35. Serena
Serena
" T his is the worst documentary I've ever seen," I mumble around a mouthful of snickerdoodle dough. "That detective just contaminated three pieces of evidence and somehow that's not the biggest red flag."
Caleb's sprawled across his massive bed, laptop balanced on his chest, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and looking unfairly good for someone who's been lazing around with me for three days. "It's not a documentary. It's a docudrama. Very different."
"It's very stupid." I steal another spoonful of dough from the bowl I'm supposed to be using to make actual cookies. "Why are we watching this again?"
"You picked it," he points out, eyes flicking away from the screen to smirk at me. "And you're not even watching. You're stress-baking."
"Stress-baking is productive," I say, plopping the bowl on the nightstand and wandering over to the window, where the city sprawls below like a diorama.
A light snow is falling, frosting the mirrored roofs twenty stories down, making everything look smaller and less dangerous than it probably is.
"Better than stress-drinking. Or stress online-shopping, which I am also not above. "
"Is that why we got three separate deliveries of bath salts today?"
"And new mixing bowls. We're starting a life together, Kingsley. I need gear." I watch him close the laptop and set it aside, his attention shifting fully to me—one eyebrow up, like he's cataloging which version of me is going to show up next.
"You don't have to act calm," he says, softer now. "I'm nervous too."
I squint at the window. "Are you though? You look so chill, if you got any more relaxed you'd be medically dead."
He makes a show of stretching, a big cat in the sun.
"This is advanced Zen. Years of self-imposed discipline.
Also, I have a ridiculous amount of faith in you and in my own ability to charm a room full of old lawyers.
Worst case, I get fired and have to spend the rest of my days lounging here, eating terrible cookies and admiring the view. "
"You think my cookies are terrible?"
"I love your cookies. When you cook them," he says, sitting up and patting the mattress. "But you keep refusing to bake them. It's always just dough. One might say you’ve developed a commitment issue with baked goods."
I cross to the bed and flop next to him, knees up and arms crossed. "I don't know how to use the oven yet. And I'm worried I'll burn down your kitchen during our first week living together. That's a bad omen."
He snakes an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in until my cheek is pressed against his chest. "Our kitchen. And even if you do, the fire alarm will go off. We'll be fine."
I groan, but let him hold me, and we listen to the faint soundtrack of the docudrama.
"I'm going to be sick every hour until we find out," I say quietly. "You know that, right?"
"It's still Thursday," he says, kissing my hair. "You've got plenty hours left to catastrophize."
"I'm serious, Caleb—what if they disbar you? What if this becomes internet news? What if you lose your name on the door?"
He tightens his hold. "We're going to be fine."
"I know." And I do. Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll figure it out. "I just hate waiting."
His phone rings from the nightstand. We both stare at it.
"It's the office," he says, voice carefully neutral.
My stomach drops. "Answer it."
He reaches for the phone with one hand, keeping the other arm tight around me. "Caleb Kingsley."
I can't hear the other side, but I watch his face. His eyebrows shoot up. His mouth falls open slightly.
"Are you serious?" A pause. "Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you."
He hangs up.
"Well?" I demand.
"They finished their deliberation early.”
“And?”
“I'm in the clear." The words come out rushed, like he can't quite believe them. "A small fine. A written reprimand. Mandatory ethics training. That's it."
"That's it?"
"That's it." He grins, sudden and brilliant. "They cited the pre-existing relationship and your testimony; said the dinner condition was ‘ill-advised but not coercive’ given the record. So I pay a fine. But I keep my partnership, my job. I keep?—"
I kiss him before he can finish, hard and desperate and celebrating. He rolls me onto my back, hands in my hair, and I can taste his relief and joy and the promise of our future.
"I'm so relieved," I whisper against his lips.
"That speech you gave—" He laughs and shakes his head.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Just...this. You. Us." He kisses me again. "Before I met you, if someone had told me I'd be watching terrible crime shows in bed with a woman who stress-bakes when she's worried about my career, I would have had them committed."
"And now?"
"Now I can't imagine my life any other way."
His mouth finds mine, slow and reverent. Everything else disappears. Just his breath and mine, the taste of snickerdoodles and the sound of snow against the windows.
