LAUNCH
Sara
Did I dream the hot kisses Ian gave me this morning? Did I dream his townhouse? Sleeping on a bare mattress on the floor? With my Suit wearing… well, practically, his suit?
I didn’t dream it. I lick my lips and that taste is definitely Ian. I sniff my clothes on the train ride to the House of Sass offices and that smell is Ian’s cologne.
Ian is all over me except on the one part that still aches for him. My sex.
Oh well.
Maybe he doesn’t know for sure that I’m interested. Maybe he believes that it was the wine talking last night. And oh yes, the wine talked quite a bit. I have a headache to prove it. But it wasn’t the wine—it was me talking. I wanted him. I still do.
But this is a guy going through some very intense legal proceedings, and having my parents just go through a horrible breakup, I’m not too keen to jump into stormy waters.
When I get home, I exhale in relief realizing Becka isn’t on the couch and the shower is running. She’s bathing, thank God.
Nobody will know I was out giving private dances to Mr. Ford. I creep into my room and rumple my bed. I don’t want to tell Bryn about what’s happening with Dirty Workaholic. I feel like she will be the voice of my conscience. And I don’t want her to tell me what I already know.
So I head out and pretend that I don’t have the hottest guy with the biggest dick waiting on the sidelines for me to casually date if I so choose. I pretend I don’t already know my answer.
I told him I had a busy week and would think about it, buying myself a bit of time, but I already crave to see him again. Bryn has gone on a couple of dates from the Match.com account Becka opened for her. If things are too messy with Ian, I can join her on there, I suppose.
But the thought makes my stomach cave in on itself. For months I haven’t been able to think of anyone but Ian. It’s hard to imagine anyone or anything being able to change that.
Let’s see if you can bear a few days without him, Sara. Maybe you’re stronger than you think and can step back and evaluate things, I tell myself that weekend as Bryn and I head to Brooklyn in an Uber, to the warehouse that will be formally House of Sass.
We arrive ready to work. Bryn looks like she means business, even though I heard her cry this morning, just like every other morning since the Big Breakup.
“You’ll get over him,” Jensen tells her when he comes in to help. He sees her bleary eyes and hugs her.
“Of course. I’m already getting hit up on Match.com.” Bryn tries to wave off her breakup as if it’s not important. “I’m such a good catch.”
“Damn right, love bug.” Jensen rumples her hair.
We start unpacking boxes, cutting open the tape with knives, pulling out clothes, and getting them up on the racks.
“You’re good at this,” I grumble at Bryn with playful, open resentment. She’s on her third box and I’m still on my first. I tear a nail and curse. “You owe me a manicure. Pedicure too,” I warn, sucking on my broken nail.
“You’re not even using your feet!” She laughs. “I’m good at this because we used to do this at my parents’ department store before it was sold.” She winks, but the nostalgia is clearly evident in her voice.
“And now look at what you’re going to have, all for yourself.” I motion to the huge warehouse that we’re setting up to be her modern-age clothing store. It’s going to be fantastic.
“Not just for myself. I have an investor, remember.” Her eyes shadow when she mentions Aaric Christos.
“And you could have had him, too, if it weren’t for his floozy bimbo ex—”
When Christos walks into the warehouse, I trail off.
Bryn freezes when she spots him by the door. We all stare, and though I’ve only seen him on the internet, I know this is the man who’s broken her heart by the way he’s staring at her and she’s staring at him. Oh he’s gorgeous, all right. Powerful-looking. Confident.
My Workaholic is hotter, I catch myself thinking, and push the thought aside.
Bryn blinks furiously and continues opening boxes, moving more awkwardly now that he’s here.
As if noticing her jumbly movements, Christos approaches Bryn and asks, “You okay?” He seems genuinely concerned.
I watch them in interest, still sucking on my nail.
“Yes.” Bryn is doing well at hiding how flustered she is, but I can tell, because she’s my roomie, that she’s battling to stay composed.
“Good. Be careful. Where do you want these?”
