Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

FORTY-THREE “Somewhere Only We Know”

FORTY-THREE

“Somewhere Only We Know”

Lily Allen

Natalie

2 months later . . .

“H e’s Connecticut-bred, so we come from different planets,” Rosie relays, crossing her long, toned legs in the chair opposite my desk. The reason for her impromptu visit the second I flipped on my office light? To report on Dad’s most recent hire, Jonathan, a financial advice columnist who recently claimed the vacant office next to mine. “I conjured one too many daydreams before my gaydar went off. I confirmed it this morning with a social media search. I had to dip way back into his archives for proof. He’s not closeted but doesn’t advertise his sexual orientation, which is cruelly misleading. Needless to say,” she whines, “I’m going back to California broken-hearted.”

I can’t help my laugh. “Rosie, he’s only worked here for two days.”

“Exactly, my gaydar betrayed me,” she sighs.

“He’s handsome,” I say, catching sight of Rosie’s current crush as he saunters out of Dad’s office, coffee in hand, “but seems pretty aloof,”

“I love aloof. Oh well, plenty of fish, right?” She waves a dismissive hand, her heartbreak lasting as long as it takes her to retrieve a nail file from her tiny Fendi purse. She slowly runs the file along her immaculate manicure while fixing her interrogational stare on me. “In other news. You need to spill on the reason for your current daydreams because, girl, you are glowing. ”

Panic sets in as I school my expression and shrug. “I’ve been working out a lot.” Truth.

I now have four abs.

“That smile you’re sporting is not a result of exercise but rather who you’re working out for .”

“Nothing to report,” I lie through my teeth as she narrows her eyes, calling bullshit. “I’ve been spending a lot of time outdoors, catching a lot of rays. It’s been good for me.”

“Sure, it’s the sun that has you floating around this office like you’re living out the best parts of a Jane Austen novel. No,” she dismisses, packing away her file, “there’s a Mr. Darcy hidden somewhere in this, and you know I’ll sniff him out if you don’t come clean. So, out with it. Who is he?”

Her sudden attention on my personal life has my throat closing, but I manage to speak through it in an attempt to thwart her efforts.

“I’m actually relaxing on the weekends now, so yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with the sun.”

Reid and Stella Crowne’s son.

I credit myself for the partial truth while trying to figure out a way to leap off her radar.

“Natalie, line four,” Elena sounds through the intercom interrupting Rosie’s interrogation. It’s all I can do to hide my relief. Rosie stands when I roll my chair closer to the console in a hint for her to make an exit.

“Lunch next week before I fly home?” She asks.

“It’s a date,” I say, with zero intention of keeping it. Feeling the walls closing in—especially as she lingers, suspicious, in my doorway—I give her my attention, finger inching toward the speaker button.

“I’m going to get the truth out of you before I head home,” she warns, giving me a shifty side-eye before sashaying into the pit.

The hold line blinking, I click my mouse to run a spell check on my latest article before pressing speaker. “This is Natalie Hearst.”

“Beauty,” Easton’s sexy, sleep-coated voice fills my office, “you broke my cock.”

Snatching the phone from the cradle, it escapes my grasp before I can get a good grip on it and lands with a thwack on my keyboard. Taking the phone off speaker, I eagerly search the bustling newsroom for anyone within earshot.

“What in the actual fuck, East—” I stop myself in the nick of time and duck behind my monitor. “You’re supposed to call me on my cell phone .” I whisper-yell.

“I tried. You didn’t pick up.”

“That’s because I have a job,” I scold, glancing at the console screen, relieved to see the name and number on the caller ID are blank. “Thank God you’re unlisted.”

“Always unlisted,” he sighs, “but this is an emergency.”

I straighten in my chair and respond in my professional tone. “I’ve heard Eastern medicine can be helpful in that particular area. Maybe you should soak that issue out.” I cup my mouthpiece to continue my quiet rant. “I’m going to kick your ass. I had you on speaker. Thank God I was alone.”

“Sorry,” he says, clearly amused.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you sound really apologetic.”

“Because you’re smiling.”

“How can you tell?” I catch my grin in my monitor’s reflection.

“Because I’ve memorized you, Beauty.”

“Fine,” I sigh in mock irritation as my chest flutters. “So, you called to discuss the state of your—”

“My cock, yes,” he replies, mocking my tone as if discussing the weather.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you clearly aren’t.”

“Because now you’re smiling,” I click my mouse to make myself look busy while briefly lowering my guard.

“Not denying that,” he rasps out softly, “I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

“According to the gossip columnist, who just left my office seconds before your issue announcement, I’m suffering from the same condition.”

