12. Maeve
12
maeve
“You okay, Mommy?”
Jayce’s voice snaps me out of my daze as I sit on the couch, staring off into nowhere. “Yeah, buddy. I’m fine.”
He scrunches his nose, clearly not believing me. “Well then, can I?”
Shit, what did he ask for? How out of it was I? How long have I been staring into the abyss as I wrestle with the decision to call Logan and tell him that I’ll take the job, even after adamantly telling him no?
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I really hope that today is not the day my six-year-old is asking me to do something stupid, or try something he never has before, or wants to show me something his dad taught him because now he wants to be father of the year. Luckily for me, he puts down his video game controller—of course he’s playing SpaceCraft—and toddles off to the kitchen. He comes back a minute later with a heaping bowl of Goldfish crackers and an apple juice.
I let out a sigh of relief that I didn’t give my kid accidental permission to play with knives as he goes back to his video game.
Nights like this are normal for us. Since my son is in first grade, it’s not like he has piles of homework to do, so he’s enjoying his hour of video game time that usually turns into two hours. I’m sitting with my sketch book on my lap, trying to come up with concepts for a job I’m starting next week for a recently divorced bank executive. Usually I can come up with ideas at the drop of a hat, but tonight I’m drawing a blank. I can’t make myself design another gray-walled, black sofa, all silver and metallic fixture space again. Every time I’ve closed my eyes to think about the space and envision it, my traitorous mind keeps going back to Logan’s mansion and all its possibilities.
“This house can be what you want, Maeve. That is, if you’ll forgive me?”
Did he mean that? Did he really mean that I could have creative freedom for his mansion? While I technically have creative freedom with all my designs, I know what the clients are leaning toward, so I always make sure it fits them.
But with Logan? I have a feeling he wouldn’t be opposed to the rustic look I thought of the first day I was there. Exposed beams. So much natural light it would be nearly blinding.
Oh my God, I could use shiplap! I miss shiplap so fucking much.
But is the use of textiles I never get to use and a cream-based color palette enough to make me work for a man I’ve shared my O face with?
I go back and forth with these predicaments no less than ten times when my phone vibrates on the coffee table with a text message.
Quinn: Make your decision?
How did she know I was thinking about this?
Maeve: Are you psychic now?
I love all my sisters, and my brother Simon, to the ends of the earth. But when it comes to me and Quinn’s relationship? It’s on another level. She’s the sister I’m closest in age to. We went to each other when we had problems with friends or boys. She would call me when she needed picked up from a party she wasn’t supposed to go to, and I went to her when I needed blunt advice. We even went to college around the same time, and partying with your sister is a whole other level of bonding you’ll never have with anyone.
She’s my person. My rock. And the only one right now who can tell me that I’m being a stubborn asshole for refusing to work with Logan.
I could continue texting with her, but I have a feeling I need a verbal smack across the face to get me to make the decision I know is the right one to make.
Even if I don’t like it.
“Well, hello, big sister.”
“I need blunt Quinn,” I admit.
“I figured,” she says, and I don’t know why, but I have a feeling she’s dramatically cracking her knuckles. “Still going back and forth?
“Yeah…I just…”
“Listen,” Quinn cuts me off. “If you want blunt Quinn, here it goes. You’re mad at yourself that you broke your stupid rule of no dating or sex. You’re embarrassed that you wanted it to be a one-night thing and you thought you got away with it by sneaking out of his room. But surprise! Karma is a fickle bitch, and she sat you next to him on the plane. Which wasn’t good for you because you wanted to forget about it and never tell anyone, which in your mind meant that you could pretend like it never happened.”
Damn she’s good…
“But now! Not only do you have to admit that the night of a thousand orgasms happened, now he’s holding what could be a new future for you in his big, strong hands.”
“How do you know he has big, strong hands?” I ask.
“If you didn’t think I stalked every picture of him on the internet after you told me that you had multiples then you don’t know me at all.”
“I really should’ve kept that detail to myself.”
“Nope. I’m glad you did. Because that’s why we’re here. If he was a two-pump chump who couldn’t find the clit and didn’t know how to eat it, we wouldn’t be here. We’re here because not only did he make you see well-deserved stars, it’s because you felt something, and that scares the ever-loving shit out of you.”
Damn…I really got what I asked for…
“I’m going to take your silence as evidence that I’m right.”
I let out a sigh before getting up from the couch, moving to the kitchen so I didn’t have to shield words from Jayce. Though he is so invested in his game I doubt he’d have heard a sonic boom.
“Fine, you’re right,” I admit. “But I’m not scared the way you think I am. It’s…I lose control around him. I do stupid shit. Like drop cups with liquids?—”
“And your panties.”
