“
We
got you something,” Pam put in.
They laughed together.
A small turquoise box with a white ribbon sat on the desk. I lifted it and read the lid:
TIFFANY & CO
. “Oh … thank you,” I managed. My stomach gurgled and my hands shook as I untied the ribbon.
Stupid fucking nerves
.
Inside the box was a long felt pouch, and inside of that a classic Tiffany T-clip pen, all sterling silver except for a thin blue accent.
The pen lay cool and heavy across my palm.
I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Then I stared at Pam as she said, “Hannah, Laura and I would like to bring you on as an associate agent here. What do you say?”
I looked between Pam and Laura, back and forth, blinking owlishly. I wasn’t getting canned. I was getting the promotion I’d coveted for months.
“Do you think I’m ready?” My fingers closed around the pen.
“I’ve been very impressed,” Pam said. “You’ve been with us for almost a year. You learn fast and your dedication is obvious. Excepting your recent absence—” Pam sniffed. Oof, my
absence.
She meant the three weeks in April when I broke up with Matt and hid at an Econo Lodge and drank way too much gin. “You’ve shown great aptitude for this work.”
“This is what I want,” I said.
“Then congratulations, Hannah.” Laura shook my hand.
I stood and shook Pam’s hand. I hoped my expression looked halfway professional, because inside I was screaming and lighting fireworks.
We talked about my contract, expectations, and even “building my client list,” a phrase that thrilled me. By the time I returned to my office, I had forgotten entirely about the woman outside the deli and her “weird stuff” comment.
My God …
I was an associate agent at the Granite Wing Agency.
The workday sailed by in a rose-colored haze.
I left at six and rushed home, but my energy fizzled as I climbed the stairs to the condo. Matt and I hadn’t had sex, much less kissed, since his cryptic announcement five days ago.
You don’t really know me. Hannah, I want things that …
Things that he wasn’t willing to discuss, apparently.
I let myself into the condo and found Matt looming in the pantry, a cup of noodles in hand. Freshly showered and shaved, wearing only loose gray sweats, he looked like sex itself. Seriously—my boyfriend, Matthew Sex Sky Jr. Or was it Matthew Asshole Sky Jr., who viewed everything from death to marriage as a game?
“There you are,” he said, smiling tentatively.
I pried my eyes off his naked torso.
“Ramen for dinner?”
“I was considering it. I could find something else to eat.” He moved into my personal space. I breathed in the scent of his clean skin and aftershave. “Little bird…”
“Hi.” I stared at his chest.
Something else to eat.
His suggestion wasn’t lost on me.
“How was work?” He tucked my hair behind one ear, then the other, the pads of his fingers brushing my cheeks. I resisted the urge to nuzzle his palms. I knew how persuasive those hands could be, and I wasn’t in the mood.
“Fine. Good.”
“Yeah?” He stroked my neck and I shivered.
“Uh, yeah. Look at this.” I shifted my purse between us and displayed the Tiffany pen. Of course I’d Googled the pen in the privacy of my office. It cost nearly two hundred dollars and sold as a “writing instrument.” An instrument! How luxurious. But the high price and fancy name meant nothing to me. To me, the pen was priceless. It seemed to embody the elegance and professionalism I associated with Pam and Laura, and when I slid it across a page for the first time, writing my name in smooth blue script, I felt the beginnings of a story inside me.
My story.
“How chic,” Matt murmured. “Is Pam trying to seduce you away from me?”
“She promoted me. I’m … an associate agent.” My voice sounded dreary. I knew my expression matched. This should have been exciting news—we should have celebrated—but everything felt wrong.
Matt isn’t sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
That was the essence of his announcement on Friday, no matter how I looked at it.
And I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
I wanted him more than he wanted me.
I winced as that knowledge cut into me again.
“Babe, that’s fantastic news.” He wrapped me into a hug, crushing my body against his. I stood still for a while, perplexed by his tone, and then I leaned back and eyed him.
“Did you already know?”
“Hm?” He trained his dark green eyes on a cabinet. After a beat, he disentangled himself and wandered over to inspect the knob.
