2. He didn’t say, “I love you.”
2
He didn’t say, “I love you.”
Zach
Say the word ‘lawyer,’ and most folks imagine the guys in the movies. You know the kind I mean. Confident. Big dick energy. That lawyer swaggered into a courtroom in a slick suit, swept back a full head of hair, and smirked at the jury because he had a trick in his back pocket to win the unwinnable case.
But a real lawyer? Someone like me?
I wore an expensive suit. A few wayward strands of silver had made an unwanted debut around my temples, but I still had the same mop of dark hair I’d been failing to tame all my life. I’ll be honest, though. I’d never swaggered…anywhere . And a courtroom? Me in front of a jury? Once. I’d puked. That’s right. All over the floor.
My client had taken one horrified look at the vomit splattered on his sneakers, leant over, and whispered, “You sure you’re a lawyer?”
Top of my graduating class.
But if my boss had taught me anything—and, truthfully, Chris Stone had taught me everything about being a lawyer—it was that my success didn’t begin and end in that courtroom.
Brains and hard work counted at Worley and Stone. Grinding in solitude behind a desk was valuable. I had a future. For a kid who’d grown up in the western suburbs of Sydney, poorer than dirt, the promise of never living pay cheque to pay cheque was worth never seeing the sun…
Most of the time.
Yawning, I adjusted my glasses and squinted at the computer. Another night, another contract. The long list of clauses blurred into smudged black lines, and my fingers were sluggish over the keyboard with each tap, tap, tap.
I refused to even acknowledge the shaky stack of files parked in the corner of my desk. I hadn’t touched a single folder on that pile, and it was already—I glanced at the computer—ten o’clock.
My phone buzzed.
Eden
Miss you, handsome man xoxo
Eden’s message tugged a smile out of me. The curve of my lips was rusty. Strange, even. It was the first time I’d smiled all day. I quickly responded.
Zach
Miss you more. xx
Eden
Is tonight a wait-up night?
When would I head home? My gaze cut to the pile of work still untouched on the desk. I grunted. At this rate, I’d never leave. I couldn’t fail. Not now.
Not…again.
Promotions—a chance at partnership—loomed closer. The arrogant prick with the receding hairline three offices down was just itching for me to implode. He wasn’t the only one. Worley and Stone may have been my home, but running the gauntlet of the office was survival of the fittest. Worse. It was the Ministry of Love—if you’d snuck under the school steps to read 1984 as many times as I had .
And now, I had Eden to think about, too. I needed to build stability for the two of us, and I couldn’t dump all the worries about mortgages and how much life costs on her shoulders. She was a hairdresser. How much could she possibly earn? Minimum wage? She avoided every awkward conversation about family and money, but she shouldn’t have to rent a fancy frock to wear to her birthday party.
My groan echoed in the empty office.
The birthday party.
The cake had been a big win, but I’d been late, and she’d frowned when she saw the earrings. When we’d tumbled through the door at 2:00 a.m., she’d unbuckled my pants without any ceremony, pushed me on the sofa, climbed on top, and edged me almost to insanity, all while wearing a defiant glare. Hot. I’d wanted it. But sex was a barometer with Eden. When the pressure ratcheted up to cool, detached, and her in control, she was pissed off. That night, she’d been furious. She probably still was. It was just another awkward conversation she preferred avoiding.
Screw it.
I flipped my laptop shut. Impossible deadlines disappeared. I slipped on my jacket, straightened my collar, and adjusted my tie. Armour on.
Zach
It’s a wait-up night.
The shuffle of my feet picked up speed down the empty corridors as the elevators appeared. When I reached for the down arrow, a polished pink fingernail hit the button first.
“This is an early finish for you,” Michaela said, dropping her bag on the floor with zero care as she shrugged on her coat. “You’re slacking off, Rawles.”
Her smirk confused me. Were we on speaking terms again?
Michaela fooled most people, talking about her need for authenticity and finding joy in the small things, but she was all show. Gloss, no grit. The bag was the perfect example. She’d huffed when I hadn’t noticed it on the boardroom table. Designer, apparently. A paralegal had squealed and jingled the gold charms, but when Michaela had searched across the table for my approval, my disinterested nod had earned me a glare and a reminder of exactly where I’d come from.
“We can hardly expect the son of a grease monkey to understand the craftsmanship in a piece like this,” Michaela had laughed.
A low blow, and she knew it. My father was a good man. He was proud of being a mechanic, and yeah, maybe scholarships had paid my way through university, but I was senior to Michaela now in every way. I’d be one of her bosses soon. At the minimum, I was her equal, but not in her eyes—or many others who walked the same corridors.
I ignored her teasing with a tight smile. “Maybe keep my early departure to yourself.” I’d prefer not to be the subject of her pillow talk with Chris.
“You didn’t hear the news?”
