Chapter 1 #4
The first orgasm Ellison gives me is a contradiction, just like him.
I’m cold from the evaporating water and hot from his tongue on my clit.
I’m completely open to him at the only time it doesn’t matter, because there isn’t anything to discuss when he’s building to a second orgasm with his tongue.
When he’s crawling over me, his long, lean body fitting to mine.
When he’s pushing into me and perfect, perfect.
The storm outside reaches its peak. Inside, Ellison fucks me hard and deep, adjusting my body every so often to get better contact. He watches my face, studying, studying, and I really believe it—he could do this forever if he wanted. He’d fuck me forever if I wanted.
When I’m nothing but nerves and heat, Ellison leans down over me, his face intent.
His orgasm is all quiet heat and tensed muscles and slowly, finally, giving in.
The thunder is distant when I can think again.
We’re both lying on one pillow together, and Ellison’s watching me. I think he’s been watching for a while, and I don’t mind.
“I’ve never done this before,” I tell him.
“Never?” His brow furrows. “Do you mean—”
“I’ve never walked to someone’s place in the rain and done…this.”
Ellison runs his fingers through my hair, which is finally starting to dry. “Why did you do that?”
“Because…” I close my eyes. “My landlord texted me. I’m behind on rent, and he needs me to catch up. And I don’t think I’m going to pull it off in time.”
“A sale?”
“A job,” I admit, and his hand goes still in my hair. “Any job. I’m not…a real-estate agent.”
Ellison starts stroking my hair again. “You didn’t seem like a real-estate agent.”
“Because I’m not. I just saw a guy on the street.”
“The chance encounter?”
“Yeah.” Ellison keeps running his fingers through my hair, which seems like a good omen. “He heard me talking to my friend on the phone and saw me holding a sign and thought I was the listing agent. So I…decided to become the listing agent.”
“To get into my apartment.”
“No,” I say quickly. “To actually sell the building. I thought maybe, if you wanted to sell it, then we could negotiate a fee. It was never going to work. I just thought it might.”
Ellison moves from my hair to my cheek and then to my jaw, tracing them like he’s studying, slow and thoughtful. I keep my eyes closed. I could fall asleep like this, honestly.
“It was my sister,” he says. “She died in that building. Killed herself in that building.”
I put my hand on his waist under the covers. I’m sure he’ll stop talking if I open my eyes, so I don’t. I just let the words sink in.
“It was a gift from our parents,” Ellison continues.
“Things between them had been contentious, but she decided that didn’t matter.
She wanted to turn it into an art gallery.
When she started having trouble, I told her I would help.
I’d get people to fix the interior. I told her she could live with me until the building was done, and then I got this apartment so she could watch over it. ”
“She didn’t want to?”
“I was too late.”
I can’t say anything for a minute.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I didn’t want it to be some…internet story, so I had everything I could find about her death taken down. I didn’t want the building to become some fucked-up joke, so I kept it how it is. And that’s how it’s going to stay.”
I open my eyes. Ellison looks back at me. He doesn’t look angry or upset or sad, he just looks…blank.
“But you know…” I’m taking a huge risk, opening my mouth, but I’m already naked in his bed. “You know it won’t bring her back.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t think there’s any hope? Like, there’s no hope it could become something new?”
“It will never become anything but what it is. The building’s not for sale.”
My heart breaks.
I didn’t think I could really sell a building. Of course not. At the end of the day, I’ll always be what I am, which is a woman with a marketing degree and not much to show for it.
Ellison doesn’t stop me when I sit up, letting the covers slip off my shoulders.
He doesn’t stop me when I leave, either.
The worst part is, I have to borrow his clothes.
Mine are still wet. I can’t bear to wait while he runs them through the dryer. So I walk back home in his sweatpants and his sweatsuit, all of it too big and smelling so good I could die.
I don’t, though. I have to live so I can come clean to Leander Harrow.
Leander Harrow has offices in Midtown, according to the contact information he sent to my phone, and I get there just after noon the next day. I spent half the morning trying to come up with an alternate plan and half the morning packing.