"So what do we do now?” I ask, breathless. “Now that you're officially not getting fired?"
"Now…we celebrate," he says, pinning my wrists to the mattress with both hands and kissing me until I forget every bad thing that's ever happened in my entire dumb life.
Two hours later, I’m thoroughly debauched and putting my earrings in before we head out to meet everyone at Vertigo so we can celebrate in style.
I stand in front of the mirror, black velvet and mesh wrapped so tight around my body I'm concerned about being able to breathe properly.
Caleb stands in the doorway of the closet, tightening his tie as he looks me up and down. "You look like a nineteenth-century villainess on her way to destroy a rival duchess. And I mean that as a compliment."
I finish with the clasp and turn to him, popping a hip. "Are you intimidated?"
"Rattled. Shaken. Completely thrown." He takes a step closer, running his fingers up my spine. "I may have to keep you at arm's length all night or they'll disbar me just for what I'm thinking right now."
"Let's make a deal," I whisper, pulling him in by the lapels. "If you manage to keep your hands off me in public for the next two hours, I'll do whatever you want when we get home."
“And if I don’t?”
“You have to do whatever I want.”
He grins in that slow, hungry way that makes my heart race. "You realize that's a challenge I'm fully prepared to lose?"
"Good." I run my fingers down his tie. "Because you're not the only one who likes reckless decisions. What say we scandalize a whole nightclub?"
He brings my hand to his lips, biting lightly on my knuckle. "I'm starting to think you were the real predator in this relationship all along."
"Never underestimate a marketing girl's hustle," I say, twisting away. "We're the ones they warn you about in business school."
He laughs and follows, and for once everything between us feels light and easy.
Vertigo is chrome and mirror and bass you feel in your teeth—everyone pretending not to look at everyone. It’s packed for a Thursday night. Our group has claimed a corner section with bottle service and a view of the city that makes everything look like a jewelry box.
"There they are!" Layla shouts over the music, waving champagne dangerously close to Dominic's head.
"The couple of the hour!" Dominic adds, raising his glass. "Congrats on not getting fired, Kingsley."
"It was a close call," Caleb says, guiding me through the crowd with his hand at the small of my back.
Bennett stands when we approach, looking perfect as always in what's definitely a bespoke suit. "Congratulations are in order," he says, extending his hand to Caleb. "Though I'd appreciate a heads up before the next professional crisis. My blood pressure can't take it."
"No more crises," I promise, accepting the champagne Layla presses into my hand. "We're boring now. Completely drama-free."
"I love your drama!" Audrey teases, and I roll my eyes, accepting hugs and congratulations from everyone.
"To Caleb and Serena," Logan raises his beer, "for proving that love conquers all, even ethics boards."
"To not getting disbarred!" I counter, and we all drink.
The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and champagne, everyone talking over each other, racing to cram in every thought, every joke, every moment of connection. I feel strangely light, like all the tension I've been carrying for weeks has finally dissolved.
"So what's next for you two?" Dominic asks, leaning across the table. "Marriage? Babies? A joint Instagram account where you post coordinating outfits?"
I nearly choke on my champagne. "Slow down, Romeo. We just moved in together."
"And survived an ethics investigation," Caleb adds, his arm draped across the back of my chair.
“That too.”
"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do now, Serena?" Bennett leans across the table, voice raised over the bass. "I know you turned down the VP position at Luminous."
"I did." I take a sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles fizz. "But everything's been so crazy I haven't made a solid plan. I do have thoughts, though."
"Well, if any fall through, give my office a call. I'm certain we can find you a position at one of my companies."
"Thanks, Bennett," I say, touched and a little tipsy. "I appreciate that. But I think I'm going in a different direction."
Everyone leans in, even Caleb raises his eyebrows. I realize I haven't actually told him about my latest idea, which formed somewhere between stress-baking and that terrible documentary.
"I'm thinking of starting my own consulting firm," I announce, the champagne making me braver. "Specializing in crisis management and brand rehabilitation."
"That's brilliant," Layla says immediately.
"It really is," Caleb agrees, and the pride in his voice makes my chest warm. "You'd be amazing at that."
"I hope so," I say. "Marketing will always be my passion, but after everything..." I shrug. "I think I'm ready to help people going through what I went through. Use my experience for something good."