Chapter Twenty-Four
Emanuela tapped away at her tablet, and Finn raked his fingers through his hair. They’d been at it for about an hour, batting potential names back and forth for the non-profit he wasn’t sure he was ready to present to the world yet. The process was meticulous, each name needing to be checked through multiple databases to make sure it and anything remotely similar hadn’t already been taken. It was a grueling day for them both, and the added tension from what Philip had done was like a third party in their conversation. It reminded them both of the reason they were sitting there in the first place. Emanuela looked slightly more optimistic this time, checking the final name in each of the databases.
“Well?” he asked, waiting for the verdict.
A few more taps and her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh of relief. “It checks out! Thank God.”
She smiled at him, clearly pleased with their accomplishment. He’d given her a brief explanation for the meaning behind each of the potential names to help her determine an angle for branding.
“The name is perfect,” she said, happily. “Best for last. I’ll get a rush on registration first thing in the morning. There’s quite a bit of paperwork—tax exemption and all of that—but I’ll take care of it. The final step is to get a website up and running. People feel more confident making donations to organizations with an online presence.”
He trusted her expertise completely, but he was growing tired of the tedious work at the late hour, and was ready to call it a night. When he didn’t respond, she eyed him with a frown.
She pushed her tablet and several documents on her countertop aside. “I didn’t want it to happen like this either, you know. I’m just trying to make the best of the situation.”
He scoffed.
She sighed. “You know what? I’ve had it. I don’t blame you for being withdrawn during this process, but I don’t respond well to passive aggression. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind, Finn?”
“I don’t respond well to a spoiled, entitled grown man hacking into my personal email account because he’s obsessed with my girlfriend.”
She rubbed her temples. “What do you want me to do, Finn? I had no idea he was going to do that, and I was just as angry as you when I found out.”
“Were you? Because, judging by the way you jumped to his defense—”
“I did not jump to his defense! Why are you turning this around on me? He was completely out of line for what he did, and I said just that when I confronted him about it. It wasn’t illegal, and he’s still my boss. There isn’t anything else I can do.”
He cursed beneath his breath. “You did defend him. You had no idea what his motive was or whether he went into my hard drive or not, but you seemed pretty confident—”
“Because I was. Initially.”
“That’s very naïve.”
“We were friends. It’s not naïve to give your friend the benefit of the doubt. He thought he was protecting me.”
“Right. From sexual harassment, was it?”
“Finn…”
“The man told you he was in love with you, Emmi! You’re perceptive—you should have seen right through him!”
“That’s pretty condescending. And cynical. I’d rather be naïve than expect the worst from someone I trust.”
“I don’t have the pleasure of knowing him as well as you do, so forgive me if I don’t trust him the way you obviously do.”
She frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed, immediately contrite. “Nothing, okay? We’re both tired, so maybe it’s best we talk tomorrow.”
“No way.”
He groaned. She wasn’t about to let him off the hook.
“Explain yourself,” she said. “Because if what you meant is the same thing going through my mind right now, I don’t want to talk to you tomorrow.”
“God, Emmi. I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” she asked with a humorless laugh. “You can believe that you love me—that I love you—when we’ve hardly been seeing each other for five months, but it’s naïve that I’d believe someone I’ve known for years.”
“It’s different with us, Emanuela.”
“Why?”
“Because you love me. Because you know I don’t have any ulterior motives.”
“Do I? Maybe it’s naïve to trust you after so little time. Maybe you’re miffed because I admitted to being attracted to him and it’s been eating you ever since.”
He flinched. “I shouldn’t have called you naïve.”
“But you did.”
Finn rubbed his chin. “Put yourself in my shoes. You took his word for it because of your friendship without considering how his feelings had changed…without considering how that looks to me from so far away.”
Her face fell.
“Part of me understands why he did it,” he said. “I’d probably be tempted to do the same thing in his position. But you can trust me, Emmi.”
