10. Austin
CHAPTER 10
Austin
I ’ve thought of nothing but the taste of her lips for the last twenty-four hours. To be fair, thoughts of Taylor’s lips circle my brain at least once a day anyway but this… this changes everything.
No longer can I convince myself that our chemistry was one-sided or left in the past. Not with the way she gripped my body, the way she surrendered against me, needing more.
I walk to the private bathroom in my office, lifting my shirt to look at the red marks her nails left on my skin. My cock stirs when I run my fingers over the indentions, her gasp playing over and over again in my head when I pressed myself against her.
I’m seized by a momentary flash of guilt, remembering the way I handled myself last night to thoughts of Taylor. The animalistic growl that tore through me when I spilled my release onto the shower floor echoed so loudly I was sure the entire building heard it. But the relief afterward felt otherworldly, washing away any trace of regret.
I tuck my shirt back in, turning my attention back to work and returning to my desk before my next meeting walks in.
“I was about your age when I had my son,” Willy Farber, Chicago’s most well-known car salesman, smiles broadly at me across my desk. He started out on the west side of Chicago almost fifty years ago with three used cars and seventeen dollars to his name. It’s a story I’ve heard at least half a dozen times in the years since I’ve been managing his money.
“That was back when I only had the flagship dealership and one other out in the suburbs.”
“And now here you are.” I offer back my most genuine smile. “More locations than you can count and even more money.”
“That’s why I like you.” He points his thick finger at me, wagging it as his heavy smoker’s laugh fills the room. “You’re a man who knows what’s important.” Even with his decades of success, Willy never did change his appearance to match his wealth. Apart from the addition of a ruby ring and a heavy gold bracelet, he’s every bit the same loud, brash used car salesman he was when he started out, according to those who know him.
“That’s why you hired me, Willy. You’re the man who knows cars and I’m the man who knows how to make you rich.” I hand him over his portfolio’s earnings reports for the quarter. “Now, you mentioned on the phone that you wanted to discuss moving some assets around?”
“Yeah.” His expression grows somber. “That’s why I mentioned my son a moment ago. I think it’s time to move some things over into his name.”
“You mean the trust in his name?”
He shakes his head. “Look, son, I’ll just shoot it straight.” He sits up, his hands nervously trying to find a place to rest. “I don’t have much time left. The doctors said I’d be lucky to see Halloween.”
“Oh shit, Willy.”
“No, no, no.” He waves his hands. “I don’t want to hear any of that pity talk. We’re both men, we know how life works. I just want to make sure my family is taken care of when I’m gone.”
“I understand.” I clear my throat, pushing away my personal feelings for the man. “We can absolutely add your son to the accounts so that there won’t be any issues when it becomes necessary for him to access them.”
“It’s funny,” he says, turning his head slightly to look out the window behind me, “you always think you have plenty of time…” Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “If Viv were still alive”—he laughs, shaking his head—“she’d tell me she’s surprised I made it this long with my diet and habits. She was always getting on me about stuff like that.”
“Sounds like a woman who loved you dearly.”
His knee bounces nervously. “She was and I didn’t deserve her. Don’t deserve my son either.” I don’t interrupt; I just let him reminisce. I’m not even sure he’s aware that he’s doing it. “I was just like you, always working, so focused on succeeding that I-I forgot to live. I forgot to live for my family and I lost them.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a client tell me they’re dying and I’m sure it won’t be the last. The sad part is, sometimes I feel like I’m the only person they make these confessions to. As if I’m the person who should be sharing their memories and regrets with them instead of their family or a therapist, someone who can help them find closure.
“I’m sure they know how you feel.” I attempt to offer some solace but I’m sure it’s pointless.
“Maybe so but it was still too late. Had I been there for Viv like she needed me, maybe she would have been strong enough to fight the cancer and maybe—maybe Rodger would still talk to me.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, Willy excusing himself after a while to go to the restroom. I don’t know the full story and I’m not sure I need to in order to understand the ramifications of his life choices. Somewhere along the way, he decided that his business and money were more important than his family, a decision that has cost him everything of any real value in this life.
“Where were we?” he says, clapping his hands together as he walks back toward my desk with a grin as if the previous fifteen minutes never even happened.
“Shall we?” I say, turning his attention to my computer so we can talk through each account.
