Chapter Seventeen
S lightly out of it, still lost in the haze that always had been the aftermath of kissing Leah, Samuel let her lead him to the bar. “You need a drink?” he asked as he ordered himself the first thing that came to mind.
She nodded, ordering some blue drink that the bartender had made the central theme.
“This feels…right,” he said.
“It feels like a mistake,” she replied.
Leah wasn’t someone who publicly made a deal about how she felt; she’d always lived behind walls and in order to be around her, she had to feel comfortable enough to let them down. That, or be comfortable with the consequences when she built them back up minutes if not mere seconds after she let them down.
And clearly it…the walls, the whatever…was his own fault. He’d been a ridiculous little shit, not used to actually dealing with his own problems in ways that were healthy.
“Sir?”
He shook his head, accepted the whiskey from the bartender and raised it toward where Leah stood.
“L’chaim,” she said as she clinked her glass with his.
“L’chaim.” To life. Traditional toast, a bond they shared. At least it was something.
“To taking chances,” she said.
“Chances?”
“Dating. Faking, contracts. Those chances.”
He nodded. Walls. Ever present.
“How about we head back to the table?” Leah said, holding out her hand.
He took it, and he could barely keep his head on straight as Leah wrapped her fingers around his. He hoped she was having as difficult a time as he was.
*
It felt like her hand was burning as she took Samuel past the bar and away from the table, toward the balcony that was part of the gala set up.
The summer breeze was lovely, and honestly, more than a drink, she needed air. She needed to cool down, to calm down. Slow down the slamming of her heart and throw ice cubes on the fact she was sweating.
“This is nice,” he said.
And it was. Somehow, the owners of the building had managed to recreate an oasis in the middle of the city, allowing the patrons of the establishment to feel as if they were separated from time and existence. That’s what she needed to remember. “This is…safe,” she said.
“I take it we’re not?”
“You’re…going to make this impossible.”
“This?” he asked as if she’d stumped him. “What are you talking about and how am I making it impossible?”
“Fake dating. Our arrangement.”
“But this isn’t the first time in the midst of this…that we kissed. We fit,” he said.
She nodded. “I know that,” she replied, holding back the feelings that were threatening to explode. “We’ve managed to convince everybody we need to convince that we’re dating, mostly…but we’re getting into trouble.”
He looked at her. “What…what do you mean by trouble?”
“What we did on the dance floor.”
He didn’t respond, and she tried not to notice the haze leaving his eyes. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
“We were devouring each other in public in the middle of a…gala that you and I are attending for work reasons.”
The words were stark and clear, her desperate attempt to draw a boundary, and her heart pounded through her chest as she waited for a reaction.
He nodded, making her feel as if he was tracing the lines of her face with his eyes. Touching her in ways she didn’t want to consider. “Okay?”
“There are other ways of showing affection that don’t involve kissing,” she said making sure he was watching her as she took his hand, traced the lines of his palms with her fingers. “You don’t have to swallow my tongue in public to show me I matter.”
“Mmm,” he said, the sound a strange cross between a growl and a purr, and he moved to wrap his fingers around hers. “I see.”
“We’re still a mess,” she said, as she leaned into his touch. “We don’t know how to talk.”
“Mmm,” he managed. “That’s because what we need to talk about has been removed from consideration.”
“Can versus need to,” she said. “Should versus having no business to. Which is why we can’t actually date.”
“We still go up like fireworks when we get near each other,” he said, notably still not letting up on her hand. Granted she didn’t stop touching him either. “Much to the anger, surprise, and annoyance of both of us.”
“Chemistry was never a problem,” she said.
“No,” he said. “It’s still not.”
She wasn’t sure who leaned forward first, who closed the space between them, but before she knew it, her lips were touching his, her breath on his face, his breath intertwined with hers like a Havdalah candle.
As if that acknowledgment that their chemistry had nothing to do with their conversation freed her from implications.
“Leah!”
Shayna.
Shit.
“Leah,” her sister-in-law said again. “Ramona had to go but she wanted to make sure you were watching her and I couldn’t find you…”
“Well,” Leah said with a snort as Samuel straightened himself up out of the corner of her eye. “You have found me.”
“I also,” Shayna continued, “thwarted Judith who wanted to come after you.”
“And this,” Leah said, “is why I love you.”
Which was when she turned to Samuel. “Should we head back in?”
He nodded. “We should.”
She stood, allowed him to take her hand, hoping she didn’t look like she’d had a run-in with an air dryer. And then, her hand in Samuel’s, Leah followed Shayna inside.
*
Samuel found himself lost in thought as he and Leah were leaving the gala. The display had been gorgeous, the little unicorns were cute, even though they were clearly exhausted; Leah’s niece had fallen asleep on her mother’s shoulder as they were waiting for the car.
But what stayed stuck in his mind like a broken record was the speech.
There had been a very obvious reason why, aside from embarrassment, that Leah’s sister-in-law came to get Leah.
Carly, Leah’s long-term client, had made sure to mention Leah’s name in the speech she gave when accepting the award.
“I want to thank my agent, Leah Nachman,” Carly had said, “for supporting me, and inspiring me. I don’t think I’d ever be here without her. I don’t think it would be possible to be standing here and thinking about my future the way I am if I didn’t have someone like Leah in my corner.”
And Samuel was so proud of Leah.
Could he say that?
Could he say that he was so proud of the career Leah had built? Could he say that he was so ridiculously proud of what she’d done with her life, and what she continued to do?
Could he tell her that she inspired him?
“I hear the gears turning,” she said, turning in his direction. “Tell me.”
He raised an eyebrow, wondering. What would she say?
“Come on,” she said. “Spill it. I’ve known you too long to not realize that you have something to say. So I’ll listen.”
He’d known her long enough to know that she wasn’t going to stop asking, knew she’d be relentless unless he said something she’d believe. So he nodded, looked into her gorgeous blue eyes and said it. “You inspire me.”
She didn’t say anything at first, but she didn’t move either; he’d consider that a plus.
“You asked,” he said.
“I know.”
He laughed. “You regret asking?”
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
“No. You were staring at me,” she said, running a free hand through her hair. I was worried it was something creepy.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you didn’t think what I said was creepy.”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t. It felt good to hear that from someone who’s where you are in your career.”
Which felt strange and almost like a cop-out.
Except it was from Leah.
She wasn’t copping out.
She was saying something on a different level than she had in a long time, saying something emotional, and using his career to do it.
So he didn’t complain, didn’t whine, didn’t yell.
All he did as they headed out of the gala space, hand in hand, was say, “You’re welcome.”