Chapter 18
Marco
I watch as Erica leaves my office, shutting the door behind her and that perfect ass, before letting out a sigh of relief.
After she freaked out on Friday night when I tried to kiss her, I knew she would be upset, but I had no idea she would want to quit over it.
I feel bad for making a move in the first place, but I couldn’t help it in the back of the limo after our night together.
Though it wasn’t a date, I felt this pull to her, watching her hold her own in conversation with Manhattan’s wealthiest and seeing her reunite with old acquaintances.
She fit right in. I remind myself that she comes from this world, being Bryce Gunner’s daughter, but it seems like she hasn’t been a part of it for quite some time.
She jumped right in though, and she looked good doing it.
She put every other woman in that place to shame, along with the ornately decorated ball itself.
I wonder if she got caught up in the magic of the night too because she almost kissed me back.
There was something between us in that limo, something that was reminiscent of our first night together.
Nerves, lust, excitement. I felt it all too.
Something stopped her, though. I wonder what it was.
I wonder what about it was so detrimental that she would want to quit her job.
I press my fingers together as I run through a mental list of what might be holding her back.
Maybe she has a boyfriend I don’t know about.
This thought just pisses me off as jealousy eats away at me.
She could have someone in her life now. It has been a year since the two of us got together.
I try not to think of her going home to someone each night because it makes my blood boil, like I have any right to be jealous.
Still, she hasn’t mentioned a boyfriend, and if she has one, I doubt he would be too pleased with her going to a ball with me, looking like that.
I did say it was for business. He could be really supportive.
I hate that I’m trying to envision what he looks like and what sort of relationship they may have.
She’s never mentioned having someone in her life, but it’s not like we talk much, besides business. I realize I know very little about her.
I push the idea of a boyfriend out of my mind, and think that maybe she’s just very professional in her work and doesn’t want to blur the lines.
If so, her ethic is admirable, but frustrating.
I thought becoming her boss would bring us closer in some way, but it seems like it’s driving an even bigger wedge between us.
Or…she’s still upset at me for what happened.
I thought she had accepted my apologies, maybe even believed my excuses, which were all true.
I never once had the intention of trying to get information from her about the paper to advance my position in acquiring it.
I was simply enamored by her. The way she looked.
The way she talked. The way she moved. I couldn’t get enough.
I found myself to be the least interesting thing next to her, which was why I didn’t say much.
And the excuse about a family emergency was very true.
Something I’m still dealing with as I make sure my mother gets the best care in the city after her heart attack.
Whatever the reason she pushed me away that night, I am determined to work my way around it.
The next day, I get to the office early and feel anxious, like Erica may have changed her mind and quit.
But then I see her walking through the office and I feel a sense of relief.
She’s still here and looking as beautiful as ever.
I swear, every day, I notice something new about her and each thing just adds to the list of why it’s so hard not to have her.
Yesterday, I noticed the bridge of freckles across her nose and wondered if she had spent time in the sun this past weekend.
They’re the perfect sprinkle of a tan constellation that lay just under her green eyes, which I’ve noticed change color depending on the day or her mood.
When she’s happy, which is rare around me, they’re light, almost seafoam.
When she’s moody, they’re dark like a forest at dusk.
I find them intoxicating. Today, I notice the way her breasts are bouncing in that pink chiffon top.
As she gets closer, I tear my eyes away and look down at the papers in front of me, pretending I’m not so painfully aware of her presence.
“Oh, Erica,” I say as she’s about to pass my door. “Can you come in here for a sec?”
She stops outside my door, but doesn’t step inside. “Yes?” she asks.
I try to think up something quickly because I really don’t need anything from her at all, except for those green eyes to look at me. They’re emerald today. I wonder what that means.
“I need you to come with me today on a few errands,” I say.
“Okay,” she says, a confused look in her eyes.
“I just want to pick out a couple more things for the new space. It might be nice to have a woman’s eye.”
“The internet company is coming today though, to update our modems.”
“Jessica can handle it.”
“I have a word count I need to hit…”
“I’ll let you have the morning to do so.”
I can see she’s trying to come up with another excuse, but I’m ready to serve it right back to her in this game of tennis we find ourselves in.
She takes a deep breath and I will myself not to stare at the slow rise and fall of her perfect breasts. Does she wear these things to torture me? I could only be so lucky.
“Fine. Okay,” she says. “Give me an hour?”
“Of course.” I nod.
Game. Set. Match.
