Chapter 32
32
Drew
“What do you think?”
I look around, thinking I don’t recognize this place. Juni is industrious. I haven’t completely left my CEO workaholic days behind me—I doubt anyone could simply eradicate the responsibilities on my shoulders—but I have certainly left the office earlier most nights than I used to. In fact, despite finishing at seven twice this week, I’ve rarely been there until ten or eleven in the past six weeks.
Baby steps.
I’ve come home to home-cooked meals, or we’ve eaten out and then crashed at mine. But Juni’s often spent those nights making the apartment her grandmother left her, her own. The dusty wreath no longer hangs at the entrance, and the new door is more modern.
The knickknacks and picture frames have been pared down to a minimum and, from what I can see, put on two shelves of the bookcase instead of everywhere in the apartment. She even renovated the kitchen and bathrooms.
I’m not a jump in headfirst kind of guy, but it looks like she’s planning on staying a while. “I like it. It fits you.” I’m not sure if it fits us, though.
She beams and then sits on the couch, spreading her arms wide across the back. “I think so, too.”
The thing is, thoughts about our future have become more frequent, the idea of settling down, whatever that means— becoming more boring, more routine, staying home more often —started sounding more appealing.
So when I look around her place and how she’s decorated, the money she’s spent, and the time she’s dedicated to making it her own, I’m thinking she feels the opposite. Yet for someone who claims they don’t like commitment, she sure is all in with this apartment.
I won’t rain on her parade with the conversation that feels long overdue regarding us and her plans in life. I’m a planner by nature, so I won’t be able to stay quiet for much longer.
“Drew?”
Shifting forward, I set my drink on the coffee table. “We should probably get going.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“I’m sorry. I must have missed it.”
She looks around as if she’ll find someone else in here. “How’d you miss it when it’s just the two of us?”
“I said I’m sorry.” Pushing up, I grab my keys from the bar. “Are you ready?”
Her arms lower to her side, but she’s not made any other effort to leave. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s on your mind.”
I can’t lie to her. I’d be pissed if she did to me. We’re heading out of the honeymoon phase of this relationship, and I had looked forward to us getting more serious. “I like what you’ve done. I love it. I think it will get over asking if you sell it.”
Her eyes slide around the room as if the thought is unfathomable. “Why would I sell it? I just finished it.”
“My apartment is bigger.” I should have just said it instead of hinting around at what I’ve been thinking.
She scoffs, a humorless chuckle blending in at the end. “What does your apartment have to do with . . .” She stands—her jeans are skintight, and the hot pink top highlights her fantastic tits. Her chest rises and falls, and even though I know I shouldn’t look, I can’t stop myself. “Are you talking about me moving in with you? Upstairs? Living together? The two of us?”
“You can phrase it however it sounds best, but I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You have?” She doesn’t sound so mad right now. She comes to me and wraps her arms around me. With her head on my chest, she asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m saying it now.”
When she steps back, this time when she laughs, it reaches her eyes. “You’re saying it now because I put your vague remarks together to form the big picture.”
“Right, but it’s out there . . . now.” I tug at my collar. “Is it hot in here?”
“No. It’s just how you like it. I always have the thermostat at the acceptable Andrew Christiansen temp just in case you come down to see me.” Slipping on a coat, she heads for the door but doesn’t open it. “Moving in together is a big step. I know we spend most nights together but living together is different. Even though you didn’t ask, do you mind if I think about it?”
“Think about it like how you’ve been mulling over the job proposition for the last month?”
“Yes.”
I shove my phone and keys in my jacket pocket and head out. When I pass her, I ask, “Why does this not surprise me?”
“I have no idea. That’s really more for you to ponder than for me to answer.”
“Stop.” She does, five feet behind me. I don’t know why that bugs me, but it does. I close three of the feet. “I’m not asking you to move in, Juni.”
Fifty emotions flicker across her face, but the one that sticks is hurt. “That’s what I get for assuming.”
“I’m not asking you right now. I had planned to ask you soon, but you were so invested in making this apartment all yours that it made me think I was making a mistake.”
“How soon?”
I close the rest of the distance and take her by the belt loops. “Last month.”
“Oh that was really soon.”
“And then I chickened out.” I swallow my pride and give the woman credit where it’s due. “The apartment is great, and since it’s always at the perfect temperature according to many studies and national reviews of cohabitating in office spaces.”
She straightens my jacket and then pulls me in for a kiss. “And cohabitating in your personal life?”
“Whatever makes you happy, babe.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I kiss her again. We argue very little, but we still have a few hurdles to jump. I push the button to call the elevator, and she says, “I think I’m turning in my resignation.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re right. I’ve been wondering what to do with my life for years. CWM gave me a soft place to land, but it’s time I launch again.”
We enter the elevator. I want to be happy for her, but I know what this means for me. I refuse to be selfish. One hint of fear or disappointment injected into the conversation and she’ll focus more on pleasing others than doing what’s right for herself. “Do you know what you want to do?”
