4. Bram
4
brAM
I ’ve been pacing for fifteen minutes. People have been arriving and casting wary looks in my direction through the glass walls of my office, before carefully averting their gaze and going about their business. Sophie’s desk is sitting empty in the corner, and every time I see it, I get a little closer to losing my mind.
She’s working, not on a date, and yet it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I remind myself of that. The newfound knowledge that my feelings for her are not as unreciprocated as I’d believed, has taken the lid off whatever control I had over them.
As if to remind me what a piece of shit I am, my phone rings and I snatch it from my pocket, gazing down at my daughter’s name on the caller ID.
“Hey, kid,” I say as I resume pacing, listening to the sounds of an airport terminal through the phone.
“Hey, Dad,” Honor responds brightly, “just wanted to call you before I board. I’m sorry we won’t be spending the holidays together.”
She’s apologized for that about half a dozen times, and it does sting, but I don’t ever want to be an obligation to my kids. Me screwing around for the better part of their lives—chasing success, kinky sex, and experiences instead of love—and ending up alone, shouldn’t be their burden to bear.
I clear my throat, glancing, yet again, toward Sophie’s empty desk. What the hell is Holden playing at? “I’m sorry too. Don’t worry about me, I have plans.”
“Keep an eye on Sophie for me?” she requests, and my attention is instantly piqued at the sound of her name.
Endeavoring not to sound too invested in the question, I ask, “Why does Sophie need to have an eye kept on her?”
Honor sighs. “She’s been weird lately. First the drinking, then this morning she randomly announced she’s signing up for this kinky dating app that matches people based on… well, anyway.” She sidesteps the explanation with an awkward laugh. “It’s not like her. She’s always quirky, but this is different. I get the sense that something is up, and she isn’t talking to me about it. Just… let me know if you notice anything at work?”
Panic swells inside me as I stare blankly at the chair in the corner that Sophie normally occupies. First Holden, now this? All my worst fears are being realized, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Sophie was interested in me, then she saw me with another woman, and now she’s moving on. She’s moving on, and my own fucking partner stole her out from under me for the last day before a two-week vacation. It appears he—like me—knows a good thing when he sees it and believes I’m not going to be a challenge. Hell, I told him it wasn’t like that.
For all I know, they could be making plans for that lunch right now.
“She’s seemed fine at work,” I finally choke out, pressing the heel of my palm into my eye.
“Flight 887 to LAX is now boarding… ”
“I have to go,” Honor tells me with a sigh, “I’ll text you when I land. There’s supposed to be a big family party at Riley’s dad’s house tonight.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “Have fun.”
We say goodbye, and for a moment, I stand still with the phone clutched in my hand. Feeling this way about anything or anyone is unprecedented for me. Even Honor and Leni’s mother, who I was in a relationship with for over ten years, prompted nothing resembling my current level of insanity. We had an open relationship. I watched her fuck other men—Holden included—and the only thing I felt was turned on.
Now, the idea of Sophie even eating lunch with that same man has me so irrationally pissed off, I might crack a molar if I grind my teeth any harder.
There are a lot of reasons this can’t happen. Even if she wants me, too, pursuing her is a terrible idea. Better to leave things as they are. Let her think I’m not interested and learn to cope with the jealousy that will come when some other man—a man who is actually an option for her—inevitably realizes how incredible she is.
My stomach churns as a horrifying possibility occurs to me. Will I receive an invitation to Sophie Nelson’s wedding? That’s the custom, isn’t it? To invite your boss to your wedding? Honor would be her maid of honor, naturally. Will I watch her walk down the aisle, her big, beautiful smile directed at a man who isn’t me?
Growling in frustration, I turn back toward my desk, gaze catching on the phone I must have placed there at some point.
The moment she mentioned it, I knew the app Honor was referring to. YUM is all the rage now, and I’ve listened to more than one friend raving about it. It never would have occurred to me to sign up, considering myself something of a traditionalist in finding partners .
Now, though, what if I just… checked?
Would it be so terrible to download the app and find out if we’re a match? I’m a numbers man, and what are the chances that Sophie would turn me on like no other woman ever has, and also be compatible with my—admittedly unusual—sexual preferences? The odds are astronomical.
If I create an account and learn we aren’t a match, that will put this fixation to rest, won’t it? At the very least, it would confirm that pursuing her is a bad idea. Sex isn’t everything, but it’s certainly important, and I’m not interested in making a woman feel as though she needs to fit a certain mold in order to keep me. Nor am I interested in having vanilla sex for the rest of my life.
If we do match—no. I won’t go there.
There is no “testing the waters” here. Either we’re in, jeopardizing relationships, careers, and reputations in the process, or we’re out and I’m left wondering. This is the closest thing to closure that I’ve found, and even if it’s been brought on by whatever jealousy-induced breakdown I’m currently in the grips of, the reasoning is sound.