Her body relaxed, and she released a calming sigh. “I know. We’ve both been on edge for hours and we’re taking it out on each other.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me too. I should have been more sensitive to how you were feeling. Are you okay?”
He really looked at her then, noticing the faint circles around her eyes for the first time, and he wanted to kick himself. He was so distracted by his own anger and annoyance that he didn’t appreciate how hard she was working to turn things around in his favor.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll talk to Philip when I’m ready, but I don’t like being pushed. I don’t like that something he did is forcing our hand.”
“I don’t like it either, but it was already part of our plan, Finn. It actually works out much better than what I proposed. A gala is more significant than a few donors. I didn’t plan on quitting my job this soon, but we were arguing about whose mattress we’d keep and—”
“You quit?”
“Things got pretty heated between Philip and I. I told him I’m resigning two weeks after the benefit gala.”
“Emmi—”
“It’s okay. It’s just a few months ahead of schedule. I can be a tourist—rent something in Seattle until you make an honest woman out of me.”
Finn was pretty sure he could read every thought going through her mind, and he would have laughed out loud if he didn’t know how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be for him. “Emmi, I would marry you tomorrow if you were ready, but I’m willing to wait until you are.”
She gasped, trembling visibly, her eyes becoming great big glassy pools.
“Emmi?”
“How soon can you get here?”
****
Seven Weeks Later
“Don’t be ridiculous, Em.” Allie fell into step with a throng of evening rush-hour foot traffic along Spring Street in Soho, practically shouting at Emanuela through the phone. “We’re not not celebrating your birthday. Quit moping just because the Good Doctor can’t make it or I’ll feel insulted.”
“I’m not moping.” Emanuela sat at her desk trying to think of an excuse to cancel their plans for the evening. “I’m just tired. Let’s do something this weekend instead.”
Allie stepped onto the curb. “I tuned you out after you said you weren’t moping. I might not be able to give you screaming orgasms—or whatever it is you do when you have them—what do you do, by the way?”
“Allie!”
“Fine—but you’re not ditching. Did you bring a change of clothes like I told you?”
Emanuela mumbled incomprehensibly.
“Good,” Allie said. “Look hot. I don’t want to upstage you on your birthday.”
“I don’t know why we’re friends.”
Allie stepped just out of the way of the subway entrance. “Love you too.”
Emanuela frowned at the background noise on Allie’s end of the call. “Are you going home? You won’t make it back here in an hour.”
“I forgot something, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll make it back. One hour, Em.”
“Okay,” Emanuela said, resigned. “See you soon.”
Allie hung up and sent a quick text message, then disappeared down the subway steps.
****
Emanuela gave herself a final appraisal in her office mirror. She wore a blush colored cocktail dress that fit her like a sleeve and showed off her long legs. Turning, she admired the way the dress dipped to her waist and revealed the smooth, sinuous curve of her back. She tossed her hair a bit to give it some body after spending the day pinned up, slipped into her heels, and covered herself with the blazer she’d worn to work that morning.
“Goodnight, Miss Monroe,” Lydia said as Emanuela approached her desk. “And happy birthday.”
“Thanks Lids!” Emanuela smiled. She was actually feeling up to a night out now. Then she thought of something. “Do I have any meetings tomorrow?”
“No. You can indulge tonight,” Lydia said with a knowing smile.
“I think I will. Go home. Nite, Lids!” She tapped a quick message to Finn and made her way to the elevators.
—Heading out now. Allie is determined to get me drunk. Fair warning.—
They video chatted early that morning so he could be the first to wish her a happy birthday. He knew not to send flowers since she could never manage to keep them alive longer than forty-eight hours. Instead, he had a card and truffles from Vosges Haute-Chocolates delivered to her office. She’d skipped lunch, shamelessly devouring all sixteen of the succulent sweets in flavors like sweet Indian curry and coconut, candied violet flower, and crunchy hazelnut praline.
