Josh

I read over her text several times, rubbing my jaw and trying to figure out what happened to change her mind.

ELLA: I'm sorry I can't come with you to Bali, but I just can't do casual sex. I need something more. Something deeper. I was with my ex for years and I realize that I'm on the rebound and you can't trust yourself when your heart has been broken. But the last two weeks have shown me that I just can't do meaningless but pleasurable. I'm worth more than that. Good luck with your life but it's better this way.

She was turning me down. I'd thought after our little rendezvous in the photocopier room that she was interested in more, but apparently, she'd changed her mind. Her excuse was that she was on the rebound and couldn't trust herself. In the end, she realized she couldn't do casual sex. She was worth more than that.

She was.

She was definitely worth more than causal sex.

I texted her right back.

JOSH: You're right. You are worth more than that. I only know I want to be with you, anyway I can get you. If that's not enough for you, I understand. I want meaningful as well but you can't know in advance how a relationship will develop. I'm more than willing to see where our relationship goes, and won't put any requirements on it. If it develops into more, I'll be happy. If you decide it's not enough, I'll be sad, but that's always your decision. Just don't end it before it really even begins.

Give me – give us – a chance.

Then I sent it and waited for her response.

Nothing.

I put my cell away and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my mind off her and the question of what made her change her mind so suddenly. She had spoken of how down she was on marriage and how she needed to pursue her career and give that all her attention. What happened between the time I saw her last and earlier when she sent that text?

I spent the evening in a funk, trying to distract myself from thoughts of Ella but failing spectacularly.

Later that night, while I was lying in bed in the darkness, unable to stop thinking of what happened with Ella, I pulled out my cell and sent her another text.

JOSH: If the world was fair, you and I would be having text sex right now…

There was no response, and I just couldn’t let it end that way. So I sent her another text.

JOSH: Ella, please tell me what happened between the photocopy room and your text giving me the brush off. What did I do – or didn’t do – to make you change your mind? I thought we were on the same page when we were alone. What happened?

Another long pause occurred, but then I saw the little dots jumping and I knew she was finally responding.

ELLA: Marcella Binetti dropped by for a quick visit today. You never told me about your father's will and that you had hired a headhunter to find you a suitable wife.

I grimaced when I saw the reference to the will and Marcella. She must have told Ella about working for me to find a wife. But obviously, she didn't tell Ella everything.

JOSH: Did she tell you that it was her idea, not mine? Did she tell you that I couldn't go through with it, primarily because I met you and I knew I couldn't even consider dating anyone else? Did she tell you that I told her to stop looking, and that I would find someone who I actually loved myself? That hiring her was too mercenary? I bet she didn't.

There was no response for a few moments. I waited, wondering if that would be enough to convince her.

JOSH: If you don't believe me, ask her yourself. Go ahead. I give you permission to talk to her and tell her about our relationship. Ask her to give you the whole story. Please, before you decide anything, talk to her and get the whole story. That's all I ask.

I waited but she didn't reply, and I realized that I had to leave it up to her now. She would call Marcella or she wouldn't and she would decide to keep seeing me or she wouldn't.

Part of me wanted to call Marcella up and give her hell for talking about our business relationship, but that would do no good. She and Sharon were friends from a long way back and I should have known that somehow, news of my looking for a wife using a headhunter would slip out. It would be just too juicy a piece of gossip not to.

I thought Marcella was more professional than that, but she and Sharon were best friends. I should have been more professional myself and not even considered it.

Sleep was a long time coming and I had to admit defeat finally and take my cock into my own hand, engaging in a bout of solitary masturbation, imagining Ella being with me instead, riding me instead of resorting to my hand. The small burst of endorphins from my orgasm did little or nothing to soothe the ache I felt at the prospect of losing Ella before I really even had her.

The next morning, I went through my usual routine, my mind occupied with how I could convince Ella to give me another chance. I was so focused on the problem that I almost ran into a cement pylon left in the center of the bike lane, but managed to avoid it at the last moment.

"Hey!" A worker dressed in an orange vest and hardhat called out when I nearly struck him. "Watch where the hell you're going, bud!"

"Sorry!" I called out and kept going, slowing down a bit and trying to focus on the ride instead of my situation.

Usually, I'd let a relationship drop without protest if it had just started and wasn't progressing, but there was something about Ella I couldn't resist. I knew she was substantial. Someone I could happily spend time with, doing nothing, and enjoying every minute of it, whether we were fucking or just talking quietly afterwards, cooking a meal, or talking shop. I knew I'd kick myself if I let her slip away, but at the same time, I didn’t want to be a stalker who couldn't take no.

When I arrived at the office for the day, after showering and dressing and grabbing a bagel and coffee at the coffee shop across the street, I called David.

"Hey," he said, his voice chipper.

"Hey," I replied, smiling when I imagined him sitting by his pool in sunny LA.

"What's up?" he asked.

I took in a breath. "So, there's this woman."

"Tell me about her," he replied, not missing a beat.

"She's perfect."

"No, she's not. She's a human, Josh."

"She just told me to fuck off, in so many words."

"What did you do to deserve that?"

"She found out that I hired a headhunter to find a wife so I could get the first installment of the trust fund."