She swallows and avoids making eye contact as Christos points at a couple of boxes. “Over by the windows. But you don’t have to move them. I can open them here and put the clothing on the racks,” she rushes on.
Ignoring her protests, Christos scoops one up like a pro and carries it across the room. He returns and reaches for Bryn’s cutting knife and starts opening boxes for her.
I’m shocked. He’s a businessman, and businessmen don’t do these things. But something about him doing filthy labor makes me realize he wasn’t always a businessman.
Soon, a dozen men under Christos’s command arrive to open boxes. The racks start filling up across the warehouse. We finish hanging the merchandise in a few hours rather than the expected full day.
“I suppose we’ll have time for the salon tomorrow night after all,” I’m happy to report to Bryn. But she’s hardly paying attention or worrying about my cracked nail and desire for a pedicure and manicure. She’s watching Christos.
“Thanks for helping,” she tells him.
He winks down at her. “Still a hell of a box lugger.”
She smiles in farewell, and I can feel the air crackle between them. I step back and grab Jensen so we can all leave. After Bryn steps out, I pull Jensen toward the door, giving Christos a black don’t-you-dare-play-with-my-friend-again look.
Bastard.
I’m so mad that I fume for the rest of the day, wondering why the asshole keeps looking at her like he cares when he clearly doesn’t care that he’s broken her heart.
* * *
I think about my own possible future heartbreak when I hit the salon with Becka and Bryn the next evening. I try to push Ian Sexy Suit Ford out of my mind, but he’s always lingering somewhere in my thoughts. Even as I chat on the phone with another dog walker and send her over on a test walk to see if she works well with Milly.
Now we’re in Brooklyn for the launch. Becka, Jensen, and I run all over the warehouse, helping people with their orders and talking up the use of fabrics, the simple designs, and the custom features on the app. We’re working it for our girl Bryn, and I know she appreciates us being here.
As I busily tend to the customers, I notice through the crowd that Christos stands with his girlfriend beside him. The woman has her hand on his back, but he doesn’t have his hand on hers. Interesting.
I feel flushed when a thought of dating Ian publicly hits me. What would that be like? Instead of dwelling on the topic, I seek out another customer to distract myself.
“I saw these when they were just drawings. I can touch them now,” Becka whispers in amazement as she comes up to my side.
“Better yet, you can wear them.” I wink.
We share a grin, my chest swelling with pride for Bryn. She created her vision from scratch, using determination and hard work. Her success encourages me to chase after my dream.
And what about your sexy Workaholic, Sara? What are you going to do about that?
Shut up, slut. You just want more of that D, I grumble to myself.
“Sara,” Jensen says, motioning to a jumpsuit that is starting to fall from its display.
“I’ll get it.” I look around. I can’t find Bryn anywhere, but it doesn’t matter. I’m here to help and I’m glad that I know exactly what my job is tonight. To be sure nobody leaves without placing an order. Or a thousand.
“Bryn stepped out with Christos,” Becka says.
I glance at the doors—but though Bryn and Christos are outside, business keeps going at a fast rate.
I even end up ordering myself an outfit. Workaholic will love this! I think as I go for something sexy that won’t break my bank, a tiny gold sequin dress that will show off my long, toned legs.
I don’t know what I will wear it for, or when, but I know it’s for stupid sexy him.
It’s a little formal but a lot hot. I fantasize about wearing it for Ian on a night in. I could pad around barefoot in this in his hot-ass townhome. Pantyless and ready to get nailed.
Sara, really, you don’t even know if you’ll say yes to dating!
Or do I?
Ugh. I hate to think that both Ian and I already know my answer.
* * *
Hours later, Bryn is still nowhere to be seen. I spot Christos across the room, checking on everyone and making sure the iPads are working. His girlfriend is by the door with his brother and she seems to have been crying.
I march up to him and ask, “Where’s Bryn?”
“She needed to be alone. I’m staying until the guests leave.”
I purse my lips and shoot him another dark look, then spin around and stomp away. I want to punch him for hurting Bryn, but I slow my steps and consider the expression on his face. He looked, and sounded, miserable. For the first time, I suspect he’s as messed up about things as she is.
