Chapter Eleven
Liz
Spaghetti. Tofu meatballs. Marinara sauce and long noodles, with healthy protein thrown in for good measure. I piled a serving into a large pasta plate, spattering some marinara on the counter in my haste. I didn’t care about my counters at the moment—I wanted to fill the hole of despair in my gut with food.
Even my outfit was right—I’d changed into a t-shirt and comfy yoga pants as soon as I’d walked in the door.
Netflix was already up on my television, with the show about lady wrestlers in the eighties ready to go. I needed some drama that wasn’t related to my life, and I needed to see those horrid eighties costumes and hairstyles. It would do wonders for my mood, and oh, I needed a lift in mood.
I’d gone back to work during the afternoon. Whispers and mutterings had surrounded me but I kept my head down and did my work like a big girl. Everett, one of the project managers higher up on the ladder, had come to stare at me for a second, looking like he wanted to say something.
“What?” I’d demanded.
“Uh, nothing.” He’d cleared his throat. “Everything, uh, okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great.”
“If there are problems,” he’d said, “you know where to find Human Resources.”
“Right.”
Finally, he’d quit hovering and I’d gotten some work done. The whole time I’d been dreading any other interactions, but everyone—including Jamie—had left me alone. Amy had sent me a couple of funny images via text message, hoping to cheer me up.
I’d lied and told her it worked. I don’t think she bought my lie but she’d left me alone.
Now I just wanted TV, comfort pasta, and solitude.
I climbed into my favorite corner of the couch and set my pasta plate in my lap. I wound some noodles around my fork, hit play on my remote, and was about to take a giant bite to the opening eighties song, when my doorbell rang.
I wrinkled my nose and bit back a curse. There was really only one person who’d be coming over without a phone call first, and that was Jamie.
I didn’t want to talk to him—I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
He rang the bell again. I’d never get to watch my show and eat my spaghetti in peace until I talked to him.
Getting up, I paused the show and walked to the door. I took a deep breath and opened it. I could stay calm, have an adult conversation, and get back to my agenda.
Jamie stood on the other side of the door, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“I’m so sorry, Liz,” he said.
That was all it took. I started to cry. He stepped inside and wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed harder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m getting it all figured out.”
I couldn’t breathe; I could only take shallow gasps of air. But he led me to the couch and helped me sit down, then rubbed my back until I calmed down and was breathing more easily.
“I told Everett that the whole rumor is ridiculous, so don’t worry, okay? He bought it.”
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling angry all of a sudden. “Did you also tell him that someone sent me a nasty email?”
“What?” Jamie’s look of concern was now half-concerned, half-angry. “Who sent you a nasty email? What did it say?”
“Oh, just that I climbed my way to the top by climbing in the boss’ pants.”
“That is not okay,” he said.
“Ya think?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.
“Look,” he said, “you should really take that to HR. Don’t tell them that you told me, first. We have to do everything as if there really isn’t anything going on between us.”
I groaned. “Why? Jeez, this is just so complicated. Why can’t we just be up front about everything?”
“It’s that investor, Francis Marsh. He wants everything super professional, or we’re going to lose all those international connections he’ll be bringing to the table.”
I lowered my head, gazing down at my lap and the bowl of pasta left on my coffee table. Basically, Jamie was telling me that the app was more important than our relationship. I picked up the pasta and walked over to the kitchen. I didn’t feel like eating anymore, so I stuffed the pasta in a large storage container and stowed it in the fridge.
Jamie followed me into the kitchen. “You’re not eating your dinner?”
“Lost my appetite,” I said, shortly. “I’m so glad that this business means so much to you, and I guess your devotion to it shows me exactly where I fall on the scale, which is less than. So, it’s fine.”
“I’m sorry, Liz,” he said. “You have it wrong, though. You are so important but I’ve found a way to keep both you and this huge break for the app. Let’s look at the bigger picture, okay? Once these connections are made, they belong to the company, forever. It’s just a matter of keeping you and me under wraps for a little longer.”
I found a dish rag and began wiping the counter, scrubbing the marinara sauce I’d spilled not so long ago. “I don’t want to sneak around like this.”
“Here’s what I propose,” he said.
I tried to ignore the way my heart broke at the word propose. I knew he loved me, but this was about as far from a proposal as I’d ever heard.
“We’re still going to see each other in the evenings,” he said. “I’m not letting Marsh—or anyone—take that away from us. But work has to be completely free of romance.”
A mulish part of me wanted to dismiss his proposal out of hand. I wanted to tell him to stuff his evenings and romance and company in a very private place. But I made myself consider what he’d said. It didn’t sound too bad. No sneaking at the office because romance wouldn’t even be a part of the equation. And we’d still see each other after work.
He wasn’t breaking up with me or calling a time out on our relationship. Just keeping it professional at the office until Marsh gave us what we needed.
I was about to open my mouth to say it might work, when he continued, “And you need to get a boyfriend.”
I looked up, caught his intense green eyes staring back at me.
“What?” I whispered.
He stepped forward, hands out. “The guy doesn’t have to be real. In fact, I’d prefer he be fake, obviously. But you should be fawning over someone else where everyone can see.”
I remembered the old nineties movie, Clueless, where the main character sent herself flowers and chocolates in an attempt to woo her crush by making herself look more desirable. This was slightly different because it was more that I was inventing a fake boyfriend to throw everyone else off the scent of my real one.
It sounded hokey and childish.
But it sounded like it just might work.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“Great! Oh, thank you, Liz. I know this isn’t ideal for us, but it’ll just be for a short time.”
I gave him a catty smile. “You know, I’m literally going to be dating the man of my dreams, right?”
He pulled me into his arms. “How am I going to compete with that?”
“You’re going to have to try harder,” I whispered.
His lips found mine, in a kiss so scorching and tender that I lost all sensation of gravity.
“What does your dream boyfriend do for you?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “sometimes he comes up behind me in the kitchen and starts nuzzling my neck.”
Jamie spun me around so I faced the counter. He pressed his full length against my back and started licking and nibbling my neck. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” I whimpered when he found an especially sensitive place just below my ear.
“What else does he do?” Jamie asked.
“He takes off my clothes and makes love to me right up against the counter.”
“I’m getting rather jealous of this guy,” Jamie said. “I bet I do it better than he does.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have nothing to judge you on yet.”
“I’ll give you something to judge me on,” he said.
I giggled, but he brought his hands up around my front and cupped my breasts, which now felt heavy with desire. He squeezed them through my shirt, and the lace of my bra scraped against my sensitive nipples. My giggle died to a moan, and I arched forward into his grasp.
He sucked gently at my neck, alternating sucking, kissing, and biting, until I felt like a molten puddle of woman, waiting to be shaped into something exquisite.
“You’re so beautiful, Liz. I’ve been missing you so much lately.” He used his knee to shove apart my legs, then pulled down my yoga pants.
“No panties?” he asked, delight apparent in his voice. “Perfect.” He brought one of his hands down to cup my mound, then moved his fingers against my slickness. “Perfect, and ready for me,” he said.
I could only whimper.
“Can I make you feel good, Liz?” he asked. “I’m your dream boyfriend and my only desire is to serve you. Can I do that? Will you let me? I want to put my cock right here, where my finger is now.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said. Words weren’t possible.
He pulled back slightly, and I heard the sound of his pants being unfastened. A second later, he was sheathed inside me, his long length filling me.
Neither of us lasted long, but that was okay, because as soon as we’d both cried out with pleasure, Jamie had picked me up and carried me upstairs to my bedroom, where we made love a second and a third time.