CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Couple of Months Later
Months of hard work were coming to an end. Stafford Estate was almost finished. All I had left to do was the conservatory. After cleaning the glass of the outer walls, I’d thrown out the rotting roots of the old plants and replaced them with terracotta pots filled with bluebells, sage, and other wildflowers.
I couldn’t take credit for all the work. The lawn had been my adversary. I’d mowed the grass at my grandma’s house plenty of times, but Stafford Estate wasn’t a little rambler on a residential street. The property it sat upon was extensive. Desperate, I’d turned to Peter, who had recruited Gloria. While Peter and I picked at weeds, Gloria had zigzagged past us on a riding mower, her raven black hair bouncing on her head.
That had been a week ago. Before the grass grew back, I’d pushed myself to complete the restoration, saving the sculptures for last. With a washcloth, I started at the back, slowly wiping the grime from the marble, interrupted only when my phone rang.
“It’s an emergency. I need you,” Julia hissed into the phone as soon as I answered.
I dropped the washcloth. “What is it?” I asked, trying to gauge her tone. She didn’t sound scared, but she did seem frantic.
“Just get back to the apartment as soon as you can.”
“It’ll take about a half-hour, depending on traffic,” I told her.
“Where are you? The moon?”
“I’m at Stafford Estate.”
“Still?” I could hear her eyes roll. “You know your days off are supposed to be about you, not him.”
“He has no idea I’m here. So do I still need to drive all the way home?”
“Yes!” she yelled and hung up.
“I’ll see you later,” I bid the sculptures.
With the sun beating down, it seemed the weather was taking a turn for the better. Bees flew around in the freshly cut grass in search of nectar. One landed on my knee, left bare from my denim cut-offs, and I delicately swiped it away, trying not to hurt it. In a funny twist of fate, it moved on to the daisy stickers on my hatchback.
When Gloria had been here with Peter, she’d used bolt cutters to break the lock, saving me the trouble of jumping over the fence with the hover board, though I kind of missed it. Shutting the gate, I got into my car and drove away from the sunshine, towards the shadows of the skyscrapers.
Being midday, traffic wasn’t too bad, and I made it back to the apartment in relatively good time. Walking in, I thought I was back in the conservatory. Hundreds of bouquets of flowers, from roses to carnations, were scattered around the apartment.
“Julia!” I called out. “Do we still live here?”
“Maybe not,” she said, meeting me by the door, looking distressed. “Ronald sent these.”
“The horror,” I teased. “Are you allergic? Is that the emergency?”
She handed me a note. “No. This is.”
My Julia, these last few months with you have been the best of my life. I don’t want to spend another night without you. Move in with me, and I will shower you in blossoms every day.
I couldn’t believe it. Forcing a smile, I returned the note to Julia, but my heart sank. I wasn’t ready for her to leave.
“That’s fantastic,” I said weakly. “He’s so sweet. How do you feel?”
“Like I need a glass of wine.”
We moved on to the kitchen, giving me time to process the news. The apartment was too big to live in alone, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about living with anyone who wasn’t Julia. Selfishly, I prayed she wouldn’t go through with it.
“I don’t know what to do,” she lamented as she poured a glass of red. “Are you allowed to drink yet?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Hit me.”
She handed me a glass, downed her own, then poured herself another. “What if it doesn’t work out? I mean, this is major.”
Grasping that Julia was anxious enough for the both of us, I put my own worries aside and tried to be supportive. “And what if it does work out? You two are so happy together.”
“We are happy. Now. But people’s true colors come out when you live with them. Except for you. I knew you were a nerdy sweetheart from the moment I met you.”
“Thanks, I think.” I took a sip of my wine, hoping the microchip in my arm didn’t calculate my blood alcohol level.
“What if he’s like a hoarder or something? Or hides the pillows every time I eat the cheese? I’m so used to living by myself or with my girlfriends, the idea of sharing my space with a guy is absolutely terrifying. Have you ever lived with one?”
“No,” I admitted. “My grandma had a boyfriend who stayed with us for a few months when I was twelve, but then he offered me really special brownies, and he was gone.”
“I wouldn’t mind special brownies,” she pondered. “That would be okay, but not the cheese thing.”
I laughed and took another sip. “I don’t think you have to worry about Ronald hiding the pillows, but consider this: If Ronald is the one, you’ll end up living with him anyway. Might as well get it over with. A wise woman once told me she doesn’t mind flipping a few boards, as long as they’re flipped quickly.”