An hour later, on the dot, I hear a knock at my office door.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Let’s go.” I smile.
We take a cab to Chelsea, when I realize I need to figure out some sort of imaginary thing I’m looking for amongst the furniture shops.
I really just want this time with her, away from the office.
We stroll the sidewalk, weaving in and out of various furniture stores.
I like wandering aimlessly with her, seeing what she likes and doesn’t like.
“What exactly are you looking for?” she asks, as we leave another store empty-handed.
“Uh, new lighting for the desks. Maybe some frames for the reception desk.”
“ This is the priority right now, in the middle of an acquisition?” she asks, looking unamused.
“I want people to feel like they’re at home.” I shrug.
“Then maybe you should have left them where they felt at home,” she mutters under her breath.
I wonder if this has been a fool’s errand with the cold shoulder she’s giving me. She still resents me for taking over her beloved paper. I wonder if she will ever get over it.
“Let’s try that one,” I say, pointing across the street. “Then maybe we can grab some lunch?”
“Sure,” she says, but she’s not enthusiastic about it.
In the store, she helps me pick out some midcentury modern brass lamps for the desks in the office. She also helps me narrow down a collection of frames. They’re all things I don’t need, but they’re worth the money if it means having this time with her, even if she would rather be anywhere else.
After I place my order and schedule a delivery, we walk a few blocks to an Italian restaurant I know of.
It’s small, with white brick and light wood tables that line the walls, underneath black-framed mirrors.
We are seated at a forest green leather booth where we both down our ice-cold waters, parched from the summer heat.
I notice she barely breaks a sweat, but her skin is glowing.
Summer suits her. The green of her eyes starts to melt into the color of the booth.
“What?” she asks, and I realize that I’ve been staring.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, looking down at my menu in concentration.
“ What ?” she asks again, and she’s looking at me with her head tilted.
“I’ve just noticed your eyes change colors. I was seeing what they were today.”
I see her cheeks deepen in color.
“Sorry, if that’s inappropriate,” I say quickly, reminding myself that I’m treading a fine line, given she almost quit yesterday.
“It’s okay,” she says softly. “They’ve always done that, ever since I was little. My mother swore she could tell what sort of mood I was in just by the shade of green.”
I want to tell her that I’ve figured that out myself, but hold back.
“Must have helped when you were a teenager.” I smile.
“Ha. She wishes.” She looks reminiscent.
“Were you a handful?” I ask.
“Still am.” She shrugs.
“What do they think of your new job?” I ask.
“They haven’t asked.”
“Oh.”
I look down at my menu, wanting more, but not wanting to look too eager to know more about her.
“I don’t talk about work with my parents. It’s not something that interests them because it’s something that disappoints them.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I didn’t fall in the footsteps they laid out for me,” she replies quietly.
We sit in a lull of silence as I soak in what she’s telling me.
I realize this paper means more to her than I had realized.
For her to go against her parents’ expectations and find something that was completely her own, forgetting about the money and the limelight that comes with being the daughter of a billionaire, it must mean she really loves what she does. I admire that about her.
“Let’s order, shall we?” she says.
“Let’s.”
I don’t even know what I order because I’m too busy thinking about what she said and this new information I’ve found out about her.
It’s like I’ve found one more reason to be intrigued by her.
I wonder if Jacob had been right with what he said at the ball last week.
Maybe I do have it bad for her. It feels like I’m falling for her, and that’s not something I’m used to.
I don’t even know what that feels like, but maybe this is what it is.
And it’s not just the way she looks, or the fact that I’ve spent a night discovering just about every perfect inch of her.
I still have parts memorized. The rosy shade of her nipples.
The freckle on her inner thigh. The indents in her lower back.
Yes, I would love to sleep with her again.
I crave it in a way that’s entirely distracting from work, from sleep.
But it’s also the way she speaks her mind.
It’s her stubborn resolve. It’s her passion.
It’s the way she doesn’t give a damn who her father is or what she could gain from her last name.
I’ve never met anyone like her. Most women I know are all about what they can gain, which is why my anonymity has benefitted me through the years.
Yet, here is Erica, a woman who could have it all, but chooses not to. She rejects it.
Now I just want to know more and more, as I hang on every little word she says that peels a layer back about who she is.
Even though we’re moving at a glacial pace, I feel like I’m getting somewhere with her.
I hope I am. If we could just get to a place of friendship, with maybe a side of benefits, that would be enough for me. At least, I think it would.