“Not funny.”
“Kind of funny.”
“I’m serious, Quinn. What am I supposed to do? I know what’s smart in terms of my business. But I don’t know if it’s smart for me to be around him.”
There. I said it. I admitted out loud what I’ve been actually feeling. Although it’s not as freeing as I thought it would be.
“I don’t know if it’s smart for you to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime design because you’re too scared about keeping your legs closed.”
“Excuse me!” I gasp. “That’s not it.”
Well, not entirely.
“Then what is it? Because the in-control Maeve Banks I know wouldn’t even be debating this topic. But apparently now that a new sex-ed up Maeve is here, and she’s the one in the driver’s seat.”
Dammit, she’s right. She’s so right.
I’m letting one night dictate my future, when it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m a grown woman. I can work with a man I’ve slept with. I can be aware that I need to make sure I keep boundaries with him and do the job he’s paying me to do.
I can do that. I can absolutely fucking do that.
“You really know how to get through to me, you know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” she says confidently. “Now it’s time to suck it up, buttercup. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and eventually you’ll be pissed at yourself for turning it down because you let your vagina make the decisions. So put on the chastity belt, stock up on granny panties, and get a hold of the billionaire. You have a house to decorate.”
To: Katherine Smith
From: Maeve Banks, Banks Interiors
Subject: Design Opportunity
Hi, Miss Smith. I’m sorry to disturb you after hours, but I wanted to reach back out to see if Mr. Matthews was still interested in having me decorate his Tennessee estate, as I have decided to inquire further about the job after some thought. If he’s still interested, I’d be open to having another meeting to discuss particulars.
Thank you for your time. Hope to talk with you soon.
Maeve Banks
Banks Interiors
There, sent. Now I can sleep well, knowing the ball is back in his court and I can move on with my night.
But just as I’m ready to walk back into the living room to tell Jayce he’s about an hour extended on his video game time for the day that was already overboard, my phone rings with an unknown number.
Now normally I wouldn’t answer something like this. It’s likely someone asking me about my car’s extended warranty or if I want new windows, but for some reason my senses are tingling that I know who is on the other end of this line.
And I want to know how he got my personal cell number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Maeve.”
My body is immediately on edge. And I don’t reflect on the fact that he used my actual name.
“How did you get this number, Logan?”
“In the video game business you pick up some miscellaneous computer skills along the way. Let’s leave it at that.”
Good to know my maybe-future client has hacking abilities. “I take it that Kat forwarded you my email in record time?”
“She did,” he says matter-of-factly.
“And I’m taking it with the immediate phone call that you haven’t hired anyone else to perform the job? Or is this your expedited way of saying thanks but no thanks?”
“There was no one else to hire,” he says. “It’s only you.”
Oh fuck me…that hit me straight in the pussy.
No, Maeve. Boundaries! Safe guards! Don’t let him flatter you with his accent and praise of your work!
“Okay, then.” I swallow the frog in my throat that is suddenly making me sound like a nervous rookie. “If you’d like, I can come over tomorrow and we can discuss everything. Do a walk-through. Price points, vision, likes and dislikes, time table. If you have meetings or?—”
“Tomorrow is perfect,” he cuts me off. “Say nine? What would you like for breakfast? I can make sure–”
“No, Logan.” I know I need to set parameters, and this is the perfect time to tell him that. “No breakfast. No having Kat get me Diet Coke because you happened to notice it’s my go-to drink. And while I’m on the subject, no mention of our time spent together. As far as we’re concerned, going forward, I’m the hired designer and you’re my client. No looks or touches. No inside jokes. And without a doubt, no calling me Love. Are we clear?”
There. I said it. I laid the boundary, and he has to agree to it. And that’s how Maeve Banks regains the upper hand.
“Wow. Okay. I was asking about breakfast, because that’s about the time I eat and I figured you’d like some. Presumptuous of you to think that I was doing it because of our past.”
Thank God he can’t see me right now, because my cheeks are overly flushed with embarrassment. I’m really going to need to get a handle on that if I’m going to be seeing him every day.
“I’m only slightly kidding, Maeve. And you’re right,” he continues. Which actually shocks me. Not that I didn’t think he’d agree to it, but I was expecting a little jab, or his knack for knowing how to soften me up. “This is a professional setting. You’re here to do a job, and it would be a waste of your time, my time, and my money to distract you with anything other than the furnishing of the house. From this point on, we’re just Maeve Banks and Logan Matthews. Designer and client.”
“Designer and client,” I repeat.
And ignore the pit in my stomach when the words leave my mouth.