Chapter 23 The Fine Print
THE FINE PRINT
What’s your home like?
Cole: I live in a penthouse in South Beach. Magnificent views, good dining, close to the office.
Bridget: My parents have a house in San Ramon. It’s not big, but it’s got a great kitchen and a dining table that seats sixteen, if we squeeze. Oh, my house? I’ve got a condo in a former warehouse in SoMa. It’s not far from the office.
brIDGET
It had taken only one careless moment to lose my passport.
Getting an emergency passport at the US Embassy had taken the better part of six days, including getting in line at sunrise on Monday to wait outside the gate before it opened.
Cole stood at my side like a bodyguard. I’d had to tell the story of the crocodile devouring my passport no fewer than four times—the last two purely for the staff’s entertainment, I was sure.
In the end, I walked out clutching my emergency passport like the prize it was.
Cole waited outside for me. I texted him to tell him they were printing the document, so he made the flight reservations, got us a taxi, and led me to a lounge at the airport we could get into with our matching platinum cards.
We sat together on the plane and, since it was a workday, planned the week ahead.
Our plan included only work meetings. We didn’t have to say that although I’d woken up in his arms with my hair tangled in his stubble, we wouldn’t be seeing each other outside of work once we landed in the US.
It had been an amazing weekend. We’d shared candlelit meals, walked on the beach, lounged at the pool, and even gone dancing at a club one night.
Plus, Cole had not oversold his three-to-one ratio, so I was pleasantly achy from a month’s worth of sex squeezed into a not-long-enough weekend.
It couldn’t continue.
We both wanted the CEO position. We couldn’t compete while he tenderly kissed the spot under my ear that made my skin tingle or while he purred like a cat as I ran my fingers through his thick waves.
Tell that to my ridiculous heart, which only wanted more time with Cole.
And maybe he wanted the same. Because on the plane, when my eyelids drooped, he said, “Here,” and cradled my head to his shoulder.
When we landed, he grabbed both of our carry-ons and steered me to baggage claim.
He lugged our bags through customs, then he hustled me into a taxi and climbed in behind me.
Then when we got to my building, he helped me out and heaved my enormous suitcase out of the trunk. He paused, holding the handle.
“Mind if I come up?”
Every part of me yearned to say yes. Instead, I said, “We agreed to end it when we got home.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I’m not home yet.”
“Technicalities, Campion.”
“We both know it’s the fine print that matters.”
“Okay,” I said. “One more night. But I’m too exhausted for sex.”
“Understood.” He pulled his suitcase out of the trunk like it weighed nothing, slung my carry-on over his shoulder, and rolled both bags through the door to the elevator.
He nodded at the doorman like they were old friends, and I was too tired to care.
In the wee hours of Tuesday, the building was quiet, and we walked silently to my door.
When I let him into my apartment and flicked on the lights, he glanced around. “This is cozy.”
My cheeks heated as I looked at my place through his eyes.
It was a thousand square feet of former warehouse space with giant, multipaned windows and wide-plank floors.
Although I’d intended to give it a clean, industrial aesthetic (because that’s what executives did) I’d filled it with rugs and soft fabrics.
“It’s not huge, but it’s what I can comfortably afford with my other financial obligations. ”
“I thought you had a free ride at Berkeley.”
“My parents aren’t rich, and I want to ensure they’re comfortable.
Plus, I contribute to college funds for my nieces and nephews.
I want them to have the same opportunities I did.
” I didn’t mention my sister’s house loan.
Like some of my friends, he’d think it was ridiculous that I’d given her so much of my savings at a low interest rate.
“Still, you could afford more than this.” He gestured at the modest seating area, no larger than the one in our office.
I lifted my chin. “I’m closer to retirement than you are. I need to keep my future in mind. And there’s nothing wrong with my place. It’s safe, it’s walking distance to the office—”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I said it’s cozy.” He stroked the blue zigzag afghan on the back of my sofa, the one my grandmother crocheted for me. “That’s a compliment. I like it.”
“Thank you. Um, do you want a drink?”
“It’s been an eighteen-hour day—”
“You didn’t have to come with me to the embassy.”
“I know. But I’m ready to crash. Let’s go to bed.”
I didn’t bother to tell him about the spare bedroom with its full-size bed and bunk beds for my nieces’ and nephews’ sleepovers. We knew what we wanted.
“That way.” I pointed down the hallway. “You can use the bathroom first while I get some water.”
He used the guest bath, and by the time I finished getting ready for bed, he was already lying in my bed on the side without the stack of business books and my reading glasses. He wore a white T-shirt, and his eyes were barely open.
He waited until I sat on the edge of the bed. “Lights out?” he asked.
I tucked my feet under the covers and pulled the sheet to my chin. “Ready.”
He reached a long arm over me and flicked off the light.
“G’night, Cole.”
He tugged me into him, my back to his front, the way we’d slept for the last three nights. “Goodnight, Bridget,” he whispered into my ear. A second later, I was asleep.