11
Josie
Florence cuts me a piece of the chocolate mousse from the fridge and pours me some whisky before we sit down at the dining room table to get down to business. I glance around her home. It has a more lived-in feel to it than it did when I was here before.
"You don't want a drink?" I ask curiously as she passes me the whisky. I don't want to make her uncomfortable drinking if she isn't. I already overstepped a line at the pizza place an hour ago.
She grabs a Goose Island beer and pulls a chair up opposite me. "Let's continue with the list Hettie left for us. We agreed that the major events you attend with me don't count toward your companion time—they're too impersonal. Then, at least twice a month where we deliberately try to be seen."
"Right. That benefits both of us," I say. "And then one more time every week where we do something quiet. Stay in." I pause, feeling ridiculous. It's like negotiating a friendship. These things never last. "What about an exit strategy? Are we going to have a big public breakup or keep it quiet?" I know she'll need an out when the time comes. She needed one at dinner.
"You're already planning the exit?" she asks wryly.
"More of a priority for you," I say softly. "I got the feeling I made you uncomfortable at dinner. You need an out. And I need to know your boundaries. I already told you—I'm fine with whatever happens."
"I wasn't ready," she says, meeting my eyes. "The last time I saw you, you walked away from me. Remember?"
Like I could forget her cutting down her own assistant.
"I thought we'd eat dinner and talk about all this after. I didn't expect you to kiss me like that."
"You really—" I stop myself. "I'm sorry. I should have asked. Marin gave me the impression that you'd vetted a few other women, and I was the most suitable. I thought it was already decided." I push my whisky away. I don't drink and drive, and it's obvious she doesn't want to be with me right now. I pick up my fork instead.
"You are the most suitable." She sighs softly. "You did ask, and I gave permission. I just didn't expect—" She takes a long swig of her beer. "I didn't realize you'd be such a good actor."
I release an inaudible sigh. "Florence, you look good for a woman over forty." I try to hide my amusement, but I think she sees it. "How am I supposed to kiss the hot woman that I'm planning to marry?" I wink at her.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
I roll my eyes. "You make it sound like I'm signing my life away. It's not a hardship to go out with a beautiful woman once in a while. I think I can handle it." When she frowns, I point out, "You don't need to do this either. Or we can agree to no kissing. Tell me your boundaries and we'll stick to them. Even then, you can always tell me no."
She shakes her head. "You're fine. We were talking about an exit strategy," she says, returning to the task at hand. "I expect the chatter online to die down quickly. Woodhouse would make more of an ass of himself if he pushes the issue. He'll let it go. Let's play it by ear. I'd prefer no drama, but as long as we keep our story straight, it'll be fine. We'll make it amicable. Quiet. No ruining each other's reputations."
"Sounds fair. What if you want to terminate early? I can't see myself interested in anyone that soon—even kissing you tonight, I was thinking of Mel. But if you find someone, we'll keep options open. I don't want to get in the way of you finding the right woman."
She scoffs. "I don't have time for anyone, anyway. But we can write a clause for early dismissal, just to be thorough."
I nod.
"Boundaries," I bring up again. "I need to know what you're comfortable with." I won't initiate anything physical again.
She studies me for a long minute. "Will you stay for a little while? Just to relax and get to know each other."
"Boundaries," I repeat. "I'll stay for an hour if you tell me where your boundaries are."
She bites the inside of her cheek. "Whatever would be appropriate in the setting we're in. Touches, kisses—that's all fine. There might be settings that more is expected. We'll handle those as they come." She takes a bite of the mousse, closing her eyes briefly in pleasure, then chases it with a long swig of her beer. "What you did tonight was fine. I just wasn't prepared for it. We just got our wires crossed."
"Okay. But if I cross a line, tell me."
"I did, Josie." She gives me a pointed look. "And I will." She sobers. "One more thing. Feelings. What happens if someone develops them?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Talk about it?" That seems obvious. "No offense, but I don't see myself falling for you. For anyone," I add quickly, "because my heart's been taken for a long time. If you develop feelings, just talk to me about it. We'll deal with it."
"Fair enough. What else before I have Hettie draw up the contract?"
I bite my lip. "That's all, I think."
She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You want to say something. Tell me."
I shake my head. "I don't think it belongs in the contract, but we should talk about sex."