“Shit . . . be careful with her.”

“Well, you aren’t helping with that. She was sniffing me out before you called, and trust me, I’ll be doing everything I can to avoid her. I’m thankful she’s going back to California next week.”

“Sorry,” he whispers sincerely. “It’s just . . . I’m driving today and wanted to talk to you before we hit the road.”

“I see.”

“And then there’s my issue.”

“Yes, your emergency. Mmm. Any symptoms?”

“It’s like it’s turned on me and doesn’t even wake me up anymore.”

“Do you know when this issue started?”

“It could’ve started when my girlfriend gave me incredible head on a balcony in Lake Tahoe.”

An instant image of me on my knees, mouth wrapped around him as he fisted my hair, fire in his eyes, praise pouring from his lips, has me squeezing my thighs together.

Lake Tahoe cemented our relationship. The second Joel deposited me in the three-story palace Easton rented us for the weekend, I went to work and lit every candle in the place before I waited for him in bed—wearing nothing . The second he breached the door, we didn’t separate until Joel whisked me back to the airport. Though we’ve only managed to steal a handful of days together over the last two months, what we have is rapidly turning into the most intimate and committed relationship I’ve ever been in. My living reality is far better than any Jane Austen scenario I can recall.

“Or maybe it was this past weekend,” he continues, “in that chalet in Idaho.”

“Sounds serious,” I murmur as a vision shutters in of a naked Easton, arms splayed on the sides of the rustic outdoor tub, expression smoldering as I undid my robe, wearing nothing but a smile before stepping in. During both rendezvous we spent our days getting lost in our surroundings and our nights and mornings getting lost in each other.

“If I’m being one hundred,” Easton continues, “my cock really hasn’t been the same since I met her.”

“Hmmm. Sounds like a real pickle.” I glance at my father’s office, seeing him fully occupied, which relaxes my guard a little. “Who did you tell my receptionist you were?”

“A man who really needs more one-on-one with his girl.”

Ache seeps in further as I start to dread the upcoming weekend without him. “Any idea when that will be?”

“Working on that now. I kind of hate that we added more dates to the tour.”

“We talked about this. I’m nothing but happy for you. To be honest, I expected it.”

“But it means we have to keep this charade going on longer.”

“It’s not a charade,” I defend sharply, a little too sharply.

“No, it’s not,” he exhales audibly. “That was a poor choice of words.”

“Well, if you’re in need of words, I’m your girl.” I muse. “So, is your dad still with you?”

“Yeah, but after the Salt Lake show, we’re off the rest of the weekend. Maybe after the show, I’ll come to you?”

“You would do that?”

“Seriously? Right now, I would fly into the fucking sun to get back to where we were last weekend. I felt sick when I had to leave you in that chalet.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, what you’re really saying is that you’re completely and utterly whipped?”

“You don’t want to start this spar, Beauty,” he warns. “You’ll lose.”

“Have I won a single argument with you yet?”

His chuckle rumbles over the line. “No, but you keep starting them. You’re such a little asshole.”

“Well, I am a ginger,” I boast. “Rumor is, I have no soul.”

“Only because I stole it.”

“That may be true,” I sigh, allowing him to hear the smitten in my voice because that’s what this is—smitten, and every accompanying synonym—taken, enamored, infatuated. Though it’s been a struggle to keep us under wraps since Dallas, when doubts threaten to take over, all I have to do is replay the beautiful words he spoke to me to convince me to bet on him, to believe in us. In the two months we’ve officially been a couple, he’s delivered on every promise, mainly in the way of giving more pieces of himself to me without reservation. In return, I’ve done the same. He’s made and kept me a priority without putting me through my paces or questioning his intentions. His only motive seems to be to keep us together and me happy. In short, he’s perfect.

Every day, I find myself fighting to withhold the words I so desperately want to admit. The struggle to hold them in becoming unbearable, as is my need to tell the people in my everyday life that I’m in love with the most incredible man I’ve ever met—my dad excluded.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For stealing your soul?”

“No, for . . . making it . . . like this.”

“Like what?”

“Easy,” I say, “and . . . happy.”

“You sure you’re a words girl?”

“Shut up, dick ,” I laugh at his predictable jab.

“Ah, back to the subject currently in my hand,” he coos.

“Forget toddler. You’re an infant,” I giggle before looking up to see my father filling my office doorway.

My heart skips several beats as he stares back at me with a quizzical expression, hands stuffed in his slacks just before mouthing, “Who is that?”

I roll my eyes in an attempt to play off the surge of panic racing through me.

“Dad just walked into my office,” I report to Easton, praying I managed to keep the shake out of my voice.

