Chapter 1-Warren
PRESENT DAY…
“ H e broke up with me.”
Savannah flings her arms in the air before flopping down in the chair across from my desk, her silky chocolate hair pooling around her shoulders as she slumps down.
“Are you more upset that he broke up with you or that the relationship is over?”
I don’t look up from the document in my hand. This isn’t the first time Savannah has vented to me about her relationship woes and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
We’re an… unlikely friendship. She’s outgoing and friendly, young and not afraid to voice her opinion. Whereas I’m fifteen years her senior and do everything I can to avoid human interaction outside of my business.
Yes, I’m her boss, but I’d say we’re also good friends. Completely professional, of course, which is why I leave all the filthy thoughts that wander into my head about her, in my head.
“What do you mean?” The V between her brow deepens.
I put the paper down and remove my glasses, folding them in my hands.
“I mean, is it an insult that he’s the one who dumped you or did you really think he was the one?” She chews her bottom lip as she considers my question.
“I’m not upset that he was the one who ended things because I can’t handle being dumped. I’m hurt. We’ve been together almost a year and a half and this just came out of nowhere. I thought he was asking me to move in with him or maybe proposing at the?—”
“Proposing?” That gets my attention. Sure, they’ve been dating that long, but I’ve never heard her speak about him like she’s ready to marry the guy. I swallow down the panic that forms in my throat.
“Yeah, or moving in together. It’s just—frustrating. Another failed relationship at thirty.”
“Savannah, you have plenty of time to find the one . Stop putting that pressure on yourself and live your life. I’m sure Nick will regret his decision soon enough.” I offer her a tight-lipped smile, but she just glares at me.
“Nick? Nick was my ex from three years ago. His name is Easton and you’ve met him twice.”
“I have?”
I shrug nonchalantly, knowing full well that I met the smug prick twice. The first time he tried to offer me advice on my company’s latest software launch by telling me that someone my age should be taking tech advice from someone in their twenties. And the second time, he was sloppy drunk at our office Christmas party and knocked over an entire table of champagne flutes.
“Maybe I’m not the best person for these kinds of talks.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh. “No, you’re probably right. I’ll save it for overpriced martinis with the girls.” She stands up and stretches her arms overhead, the bottom of her blouse lifting just enough to expose a sliver of her flat stomach. She pulls her long hair into a high ponytail, wrapping the tie from her wrist around it a few times.
“You doing anything this weekend?” she asks, coming around my desk to look at the paper I’ve been studying.
“The usual—work, maybe a round of golf or tennis at the club, and more work.”
She leans in closer. The familiar scent of her floral perfume still lingers at the end of a ten-hour day. Her long, delicate fingers rest on her hip as she eyes the paper.
“This the Code Red proposal?”
“It is.”
She picks it up and hikes one hip up to rest it on my desk. My eyes fall to where her hips flare out from her waist. It’s a spot that I often fixate on with her. She has that classic hourglass figure that leaves me constantly desiring to run my hand over that dip in her body.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s overt flirty undertones with her body language and actions, but I always settle on no because she knows how important discretion is to me. But also because I don’t think for one second she sees me as anything more than a boss or mentor—fuck, maybe even a father figure in her life. It hasn’t gone totally unnoticed by some of my male colleagues that not only is Savannah young and beautiful, but that I’m also rather protective of her.
“Good thing I didn’t sell my stocks after they went public and I left the company. If this acquisition goes through, I’m poised to become a very wealthy woman. Might even knock you off the richest man in Chicago pedestal.”
She winks at me and tosses it back on my desk. I lean back in my chair, attempting to put some distance between us.
“What about your weekend plans?”
I’m trying my hardest not to look down at her smooth, tan legs left exposed by her skirt riding up a little. Sometimes—okay, often—I wonder what her reaction would be if I simply reached my hand out and ran my fingertips up her silky skin.
In my fantasy, she parts her legs a little further for me, allowing me a peek at what she’s wearing beneath her proper pencil skirts. In this particular fantasy, her on my desk at the end of a long day, she’d simply slip her panties off and hike her skirt up, offering me her sweet, wet pussy to devour.
“Oh, general wallowing I suppose now that I’m a single woman.” Her response snaps me back to reality and I realize I’ve let my gaze settle on her thighs, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m sure I’ll let it all out with Callie and then rapidly go through the phases of grief, convincing myself I’m better off while I get it all out over a grueling spin class.”
“That sounds miserable but I’ll wish you all the best.”
“You’re welcome to join us for martinis at Mitzy’s if you’re bored.” She smiles and while I know she knows I’ll never take her up on the offer, I do appreciate that every weekend she offers to let me tag along on whatever crazy adventure she’s up to.
“I’m afraid I’d be a bore. You don’t want an old man, let alone your boss, to tag along with your friends.” I wink at her and I swear I see a slight pink hue spread across her cheeks. For as much as we have kept things professional between us, once in a while it feels like these little tender moments are laced with flirty innuendo.
“Maybe I’ll become a sugar mama. Find some twenty-one-year-old smoke show that needs beer money.” She scoots back a little further on my desk so that she’s now fully sitting on it and reaches down to pull off her heels. “You ever done that?”
“Been a sugar mama? Can’t say that I have.”
She slaps my arm playfully. “No, have you ever entertained someone considerably younger than you that you knew wouldn’t be anything serious, just a fling?”
