Chapter 11 Tessa
TESSA
Mochi knocked over my coffee mug while I was trying to pay bills at my tiny kitchen table.
The dark liquid spread across my laptop keyboard before I could grab it, and I watched in horror as the screen flickered and died.
"Perfect," I muttered, dabbing at the mess with paper towels. "Just perfect."
My cat sat back on his haunches, tail twitching with what looked suspiciously similar to satisfaction.
He'd been acting out ever since I'd started spending nights at Lucian's penthouse, and apparently, my extended absence in Boston had pushed him over the edge.
The apartment felt cramped after five days in luxury hotels, my thrifted furniture looking shabbier than usual this February, though my Christmas lights still flickered over doorways.
If Mom showed up, she would tell me to take them down and force me into a furniture store where her "keeping up with the Joneses" disease would kick in.
But I was back to reality and my routine felt comfortable. Until the laptop wouldn’t turn back on, it made me remember how Lucian had seen my inadvertent browser slip and the IVF clinic I'd been researching became public knowledge.
The memory made my stomach clench. Lucian's face when he'd seen my laptop screen—the flash of something I couldn't identify before he'd shut down completely.
He got cold and focused on answering emails on his phone while I stared out the window in sheer panic wondering what he was thinking.
We hadn't discussed anything personal since returning to Chicago, either. Our interactions had been strictly professional, polite exchanges about client follow-ups and meeting schedules.
He hadn't even called me to ask me to come to his penthouse for sex, which I thought was odd, but his sudden shift betrayed how he felt. He was upset, but I didn’t know him well enough to know how he was reacting when I wasn't around.
I'd been expecting him to bring it up all week, dreading the conversation where he'd realize I was planning a future that didn't revolve around our arrangement. But the call never came and he never brought it up at work.
It wasn't up for discussion, anyway. Lucian and I had a no-strings arrangement. He'd made that clear when he threw up that wall on the plane and told me I was allowed to research my options. What would I have said if he was upset, anyway?
It wasn't like I was going to have a baby with him and fall in love and have a family. He had freedom now, like being a bachelor over again, and at his age, he most certainly wouldn't want a baby messing that up.
I fiddled with the computer, drying it off and shaking the last droplets of moisture out of it before pouring a full bag of rice over the keyboard to leave it sit, and my phone buzzed just as I was lifting Mochi off the counter.
Lucian's name appeared on the screen, and my pulse quickened despite my best efforts to remain indifferent.
I picked it up and answered, not sure what to expect. "Hello?"
"Are you free for dinner tonight?"
His tone was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. I glanced around my disaster of an apartment—coffee-stained papers, Mochi's scattered toys, laundry I'd been meaning to fold for three days.
I felt cagey, like I needed air, and though I wanted to avoid the topic of my personal desire to have a baby on my own, I did miss him.
"I could be. Where did you have in mind?"
"My place. I thought I'd cook."
The last time he'd attempted to cook, we'd ended up ordering pizza after I saw the state of his very empty fridge. But something in his tone suggested this wasn't about the food.
My entire body felt tense now, because I knew in order to move past whatever this awkwardness was, I'd have to open up and talk to him about things.
He was likely to disagree with my desires or end whatever this thing was between us, but my plan was still my plan.
Maybe he was even afraid that I'd try to sabotage a condom or something and trap him. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I had to push past it, and the only way out was through. "That sounds nice. What time?"
"Seven? I'll send a car."
"I can take the train—"
"Seven, Tessa."
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone. Whatever this dinner was about, it wasn't going to be casual.
I spent longer than necessary getting ready, changing clothes twice before settling on a simple black dress and heeled boots.
Nothing too formal, nothing that suggested I was reading more into this invitation than a continuation of our physical arrangement.
Because that's all this was. All it could ever be.
But I did pick out matching bra and panties, sexy ones just in case it got a little heated, and I freshened up down there too—in case it got a lot heated.
I'd been thinking about the reality of our physical connection constantly since Boston, the way Lucian had looked at me during my presentation, the pride in his eyes when clients praised my work.