I grunted. When would I hear any gossip? I never left my office and even more rarely took breaks. Lunch? What the hell was that? Two times a week, I dragged my backside to the gym under the misguided advice of a therapist from years ago who’d suggested boxing classes for my mental health. Every other day, I scoffed whatever sandwich my executive assistant dumped on my desk on her way back from Pilates.
“Chris proposed,” Michaela said.
“To… you?”
“To the timid doctor with the glasses.”
“Lola? I thought they broke up.”
Michaela’s lips curved, but she wasn’t smiling. “So did I.”
The elevator chimed. Silver doors stretched open, and I gestured for her to head in first. “So, what does that mean for you?”
“I doubt I’ll get an invite to the wedding, but Chris promised to pencil me in every second Tuesday if I’m interested.”
“Mac…” Shit . “I…”
What else could I possibly say? Don’t? Value yourself? Leave me out of it?
I slumped against the wall of the elevator. That was the last thing I needed to know about Chris, and I sure as hell didn’t want Michaela dragging me into any drama. He wouldn’t.
Personal lives stay personal —his motto, ruthlessly enforced.
Nothing—nobody—was bigger than the firm. Elijah Johnson learned that the hard way. Who was he? Nobody. He’d become persona non grata and hauled out by security the day after he’d prioritised his daughter’s ballet concert over a client meeting. I wasn’t about to stick my nose where it didn’t belong and become the next Elijah Johnson.
The pointy toe of Michaela’s stiletto tapped against my shoe. “Where are you headed?”
I shrugged. “Home.”
“I’ve heard good things about a new bar on the harbour. Want to grab a drink?”
No . “Ah…” Absolutely not .
Michaela’s hand slid along the handrail. “There’s live music until midnight.” Her floral perfume was so strong I could almost taste it. She’d gotten too close. “A quiet crowd.”
Clearing my throat, I edged away until I bumped into the corner. “You know crowds don’t help the sales pitch with me.”
She smiled. “I do know a lot about you.” The gaze she dipped to my belt made me uncomfortable enough to clumsily button up my jacket. “You and me. We had a good thing once.”
“We had…a…thing.”
But it wasn’t good. She’d called it casual. An arrangement. I called it four times too many.
“So,” she pressed, “can I tempt you?”
“Mac, I…” The word ‘no’ was simple, yet I couldn’t spit it out. She was confrontational and still too close to Chris to risk any more frayed feelings.
I shook my head.
The elevator doors opened, and I waited for Michaela to head out first.
“Always the gentleman,” she said, the cut of her voice making the words anything but a compliment. Her heels echoed through the empty foyer. When she glanced back at me, she smiled. “You sure I can’t change your mind?”
“See you tomorrow.”
I didn’t wave goodbye.
The front door bumped to a stop. Sighing, I wedged myself through the gap, careful to sidestep the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall.
Day thirty-two.
Why hadn’t Eden unpacked yet? She’d moved in over a month ago, and I wanted her to crowd my space. I wanted to see her in every inch of the apartment. The cup on the bathroom vanity looked less lonely with two toothbrushes stuck in it instead of one.
But it was almost like Eden had one foot out the door, never quite all in. My chest tightened. Was she waiting for someone better? I ticked most of the boxes of being the better kind of man, didn’t I? I hadn’t fully outgrown my blue-collar roots to become as successful as someone like Chris, sure, but almost .
I took off my shoes and butted my socked toe into the box until it slid flush against the wall. I dropped my briefcase on top.
Lights burned in every room. I flicked off the switches as I wandered through the apartment—hallway, living room, kitchen—and, shaking my head with a smile, I switched off the bedroom light, too. I liked Eden’s quirks. The apartment was never dark when she was home. The scattered vegetable scraps on the kitchen counter after one of her late-night cooking frenzies was an adjustment, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker. Some people were just messy cooks.
Light splintered through the gap of the door to the ensuite. I peeked inside. Eden stood at the vanity. She had drawers stuffed full of cute pyjamas, but she’d thrown on one of my T-shirts, the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders.
She didn’t notice when I leant against the doorframe. All her concentration was on squeezing cream into her palm and dabbing it on her face. I smiled. I’d binge-watch Eden in front of the mirror before any TV show. She was all my favourite things —the bone-deep sigh of the first sip of coffee in the morning, the contract with no red lines through the terms.
She sniffled and rubbed at her nose, the red tip matching the blotches on her cheeks.
Shit, what did I forget this time?
I shuffled behind her. Wrapped my arms around her waist. Breathed in a whiff of her powder-scented face cream. She was the little patch of heaven in all my gloom .
I kissed the crook of her shoulder and murmured, “Why the tears, Denny Dee?” Please don’t say me.
“Tears—wha—oh! No!” Flustered, Eden flapped her hands and capped the bottle of face cream. “Allergies. One of my clients dropped by with flowers this afternoon to say thank you. Roses.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was thoughtful of her, but those weeds are havoc for my sinuses.”