I huffed. This, I forced myself to remember, was progress: Matt acting like a child instead of immediately resorting to lies.
“So you already knew,” I prompted.
“Pam and I go way back.” He opened the cabinet and pretended to tighten the knob. “You know, she called to ask—to tell me. Sure, she mentioned it in passing.”
“She asked you?”
Ouch
. That took me down a notch.
“Told, asked. I don’t know.” Matt turned and gave me a dour look—one I was starting to recognize. The
I’m about to tell you a hard truth
look. “Baby bird, when it comes to the agency, you need to think of me as a majority shareholder, okay? Yes, I’m your boyfriend.” A smile tugged at his lips. “But I’m also M. Pierce. Please remember how you got this job.”
I glared at him. “
You
got me this job. What has that got to do with anything?”
“Pam and I just want to make sure everything is aboveboard, okay? Things get a little complicated when you have an author dating his agent’s assistant, the assistant becoming an agent and working with new authors.” Matt gestured vaguely. “We want everything to work.”
“I don’t see the problem.” I clutched my new pen.
“That’s because there is no problem. Darling…” He returned to me, taking my face between his hands. This time, I pulled away.
“I wish you’d told me, that’s all. I feel stupid.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise for you.” He gave me an anguished look. “And it’s great news. We should—” He stepped toward me, I stepped back, and his voice faded.
“I have a ton of work to do.” I walk-jogged to the bedroom, my pride stinging. Matt sure was good at making me feel dumb lately—first with the fake TV engagement, now with my job. The job he got me, to be exact. Just when I was starting to feel confident …
I curled up on our bed and opened my MacBook. Maybe I’d catch up on
The Vampire Diaries
. Yeah, I had
a ton of work to do.
My breath hitched when I heard Matt moving down the hall. I half-hoped he would come in, but the shadow of his feet passed.
* * *
“Bird?”
A strong hand moved my shoulder.
“Nngh.”
“Love, you fell asleep.”
The hand slid down my side, over my hip, onto my thigh. I sighed happily. A familiar form settled behind me. I nestled into that shape where I fit, shoulder to shoulder, back to chest, my rump finding an expected hardness and nuzzling it.
“Mm, fuck. Hannah…”
My eyes opened a crack. A button on my blouse—the shirt I’d worn to work—dug into my side. The room was dark.
“Hm?” I mumbled.
“I’ve missed you. God damn.” Matt climbed over me, his narrow waist parting my thighs. My skirt slid up until he pressed against my panties. His breath tickled at my ear. “I’ve missed your tight little pussy.”
In that groggy space between dreams and wakefulness, I forgot my hurt and savored his touch. The firm shape of him ground between my legs. He kissed my throat and my body arched to meet his.
Home.
My eyes opened fully.
Matt, his expression dazed with desire, hovered over me. I actually pitied him for a moment. It would have been easy to give him what he wanted, because his longing was simple. My longing was difficult, extensive, and unsatisfied.
“Stop,” I said with a sigh. I wriggled away. He let me go, dropping onto his back and scrubbing his face.
“Jesus, Hannah.”
“S—” I clenched my teeth. No, I didn’t owe him an apology for not wanting sex.
We lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. Matt radiated frustration. I wondered if he felt my sadness. After a while, I sat up and smoothed my skirt over my thighs.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he said.
“I don’t know.” I hugged my knees to my chest. Another long silence stretched between us. “Did you really think I wasn’t serious when I said marry me?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“But couldn’t you see how happy I was on the show? How much I believed it?”
“No.” He sat up. “I couldn’t see anything except an audience that wanted to crucify me. I was scared, okay?” He shook his head. “I was freaking out, I was alone, and then you appeared and said marry me and you were my only friend in the building. And once I said that to the audience, everything changed. Hannah, you threw me a lifesaver. Of course I used it.”
“But you used me, too.”
“I thought you would understand. That was a talk show. This is reality. Marriage, even engagement, is a big fucking deal. And you don’t—”
“Know you?” I pressed my fist into the bedspread. “I have seen you drunk, depressed, paranoid, um, jealous, crazy. I mean, what are you so worried about?”