I text Bryn to give her an update. For her to leave the way she did, something must have gone really wrong. I ask her if she’s okay.
I’m okay, she texts back.
I know she’s not.
But this isn’t the moment to discuss it. We can do that later. Right now I want things to run smoothly.
Becka is on her fourth glass of champagne, and she’s acting as bubbly as the alcohol she’s imbibing. “He loves her. Why is he marrying that bimbo?” She signals to Miranda, who looks restless as she leaves with Christos’s brother.
“I don’t know. Responsibility, I guess.”
She shrugs and lets out a small hiccup.
I decide I’m going to have to carry both of our weight the rest of the evening and leave her to get back to work.
When the last guest leaves and Jensen bids us good night, Christos closes shop. “Do you want a ride?” he asks us.
We both shake our heads. “No, thanks, and we don’t want you near Bryn, either.” I smile acidly and walk away, aware of him laughing sardonically, almost sounding frustrated, behind us.
We’re not yet around the curb when we see him hop into a black car. “Where’s he going in such a rush?” Becka asks.
“I don’t know.” I sigh.
“I can’t feel my toes. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re drunk, momma,” I tell her fondly, and she giggles.
I groan and tell her how much I want a nice, hot bath when we get home as I drag her to the train. Thinking of baths makes me think of Ian, and I let myself fantasize about taking a bath with him someday. I begin to ache.
The look Christos had when he mentioned Bryn pops back in my head, and suddenly I’m aching in places other than between my legs.
Why does that look make me think of Ian?
Why do I see him in every man, even when I’m out in the streets? As if there’s only one guy in the world and parts of him are walking around all over the place. But only one man has all those Ian Ford parts, and that’s Ian Ford himself.
Sigh.
I like him. He was such a gentleman when I got drunk at his place. He spooned me and warmed me with his body. He’d been really hard—I felt it even through my drunkenness—but he never left my side and never overstepped. He’s a little alpha, but damn it, doesn’t that hit all my buttons too?
He sparks my sparks, all of them. Damn him.
When we reach our apartment, I open the door, kick off my heels, and stare around in confusion along with Becka.
“Where’s Bryn?” we both ask the empty apartment.
As if in response to our question, my phone rings. “I’m with Christos,” Bryn says. “I didn’t want you two to worry. Thanks for staying until the end. It was a long… crazy night.”
“We were happy to do it. But are you all right?” I ask.
“We’re back together.” She sounds like she’s been crying, but I can hear the happiness in her voice.
I almost stumble back from the unexpectedness of it. Becka stops massaging her feet and blinks at me when she notices the expression on my face.
“Bryn, I’m so happy for you!” I burst out.
“Tell Becka. I’ll stop by a little later to pick up some stuff, but if I don’t see you then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“She’s back with Christos,” I inform Becka when I hang up.
Becka’s eyes go wide and we celebrate by diving into chocolates.
After a piece too many, I push them away. “Okay, no more chocolates. I want my Dirty Workaholic to still get hard when he looks at me.”
I toss the wrappings aside and curl up on the couch while Becka hops onto Bryn’s Match.com account.
“Does this mean I should delete this thing?”
I shrug. “I don’t think a guy like Christos will want his girlfriend’s profile up on a dating site.”
Becka laughs as she clicks the few buttons to cancel Bryn’s account. “All right, that’s done. I’m going to sleep now. Good night,” she says, and she heads to bed while I remain restless on the couch.
After several minutes of tossing and turning, I pull myself up and drag myself to bed too. I lie down under the covers and close my eyes, but guess whose dark, fathomless eyes I see when I close mine.
Guess who causes my body to tingle, remembering his touch.
Guess who still—even now that I know his name and a whole lot more about him—makes me want him more and more.
I type out a text:
What are you doing? Do you still want to see me?
I pause and reread my message, biting my lower lip.
Shaking my head, I erase my text, power off my phone, and connect it to my charger. It was a crazy night. I need my head on straight before I get carried away like I usually do with my Dirty Workaholic.