For a moment in that conference room, I'd let myself imagine what it would feel like if this were real. If I were more than his assistant who warmed his bed.
But men in Lucian's position didn't settle down with women my age. They had affairs, discrete arrangements, temporary distractions from their important lives.
And when they were ready for something permanent, they chose women from their own social circles. Women with connections and pedigrees and trust funds.
Not assistants from urban Illinois who lived in cramped Hyde Park apartments with temperamental cats.
The fertility clinic research had been a reminder of that reality.
I'd been planning IVF for months, knowing I couldn't wait forever for the right relationship.
At twenty-six, I had time, but not unlimited time.
And if I was going to do this alone, I needed to start preparing financially and emotionally.
Lucian would lose interest eventually. Men always did when things started feeling too real, too complicated. And when that happened, I'd go back to my original plan. Baby. Career. Independence.
But the thought left me feeling hollow as the car arrived precisely at seven, and twenty minutes later, I was standing outside Lucian's penthouse door. He answered immediately, as if he'd been waiting.
"You look beautiful," he said, stepping aside to let me enter. There was no warmth in his greeting, no touch of my elbow, no kiss to my cheek. I wilted internally ever so slightly and nodded at him.
"Thank you." I handed him my coat, hyperaware of how empty it felt in this place now, how distant he'd become.
The elephant in the room was so large I couldn’t walk around it or breathe without the stench of it making me emotionally exhausted.
The kitchen smelled incredible—garlic and herbs and something roasting in the oven. He'd obviously been cooking for a while, and successfully this time, judging by the counter covered in spices and dirty dishes.
"Wine?" he asked, already reaching for a bottle.
"Please." I leaned against the counter, where he'd made a meal of me on more than one occasion, and wondered if the last time had been the last time or if we'd be able to move past this hurdle.
He poured two glasses of red wine, something expensive, and we stood awkwardly facing each other but not talking.
It was obvious he wanted to broach the topic but had no idea how, and I didn't feel obligated to supply those words for him. So I did the only thing I could do.
"How's the Henderson follow-up going?" I asked finally.
"Fine. Good. Morrison signed this morning."
"That's wonderful news."
More silence. I sipped my wine and watched him check whatever was in the oven, noting the tension in his shoulders.
"Dinner smells amazing. What are you making?"
"Chicken with rosemary. Roasted vegetables. Nothing too ambitious."
"You finally have some real food…" I forced a chuckle, but it was clear how fake it was.
He almost smiled at that. "I learned my lesson."
The timer chimed, and he busied himself plating our food. The presentation was restaurant-quality, and I found myself impressed despite my nerves.
But nothing removed the barrier between us as we sat down to eat. I hated how uncomfortable I felt. I almost burst open and snapped at him, but I controlled myself.
"This is incredible," I said after the first bite.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed. There's a difference."
Lucian cut a bite of chicken and placed it on his tongue. I avoided eye contact while he chewed, but my appetite was gone.
The food was really incredible, but I didn't want food. I wanted that closeness I’d felt with him. I wanted everything I wasn't supposed to want and I wanted more than that.
I planned this whole life alone, but I never realized how much I wanted to share it with someone, and while my plans still remained, I found my inner self wrestling, aching to be vulnerable with him and explain so he wouldn’t be mad at me.
I was falling for him and I shouldn't be, but I didn't know how to stop it. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him I was sorry, but before I could, he cut me off.
"Tessa, look… I want to talk about what I saw on the plane."
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. "Lucian—"
"I'm not judging you. I just want to understand."
I set down my fork, my appetite completely vanishing at that point. "Understand what?"
"Your timeline. What you're planning for your future."
The careful way he phrased it made me even more nervous. "I've been thinking about having a baby for a while now. IVF seemed practical."
"Practical?"
"I'm twenty-six. I have a stable job, health insurance, some savings. And I'm tired of waiting for the perfect situation that might never come."
He was quiet for a long moment, swirling wine in his glass. "What about a partner? Don't you want that?"
The question was natural, but it did hurt a little that he didn't make it personal. "Of course I do. But I'm not going to put my life on hold indefinitely hoping someone will show up."
"So this would be completely on your own."