Feeling ridiculous for doing this at work but unable to bring myself to wait until the end of the day, I collapse into my desk chair, tracking the progress of the app downloading.
This will be a good thing. I’ll be forced to see that I’ve built up my daughter’s best friend in my mind and confront the actual reasons I can’t let this go. It’s not a mystery what the psychology here is; middle-aged man, who is only moderately happy with his life choices, develops extreme feelings and attraction toward a beautiful young woman in a last, desperate bid to reclaim his youth.
My leg bounces beneath my desk as I enter my contact and basic biographical information. Even the more in-depth questions about my sexual preferences don’t take me long. At one point or another, I’ve explored a decent number of the things listed, and know what I like. There’s no need to draw this out, hemming and hawing over questions I know the answer to, while wondering which Sophie picked.
When I make it through this, I’ll know for sure that she wasn’t meant to be mine. The sense of power this gives me over my unbalanced emotions is a comfort, and I fly through the prompts with an unhinged fervor, spurred on by the promise of relief.
Finally, I’ll be able to walk away, knowing that Sophie doesn’t want what I do.
Finally, I can go on a date without imagining her crumpled expression.
Finally, I’ll be free.
Without the slightest hesitation, I complete the last of the questions and register. The image of a woman appears on my screen.
Swipe right for yes, left for no.
Again and again, I swipe to the left, scrolling through women in search of wide green eyes and light brown hair. With each new face, my heart sinks lower, an unexpected sensation I’m not entirely comfortable with. Am I disappointed?
More faces, more flicks to the left, and just as I’ve decided to set my phone aside and accept I got the result I wanted, I freeze. An unfamiliar ache spreads outward from the center of my chest, my finger poised above the screen.
The woman in the image is wearing a baseball cap, smiling at the camera as wind from the ocean behind her whips her hair to the side. She’s dressed in a bikini that rests high on her hips, secured with little bows just begging to be pulled open. Her breasts are perky and full, covered only partly by the bright blue bathing suit.
I’ve spent the last year studying this woman, and yet I’ve never seen so much of her .
Jesus Christ.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I slam my phone face down on my desk, blood rushing in my ears and my limbs going weak as shocked disbelief sets in. This isn’t… no. I have to be wrong. This is wishful thinking, or some kind of mental break, or a glitch in the goddamn app.
Possessed by the need to know for sure, I seize my phone again. When I turn it over, I’m able to make out the name beneath the picture.
Sophie (24) —Lives in your city! 94% YUM Match!
This doesn’t… even if we are compatible, even if she is attracted to me, she may still be uninterested in anything more. Maybe she, like me, is struggling with the implications of what any kind of relationship between us would mean for her friendship with Honor. There’s every chance that she wouldn’t take the risk.
Never in my life have I miscalculated so badly. My actions of the last few minutes were a gamble, driven by the emotional need to free myself from this attraction, and now I’m paying the price for it. Far from putting distance between us, now I have to contend with the knowledge that she needs exactly what I want to give her.
Sophie, on her knees, dragging her tongue over the underside of my—A knock on the door makes me jump, whipping around in time to see one of the senior architects on my team, Kesha, peering at me cautiously. “Um. Just a reminder we have the Wilders coming in at ten to sign off on the final plans for their project. Did you want me to meet with them?”
I shake my head, already on my feet and moving toward the door, grateful for the distraction. Work, I can do. This is what I’m good at. Holden and I built this company from the ground up, and we didn’t become the most in-demand architecture firm in the state, the one best known for innovative design and implementing green technology, by accident.
Our latest VIP client, a well-known science fiction author who is building a house for his fiancée, is discerning and will undoubtedly require my full attention. With any luck, this meeting will take hours, and I’ll be able to make it through until the end of the day without touching the cell phone—turned ticking time bomb—in my pocket.
For God’s sake, why couldn’t I just leave it?
Completely distracted, I stride down the long balcony and back downstairs, heading for the conference room where we typically entertain our higher-profile clients.
“Mr. Wilder,” I say as I step inside, shutting the door behind me, stretching out my hand to the dark-haired man seated at the conference table.
He stares at it, unmoving, and seconds later, a small, female hand takes mine instead.
“Pleasure, Mr. Vogel.” Wilder’s pink-haired fiancée beams at me from the seat beside him.
They’re an odd pair. Where he is about my age, stiff and unsmiling, the woman at his side is considerably younger, good-natured, and so colorful she stands out vividly against the neutral palette of the conference room. I correct course, addressing her instead. “Miss Laurence. A pleasure to see you both again.”
She laughs, “Oh god, call me Savvy, please. Are you doing anything fun for the holiday, Mr. Vogel?”
I clear my throat, disarmed by the wildly different temperaments represented before me. “Ah, yes. It will be nice to get a break. And yourself?”
“Looking forward to celebrating in our new home next year,” cuts in Wilder, his tone calm but businesslike.
