not so close that someone might think we were a couple or anything. We were just two friends, going for a walk.

The fresh air made me a little more alert, even though the ground still felt like it was tilting underneath my feet.

“Take my arm,” he said, holding his forearm out to me. “You’re a little tipsy. Or I could give you a piggy back ride.” He stopped walking and bent at the knees a little, nodding toward his back. “Hop on.”

I laughed. “I’m not going to get on your back.”
“Why not? You don’t think I’d be able to carry you?”
“No, I just . . .”

“You want to fall over and scrape your knees?”
“No.”

“Then, hop on!”
“Well . . . okay.” I jumped up and felt him slip his arms underneath my knees as he straightened up. I let my arms dangle over the front of his shoulders, but I could feel myself slipping.

“You want to help a guy out and hold on a little more tightly there?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He coughed. “Too tight,” he said. I loosened my arms a little. “Ah, just right,” he said.

“Okay there, Goldilocks.”

We both laughed.

“Thank you for fulfilling this fantasy of mine. Getting to walk down the street with a lovely lady on my back.”
“Happy to oblige,” I said. He walked easily, didn’t seem to be that burdened by the fact that he was carrying me like this. When was the last time anyone had given me a piggyback? I honestly couldn’t remember.

“Well, thanks,” I said when we got to the doorstep and I hopped down. I looked around. “I don’t see my stalker. I have a stalker, you know.”

“Do you, now? I don’t see anyone out here.”

“I guess he’s not here at the moment. But he hangs around sometimes. He hasn’t done anything bad yet, but it’s still creepy.”
“I’m not entirely surprised though, a girl like you. I could take care of it for you, if you wanted.”
“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. That could mean several things. But I certainly don’t want someone following you around when you don’t want them to be following you around.” He chuckled. “But wait a second—don’t you work for a security company? Isn’t this something your boss should be taking care of?”
“I can actually take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that.”

“Well, thank you for walking me home.”

“Anytime. Thanks for hanging out with me. I’ve really enjoyed these times that we’ve run into each other.”

“Me too,” I said. I could feel a gigantic yawn getting ready to stretch across my face. I was suddenly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be crawling into my bed, about to fall asleep for ten, maybe eleven hours. I covered my mouth with my hand as though that might somehow keep the yawn at bay. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It just hit me all of a sudden, how tired I am. I really don’t usually drink that much beer.”
“Kind of a lightweight?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I will bid you adieu and sweet dreams. We’ll have to plan on doing something at some point, okay? But after you get some rest first.”

I smiled and unlocked the door. “Yeah sure,” I said, waving goodbye, “That sounds nice.” I was barely able to kick my shoes off and make it to my bed before I fell on top of the covers, sound asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

 

I woke up the next morning with an awful taste in my mouth and a pounding headache. I was still wearing the same clothes that I’d worn the day before. The bright sun streaming through the windows hurt my eyes and told me that it was pretty late in the morning, perhaps already afternoon.

I pushed myself up and stumbled into the bathroom where I drank water directly from the faucet. That made me feel a little better, but when I straightened up, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was plastered down on one side of my head and sticking up all harried and crazy on the other side. There was an indent across the side of my face where I must’ve been sleeping on the seam of the comforter.

The doorbell rang.

I jumped, startled. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and went over to the intercom.

“Who is it?” I said.

“It’s Ian.”

Shit. “Um . . . hold on one second.”
I tried to smooth my hair down and straighten my clothes out, which had twisted around me as I slept last night. Why was he here? My head throbbed as I found a pair of flip flops and slipped them on so I could go out and let him in.

I squinted against the harsh light that came pouring in behind him when I opened the door.

“Hey,” he said. “Am I . . . waking you up?”

“I slept in,” I said. “So, yeah. I should be getting up now anyway, though. What time is it?”
“It’s ten till one.”

“In the afternoon?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Hence the sunlight. Listen, I was out running a few errands and I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by. And give you these.” It was only then that I realized he’d been holding one of his arms behind his back. He brought them arm forward, presenting me with a small bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Not roses, but something that looked like daisies, except instead of white they were brilliant shades of red, pink, and yellow.

“Oh,” I said, smiling. “Those are beautiful.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I saw them and I thought of you. I know I said I’d give you time to think about everything, and I’m still doing that—I just wanted to stop by and give these to you.”

I took the flowers from him, our fingertips brushing. “You can come in,” I said. “Just . . . give me a minute; I did just wake up.”

