Chapter Twenty-Nine
So much more than tolerable.
Amber
“Two days till Valentine’s!” Brian cheers, indefinitely sporting his Cupid wings. “I’m here to assist in sending love notes down to the lower floors.” His hand splays. “Good to see your box displayed, Amber. Taco Bell. Classy, classy.”
My eyes roll toward my Valentine box resting on the corner of my office desk. It is pretty classy, I think. “Thanks.”
Brian’s finger twirls at me. “Also, love the festive attire.”
My festive attire is a black heart painted on my lips. I am, otherwise, boasting my usual dark lace, which screams funeral more than love holiday . I lift a shoulder. “I try.”
“You succeed ,” Brian states, eyes agleam with what I’m going to suggest is Valentine’s Day magic . His chipper smile turns toward Liam’s office as the door cracks. “Morning, boss! I’m here to pick up your love notes for the lower floors, if you have any.”
Liam steps out, holding an office supply box, that he presents, like such a cutie. If, of course, most cuties looked like they never smile. “I heard. Here.”
Brian’s breath catches as he perceives the letters upon letters. Sniffling, he lays a hand upon his chest. “ This is why I work here, you beautiful man, you.”
“Oi,” I snap. “That’s my husband you’re falling in love with, bucko.”
He flicks a tear from his eye. “Right. Yes. A million apologies.” He opens his arms for the box. “I’ll just take these beauties and leave the two of you lovebirds in peace.”
And that is exactly what he does, whispering sweet nothings to the mail as the elevator doors shut on him. Once his murmurs fade, I drag my attention to Liam, who’s leaning against the arch of his door, hands in his pockets. Our gazes connect, and the corner of his mouth tips. “What, Bambi?”
“Cutie.”
“Me, or Brian?”
“Show me your friends, I’ll show you your character.” I open up my laptop, strictly ignoring the form for ARCs that I sent out several days ago. I am, thoroughly, allergic to it. If I don’t check it until it’s time to send out review copies, it will still be too soon.
Liam slips something into my Valentine box while I’m locating where I last left my silly characters, doing silly things, like kissing, on the floor, at important events, probably. “My employees are cute. But I don’t want you to think they’re cute.”
“Jealous?”
“Dreadfully.” He’s beside me in a languid moment, lifting my face, and kissing me like we’ve not spent the last few days lost in one another, helplessly emerging periodically to gulp down air. Monday came far too soon. He seems to agree as he brushes aside my curls and kisses my neck. “I love you.”
I shiver. “I love you, too, Liam.” I fortify myself. “ But , you have emails, Cutie. Emails, and reports, and other fun spreadsheets to moon over.”
“I don’t want to moon over spreadsheets. I want a honeymoon.”
“I’ll consider it, but it will take a little while to clear your schedule, and I am assuming you don’t want me to start until after the grand Operation Countdown to Valentine’s finale party on Wednesday.”
He strokes my racing pulse with the back of a finger, thoughtful. “It is going to be adorable, that party.”
“The man in charge is still wearing wings. So, yes, that’s a safe assumption.” I blink, stop skimming my book, and look up at my husband. “Should I be jealous of Brian?”
“Why would you be jealous of Brian?”
“You’ve, clearly, got a thing for wings.”
“His,” he begins, dipping to steal another kiss, “are white .” He bumps our noses. “I strictly adore little ink-painted wings.”
“Cutie with a dark side. Hot.”
He smiles as he meanders away from me, back toward his office and whatever his schedule says he should be doing right now.
Giggling, I scoot into my desk and say, “Why don’t you put your Valentine box beside mine so that anyone who comes up to drop off doesn’t have to bother you in case you’re in a meeting?”
“You have my schedule. You know about all my meetings, in person and virtual.”
“I’m not talking about me .”
“I’m not expecting anything from anyone else. That you’ve come to more than tolerate me is uncanny, but my heart has always known you were different. I’ll not let it get any hopes up that the phenomenon extends beyond you.”
My heart cracks. “Not even Brian ? Brian’s nuts. He’ll definitely pop something cute in your box.”
“Brian’s in love with mail, and he’s going to have his hands full delivering today. I do doubt he’ll have any time left for me.”
Brian is an Energizer Bunny. There is no way he ever reaches empty . Regardless, I understand being committed to the self-loathing. “Liam. I want to play with your bear park. Please put your box on my desk immediately.”
That, obviously, works, even though it does come with an unfortunate side effect of my needing to make tiny flocked bears go down slides while Liam gets pictures and whispers odes to my cuteness. Once I force him back into his office for a virtual meeting with his stockholders, however, I’m on my feet, foregoing the slowest elevator in the world and heading down the stairs with Liam’s bear park in hand.