His fiancée lands a playful swat on his arm. “Small talk is a thing, Dar. ”
“I’m aware of the tedious custom, I just choose not to participate,” he replies dryly, but there’s no mistaking the affection in his expression when he looks at her.
Savvy, who is utterly unfazed, turns back to me. “We are so excited to see it. Seriously, I know we’ve been pains in the ass, but it’s super appreciated.”
Wilder snorts. “The amount we’re paying them accommodates a certain degree of discomfort.”
I can’t help but chuckle, powering on the large television centered at the end of the long table. A 3D rendering of their home appears, complete with landscaping and an estimation of where the tree line will be. Their property, which sits close to a local lake, has a good deal of natural stone formations, which we wanted to work into the exterior design.
While Savvy gushes over everything, Wilder doesn’t say a word as I explain the modifications to the last version of the design, how I couldn’t work in one of their requests but managed to find an alternative, and finally round the whole presentation out with a digital walk through. After months on this project, I’ve learned that he seems to take his cues from his fiancée. If she’s happy, he’s satisfied. If she’s even mildly displeased, he will tear it apart with the ruthless efficiency of an apex predator.
Once, I would have rolled my eyes at men like him, who are so obviously besotted with their partners they will base huge decisions on what will make them happy. Now, just for a moment, I allow myself to imagine sitting in Wilder’s place with Sophie at my side.
There’s not a doubt in my mind I would give her anything she wanted. One smile and I would be pouring money into unnecessary add-on features and spending my Saturdays shopping for bathroom tile.
I set the remote down as I reach the end of the presentation, turning to look at them. “What do we think? ”
Sure enough, Wilder’s eyes areon Savvy, who is beaming. “I’m comfortable signing off on that,” he says at last, lifting a hand toward the screen vaguely, gaze still firmly on his fiancée.
“Excellent.” This took an entire twenty minutes instead of the desired two hours. Jesus, on the one day I want a client to be difficult, this happens. “I’ll have the final plans drawn up. You’re fast-tracking this project, correct? Have you chosen a builder?”
We discuss specifics for a few more minutes, and then they’re gone, leaving me alone in the silent conference room.
Exhaling heavily, I brace my hands on the edge of the table, allowing my head to hang. This entire situation has gotten so out of hand, so quickly. Only a week ago I was determined to put it behind me and date other women, and now I’m trying to ignore the weight of my phone in my pocket, knowing what it contains.
Sophie is trying to meet someone.
Sophie has, or had, feelings for me, and believes I don’t feel the same.
Sophie is currently sitting upstairs with my partner, who has made it clear he’s interested in her, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
My turmoil is interrupted by a knock, and I turn in time to see my youngest daughter edging into the room, suitcase at her side. “Hey, Dad,” says Leni, moving forward to accept a hug.
Of both my kids, Leni is the one who’s given me the most sleepless nights. Where Honor and I are cautious and logical, Lenora runs on emotion and seems to have been born without fear. My ex and I had more annual emergency room visits for Leni than Honor had in her entire life.
“Heading to the train station?” I ask, offering her a weak smile .
Leni tilts her head, gazing at me. “Yup. Sorry I have to work through Christmas.”
I wave her off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Is Sophie here?”
My heart tugs at the sound of her name, and the muscles in my face are tight as I try to smile. “I believe so. If you want to say goodbye, she’s working with Holden today.”
Leni doesn’t move, leaning casually against the table. “Did I see you outside the apartment earlier?”
My stomach plummets. “Ah, yes,” I admit, clearing my throat. “I was passing by and thought Sophie would rather not walk in the cold.”
If my daughter has an opinion on this, she keeps it to herself, but it couldn’t be clearer there’s something she isn’t saying. Ice creeps slowly down my spine, but after a moment of silence, Leni only sighs. “I should go.”
“Merry Christmas, Len.” I pull her in for another hug, kissing her dark hair. “I’ll come down to the city to see the show again before it closes.”
The performance she’s in has been receiving rave reviews, but twenty-one years of experience in Lenora Vogel tells me she isn’t happy. While she has worked consistently, a tall order for any artist, she hasn’t been able to land one of the coveted, permanent positions in any ballet company.
Nobody works harder than my kid, though. She’ll get there.
With a last goodbye, my youngest daughter slips from the room, allowing me to drop any pretense of being fine.
Collapsing back into one of the conference room chairs, I stare blindly at the graying light coming in from between the blinds. The possessive, jealous monster inside me is howling to storm upstairs, swing Sophie over my shoulder, and remove her from Holden’s immediate vicinity.
Would he actually date her? The problem is, I don’t know .
Holden might be my oldest and closest friend, but he’s still a self-serving asshole. He’s also a confirmed bachelor who has been consistent in his distaste for marriage, commitment, and love the entire time I’ve known him.
My groan breaks the quiet of the conference room. Worry, jealousy, excitement, stress… Never in my memory can I recall feeling so many things at once.
I’m standing in the eye of a storm of my own creation, and the only way out is through.