Finn and Simon had their hands full lately, supervising the arrival and installation of the new lab equipment at SimLife Laboratories, and a million other details that needed their undivided attention. Finn promised to make it up to her next weekend when he came to visit.
She stepped from the elevator, smiling at his text response.
—Sorry to be missing that. You’re a sexy drunk. Handsy.—
She expertly navigated through the lobby without needing to look up, tapping her reply.
—For your sake I hope not. ;)—
She narrowly missed colliding with someone on her way through the sliding doors, and his response came a moment later.
—What? Watch where you’re going.—
She stopped in her tracks and looked up, her heart pounding. Oh my God. She saw no sign of him among the annoyed passersby who had to go around her as she stood puzzled on the sidewalk. Where are you? Then the sidewalk cleared and her lips parted.
Finn’s wide, satisfied grin spread across his face and out through his eyes. He was a few yards down the street, leaning against the shiny curves of a 1981 vintage marathon yellow checkered cab.
Emanuela gasped. “You didn’t!”
“I couldn’t get Morris, so I got the next best thing.”
He looked so sexy in his thigh-hugging denim and black shirt, the curling waves of his hair smoothed back. His lips twitched and his arms remained folded, his eyes narrowing at her in amusement.
She grinned and stepped into his personal space, taking his arms and wrapping them around her. “I don’t want to know how much this is costing you.”
“Worth it.”
He drank her in with his eyes, his fingers flexing against her hips. His voice was huskier when he spoke again. “You look too good to be going out without me. Allie’s gonna be a no-show. I hope you aren’t too disappointed.”
“Not too,” she said, against his lips. “Not at all.”
They moaned at the soft, lingering touch of their lips, familiarizing themselves with touch and taste and smell again.
“Happy birthday, beautiful,” he said, pulling away.
“Thank you. I can’t believe you did this.”
“We’re just getting started, baby.”
****
They sat on one of the plush, deep purple couches of Raines Law Room, partially hidden from the view of other patrons by semi-sheer purple curtains. The dimly lit cocktail lounge mimicked the speakeasies of the 1920s, with its exposed brick walls, luxurious antique furniture and vintage artwork.
The wallpaper design was of tiny black figures engaged in various positions of the Kama Sutra. “Oh my God!” she whispered. “This better not be a swinger’s club, Finn.”
He cracked up, leaning in to murmur in her ear. “Will you relax? I’m not sharing you with anyone, Emmi.”
The waitress brought their drinks, and after instructing them to ring the tableside bell for anything else, they were left alone.
“Remind me to send Simon another thank you card,” she said. “He keeps letting you ditch him for me.”
“He’d do the same to me in a heartbeat if Jamie was the one who lived across the country. But I do still owe him for making him give the talk at MIT without me so I could satiate my horny girlfriend.”
She gasped and pulled away. “Excuse me? You were giving me moony eyes and talking about marrying me the next day. How else was I supposed to respond?”
“I’m not complaining, Emmi,” he said, pulling her back to him. “I like it when you get all worked up.”
She was about to groan at his continued teasing, but something in his pocket pressed uncomfortably against her thigh. She decided to give him a dose of his own medicine, moving her hand deliberately over the small bulk at his hip. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
“I’m always happy to see you. Will you stop undressing me with your eyes? It makes me feel cheap.”
“Ugh!” She elbowed his ribs. “You’ve been made. Hand it over, mister.”
He laughed again and leaned away from her a bit, raising his hips slightly to remove a small gift box from his pocket. “I wanted to get you something meaningful. Hopefully it’s the right size.”
She leaned in to give him a peck on the lips and eagerly opened the box. She lifted a braided white gold watch from the box. There were tiny diamonds around the bezel and a shiny, mother-of-pearl face.
“Wow. Finn…it’s beautiful!” Almost immediately, she frowned. “Wait…” She looked at the face again, bemused. “It’s blank. How does it work?”
He took the dainty watch from her and undid the clasp, fastening it around her slender wrist. “It’s a watch that doesn’t tell time.”