“I’m going to return to research and working in labs as a botanist. I actually might even try my hand at working for one of the gardens around the city or in one of the other boroughs.” She rests easily against the handrail, some of the burden she’s been carrying now lifted. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll train the new reception assistant on everything.” She nudges me. “Except on 12:15. That’s our thing.”
Chuckling, I say, “I’m going to miss our lunchtime dates.”
“Well, you never know. I might be close enough to make lunchtime visits to a certain CEO.”
“That certain CEO better be me, Ms. Jacobs.”
“But of course, Mr. Christiansen. Only you.”
I chuckle, but inside, I like that very much.
Our hands come together when we enter the lobby. Women love holding hands. I used to think it was their way of claiming them in a public way, but now I get it. It’s not about stakes in the world. It’s about the connection. Her skin is soft, her fingers entwined with mine, and there’s an intimacy shared without saying a word.
And fine, it strokes my ego to be the one who gets to hold her hand.
We’re taken to our table as soon as we enter Asado, the restaurant Nick’s been raving about for months. We order drinks, and once we get them, we decide to look over the menu. I say, “I heard the empanadas are good.”
“I love empanadas.” She sips her drink but then chokes on it and starts coughing while looking over my shoulder. “Oh shit.”
I’m rubbing off on her. I look behind me as Justin saunters over. Fuck. I turn around and whisper, “If he says one fucking word, I’m gonna knock him out.”
Through a scratchy voice, she says, “I’ll handle this.” Coughing to clear her throat, she then gulps water. “What are you doing here?”
“No, hi, Justin, how’ve you been?”
My heart starts pounding. Not only from the sound of his voice but also from what he said to Juni that became the last nail in his coffin. He’s all smiles, eyeing her like the fucking asshole he is, but he’s failed to notice me. When he finally moves to the side of us, his shit-eating grin is wiped clean off his face. “Mr. Christiansen . . .” His gaze volleys back and forth between us. “Oh. Um.” But then his eyes bounce to the drinks in front of us to the way we’re dressed. “You guys are dating.”
I want to remind him that it’s not against policy, but he knows. It would be different if it were him dating Juni than me. He knows that too. I ask, “Are you working?”
“Very funny. I’m dining with friends. I don’t have to be a CEO to afford dinner at a nice restaurant.” His gaze returns to Juni. She shifts, and I know she’s struggling with what she can and can’t say just like I am. “From the silence, I take it I’m right. But let me ask you, did you have the ability to say no to your boss?”
Fuck.
My eyes stay fixed on her even when he leans down to taunt her. I keep my anxious fists under the table.
Her body angles toward him, and she says, “You have it all wrong. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Standing back, he laughs. “A woman who likes to take charge. I can respect that, but the clients still won’t look kindly on Andrew fucking beneath his station.” The fuck did he just say? I stand as he walks away looking like the conceited ass he is, my chair rocking back on two legs precariously. I will not let that bastard walk away like that.
“Drew,” Juni says, her tone firm. When I meet her eyes, she shakes her head. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“It’s not about me. It’s about you and your name being dragged through the mud. I don’t want that for you.”
She holds her hand out for me. I look back at Justin weaving through the restaurant to a table for four near the windows. When I turn back, she hasn’t moved, her arm still raised, her hand in offering. I take hold of it and sit down.
Both her hands cover mine, and she says, “There’s no proverbial mud to drag me through. I’m not Page Six-worthy material. Me sleeping with you won’t affect my job aspirations. But for you, it matters.”
“You said it yourself. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“In fact, you’ve done everything right.” We don’t order the empanadas because we’ve lost our appetite. “I think we should start talking, tentatively, about potentially moving in together.”
I forget all else the moment she says that. The woman who has a fear of commitment just tentatively, potentially committed to me. I’ll take it. It’s not a no.
Juni
I’m not sure what happened.
One minute, I was making plans with my boyfriend to move in with him, and the next, we’re treading even more carefully around the office.
Justin talked all right, to anyone who would listen. But thankfully, most people in the office either didn’t really care or didn’t let on. Although I got a few dirty stares. I don’t know why other than Mary became an ally, hinting the haters were jealous. She also said she’d known for a while and stopped staying during the lunch hour after overhearing something unmentionable. She actually coughed, but I got her drift.
Needless to say, we put a pause on the lunchtime rendezvous. No need to add to the potential fire.
Andrew’s family didn’t like the unwanted attention, however. They prefer to be the ones in charge of the narrative. They’re okay. Cookie even sent me a text that read: check please and had a laughing emoji.
At least she has a sense of humor about it. As for me, I can still feel the same mortification I felt at brunch when Tatum said sex with Andrew must be incredible. By the way, I told her it was.
His family’s support has helped both of us feel calmer and more . . . settled.
The past seven days have been weird, though. It’s the most time we’ve spent apart since we met. I’ve slept in his apartment some nights, wanting that sense of being with him, but the past two nights, I’ve been back in mine. I’m missing him more than I thought possible.
It’s Friday, and I’m still waiting for him to text me about how the meeting went with three of CWM’s wealthiest clients, tech giants who live in Seattle. From what I can gather, it’s been tough going.