He followed me back into my apartment, and I was acutely aware of how disheveled and terrible I must look, but he didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I should . . . go change.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “You look beautiful just like that. And look, if you still need time to think about things, just tell me and I’ll go. I’m not trying to rush you or anything.” “I can’t ignore what I feel for you,” I said. “I don’t want to ignore it. I like this feeling. I like the way you make me feel, I like being around you, and I don’t want to have to stop that. Even though you having a baby with someone else wasn’t what I was really envisioning.”
A look of relief crossed his face. “Daisy,” he said. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. I know it’s asking a whole lot, too, to expect someone to get involved with you even when you’re going to have a kid with someone else. But I want you to know that Annie and I have talked about things, and yeah, eventually there will be a kid around some of the time, but that is not going to change the way I feel toward you.”

I thought about what Carl had said earlier, about trusting my feelings. I thought about how I’d felt around Billy, how I’d felt around Jonathan—two very nice guys that I enjoyed being around. But being with them paled in comparison to how it was when I was with Ian, and if I was to be honest about how I truly felt, he was the person I wanted to be with, and nothing else mattered.

We both smiled, and he cupped my chin in his hand, tilting my face toward his, then he leaned down and kissed me.

 

We spent the whole day together—what was left of it—and that night we went out to get burritos at a place in Cambridge that Ian liked. He couldn’t find a parking spot in front of my building, so we ended up having to park around the block, and when we rounded the corner and started walking toward my building, I saw him sitting there on the steps again.

“Shit,” I muttered. Ian looked at me.

“What?” he said, following my gaze. “You know him?”
But before I could answer, he was getting up and hurrying toward us. I could feel Ian’s energy change; the air suddenly seemed sharp, almost cold, although that was impossible—wasn’t it? It was the middle of summer. I glanced up at him and saw him staring intently at Noah.

“Daisy,” Noah said, shooting a wary look at Ian. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ian,” he said. He was several inches taller than Noah and outweighed him by at least twenty pounds. “Can we help you with something there, boss?”
“I was just waiting for you to get back,” Noah said, looking at me now. “I’ve been here for—”

“Do you want him waiting here for you?” Ian asked me.

“Noah,” I said. I no longer felt scared now that Ian was standing right there beside me, but I suddenly didn’t want anything bad to happen to Noah, either. “Noah, please, why don’t you just leave me alone? I’ve told you that I’m not interested. You’ve got to stop doing this.”
“Daisy, if we could just talk for a second—”

Ian let out a short, barking laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“I think that’s up for her to decide.”

“Yeah, and I think she’s already made it clear how she feels about it by asking you to leave her alone. She doesn’t want to talk to you; she doesn’t want you hanging around; she wants you to fuck off to wherever it is that you came from. Comprende? Now, I’m not the sort of person who likes to have to repeat myself, so if you are unable to get that message through your thick fucking skull, perhaps you need me to soften it up for you a bit first. And I’m referring to your skull, not the message. Daisy’s been far too nice with you as it is; I’m a lot less nice than she is. So about face, kid. Go find someone who’s interested.”

I could see Noah sizing up Ian, realizing that there was no way in hell he’d ever come out of any physical altercation with him on top. He gave me one last pleading look.

“Fine,” he said when I didn’t say anything. “I don’t know who you think you are, telling people how to live their lives,” he said as he started to walk away. “You don’t get to call the shots!” he shouted, right as he was about to disappear around the block.

Ian stared after him, jaw clenched.

“Come on,” he said after a minute, “let’s get inside.”

Inside, Ian paced in front of the window. “That’s unfuckingbelievable,” Ian said. “How often does he do that sort of thing? Why didn’t you tell me? He could be dangerous. He is clearly completely unstable. I should beat his fucking ass next time he comes around.”
“I think it’ll help that he saw us together,” I said. “I’ve been trying to tell him that there’s nothing going on between us and he just doesn’t seem to be able to get the idea through his head.”

Now, Ian turned. “Is there? Or was there?”

“What? Something going on between us? No! We got a smoothie together at the gym once. And it was awkward and weird, and I figured that we were both relieved when it was over and we could go our separate ways and not have to speak to each other again.”

I could tell he was trying to restrain himself. “How was it awkward and weird?”
“I don’t know, it just . . . was. Our conversation wasn’t in sync at all. There’d be these long silences, and then I’d start to say something right when he would, and then both of us would stop, waiting for the other to continue, and then there’d be another awkward silence, and then it would basically just continue like that, on this horrible cycle, until finally it was over. And that was it.”

“Really?” he asked. “That sounds terrible.”
“It was. I didn’t . . . I didn’t feel this connection with him the way I do with you. It’s one of those things that hard to describe, I guess, and maybe doesn’t even make sense if you’ve never felt it before. But beyond thinking you’re the most handsome guy that I’ve ever seen, I really feel like there is this connection there.”