"You did what?" he said, his voice incredulous. "You actually hired a headhunter to find you a wife? That doesn't sound like you. You're a hopeless romantic."

"I didn't really hire her. She was meeting with me about staffing for the paper and I complained about the will. It was her suggestion, not my idea. I didn’t go through with it, because I met this woman and I knew I couldn't meet anyone else until I knew where the relationship was going."

"So?"

"So, she found out and thinks I'm a heartless mercenary jerk."

"You of all the men I know are not a heartless mercenary jerk. If she doesn't know that by now, she's either dim or you haven't shown her who you really are. If you've told her how you feel and she turns you down, let her go."

"I can't let her go." I rubbed my forehead. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

He chuckled. "You're in love."

"I just met her two weeks ago," I said in protest.

"You're in love."

"How can you tell?"

"You wouldn't be calling me otherwise," he said with a laugh. "If she was just a fuck, you wouldn’t think twice about her and you wouldn't be calling your little brother for advice."

"Come to think of it, I don't even know why I'm calling you, of all my brothers. You're the one who never plans on getting married or falling in love."

"Oh, I intend to fall in love, but I just plan on doing it over and over again. I don't want to deprive the female race of my attentions." He laughed out loud at that. "But you and I are fundamentally different. You need more than that. I know, I know-Christie hurt you. Don't let your experience with her change you into a cold hard-hearted loner. That's not you."

I didn't respond for a moment, letting it sink in.

"Look, even I can tell you're in love with this woman. Own it. Go and tell her you're in love with her. Give her a chance to tell you she's in love with you or she isn't. Then, if she doesn't love you back, let her go."

"How could she love me? We just met two weeks ago."

"Hey, stranger things have happened. If you feel like you can't be without her, tell her."

"Okay."

"There. That's settled," he said, sounding pleased. "Call me back and let me know what happens. If she tells you she's not in love with you, come out here for a week and we'll go surfing and try to make you forget her."

"Okay."

"Bye, big brother. Love you."

"Love you back, little brother."

Then I hung up.

All morning, I paced my room like a caged lion, going over and over in my head what I'd say to Ella. No more texting or email or even phone calls between us. I'd go to her office and I'd do what David said. I'd tell her I'd fallen in love with her and that I wanted to find out where our relationship went.

Of course, I was swamped with meetings and I had business to attend to, so it wasn't until late that afternoon that I had a long enough break to even consider speaking to her. When I finally went to her office, I popped my head in only to find that it was empty.

I checked with the receptionist at the front desk.

"Oh, Ella? She left the office for the day. She and Sharon have been working overtime to get Sharon's presentation ready. I think she went home."

"Thanks," I said and went back to my own office. I sat behind my desk and considered my next move.

I'd have to go to her place if I wanted to talk to her in person. After taking care of some more business I couldn't let slide, I grabbed my jacket and went to the parking garage to get my car and drive to her new place in Chelsea. I had the address from the cashier's check I'd purchased for her. Part of me felt guilty for going there, considering that she didn't invite me, but I'd only do what David suggested – I'd tell her how I felt and then let her decide what happened next.

I'd honor her choice – continue our relationship and see where it went, or end it there and then. I hoped she'd chose to continue and that she felt the same way I did, but I had to be prepared that she saw me as too much trouble or maybe, she just wasn't that into me as I was to her.

I parked my car a block down from her apartment building and walked the rest of the way there. Before I got there, I stopped at a small shop and bought a bouquet of roses and carried them, unwrapped, to her front door. I stood at the entrance and pressed the buzzer to her apartment, waiting, glancing up at the camera in the corner of the entry, smiling and holding up the flowers for her to see.

There was no answer.

I buzzed again, but nothing.

Was she there and just not answering?

I went back down the stairs and stood back near the curb, looking up at the front of the building. According to the address I had, she was on the third floor. She said her window looked out into a courtyard, so I went around the block to the back alley and walked down to the area behind her building. There, three floors up, was what I assumed was her window. There was a small courtyard at the ground level with a walkway and a small alcove with a bench and a planter. It wasn't much but it gave the space a pleasant atmosphere. I glanced up and checked the window out. There was no way I could climb up to it, so I stood back and picked up a pebble off the ground. It was small and round, about the size of a bean or pea. Perfect.

I threw the pebble at the third-floor window and waited, hoping she'd hear the plink of the pebble against her window.

Nothing.

I found another pebble and lobbed it up, and again, there was nothing.

She was either gone or ignoring me.

After the fifth pebble, I gave up and went back around the front of the building. I had to decide what to do – I could stay in the neighborhood and hang out, waiting for her to return, or I could leave the flowers in the entryway, with a note asking her to call me.

I decided to leave the flowers and sent a text so that she'd know they were outside.

JOSH: I'm standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of roses in my hand, hoping you'll let me in so we can talk this over.

If she was home and ignoring me, she'd likely throw them in the garbage and I'd never hear from her again. If she was out, when she arrived home, she'd find them there and maybe think I was nice to leave the flowers for her. Maybe, it would soften her heart and she'd call me.

All I could do was try. The rest was up to her.

I hated walking away with nothing resolved, but one thing I'd learned by going through my breakup was that you couldn't force someone to love you.

They either did or they didn't and there wasn't much you could do about it either way.