The building is all windows with a bank and reception area on the ground floor. A man behind the reception desk points me to the elevators. Leander Harrow’s company—West Row Group, which Liz would call a generic holding company—is headquartered on the fifth floor.
It has a reception desk, too, but no receptionist. Just a sign that says back at 12:30 :)
Over the pleasant rush of a white-noise machine, there are voices somewhere else in the office.
I can’t.
I can’t do it. I can’t be discovered waiting for the receptionist to get back.
So I follow the voices through the space. It’s not very lived-in. Clean and bright, but not many people. I can see one guy’s back through a glassed-in office wall, but he doesn’t turn around, and there isn’t anyone else.
A new company, maybe.
The voices are coming from an office in the back. Nobody comes out as I get closer, and I don’t say anything.
I really should say something.
I can’t make myself do it. I just keep moving toward the door. It’s a dream. A trance. A horror movie. I don’t know.
“—think about it.” That’s Leander Harrow’s voice. I stop near the wall, not that it’ll make a difference if he sees me out here.
“Can’t,” a second man says. “I’m still drunk.”
“I know you’re still drunk. Would you think about it anyway?”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Yes, you are.” Leander sounds tired. Stressed. Like he’s trying to hide both of those things and failing. “If you like this office, you can have it.”
“You know what I mean,” says the second man, singsong and a little slurred.
“Yes,” Leander agrees. “Yes. I know what you mean. You’re wrong, though. You’re supposed to be here.”
“You feel bad for me.”
“I feel bad that you’re drunk and you feel like shit. I feel bad that you’re not okay.”
“You feel so bad that you got me a pity company.”
“This is—” Leander Harrow must be doing some deep breathing. “This is not a pity company. It’s not about that.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“Not losing anybody else.”
I stay perfectly still. I’m almost positive they can hear my heart beating. That’s how loud it feels.
“That’s impossible,” the second man says. “Nobody’s going to give you a building for that.”
“I’m going to buy a building.”
“No one’s going to—” A pause. “You know. Sell it. Sell you the building for that. There’s not even a good building.”
“There is,” Leander insists. “I found the perfect building, and I’m not fucking with you. I found it. I’m going to get it. I’m just waiting to hear back.”
“You made up a whole plan?”
“Yeah,” says Leander. “I did. A whole fucking plan.”
“And you really found a building?” That second voice is painfully rough, but there’s hope in it now.
“It’s going to be better,” Leander says. “I promise.”
Another pause.
“I’m hungry.”
“Okay.” Leander’s voice breaks on the word. “Okay. I’ll order some food.”
I turn around and tiptoe out as fast as my heels will carry me.
This is the last time I’m ever going to ask Ellison about the building.
This might be the last time I ever try to be a fake listing agent in New York City. Or do anything in New York City. But I owe it to Leander Harrow.
I stand in the shade of the alcove and push the button for the buzzer.
“Yes?”
“I swear, this is the last time I’m going to bother you.”
The door next to me buzzes right away. Ellison’s door is open when I reach the final landing. He’s leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. I meet him toe-to-toe.
“Can I come in?” He steps back to let me in, and I close the door behind us. “Thanks for letting me up. There’s something I have to tell you.”
He slides his hands into his pockets. “Then tell me.”
I don’t want to talk, actually. I want to touch him. I want to hug him. I want the hour we spent in his bed yesterday back.
“I went to Leander Harrow’s office today. The man who put in the offer.”
Ellison’s eyebrows go up.
“I was going to tell him I couldn’t close the deal, but I never had the chance.”
“Why not?”
“He was in his office with somebody else. A friend, I think. Did you know he was in a plane crash?”
“I didn’t,” says Ellis.
“He was. When he was in high school. My best friend and I—we were obsessed with the crash. It was on the news, and—” I used to get so incredibly emotional over the plane crash.
Liz and I would cry about it, even though we didn’t know the boys who were on that flight.
All that wild sadness is coming back to me, but there’s more to it now.