She laughs. "I forgot you had to give up your orgasm partner."
"My orgasm partner?" I arch a brow.
"It sounds less crass than fuck buddy."
She's not wrong. "I don't expect anything from you," I preface, "but if I'm publicly engaged to you, I won't go elsewhere."
"If you need to, be discreet. I'm not opposed to the idea, but you have to understand…" She sighs. "I have a hard time being physically intimate without an emotional connection."
"And you don't make emotional connections," I finish for her. "Forget I brought it up." The way she balked at me kissing her, I don't even want her to consider it.
She meets my eyes. "I don't mind giving, Josie. That's not what I meant."
"No." I wave it off. "The rest of this, we can fake. Not that."
"If we develop an emotional connection, we'll revisit the issue. Fair?"
"Sure." I wave the thought away. I've seen how she acts around people. Florence Pietra doesn't do emotions.
She makes a few notes on Hettie's list, then pushes it aside and drains her beer. "Come sit by me on the couch. We'll put something on for a while?"
I want to argue, suggest we talk and get to know each—but every pivot of the conversation seems to backfire.
She sits on the couch and turns on the TV.
She has cable?
She flips it to the game show channel. Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? is on. "This is my guilty pleasure," she admits softly, motioning for me to sit down. "Relax, Josie."
I sit down opposite her. "So, are you smarter than a fifth grader?"
She smirks, a dirty glint of amusement in her eye. "In many, many ways." She pats the couch next to her. "Not when it comes to science, but the rest I do okay. Come sit by me. Let's get comfortable." She rests her arm on the back of the couch, and I move closer. "Don't worry, I don't bite," she whispers in my ear.
"Good. Although nibbling is acceptable, depending on where you're nibbling." I nudge her with my shoulder.
She laughs, leaning into me. But it feels forced—like she's not used to sharing space with another person. I force myself to make it through two episodes—I promised I'd stay for an hour.
"I should get going," I say, standing. "I've got to be up early for work."
"On a Saturday? You have weekend classes?"
I shake my head. "No, they're private lessons. One of my students can't make labs during the week. I meet with her every Saturday for a few hours. It's been like that for almost two years."
"Why allow her to take your classes if she can't attend the scheduled times?"
I raise an eyebrow. "She works sixty hours a week—she's a surgical nurse in ortho and neuro. She's working on her neuro cert. She's talented and she wants to learn, so I teach her." I don't mention that she's Mel's nurse. I bring up Mel too much as it is.
"Well," she says, searching for words. "Why can't she just take Thursdays off?"
"She's the only one that Dr. Harris and Mel will work with." I groan. "She has a full schedule supporting both of them. In fact, Dr. Harris even changed his surgery schedule to work around her schedule with Mel."
"You talk about her a lot. You know that?" she asks softly.
I shake my head. "This is about Renna. I was doing all this before she and Mel got together."
She looks at me for a long moment. "It just seems like there'd be better ways to spend your time. I hope she compensates you well."
I sigh, standing. "That's the difference between you and me. You're a business woman. I'm a people person. You make a difference from the top down. I help build them from the bottom up." Working with individuals and small groups is as important as the work she does, whether she sees it or not.
I reach for the door, but she stops me, her hand on my shoulder. "Can I kiss you goodnight? To get our first kiss out of the way?"
"If you want to." After the disaster at Trattoria's, I wasn't expecting it. We still have a few weeks before the charity gala to get comfortable with each other.
She cups my cheek, trapping my gaze. "I want to," she says, her voice low and throaty.
"Then kiss me," I whisper, teasing. I lean in, close enough to feel her breath on my lips.
Her lips are soft, gentle. At first, it's just the brush of her lips against mine, but then she breathes me in, deepening the kiss. Her breath quickens.
I slide my palm to her clavicle, up to the curve of her neck. This is always how I imagined it would feel with Mel, how I wanted our friendship to evolve.
I groan softly. How long is she going to dominate my thoughts? It was never like this with Ruby. She took care of a physical need. She never came close to my heart.
Florence moans, her tongue seeking permission.
I pull back. "Florence." I have to remind myself where I am—who I'm with.
"Sorry." She exhales shakily.
"You're going to get me going, and we just said no to that." I bite back a groan. That was an emotionally charged kiss on her end if I've ever felt one.