“Thanks, son.” He rubs his hands over his knees. “You’ve never steered me wrong when it came to my money; you’ve been honest and fair, and I want you to know how grateful I am for that.” He stands up with a groan, reaching his hand out toward me once we’ve finished our business. “You’ve got a real talent for this business; in no time you’re going to be Chicago’s top financial firm.”
“Thank you, sir.” I shake his hand. “And I appreciate the vote of confidence. If there’s anything I can do—” I don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand what I’m saying.
“Just don’t end up like me,” he interrupts, clutching my hand a little tighter. “Don’t throw away what really matters in the pursuit of all of it.”
Willy’s words sit with me for the rest of the day, the sadness that emanated from him now hanging heavy in my office long after he’s left.
I bury myself in work, trying to escape the thoughts and emotions that continue to run laps through my brain. The constant back and forth of trying to talk myself out of going down a floor to Taylor’s office to seek comfort. Finally, I give up, glancing at the clock and deciding that I won’t get any more meaningful work done until I see her.
That surge of excitement that rushes through me every time I push the button to her floor feels like it’s in overdrive, a static energy radiating off me as I push through the elevator doors to get to her office faster.
But the door is closed. I twist the handle. It’s locked.
“Taylor?” I knock on the door, waiting for a response but it doesn’t come.
“Oh hey, is Taylor in a meeting?” I point toward the closed door when her paralegal, Tarryn, pops around the corner with a stack of reports in her arms.
“No, she went home.”
“Home?” I glance at my watch that reads 5:02. “Already?”
“I know, right.” She rolls her eyes. “Sad that after five is early for her. It’s about time she listens to me.” Her voice lowers, accompanied by a playful smile. “I told her now that it’s been over six months since her breakup, she needs to get back out there.”
“Back out there?”
She plops the stack of reports onto the table. “Yeah, you know, dating, getting laid, whatever it is that will put a little life back into her eyes.”
Dating. Getting laid.
My stomach curdles.
“Right, yeah, good for her.” I smile, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Have a good night, Tarryn. Don’t stay too late yourself.” I nod toward the reports.
“I don’t have that luxury tonight.” She grabs the first bunch of papers. “It’s just me, these reports, and collating for the next few hours. The joys of not yet being a lawyer.” Smiling, she waves at me. “Good night.”
I turn to leave but pause in the doorway. “Hey, random question, but did she seem different at all to you today?”
“Different?” She scrunches her nose. “As in?”
“Nothing, never mind. Good night,” I say again, excusing myself from the room as she shrugs, slipping her earbuds in and turning back to her task at hand.
As I make my way back toward the elevator, I can’t help but wonder if the real reason Taylor left early was because she’s avoiding me. I push the thought aside, reminding myself of all the times I told her that she needed to stop working so late. Maybe she really has realized that burying herself in work isn’t the answer.
I hang my head, reminding myself of that same sentiment as I make my way back to my office and settle in for another long night of avoiding life. Before pushing the thought from my mind for the final time tonight, I pull out my phone to check once more if Taylor has posted the video.
“ D id you post it yet?” I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re the only two people in the break room.
“Hmm?” Taylor looks up from her cup of coffee she’s stirring.
“The video.”
“Oh.” She turns away from me. “No, not yet.” She tosses her stir stick into the trash and moves toward the exit, but I step in front of her.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been busy,” she says slowly and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how weirdly obsessive I’m starting to become over this entire thing.
“I was happy to see you left early yesterday.” I change the subject.
“It wasn’t early, more like on time for once.” Her fingers nervously tap the side of her mug, her eyes shifting from mine. “Felt nice, though, leaving while the sun was still out.”
An awkwardness hangs between us, something I don’t think we’ve ever experienced before. A brief rush of panic comes over me, like maybe I pushed this entire thing too far. But then, I see it… that pink glow starting to form on her cheeks when her eyes glance at my crotch. I bite my cheek to keep from chuckling.
“I’m sure it did.” I step around her, letting my arm softly brush against her as I reach for the coffee pot. “For a second”—I turn my head slightly, catching her line of sight with my peripheral—“I thought you might be avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you?” She repeats the words. “Why?”
I let her question simmer for several achingly long seconds, the internal struggle she’s facing playing out across her expression. I can see it on the tip of her tongue, her desire to take the question back. She knows damn well what I’m inferring and the way her entire body is on edge tells me she’s praying I don’t say the words out loud.
Because you melted against me, wanton and needy over a simple kiss.