? ? ?
“It is so cute that you made Mr. Warrick’s box for him!” Flora from finance chirps as she tucks a Valentine in the hole. “Never knew that man had such a sweet side. Don’t tell me you also wrote the Valentines Brian’s been passing out?”
I giggle, inconclusively.
“Adorable handwriting. Little hearts dotting all the I’s.” She fawns. “Right up until his signature, of course. So kind of him to sign them all for you.” Her phone dings, and I breathe a sigh of relief as she dismisses me in favor of checking the device.
That man.
If he doesn’t believe that letting his cutie patootieness be known is very professional , he shouldn’t be writing everyone cards with tiny hearts all over them. Unless, of course, this is exactly the conclusion he expected everyone to come to, and he is using me as a means to let his cuteness slip beneath the radar.
Evil.
Pure evil.
That’s all he is.
Maniacal, even.
“Will?” I knock on a cracked door labeled Mr. Ruby Vann , and know from Liam’s comments these past few weeks that the other William in the office resides here…staring at the pictures of himself and a fiery redhead plastered all over his walls.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say as the tall, broad-shouldered man takes off a pair of reading glasses and turns to smile at me. Ignoring a giant blow-up Cupid in the corner, I lift Liam’s box. “I’m going around the office to see if anyone has any Valentines for my husband. Brian coming to distribute our Valentines since everyone else is out of the way for us gave me the idea.”
Will’s brows furrow. “But…if you streamline the process, I won’t get to see my twinsie.”
His…twinsie? Because they’re both Williams ? That’s adorable. Liam has got to love that with his whole entire heart.
Sighing deeply, Will swings his chair away from the photo display and toward his desk. “I guess I can sacrifice one visit since you came all the way down here.” Not dramatic at all, the man sniffs, pulls open a drawer stuffed with envelopes, and begins thumbing through them. “Ah. Here we go.” He retrieves a bursting folder covered in heart and kissy stickers, then he pauses. “Oops. No. That’s Ruby’s.” He exchanges it for another folder, which is only slightly thinner, and covered in hearts and BFF stickers. “Rubble, Twinsie. Two of my favorite people, all snuggled up together.”
What was I saying earlier about show me your friends ? Mm. Yeah. Cuties everywhere.
Beaming, Will pops a card into Liam’s box and says, “How long did my twinsie spend on this masterpiece?”
Oh? Someone who knows ? Beautiful. I say, “About three hours.”
Will nods, sagely. “A true testament to the ingenuity of a katrillionaire. Give my regards to the chef.”
Laughing, I grin. “I will. Thank you for sacrificing a trip to your twinsie on my behalf.” Leaving his office, I head to Ruby’s door and knock.
“Will. I’m working ,” she snaps.
I clear my throat. “Not your husband, sorry.”
Silence, then, “He’s got to stop telling people we’re married.” Her throat clears. “Yes? Come in. Have we met before?”
I step inside, scan the walls utterly patchworked with images of Will, and assume being blind did nothing in the way of stopping this woman from loudly declaring love for her husband in a very visible way. Again, cuties. Cuties everywhere . “Nice to meet you, Ruby. We’ve not formally met before, but we’ve emailed. I’m Mr. Warrick’s new assistant, Amber D’Amore.”
She, immediately, tenses. “O-oh. Nice to meet you in person. Due to reasons directly related to the Valentine nonsense, last week’s reports aren’t quite ready yet, assuming you’re here for them?”
Valentine nonsense? Not speaking like the proud winner of the sticker competition, now are you, Mrs. Vann? “Actually,” I hedge, “I’m taking Liam’s—” I cough. “I mean, Mr. Warrick’s Valentine box around, since our floor is a little out of the way. No worries if you don’t have anything.” It will only shatter his heart into a million pieces. “I’m just trying to streamline. For convenience.”
“Oh.” Ruby blinks, reaching for a drawer in her desk. Muttering, she pulls a box out and drops it on the pristine cherrywood surface. “Silly of me to think reports will matter before this nonsense ends in two days.” A dry laugh flutters from her lips. “Will set this up for me, so I wouldn’t get fired. Because the world has gone mad. And people around here get fired for refusing to participate in Valentine’s Day propaganda .” Her muttering turns into mumbles as a soft pink dusts her cheeks, “What’s so good about love anyway? It needs a whole stupid holiday? I mean, it’s ridiculous.”
While I retrieve the cutest card I can find in the bunch, Ruby continues muttering Valentine hate under her breath. I slip out somewhere between her suggesting that such things should be outlawed and if we had a holiday for every murdered saint, we’d never get anything done.