My words seemed to have a calming effect on him, and he walked away from the window and came over, putting his arms around me. “I don’t want some creep out there, stalking you,” he said. “That’s not okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to get a couple of the guys from work out here.”

“You don’t need to do that.” I started to say that Jonathan had already offered, but I stopped.

“I know I don’t need to, but I want to. At least until he gets the idea.”

He had a look on his face that told me no matter how much I argued it, his mind was made up. And there was a part of me that thought maybe it’d be a good thing, that maybe Noah would finally get the hint.

 

It felt like it’d been a little while since the last time I saw Caroline, so I texted her and asked if she wanted to meet up for a drink.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” she said. “Even though I know it hasn’t been that long. How are you? How’s everything?”
“Things are good,” I said. “Really good, actually.”

She grinned. “I figured.”
“You did?”

“Yeah, well, I saw Billy here the other night. I’m so happy for you! He seems like such a great guy.”

I stared at her. “Huh? Billy? What are you talking about?”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit. Was I not supposed to say anything? He said that you guys had hung out the other night and that . . . well, obviously he hasn’t told you yet, so I don’t want to ruin the surprise. Let’s just say I’m really happy that you’re hanging out with him and not Ian!”

“What surprise?”

“I’m not going to tell you! He’ll be mad at me. He really is a riot.”

“No, Caro, you don’t understand—there’s nothing going on between me and Billy. What surprise are you talking about? What did he say he was going to do?”
“Is this just your sneaky way of getting me to tell you what it is? By playing dumb?”

“No—I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t been hanging out with Billy? I figured that’s why I haven’t seen you around as much.”

“Um . . . There was this one time we hung out because Ian was late meeting me. The time he told me about the other secretaries and stuff. That was it. And the time before with you.” I paused. “Oh wait. And another time, right after Ian told me about his previous secretary. I was a little upset.”

“Upset about what?”
I paused. Had I not told Caroline about that? “Did I not tell you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Tell me what?”
“Uh . . .” Well, this certainly wouldn’t win him any points in her book. “He might have gotten his previous secretary pregnant.”
“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“No.”

“And you’re fine with this?”
“I’m not psyched about it, it’s not my first choice, but there’s nothing that I can do about it.”

Caroline shook her head. “Damn, girl, this is the sort of shit you’re supposed to run away from. Not run into the arms of. Billy is looking better and better by the second.”

“But I really don’t know why he’d be thinking there was something going on between us. I really don’t.” 

I wracked my brain, trying to remember the particular details of that night. I hadn’t been in the best mood. I’d had a little too much to drink. Had I said something? Had I done something with him? No. I knew I hadn’t done anything—we hadn’t kissed or anything like that—but maybe he’d taken things the wrong way. I did accept that piggyback ride . . . 

“Oh.” Caroline sat back in her chair, looking perplexed. “Maybe I misunderstood . . . I was a little buzzed when we started talking, to be honest, but he was definitely going on and on about you. He said that he was going to surprise you by flying you into Hyannis and then going to the beach house his family has in Wellfleet.”

“Ian and I are actually together,” I said. “I know you’re not going to be thrilled to hear that.”

“Wait—you’re seeing him again?” Caroline asked. “He’s not coming here now, is he?”
“No, he’s not, I thought we could use a little girl time, but I would really appreciate it if you would try to give him another chance.”

She gave me a skeptical look and didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Caro!” I said, laughing. “I’m just asking you to give him another chance, not peel your own fingernails off.”

“That might be more appealing, actually.”

“I would do it for you,” I said. “If I knew that you felt about some guy the way I feel about Ian, then I would certainly at least give him another chance for your sake.”
She threw up her hands. “Now you’re going to guilt trip me! Fine—I’ll give him another chance, but I really do think this is the worst idea in the world. Well, maybe second to worst. Probably the worst would be going out with Noah.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of Noah—he was there waiting for me when Ian and I were getting home and there ended up being this confrontation. Ian said he’s going to have a couple guys keep an eye out for me, just to make sure that Noah stays away.”
“Like, there’s going to be security guys following you around?”
“Sort of . . . It’s not going to be like I suddenly have this entourage or anything. They’ll be way more discreet. But that makes me feel a little better about it.”

“I can’t believe it’s gotten to the point that you need security guards. This whole thing is messed up. Don’t even get me started on the fact that you’re willingly choosing to get back with a guy who’s having a baby with someone else. I think that’s really the story here. There are sooooo many other guys out there, Daisy! You don’t have to do this.”

I knew that I didn’t have to do it—what Caroline didn’t realize was that I wanted to.