47. Then
FORTY-SEVEN
then
November blurred by in a bittersweet slog.
I spent my days arguing with my father when we were together and doing my best to make him proud whenever we weren’t.
We couldn’t agree on anything. He wanted to start transferring CEO duties to me within months , well before I even finished my degree. I asked him if the cancer had spread to his brain and eaten away his common sense.
But whenever he wasn’t around, I somehow sprang into action. I comforted my weeping mother over our weekly brunch. I called doctors , specialists, researchers, and hospital directors. I snuck into meetings, listened in on high-level calls, and asked his assistant to forward me all of his correspondence so I could start to learn when and how he replied to various issues.
I thought I’d be miserable. The truth was, most days, I didn’t really have time to be anything apart from busy.
And, at night, I had Ella.
Thank God .
I’d never been one to pray or look to the stars, but I found myself thinking those two words every single evening when I slid into Marco’s car, and the events of the day tumbled over me, threatening to crush my lungs inside my chest.
Then, I remembered who I had waiting for me at home. And I could breathe again.
We weren’t officially moving in together until the week after New Year’s, but Ella spent most nights with me, anyway. Like she could sense I needed her there.
She didn’t take up much space, though, carrying her life in her backpack and never leaving behind more than the occasional yarn fuzz. I couldn’t wait to get into our place and have her stuff all around me.
I envisioned a lot more color, in every way.
That seemed to be Ellie’s special gift—she took my drab existence and made everything brighter. Her soft little laugh, her unexpected jokes, the light in her eyes whenever I caught her looking at me.
It didn’t hurt that we couldn’t seem to keep our hands off each other. After long days of school, traffic, work, and more traffic, there was nothing better than finally having Ella under me, on top of me, around me.
Every time I pushed inside of her and our gazes connected, she healed me just a little bit. Enough to keep on fighting through the next day.
I loved sharing space with her. Her honeysuckle sweetness clung to our sheets, my suit jackets, the towels… along with threads of her shimmery go ld hair. I didn’t mind doing schoolwork or conducting Stryker not when I could catch glimpses of blonde and soft curves while I worked.
I loved looking up and finding her brooding over her laptop screen, perfecting some part of her book. Or quirking her eyebrows just so while she peered in the mirror. Or—my favorite—bending into one of her yoga stretches. I collected those pieces of her, snapping mental Polaroids to look back at later.
Each day seemed to reveal new facets of her personality, too.
She was clean but not neat—she would scrub our bathroom grout with a toothbrush if I let her, but then left every single toiletry she owned in chaotic clusters on the countertop. She liked to sing while she baked, but only the first half of one song before launching into the start of another. She hated to study—always sighing quietly as she turned textbook pages and grumbling under her breath when she had to take notes—but her eyes lit up when I offered to quiz her.
We did a lot of that. Helping each other. She asked me financial accounting questions while I shaved or folded my laundry, often brushing kisses onto my shoulder or my cheek if I got several correct answers in a row.
I proofread her papers for her. She used too many commas but otherwise wrote brilliantly. Usually, I was so dazzled by her mind that I wound up tossing the paper aside and pulling her into my lap.
On the weekends, we agreed to forget everything except each other. I spent most of that free time looking for new ways to make Ella smile. I’d discovered she loved to go for long walks through Central Park early on Sunday mornings. With a coffee in one hand and a poetry book tucked into her multicolored coat, she forced me to leave the walkway and led me to a big oak tree. I thought she was crazy until her sweet smirk and sparkling eyes conned me into lying with my head in her lap while she read out loud .
Two poems in, I was hooked. Her calm, lilting voice changed everything. Perhaps because she treated each piece like its own priceless treasure, honoring the poets’ every whim by pausing and adding inflection wherever the poem called for it. On her lips, verses I’d run my eyes over a dozen times without finding any value transformed into pearls. It helped that she combed my hair and let me nestle my cheek against her body while she read to me.
Ella also adored chocolate, in general; the Met, but specifically the exhibit for 18 th Century France; and making love anytime the weather turned gloomy. That last one posed a problem at work—as soon as the sky darkened outside my office window, my cock turned semi-hard. I knew as soon as we both got home, Ella would come to me.
Staring out at the overcast view, I almost felt her warmth spread over my lap. The soft suction of her lips on my neck. The way she would hum and sigh before propositioning me—always modestly shy and nervous, as if I would ever turn down the opportunity to be inside her.
I glanced around at all the shit on my desk and then out at the rest of the empty executive floor. Being the day before Thanksgiving, my father and I were the only ones in the office.
Fuck it .
I was going to go home to my girl and spending the rest of the holiday weekend focused on her. I packed up my messenger bag and ducked into my father’s suite on my way out.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, not looking up from the ledger in front of him. “Did you at least check your email?”
We hadn’t stopped fighting since Halloween; I couldn’t blame him for his outright hostility. But I still snapped back.
“Yes,” I clipped, scowling at him. “I also finished all of the insurance contract reviews you told me to read.”
He continued scratching his pen at his paper. “And?”
“They suck,” I said succinctly. “I’d go with someone else.”
His mouth curved into a grim smirk. “ Who else?” he asked, not looking up. “You ’re going to be the CEO. If you don’t like the deal one firm gives you, then you have to find a different one.”
Truth was, I already had another agency in mind. I just fucking hated the way he assumed I didn’t think that far ahead. Torn between my desire to argue and my longing for Ella, I pawed at the back of my neck and checked my watch.
3:16 p.m.
If I hurried, I could take her to bed before dinner. A perfect plan because she wanted to watch the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special later—a prospect I found equal parts cringe-worthy and endearing.
“Can we talk about it on Monday?”
He paused for the briefest of seconds, then resumed writing. “We can discuss it tomorrow. From what your mother tells me, she and Ella will be in the kitchen most of the afternoon.”
Ha . “I’m not working tomorrow,” I informed him. “Apparently, it’s a national holiday of some sort.”
That finally got him. His Montblanc clattered onto his desktop as he pinned me with a severe look. “CEOs don’t get days off, Grayson. When I’m gone, and you’re running Stryker they were all excellent.”
He considered the contract in front of him before turning his attention back to me, his amber eyes assessing.
Always assessing. Weighing my words, my worth, my capabilities, my commitment.
Would any of it ever be enough?
Without waiting for his reply, I backed toward the door. “And now, since—as you so graciously pointed out—this is my last holiday season as a free man, I’m going home.”
To Ellie .