There’s the sting of realizing my dad was right and the ache of knowing Ellison’s probably going to be trapped here forever, watching an empty building, and the desperate hope that I’ll figure this out despite everything.
“That doesn’t matter. Whoever he was talking to—that person is important to him, and they weren’t good.
They weren’t okay. I don’t think he wants your building as part of, like, a scheme. He wants it as a lifeline.”
A few tears escape from my eyes, but I wipe them away with my sleeve and keep going.
“I think you have a chance, anyway. I know you can’t get your sister back. But you could save someone else. And I think you should try. I would, if I had a building to sell.” I nod, mostly to get myself to stop talking. “Just think about it.”
I turn to go and take half a step toward the door.
Ellison catches me by the elbow.
This time, when he kisses me, it’s long and slow and deep. It’s wondering. It’s relieved.
This time, his arms go all the way around me and hold on tight.
When Ellison finally comes up for air, he seems sorry to have to do it.
For a minute, we just look at each other.
“You think I could save someone?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I put my arms around him, too, so we’re even. “I do.”
Two months later
Soon, it’s going to be cold enough to snow in New York City.
I’m going to be here for it.
All those omens turned out to be good. I had to give up my apartment, but it was only to move in with Ellison. I couldn’t find a temp job, but I’ve needed all the time I can get to be here with him through the sale of the building. And through getting to know him. And through falling in love.
Finishing falling in love?
Either way.
I’ve been here with him—and across the street—while Ellison had the broken window replaced and the brickwork repaired. While he had two rose bushes planted on either side of the stairs. While he repainted the door.
I’ve learned that his sister’s name was Clara, and that she was the one who painted the door black in the first place, and that Ellison was the one who found her.
I’ve learned that they were best friends.
I know for sure that she wouldn’t want him to spend his life watching the building crumble to pieces. I also know it hurts too much for him to spend time inside.
It’s time to give it away.
Ellison pulls a sweater on over his button-down and tugs at it until it’s right. As soon as he’s done, I go to his side and take his hand.
I’ve learned he only seems untouchable.
We get our coats and hats and gloves and go outside together.
Our luggage is already in the trunk of the car waiting at the curb.
We’re headed out as soon as Ellison hands over the keys.
When the plane lands again—and it will land again—we’ll be somewhere sunny and warm.
After we get back from our beach vacation, we’re going to visit Liz in Indiana.
We cross the street together and stand at the gate.
The rowhouse-without-a-row doesn’t look lonely. It looks…optimistic.
“Do you want to go in one more time?”
Ellison shakes his head. “I’ve been in there enough.”
“Maybe it’ll be an art gallery when we come back.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll love you when we come back. If we come back.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’ll love you, too.”
We watch the building together.
“What did your sign say?”
I have no idea what Ellis is talking about. “What?”
“You said you were holding a sign, and on the phone, and that’s why you were mistakenly identified as the listing agent.”
“Oh my God.” My face goes hot. “The sign said bathrooms.”
Ellison puts his arm around me while I laugh myself to tears and he’s dignified about it, because of course he is.
The wind picks up, smelling like snow. By the grace of all good omens, I’ve gotten myself together when Leander comes around the corner in a gray overcoat and a gray knit cap, his hair sticking out from under the brim.
“Here he comes,” I tell Ellison.
Leander walks at a fast clip, adjusting his gloves as he goes. He has a different pair this time. These ones are black, like the front door.
“Audrey,” he says, and puts out his hand to shake. “Ellison. How are you? Is there anything else we need to do?”
“Just this.” Ellison takes the keys from his pocket and drops them into Leander’s hand.
He looks like he’s just been handed a winning lottery ticket. Leander closes his fist around the keys, his shoulders rolling toward them, and closes his eyes in a moment of pure victory.
When he opens them again, they’re bright.
“When do you think you’ll get started?” Ellison asks, his voice warm and amused.
“Right now,” Leander answers, and opens the gate.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading HOLDING COMPANY! The mysterious rowhouse-without-a-row takes on a new life with Leander Harrow. You can follow the house—and his angsty, emotional romance—in STRICT DISCIPLINE: