Chapter Two #2
I pressed the empty, but still cold, water glass to my hot cheeks, willing my blush to fade. It was just naked Vance. No big deal.
So what if his cock had touched my hand?
It had been an accident, nothing more. It hadn’t even been sexual. I put the glass in the dishwasher. The shower turned on.
Knowing Vance would have roused Amy before getting in the shower, I set the music to a more bearable volume level and put on one of my normal mixes. I loved Katrina, but the same song six times in a row was enough.
By the time Amy dragged herself from the bedroom, dark circles like bruises beneath her eyes and her dark hair in a messy bun, I had her coffee ready in a to-go cup.
She gave me a thin smile. I’d never seen her when she wasn’t hung over, but I imagined she was normally beautiful. Even the morning after, exhausted and half-sick, she was more than just pretty.
A flash of jealousy hit me as I handed her the coffee.
She was everything I wasn’t—thin, gorgeous, easygoing.
She took the cup with a wry smile and said, “Thanks, Maggie. You make the best coffee.” Taking a sip, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling in rapture.
“The best coffee. Have a good one.” Then she was gone.
“You too,” I called out the door. She gave a wave, but she didn’t stop. Easygoing. She was the only one who never asked Vance for more. I didn’t know what she did in her real life.
I only saw her in these little snippets of time, at first, once or twice a month. Lately, more often. She and Vance seemed to want the same thing—a never-ending party followed by sex. If that was what made them happy, I wasn’t going to judge.
Okay, maybe I was judging. Just a little. It was only that it didn’t seem to be making either of them happy in the long run. Or maybe I was just assuming that a relationship would make them happy just because being in one made me happy.
But does it? Does it really make you happy? a tiny voice in my head whispered. I shut it off.
I was happy.
I was.
Today, more than any other day, I was blissfully happy. And anyone who said otherwise could shut the hell up.
The shower turned off. Now that Vance was awake, my actual workday could start. I poured myself a mug of coffee and headed to my office, sending a quick glance at Scout. Passed out on his side, his back foot twitching, my silly little dog loved to sleep. I could relate.
I let myself into my office, a large room on the far side of the loft, opposite Vance’s bedroom. It was actually Vance’s office as well as mine, but he hated sitting at a desk.
He did most of his work on his laptop, usually on the couch or down in his studio. His desk and mine were a matching set, custom built from cedar in modern, spare lines that fit the look of the loft.
Vance’s had a blotter, pen holder, and an in-box, all neatly arranged and undisturbed. Mine was covered in stacks of papers, notebooks, pens, sticky notes—anything and everything I might need in the course of a day.
I was efficient and effective, but I wasn’t particularly neat. Not at my desk.
I flipped on my monitor and started on my email while I waited for Vance. He appeared in the door a few minutes later, fully clothed, his wet hair pulled back into a low ponytail, drinking his smoothie.
His eyes were bloodshot with circles beneath. Not as bad as Amy’s, but the sight of them bothered me.
“You drink too much,” I said in greeting. He grunted at me. “It’s not good for you,” I muttered.
“No shit,” he said.
“Maybe switch to beer,” I suggested, knowing I was wasting my time.
“No thanks. Takes too long to get drunk on beer.”
“You could try not getting drunk at all,” I said tartly. Vance let out a bark of laughter and set the empty smoothie cup down.
“None of your business,” he said, perching on the corner of my desk and looking over my shoulder. “Nagging isn’t in your job description.”
I laughed. “Nagging is my job description.”
“Fine, then you can only nag me about stuff I do during work hours.”
“Whatever. Drink yourself to death if you want,” I said, pushing back my chair and taking a sip of coffee. His eyes narrowed on mine in suspicion.
“Why are you so cheerful this morning?” he demanded. I took another sip of coffee and smiled, knowing the non-answer would annoy him.
“None of your business,” I said.
“Come on, Magnolia, tell me,” he cajoled. Vance was the only person who called me Magnolia. Before Vance, only my Grandmother had used my first name. Even my parents, as formal as they were, called me Maggie when they bothered to speak to me.
But Vance insisted he liked my full name and wouldn’t use anything else. I didn’t mind. I liked my name too.
“I don’t know,” I said, enjoying having the upper hand for a minute and oddly reluctant to share my big news.
“Tell me, or I put The Dead on repeat.”
It was a potent threat. By the time I was thirteen, I’d heard the Grateful Dead’s Sugar Magnolia more times than I could count. I loathed it. Not the first fifty times I heard it. At first, I liked the song, but by now, the opening bars were enough to make my teeth grind.
“Fine, if you’re going to whine about it. Brayden and I are getting married. Happy?”
Vance’s face went utterly blank. Devoid of emotion, his eyes flicked to my left hand, then to my face. I curled my naked hand into a ball and dropped it into my lap, out of sight.
In a flat voice, Vance said, “Where’s the ring?”
“We’re not getting a ring. Not yet. We’re waiting until he finishes his residency.”
“Because he’s spending all that money on rent,” Vance said, sarcasm heavy in his words. He knew very well that Brayden lived with me and I didn’t make him pay rent. “Student loan bills?”