Her eyes widened in curiosity.
“There are no hands, no numbers, no calendar of any kind,” he said. “It’s essentially a bracelet that looks like a watch. I wanted you to have something to remind you that what we have isn’t dependent on time. I don’t count the weeks or months we’ve known each other to determine how I feel, or if we’ve been together long enough to trust in ‘forever.’ In my mind, we were a done deal before we ever met. We just needed to cross each other’s paths so our souls would recognize each other.”
Emanuela swallowed through a haze of tears—and slight inebriation—before silencing him with a kiss. Her eyes were open, hungry for his features, but he was a blur. Her hands rose to hold his face. If she couldn’t see him clearly, she at least wanted to touch him, to feel the muscles of his face move as he kissed her back. Her mind was quickly wandering away from her in that moment, and the last thoughts she remembered before she was swept up in him completely were that he tasted of scotch and mint, and that she didn’t think it was possible to love anyone the way she loved him.
****
Emanuela sat next to Finn in the back of their rented cab, absentmindedly tracing the grooves of his abs beneath his shirt with her fingers. The cooler air of late September cleared her head from the cocktails she drank, and she realized they’d turned much too early. The street sign read “W. 46th St.”
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He caught her roving hand in his and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at The French Quarters, a boutique hotel that instantly reminded Emanuela of their time in New Orleans with its red brick façade, intricate wrought-iron balconies, and gas-lit street lamps on either side of the entrance. Finn smiled at her astonished expression before thanking the driver and taking her hand to guide her inside.
Their room was modest, but charmingly decorated with a modern take on the French style of historic New Orleans. There was an exposed brick wall behind the queen bed, the skirt and shams matching the white and navy floral curtains on the window. Two red-shaded lamps stood atop the buffet in front of the bed, reminding Emanuela of the lamps in their hotel room in New Orleans.
“Finn…”
“It’s where I first realized I was in love with you,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “I know it’s not the same—”
“It’s perfect,” she said. “I don’t even know how to tell you how much this means to me.”
He held her a whisper away from him, his hands low on her hips, and looked into her eyes. “You just did.”
They took their time, fabric against fabric as their bodies pressed together; skin against fabric as they undressed each other; and skin against skin as their hands trailed and stroked, kneaded and clasped.
“I love you, Finn,” Emanuela said afterward. “I wanted to tell you first so I wouldn’t be the one to say—”
“Ditto,” he said, still recovering his breaths.
“Your nostrils are flaring.”
Her grumbling stomach interrupted the response Finn had on his tongue.
“Animals, both of us.” He rolled from her carefully to get cleaned up and order room service.
They shared crab cakes, crawfish cakes, and Cajun fries dipped in remoulade from the restaurant downstairs. Emanuela sat on the bed in one of Finn’s T-shirts, and he sat in the only chair in the room, pulled up to one of the end tables, stuffing their faces and chatting contentedly.
“I can’t believe you two pulled this off,” she said. “I can usually tell when Allie is up to something—Well, she’s always up to something, so maybe that’s why I didn’t think anything of it.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Fine. You’re that good. But you know what you missed, Doctor Kane?”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t have a change of clothes, and I don’t do walks of shame.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I gave Allie a room key earlier”—he stood to pull a garment bag from the closet—“or you’d never leave this room.”
She wiped her hands and stood to open the bag. “Oh my God!” she shrieked, almost missing the card that fell to the floor in her excitement.
Finn looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She removed the red Donna Karan wrap dress from the garment bag. “Nothing. I have a dress just like this in green because the red was sold out,” she said, reading the card.
I still want the green one. It will look better on me. Happy birthday, Em.
Love,
Allie
Finn bent to kiss her nose. “There’s one more thing,” he said, pulling a familiar pale blue box from the shelf in the closet.
She grinned. “Canelés.”
“Not quite.”
She peeked inside and her eyes lit from the inside out. “Beignets.”