Dead silence greets me on the other side of the line before Easton whispers a faint, “I’m sorry,” and hangs up.

“Sounds good.” Line already dead in my hand, I hang up just as Dad steps forward to eye the caller ID on my console.

“Who’s making things easy . . . happy and is a dick, toddler, and infant?”

“I think the better question is, why are you at my office door spying on my phone conversations?”

A dozen lies form, scatter, and retreat on my tongue as his brows draw in confusion as to why I didn’t simply answer him. Because normally I would, and without hesitation.

This is how it starts, Natalie. Kill it now.

“Who else would it be? Holly. She was on a call with me during a consult for a lady stuff appointment and cracked an inappropriate joke.” Lady stuff is code in our family for anything having to do with my vagina and menstrual cycle—a subject my father will happily sidestep at all costs. I shake my head. “Never mind, what’s up?”

Dad grimaces, a reply ready on his lips as Elena buzzes in again. “Natalie, line one, Holly.”

Thank you, merciful God, for this circumstantial miracle. I’ll do better.

I snatch up the phone like the lifeline it is. “You are an infant,” I recite the same way as I did to Easton a minute earlier in hopes of making my lie more believable.

“Well, that’s no way to greet your best bitch,” Holly claps back as I keep my eyes trained on my dad. Thinking on my toes and in an attempt to thoroughly cover my tracks, I put her on speaker. “Say hi to Dad. He’s lingering at my office door because he’s all up in my business this morning.”

“Hey, Uncle Nate,” Holly bellows out. Though they aren’t blood related, Dad watched Holly grow up alongside me, and they’re as thick as thieves, hence his honorary title. Easton’s warnings in Dallas ring as clear as a bell as this situation becomes increasingly similar to the scenario he described and far too close for comfort.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dad greets her fondly, “Addie and I have been missing you. Come by the house soon for dinner.”

“I will. If your daughter wasn’t so damned b—”

“Shut it,” I interject playfully, taking her off speaker before she can incriminate me. Certain a heart attack is in the works, perspiration glides down my back as a full-on panic attack threatens, and I do my best to mask it.

“Call Addie and set it up,” Dad belts out for Holly to hear despite my attempt to separate them, his grin growing at my obvious agitation. “I’ll tell her to expect your call today.”

“Dad!” I draw out, my blood pressure spiking to an unsustainable level. Dad knocks on my doorframe, satisfied he’s thoroughly ruffled my feathers. “I’ll let you two get back to your talk about lady stuff .”

Holly catches his parting words and squawks in my ear. “What lady stuff?”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” I call after his retreating back, testing the waters.

Dad turns back to me, his expression a mix of amusement and adoration. “And you’re the light of my life.” He retreats then, walking through the pit towards his office as a tidal wave of guilt washes over me.

Jesus Christ.

Heart pounding, back soaking wet, I shift my focus on Holly while mentally replaying the last few seconds of lies as she prompts me for a reply.

“Natalie, what lady stuff?”

“Oh, I made that appointment with your waxing lady.” Truth.

“So, that makes me an infant?”

“I said, bare as an infant.”

Oh. My. God.

I’m met with what can only be described as a horrified silence before banging my earpiece against my forehead. “Can you hear me?” I ask, “My desk phone has been acting up this morning. What’s up?”

“I hope like hell I misheard you. Why are you being weird about a lady wax and honestly . . . fucking disturbing?”

“It’s been the longest first hour of a workday in the history of ever, Holly. I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee, and Dad’s already driving me crazy.”

Lie.

My secrets are driving me crazy.

Being in a secret relationship with my father’s ex-fiancée’s son is driving me crazy.

Being in love with a man I haven’t admitted it to is driving me crazy.

Reporting every exciting aspect of my new relationship to my horse is driving me bat shit.

The fact that I’m lying to everyone close to me—and doing it so horribly—is making things much, much worse.

“I’m j-just frazzled . . . and busy. Can l call you back?”

“What the hell? Can I not get five minutes? You canceled Chuy’s on us. You never miss Chuy’s, and that’s why we chose the damn restaurant because you were guaranteed to show. Even Damon is starting to feel jilted by you. He thinks we’re being replaced.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah, he did, right before he picked up our waitress,” she utters dryly.

“The one with the beauty mark?”

“That’s the one.”

“Well, she’s ugly.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she sighs.

“Trust me, I’m aware. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Whatever. It’s just Damon being Damon. You think I would be used to it by now, right?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“An idiot who’s now shitting where we eat. Not cool.”

“Damn right it’s not,” I agree. “So if he ends up with a tainted burrito on his plate due to his whoring, that’s on him .”