I ignored that. Vance also knew Brayden’s family had paid his tuition to medical school.
“If you’re going to be an ass—”
“When’s the date?” Vance interrupted.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “We just got engaged last night.”
“I don’t need the exact day, just a general idea. Are you going to be a spring bride? Summer? I’m assuming you’ll want time off for the honeymoon.”
Deflated, I said, “We thought we’d wait until—”
“After his residency? Isn’t that a year away?”
“Sixteen months,” I admitted, my sparkly joy drained away under Vance’s relentless questions.
I’d wanted a real proposal. I won’t lie about that. The ring, Brayden down on one knee, the whole deal. I didn’t need Vance to remind me it hadn’t worked out that way.
But the proposal wasn’t what was important. We were getting married. We had a whole lifetime together.
“You’re not engaged,” he announced, standing up, his tight shoulders now loose, the sympathetic smile on his face at odds with the hard expression in his eyes.
“I am,” I insisted.
“You’re not. When he gives you a ring and you set a date, then you’re engaged.”
“What do you know about it?” I demanded. “You’re the least romantic guy I know. You sleep with a different woman every night. You’ve never even had a girlfriend.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he shot back. “I still know how it’s supposed to work. You give the girl a ring, get down on one knee, and do it somewhere special she’ll be able to remember her whole life. Did he even give you flowers?”
I didn’t bother to answer. I didn’t need to. He saw the answer in my eyes. “What did he do, announce over pizza that you should get married when he finishes his residency?”
I looked into my coffee cup and nodded, my throat thick with unshed tears. At the time, even a few minutes ago, I’d been happy about it.
After hearing Vance rip it apart, I wanted to cry. When Vance crouched down beside me, one hand on my shoulder, I did, hot tears spilling over my cheeks.
“Tell him, no, Magnolia. He’s not good enough for you. Not even close.”
“I want to get married,” I whispered, so quietly I might have been talking to myself. “I want a family.”
Vance’s hand squeezed tight. “I know you do, babe. But you can’t make up for the past with the first asshole who comes along. Trust me. I know.”
“So what, I should just drink away the pain like you do?” I said, knowing it was mean but unable to stop myself.
Vance just shook his head and stood, giving my shoulder another squeeze before letting go.
“No. You should dump that twat and get some therapy to help you deal with having neglectful assholes for parents.”
“I’m the one who needs therapy?” I asked, incredulous through my tears. When it came to sad childhood stories, Vance had me beat by a mile.
“Hey, do as I say, not as I do.” He winked at me and disappeared. I knew he was headed for the kitchen to get some coffee.
I also knew when he came back and sat at my desk to review the day’s work, his coffee would smell of whiskey.
I wiped my face clean of tears and stared blindly at my laptop screen. I had no place to judge. Vance was probably right.
A therapist would tell me that I was rushing into marriage because my parents had dumped me in an English boarding school at the age of eight while they partied their way across Europe and had never really come back.
I’d seen them only a handful of times since then. My father, now loosely connected to the embassy in Belgium, had come home for my Grandmother’s funeral and stayed only long enough to scowl over the reading of the will before heading back overseas.
Now that my Grandmother was gone, I was alone.
I wanted a family. I wanted children.
I’d watched my friends at school go home on the weekends, the way they’d run out to the car and throw themselves into their mothers’ arms, the way their fathers would pull them into a hug and kiss the tops of their heads.
I’d wanted that. I couldn’t change the past, but I could create the fantasy with my own family. I would. I just had to get married first.
I’d been with Brayden for four years. It wasn’t like a ton of other guys were knocking down my door. This was my chance to change my life and I was taking it.
Vance could just shut the hell up about it.
He came back a few minutes later and pulled up his chair beside me. A cup of Irish coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, he got down to business.
“The Cane-Webber proposal. Where are we with that?”
“I emailed you my analysis yesterday afternoon.”
“Got it,” he said, flicking his finger to scroll through my report. “I read it last night.”
“So you know I think the market is oversaturated and they’re over-leveraged.”
“I agree. We’ll let them reel in some other sucker. What about the security app?”
“That one is interesting,” I said, pulling up the file on a proposal from a new tech company with some ideas for social media security. “I highlighted the key points I liked, as well as some questions I have.”
“Your screen is bigger,” he said, moving his chair closer. “Pull up your report, and we’ll go through it. I agree, I’m intrigued by this one.”
Heads almost close enough to touch, we studied my report and the proposal side by side, breaking it down until we could put together a game plan.
This was what I loved about working for Vance. He could be frustrating, rude, and annoying, but he was smart, and he valued my opinion.
I’d learned more in the last six months with him than I would have anywhere else.
Despite the crazy morning routine, I loved my job. Most of the time, we got along well. I’d even say we were good friends. We were close enough that I worried about him.
Clearly, he worried about me, too. The difference was, only one of us had anything to worry about. I’d be fine with Brayden. We’d get married, and everything would be good.
If Vance didn’t get a handle on his drinking, he wouldn’t be around to dance at our wedding.