“She does sound pretty wise,” Julia said, relaxing against the counter. “What about you? Will you be okay if I move out?”
“Only if you promise to visit often.”
“I will,” she guaranteed. “Every week.” She spun her glass around in her hand. “Wow. I think I’m doing this. I’m moving in with a man I love.”
“Yes, you are,” I said, rising. “So call him and tell him the good news. I’ll take off for a few hours, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”
“You’ve been drinking,” she protested.
“I’ve only had a few sips,” I said, patting her shoulder, certain her resistance for me to leave was her fear of finalizing plans with Ronald. “Do me a favor, will ya?”
“Anything.”
“Wait two weeks before you go. I don’t want our reign to end overnight.”
“Gladly,” she agreed, looking relieved.
I got back on the highway for Stafford Estate, but this time, I did get stuck in traffic, trapping me in my thoughts. I wanted what Julia had, a normal relationship living with a guy she loved, the possibilities of the future completely open. Irritated, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, feeling anxious. I didn’t want to live alone. That was for sure.
Barely moving, I called Noah. “Can you talk?” I asked.
“If you’re on the line, always. Is everything okay?”
“Julia is moving in with her boyfriend. She’ll be leaving the apartment in two weeks.”
“And this upsets you,” he deduced. “Why?”
“Living on my own isn’t something I’m looking forward to.” I wished he was in the car so I could read his expression.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said lightly. “You know I would never let you live alone.”
“You wouldn’t?” I asked, my heart fluttering.
“Of course not. I want you to be at peace, Imogen. That’s the most important thing to me. Your happiness and your safety. When I see you smile first thing in the morning, it makes the burden of my day so much easier to bear.”
My breath caught in my throat. This was it. This was the step forward I wasn’t sure Noah and I would ever take. Julia and I would be leaving the apartment together. It was sad, but it was also poetic and thrilling.
“To make sure you smile every morning, I’ll fill Julia’s room as quickly as possible, perhaps with one of my older female executives, someone who can be a mentor to you, especially after you’re promoted.”
It was a double punch in the gut. “Are you already thinking about promoting me?”
“I’m wasting your talents, Imogen. You’ve proven your loyalty to me. When Niall Lambert tried to recruit you at the gala, you came straight to me.”
“Was it a test?”
“No, he’s a lowlife, but that doesn’t matter. There’s no reason for you to continue being my personal assistant, not when you could be out there saving the environment.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, unable to hide my outrage.
“Nothing. Our agreement doesn’t change, only your position in the company. I’ll replace you with an old woman. Or a man. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
It was a small relief, but I was still upset. “What if you didn’t find me a new roommate? What if I became your new roommate?” I asked.
“Imogen,” Noah murmured. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? I stay over there all the time.”
“It’s not in the agreement,” he said, as if it made total sense.
“Fuck the agreement.”
“Imogen—”
I cut him off. “You know what, forget about it. I’m not going to beg.” I ended the call.
Frustrated, I banged my horn, attracting more than a few dirty looks around me. Despite everything, I continued my drive to Stafford Estate, trying my best not to cry. How could Noah care about me, claim my happiness and safety were so important to him, and then refuse to commit? His game was foreign to me, a malady of the city. I preferred the organic wilderness.
Back in the conservatory, as I swept the dirt from the sculptures, I also washed away my own worries, binning them for another day. Noah called frequently, but I didn’t answer. I needed space to not think or argue, to just zone out. By doing so, I fell into a peaceful mindfulness, until I was interrupted.
“Is anyone here?” Noah called out from the foyer.
All anger I had towards him suddenly disappeared, replaced by my excitement to show him the house. It was a little earlier than I wanted, but everything was done, except for a few sculptures that were still dirty. In a last effort to finish, I quickly ran the washcloth over them, racing against time, however long it would take Noah to find me in the conservatory.
Footsteps echoed towards me. Wiping a strategically-placed leaf over a very manly part of a sculpture, I dropped the washcloth and turned around. “I wanted it to be—”
I stopped. My heart stopped. My breath stopped. The man before me had sturdy, powerful arms, tousled blond hair the color of sand, and eyes that burnt like a green flame. He looked like Noah, but Noah didn’t have tattoos. Corey had tattoos.
Corey had found me.