“Need something from the pharmacy?”
“Nah, now that you’re finally here, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Grinning, she twisted around and threaded her arms around my neck. “You know, this is the first time we’ve seen each other today.”
“Mmm?”
“You’d already left for the office when I woke up. It’s time to pay up and say hello.” Her smile turned sly. “Properly.”
“Properly, huh?” I pecked a kiss on the corner of her mouth.
She huffed—that wasn’t the proper kiss she wanted—but I laughed away her frustration, my grip tightening on the curve of her hip, fingers embedding my old T-shirt possessively into her skin. I needed her closer.
The kiss was slow to start, my lips soft on hers, soft again, and then, grinning, I pinned her minty little mouth with mine. I devoured her, slipping in my tongue, meeting hers, her throaty moan encouraging me to keep going…and going…until one final peck sealed the end of her proper kiss.
“Hello.” I bumped the tip of her nose with mine.
Eden dissolved into a breathless giggle. “Hi.” She popped a kiss on my chin before turning around to fiddle with the potions on the vanity. “So, how was your day, handsome man?”
I lifted a shoulder. Same old, same old. Emails. Phone calls. Constant fires to put out—with none of the fluffy kittens stuck in trees or grizzled firefighters rescuing them to make the stories even remotely interesting.
Eden’s eyes caught mine in the mirror. She frowned. “That good, huh?”
“Work’s work. Mac and I settled a big contract that’s been hanging around for a while. How was your day?”
“Amazing!”
Her excited chatter bounced off the white tiles, but her stories about clients and colours wove into worries I thought I’d left at the office.
Did I remember to reply to the email from the developer?
“—and then you won’t believe what Yvette said—”
When’s the settlement for Pitt Street? Monday? Shit. I need to check if Mac talked to the bank.
“—and Andie totally lost her shit!”
Eden twittered a laugh that I matched with a shaky smile. Guilt made it hard to swallow the lump in my throat. It wasn’t the first time I’d missed listening to her stories.
I stepped closer, pulling Eden’s back against my front, looping my arms around her waist, and letting my chin nuzzle into her hair. Her gaze locked on mine in the mirror. Her tube of cream dropped to the vanity. Long, slender fingers curled over mine, and she bit her lip as she slid my hand down, down…
I brushed my lips on the shell of her ear. “You want me to make you feel good?”
As her head bobbed up and down, my hand was already wandering past the elastic waistband of her knickers. She whimpered when I ghosted a touch along the warm, delicious skin of her pussy, gently spreading her open, searching for the delicate wet patch to slick my fingers.
“Denny Dee.” I groaned into the hollow of her neck. “What got you feeling like this?”
“Us.” Her eyes shut tight. “Our first time.” She rocked her hips against my hand, deepening the pressure of my fingers swirling over her clit, just the way she liked it. “You kept me waiting so long.”
I had. “I needed to be sure.” Eden would’ve broken my heart if I hadn’t. Discarded me. I knew she would’ve. I teased her with a slow and steady rhythm as I pressed languid kisses up her neck. “I don’t fuck just anyone. I’m selective.”
“You”—her pretty pink tongue darted over her bottom lip—“chose me?”
I hummed a yes in her ear.
She whimpered. A red flush crept higher up her neck, and her hips rocked faster and faster against my hand. She was racing for her prize.
“That’s it,” I whispered. “Almost there. Show me I made the right choice.”
Her throaty sigh shot straight to my cock, but there was no relief for me except to let out a groan. This was about her. But what was it about this game she liked so much? Why did she get so turned on pretending she didn’t hold all the cards? She could’ve chosen any man she wanted. I’d only shifted the odds because I wasn’t the type of guy who enjoyed being used for one night.
“Z-Zach.” Her dark eyes fluttered open and locked with mine in the mirror.
Say the words.
Her hand squeezed mine, and breathless gasps escaped her lips in time with the fingers I swirled over her smooth, wet skin. My pulse pounded. I pressed myself even closer into her spine, tugged her hair, and exposed her neck, grazing my teeth, enjoying her sweet taste on my tongue, reminding her who was making her feel so good.
Eden was perfect. Not just like this. Everywhere. Always.
I’d wanted to confess how I felt about her since the day she’d moved in. Fascinated, I’d stared at her toothbrush stuck in the cup beside mine. I’d wanted to say it then…and so many times since.
I love you.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” I whispered instead.
More of her favourite words, and enough to tip her over the edge with a filthy string of curses whispered so prettily.
I love you so much.
I kissed Eden’s shoulder, blinked watery eyes into her hair, and let the sweet tremors against my hand distract me until I could swallow all the emotion somewhere safe.
We weren’t ready for those words yet.
Soon.
When I’d made it.
When she had a reason to say them back.