“Thanks for reminding me why I keep forgiving you. Miss you.”

Her reply has me coming to a quick conclusion.

I’m now that girl.

The one who’s neglecting her friends and family due to a new relationship. A nasty habit I swore I would never participate in after my last breakup. Though I have managed to keep most of my dinner dates with my parents. Maybe it’s paranoia, but I swear I’ve felt their lingering gazes on me more than once when I do show. Every time I pull out of their driveway, the guilt becomes a little bit harder to shoulder. With Rosie’s observation this morning, it’s clear the people I’m so purposely deceiving are starting to catch on.

Even though I chastised Easton for saying so a few minutes ago, this is starting to feel like a charade.

“This coming Wednesday, I’ll be there,” I declare in a promise I refuse to break. “I’ll buy all the margaritas you can consume. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Then we’ll ditch Damon and make it a girls’ night. No distractions, just us.”

A headache begins to build as blood furiously pumps at my temples. Despite wanting to comfort Holly, all my racing thoughts begin to collide as I make a quick excuse. “Hey, babe, Dad is flagging me down. Can I call you back after lunch?”

“Sure,” she utters. The blatant disbelief in her tone only aids in my conclusion that along with being an unworthy daughter, I’m becoming a shitty friend.

“I will call you back. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

For the next few minutes, I palm my desk and practice breathing techniques while gathering my wits and what’s left of my sanity. Flipping my cell phone face up on my desk, I prepare to properly bitch Easton out for being so careless. But as I read his texts, my anger quickly disperses.

EC: Answer the phone. I need to hear your voice.

EC: Fuck. Answer the phone, Beauty.

EC: I can feel your anger from Wyoming. That was reckless and fucking stupid. I won’t call your office again. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.

Kicking back in my seat, I read his texts again as my heart swells. He’s just being a boyfriend, or trying to. We’ve fallen into a surprisingly easy rhythm—even in hiding—and despite our hectic schedules. This week has been an exception with his back-to-back shows. While he’s missing me, I’m aching everywhere for him.

Though I wouldn’t trade the last two months with Easton for anything, the juggling act is starting to wear on me. Glancing over into my father’s office, I feel the sting due to the purposeful distance I’ve been putting between us. I miss being candid with him about every aspect of my life, including my relationships. I miss having beers with him after work, an invitation I’ve been turning down more frequently as of late. I briefly wonder if Easton could be right—if I am making too much of a deal about our parents’ history. I’ve never been afraid of my father, no matter how badly I screwed up. Maybe the solution is just a matter of walking into his office, confessing, apologizing, and explaining myself.

Being with Easton no longer feels like a decision to hurt him but a choice that makes me happy. Deliriously happy. The past eight weeks have undoubtedly been the best granted to me personally, and Dad has made it clear throughout my life that my every happiness is his. Intent on coming clean sooner than later, I begin to type out a text to Easton, knowing I’ve gone too long without a reply. Especially since he thinks I’m angry with him.

I compose a quick response, the same text I’ve typed a dozen times in the past week.

I love you.

I backspace those three words because delivering them via text is not how I want to admit my feelings for him, but right now, it’s the only reply I genuinely want to give. Instead, I dole out the raw honesty he’s made so easy for me to relay back to him in our time together.

I miss you, too. So much. I needed to hear your voice, too.

I hit send and immediately start typing again.

I don’t want to hide anymore. If that means being reckless and stupid, then I’ll be reckless and stupid with you. Being with you makes me happy. Everyone close to me can see a difference in me, and I want to tell them why. I want to tell them who you are and what you mean to me. Who I belong to and with. I’m not mad, I swear, and I’ll relay that to your cock myself, which by the way, isn’t broken, but only answers to its new owner. Drive Safe. XX

I shoot out the second text without an ounce of hesitation before I start to spell-check my article. Ten minutes pass without a response, and I deflate, knowing he’s driving.

Making good on my promise to Holly, I call her back during lunch at the three-hour mark, chatting as if I don’t have a boulder growing in the pit of my stomach with every minute my text goes unanswered.

Pissed I only have my fucking horse to vent to over my emotional vomit-induced texts, I read them repeatedly, worrying I might have revealed too much. When five hours pass by without a reply, and I am certain he’s already parked the van in Salt Lake, panic sets in. I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary for us. He’s expressed far more about his growing feelings for me than I have thus far, and never once has he led me to believe this relationship isn’t serious. If anything, he’s catapulted us in this direction, and I’ve flown fearlessly with the ease in which he lavishes me his affection.

My fear only increases as I check my phone throughout the duration of my workday until the office slowly starts to empty because, for the rest of the day, my texts are unanswered.