Her and Will must be an opposites attract romance. Once again, very cute.
After leaving finance, I continue my rounds until Liam’s box has been filled several times over, I’m carrying the surplus in a plastic bag, and elevator music hums around me while I daydream about the next chapter in my book.
Once on our floor, and fully aware that Liam is stuck in a meeting, I take my time putting his stuffed box back on my desk, then arranging the surplus cards so they create a trail up to it from his office door. Satisfied with the display, I sit myself down and get back to work—vehemently ignoring all things business in favor of writing my stupid little story.
I actually hate it right now.
But I also love it.
My feelings are genuinely complicated concerning this thing.
So weird that I know how I feel more about Liam than I do writing. It’s almost like a glitch in the Matrix. I love him. I am forcing myself through every drop of self-doubt in order to shove the rest of this book onto the page because—according to him—my first draft’s job is to suck, and yet mine doesn’t, so I can get through these third-act feelings and fix whatever bothers me in editing.
Also, he assures me he will die if I do not give him at least a thousand words of snack a day.
What a delirious notion.
Almost as delirious as the fact he printed me off a spreadsheet that showed how many words per hour I need to get in order to achieve his snack by the end of the workday. It’s covered in gothic lace trim with little bats fluttering about, and I am obligated to prioritize meeting my hourly goals above all else—except eating.
Eating is important. He takes his job of caring for his wife very seriously. But, then again, what doesn’t that man take seriously?
Smiling stupidly, I make myself press on until Liam’s door cracks open.
Yawning, he says, “Bambi…I need a hug. People are being very…peopley to…day…” His gaze falls on the trail of cards at his feet, and he lowers a hand from rubbing his eye. “What’s all this?”
“I don’t know. Brian would shoot me in cold blood if I dared open another person’s mail. I’m almost positive.”
“He would. He definitely would. This…isn’t all from you, though?”
I laugh. “Right. Because I, good author extraordinaire, have the time to write hundreds of Valentine cards.” I type tap tap tap into my document. “No, sir. I’m meeting word count goals and feeding my poor husband his daily snacks.” Best wife, me.
Liam bends, swiping a card off the ground. Opening it, he stills.
I watch every muscle in him tighten as his eyes skim the words inside. A fragile breath leaves him. Then he slowly crouches, wrinkling his suit, to get another card.
My interest in pretending to type fizzles out once he’s on his fifth card. His eyes glass, and his lips press together as he reads.
“What do they say?” I ask, rising when a tear slips down his cheek. Meeting him on the ground, I look over his shoulder.
Thank you for everything you do.
I’ll never forget the way you helped my family when my wife was in the hospital, Mr. Warrick.
Happy Valentine’s day to the best boss ever!
Card after card opens to reveal gratitude, varying levels of enthusiasm, a spattering of life-changing appreciation.
Liam paid for someone’s surgery. Liam granted paid leave when someone’s grandmother was dying. Liam lent his private jet when someone’s sister in Spain was ill and needed immediate full-time care.
Liam…this Liam…thinks his presence is a burden ?
Cuddling the man as he sits crying in a puddle of pink, red, and white cards, I murmur, “You know something, Cutie?”
“Hm?” He sniffles, wrapping his arms around me.
“If you were in a Valentine’s Day edition of It’s a Wonderful Life …the angel wouldn’t even bother showing you what the world would look like without you in it. He’d just bop you in the back of the head, and tell you to open your eyes.”
A wet laugh escapes him. “That wouldn’t work very well.”
“Why not? Last I checked, only one queen in this office was surviving with fifteen percent of her vision. You have no excuse for your blindness.”
His mouth meets mine in a brief caress that turns me into jello. “I do, though. Whenever I open my eyes, all I see is you.”
Heat pours into my cheeks as he rests his forehead against mine and reels my waist in against him in a tighter, clinging embrace. Soaking in his heat, I say, “You’re beautiful, Liam. Beautiful, and evil, yet worthy of so much love.”
His nose nestles against my neck. “Thank you, Bambi.”
“Don’t mention it, Cutie. You just keep on…being you, okay?”
Weeping smile fixed on me, he nods, and, later, when I’ve checked my own box, I find a Taco Bell sauce packet with Marry Me inked across the front inside.
It’s a little late for such a request, all things considered, but once we get home, I search through the obligatory hoard of packets in the dash of my car and find the perfect reply to leave on Liam’s desk in the morning anyway.
It’s poetic.
What began beside a Mild sauce stain, continues with a Mild sauce packet.