I debate on saying something to the effect of no, but I’d be happy to if you’re offering. Instead, I answer truthfully. “No. I’m not really the kind of man who wants to be used for my money, but there’s no shame in those who desire that kind of arrangement. It’s just not for me.”
“And what kind of arrangement does work for you? What is Warren Baxley looking for?” She crosses one leg over the other, briefly drawing my attention to her exposed flesh. I look up at her and she’s leaning on one arm, palm flat on my desk as she waits for my answer.
“Who says I’m looking for anything?” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think I’m looking for an arrangement of anything. Just open, I suppose.”
It’s a vague answer, but the truth is I’m not sure what I actually want. I’m not exactly wanting to die alone, but what I want feels wrong. It feels selfish to want Savannah. She’s young, has her entire life ahead of her, and I’m already in the second phase of my life. Besides, I’ve convinced myself that the things I’d want to do to her would scare her away.
“Look at us, both single with an amazing career, but no prospects.” Suddenly her face drops and she lets out a groan. “Dammit! I completely forgot that Easton and I have our annual benefit dinner next month for the Northwestern University Alumni Association.”
“I’m sure he’ll behave accordingly if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I just hate having to make a public appearance at a place where everyone knows he and I were previously dating. It’s like a public statement letting everyone know we failed. Like back when your friend would change their Facebook relationship status to it’s complicated.”
“I think you’re being a touch dramatic, Savannah. And if it’s really that uncomfortable, just don’t go. Make him be the one who has to tell everyone there that he made the biggest mistake of his life and dumped the smartest, most accomplished, and beautiful woman he’ll ever meet. He’ll look fucking stupid.”
Her frown morphs into a huge, genuine smile that reaches her eyes.
“Look at you, Mr. Sentimental.” She pokes me with her bare foot, and I bat it away, but she does it again, this time trying to poke me in the ribs, but I reach my hand out and catch her foot. The warmth of her skin tingles against my palm. The moment we make contact, it’s like something shifts between us. The air grows thick with unsaid desires and tension.
Her smile fades and I swear I see a sharp intake of breath between her open lips. I don’t let go of her foot right away. Instead, I do something so stupid—I run my thumb up her insole and her eyelids flutter. Something is definitely happening between us, and it feels magnetic, like I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. But then it’s gone when a soft knock brings us both back to reality.
“Hey, boss, got a min—oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Eric shoves his hands in his pockets as he looks between us.
“Not interrupting. Come on in.”
Savannah jumps down from my desk and scoops up her heels.
“I’m heading home,” she says to me as she slips on her heels. “Have a good weekend, gentlemen.”
“What was that about?” Eric asks the moment she’s gone. He walks over to the bar cart in the corner of my office and pours himself a generous amount of my liquor.
I shake my head like I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Nothing. We were just talking about our weekend plans and Code Red.”
“Last time I checked, my secretary doesn’t sit on my desk when she’s making small talk with me.”
That irks me. I narrow my gaze at him and sharpen my voice.
“She’s not my secretary, Eric. Those digs won’t fly with me so cut that shit out.”
I’ve always known Eric was a little more than jealous when I brought Savannah on as COO. He thought as the current CFO, he was a shoo-in for the position. He could have managed it—I have no doubt—but he’s better with finances. He’s not as good with the big-picture decision-making that Savannah does.
He raises his hand in a silent apology. “Speaking of Code Red, are things still moving forward?”
“As expected, yes. We’ll make the announcement sometime in the next two weeks. How’s Kane doing? Still no interest in coming aboard Baxley?”
I stand and walk over to the bar cart to pour myself a tumbler of whiskey. I’m not a big drinker, maybe a drink a week, typically on Friday night. It’s a ritual; usually after everyone has left the building, I pour myself a glass and slowly sip it as I put on a record, kick back, and watch the city below.
“I’m working on it. Kid still thinks he wants to focus on building his own app. I told him I’m all for it, but it could really help him to get a few years under his belt working here. Really help him land some connections, and then he could develop the app with us or sell it to Baxley.”
“Well, he’s still young. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually. It’s good that he’s so ambitious though. Just like you.”
Eric and I have known each other for the better part of two decades. He was my mentor out of grad school at my first major job. He was a director, and I was just starting out. He saw something in me, took me under his wing, and helped me become the man I am today. So when I started Baxley Technologies fifteen years ago, he was the first employee I hired.
“More like you. I still remember you telling me six months after you started at DataTech, you said Eric, I give myself five years before I start my own company and ten to make it a billion-dollar enterprise . I thought you were crazy but here we are.” He raises his glass to me and we both drink.
“Shit,” he says, looking at his watch, “the Mrs. will be calling me any second if I don’t get home. Maybe if I’m lucky I can sweet-talk her into giving me some of that action you and Savannah almost had.” He winks at me and I just ignore the comment. “Have a good weekend, boss. See you Sunday at the club. Nine a.m. tee off; don’t be late.” He points to me as he walks out of my office.
Eric is on his fourth, possibly fifth marriage at this point. I can’t keep track. His penchant for chasing after his next wife while still married to his current usually lands him in divorce court every few years.
His comment about Savannah and me lingers as I dim the lights and walk over to my records. I leaf through them briefly, finally deciding on “Something Else” by Cannonball Adderley. The smooth sound of jazz fills the office as I take a seat in my chair. I lean back and close my eyes, allowing the melody to carry me away.
K eep reading Warren and Savannah’s story in Just This Once.