“Because I’ve barely seen you this week,” I reply casually, a wave of relief washing over her face when Geneva, our office admin, steps into the room, even though her face is buried in her phone screen. “But it makes sense since you’ve been so busy trying to get out of here at a decent time.”
“Yes, exactly.” She nods. “Anyway, I need to get back to my office. Miguel should be calling me in the next few minutes.”
“How old are these muffins?” Geneva looks over at us, her hand holding up the plastic lid to a large box of assorted pastries.
“Just brought them in this morning.” Eric burst into the break room, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips like a cartoon cat about to devour a mouse. “My wife is on this gluten- free, dairy-free, anything that tastes good free diet so the only place I can cheat in peace”—his eyes grow large as he reaches into the box and pulls out a giant Danish—“is here.”
“I’m not sure she isn’t right,” I tease just as he opens his mouth and takes the largest bite I’ve ever seen. He groans dramatically around a mouthful of pastry. I turn to look at Taylor, but she’s used the opportunity to almost sneak past me out of the break room.
“Are you going to post it?”
The click of her heels pauses, her eyes darting nervously toward Geneva and Eric who are up to their elbows in the pastry box. When she realizes they’re not paying attention, her shoulders drop in relief. “Yes, of course, just as soon as I get a free minute. Actually, thanks for reminding me because I completely forgot about it.” Then she spins on her toes and walks out of the room, tossing me a dismissive wave.
Forgot about it?
All I can focus on is the memory of her pressed against me. If I close my eyes, I can feel her. Smell her. Taste her. And she forgot about it ?
An urgent need to remind her exactly how good that kiss was pulses through me when I start down the hallway, but following her to her office for a redo isn’t an option.
Either she’s toying with me or she’s in denial.
The memory of her face that night is burned into my brain. The way she looked at me, the way she melted against me, wanting—no, needing —more of me. I’ve imagined our lips finally meeting a thousand times and not once did she walk away from it, forgetting it happened.
I grin as I sink down into my chair, the thought that she’s been sitting, aching, wanting more of me while pretending she’s unbothered making me feel like a fucking god.
“Give it time,” I say to myself. “She’ll be crawling into my office by the end of the week.”
But by Friday afternoon, four agonizing days since we kissed, she still hasn’t posted the goddamn video, and I’m having a hard time relishing in the fantasy that it’s just delayed gratification or some flirty game she’s playing with me.
It’s four fifteen on a Friday so I make my way down to her office like I always do. In the five years since we’ve been working together, I can count on one hand the amount of times we haven’t had our Friday couch sessions.
“Let me guess,” I lean against the doorway to her office, my jaw already clenched in frustration. “Leaving early?”
She pauses, her purse in one hand, keys in the other.
“Yes.” She eyes me suspiciously. “Is that okay or do I need to ask permission?”
“Depends,” I answer, attempting to bring some flirtation back to our exchanges. “Am I your boss in this scenario?”
She laughs dismissively, slinging her purse onto her shoulder and walking toward me.
“Have a good night, Austin—er, weekend, I guess. It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
“Hey.” My arm shoots out to stop her from leaving, my hand coming to rest gently against her belly. “What’s going on?”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide, but she just shrugs. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve had this conversation already, Taylor.” My voice drops. “Are you avoiding me?”
“No.” She says it so quickly and confidently I almost believe her, but her eyes give her away. I stare into them for several more seconds, deep-blue pools that are slowly pulling me in so deep I know I’d drown if she let me.
“I have plans tonight, though, so I don’t want to be late.”
“A date?” We both look down to where my hand is still pressed against her, and I slowly release it.
“No.”
“No?” I repeat her answer back, unconvinced.
“No, just hanging out. Grabbing a drink at DaVino’s near Becca’s.” She pushes past me. “What’s with you?”
How many times have you watched it?
How many times have you touched yourself while you watched it?
Why haven’t you posted it so that I can do the same?
The need to see that video has grown into an all-consuming thought that has me wanting to act in the most irrational ways. Instead, I behave like a gentleman, walking her to the elevator and not pushing the subject any further.
“Be safe tonight.”
“Of course.” She smiles.
“Good night, Taylor.”
I don’t mean for her name to roll off my tongue like a confession but it does. Her eyes flash to mine after she steps into the elevator car and turns, something unspoken lingering between us in the few seconds before the doors separate us.