“I don’t know. God. Things we might not even”—he touched my shoulder—“know about ourselves. We haven’t given ourselves time…” He turned me toward him and leaned in. Our lips met.
Easy
, this kiss. And I missed his mouth, his body, which I had pushed away for days.
I yielded briefly, curling my fingers in his hair. He moaned against my lips. The sound vibrated down my spine and desire hummed through me.
“God, you—” I pressed him back.
“Oh, fucking fine,” he hissed. “Let’s do it.”
“What?”
“You want to get engaged so badly? Is that what you need to believe I love you? Fine. Marry me.” His eyes burned into mine.
“No,” I snapped.
“The hell?”
“Are you serious? Jeez, that was such a heartfelt proposal. Really, it’s like your dick just proposed to me.” I flicked a meaningful glance at the swell in his boxers.
“No, I fucking proposed on behalf of my dick, which apparently gets nothing until I agree to marry you. Do you see how messed up that is?” He grabbed his pillow and stalked out of the room. The door slammed. My comeback died on my lips.
I crumpled, scooting over to the warm spot left by his body.
No tears. No tears.
I squeezed my eyelids together, but I couldn’t silence my thoughts. Was Matt right? Was I giving him an ultimatum, marriage or nothing? We were fine—well, fine in a really dysfunctional way—until my stupid off-the-cuff proposal.
But God, it hurt, being all in while he was hedging his bets. It hurt …
I uncurled and undressed, changing into my pajamas—boy shorts and one of Matt’s big T-shirts. The clock read 11:04. He really wasn’t coming to bed. I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and washed my face. On my way back to our bedroom, a small sound from the family room caught my attention. I peered into the dark.
“Matt?” I whispered.
Silence.
I crept toward the family room, feeling along the wall. I jerked to a stop.
The only light in the room came from Matt’s laptop, which stood open on the coffee table. He sat on the couch, his bare shoulders and head visible. His arm moved rhythmically.
On the laptop screen—I squinted—a woman knelt on a broad bed. She was naked, her dark hair tumbling across her back and her breasts hanging down. Behind her, a male figure plunged into her body. Another man—my mouth dropped open—knelt in front of her. She licked and sucked his length eagerly; he thrust into her mouth.
“Oh,” I peeped.
Matt glanced over his shoulder. Blood rushed to my face.
“You all right?” he said, his arm still working steadily.
“Uh … um…” I inched forward, craving a better look at the screen.
“Sorry. I didn’t feel like”—his voice caught and he shifted on the couch; he glanced at his cock—“being uncomfortable … in the office. Not many options … in this place.”
I couldn’t look away from Matt’s porn. Two guys, one girl. The blush drained from my face. Tiny moans and grunts emanated from the laptop.
Hannah, I want things that …
“Is this what you want?” I gasped.
Matt gave a tense laugh. His hand stilled, then resumed, and my gaze panned over his lap. Dear God, he was rigid. This stuff excited him. A lot.
“No,” he managed. “Just something … I like to watch. Fantasy … there’s a difference.” He clenched his teeth and refocused on the screen.
Shit, I was throwing him off his game—after denying him sex.
“Sorry, I’ll—sorry!” I fled to our bedroom, my heart thumping and my skin fever hot. Two guys … I could never. I climbed under the covers and hugged myself. The image replayed in my mind. The girl had even looked like me—pale skin, dark curls, large breasts. Matt
had
to be thinking about doing that to me.
Sharing me.
My face burned hotter.
The men in the video had been enjoying their plaything, clearly. They’d looked at her and at one another and moaned in pleasure. And she took it; she let herself be used.
I pressed my thighs together. “Just something I like to watch,” Matt had said. I struggled to believe that. Was he telling the truth?
I breathed deeply and evenly. As the minutes passed, my embarrassment cooled and my horror faded.
I know that man in the family room
, I told myself. He was my lover, my night owl, my Matt, and he would never force me into something I didn’t want.
I shifted on the mattress and gasped.
With my heart rate settling and my temperature normalizing, I realized I was feeling something else. I eased a hand into my panties.
Whoa.
Was it the video, or was it catching Matt pleasuring himself? Arousal coated my fingertips.
I was turned on.