2. Gus
2
GUS
“So what brings you to New York?” I ask, trying my best to sound casual. Last thing I want is for Marlo to feel like I’m trying to grill her. “Or is the better question what has you trying to escape New York? Maybe I should word it that way?”
She giggles, the sound going straight to my head like champagne bubbles.
“Family business. And by that, I mean literally the family business.”
“Which is? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Giving me a coy smile, Marlo takes a slow sip of her beer, studying my face for a moment. Almost as if she’s considering whether or not to tell me the truth or feed me a line. I hope for the former—still wanting to know all I can about her—but I wouldn’t blame her for the latter. Hell, if this were Willa, I’d advise her to go for option B. She doesn’t need to be giving out all her personal details to random men in airport bars. Stranger danger isn’t just for toddlers.
“Food. We own a restaurant.”
“You cook? ”
She laughs. This time it’s a full-on, entire body movement, with her head thrown back, her reddish-brown hair cascading down over the back of the barstool. Fuck, is she beautiful.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, catching her breath. “Yes, I cook. At least enough to survive. By most people’s standards, I’m pretty good, but my grandfather… He’s the real chef. The one with the heart for it. I don’t love it like he does. Or my brother who is the one taking over for him. No, I’m just the one they send on their errands. Because apparently, when you are a third-year law student who also has their MBA, your family thinks that you are their own personal negotiator.”
I blink hard, letting that new information settle in. Did she just say…
“Wait, did I hear you correctly?” I start to clarify, my skin already tingling with anticipation. “You have an MBA and you're getting your law degree?”
Marlo nods, that same coy smile making another appearance as she sips her beer. No, that’s not coy, that’s smug. And rightfully so. Holy shit. If I thought she was attractive before, she just blew all that right out of the water. This woman’s got a brain on her, and damn it if that doesn’t make me want to lose my mind where I stand. Err, sit.
“Yup.”
Color me impressed…and turned the fuck on…
“Wow, that's ambitious.”
“I like that word. Most of my family calls me insane. Which isn’t always the most inaccurate adjective either, but ambitious is a much better choice.”
“So, why both?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“I have things I want to accomplish. Goals. Dreams. And after the last few years climbing the corporate ladder, I’ve figured out what I’m really passionate about and determined that I need my JD in order to get to where I want to be.”
A pair of businessmen stand up on the other side of Marlo, throwing down a couple of twenties for the bartender as they leave. They’re quickly replaced by a pair of women, both of whom are carrying enough luggage for six people. Depositing their things in a grand fashion, the two women jostle the stools, bumping into Marlo and the couple on the other side. The older of the two ladies spills the contents of her open tote bag. Without turning around, Marlo rolls her eyes, and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing.
My thoughts exactly…
“So, corporate law then? Not angling to work at legal aid?”
Marlo scoffs. “Nothing wrong with legal aid, but again, not where my heart is. I’ve spent the last three years with the Sulonen Group, including the last two in Amsterdam. That’s more my speed.”
The Sulonen Group. They might not be a household name, but anyone in the corporate world knows the e-commerce giant. They’re hard to miss. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Hayes has some dealings with them on some level.
Well I’ll be damned. This woman is impressive.
“So, what you’re telling me is you’re kind of a big deal.”
“Hardly.”
“One does not work for the Sulonen Group, especially in Amsterdam, if they are not a badass.”
Marlo’s cheeks tinge pink, and she turns away, clearly unsure how to take the compliment. I take a big gulp of my beer, feeling bold and ready to double down, when my phone vibrates against the wooden bar. My stomach lurches, somehow already knowing what that notification is going to tell me. Marlo's phone follows suit a split second later, leaving no doubt in my mind.
I look up over Marlo’s head, through the terminal, catching a glimpse of the skies through the large window for gate B44. Lightning cuts through the darkness, the elongated jagged bolt accompanying another clang of thunder and the distinct sound of rain picking up.
Yup, it’s gonna be awhile…
Turning my attention back to Marlo, I smile, suddenly not as annoyed at the delay.
“Another forty-five minutes. At least,” she mutters, clicking her phone off and sliding it back onto the bar. I don’t even bother looking at mine. She’s where I want to keep my focus. “You?”
I shrug, finishing off my beer. “Long enough for another, I’m sure.”
“Make you a deal,” she says, leaning in. Her green eyes sparkle mischievously, one corner of her mouth upturned in a way that make my dick twitch and all the manners my mama taught me want to take a back seat. I hold it together though. At least long enough to hear her proposition. “Whoever has the longer delay buys the next round.”
Oh fuck, I like this woman. A lot.
“Deal.”
Not that I’m letting her buy. Regardless of what the results are.
Picking up my phone, I tilt it toward me, just enough so she can’t see my screen. Tapping it to life, I chuckle as I read the text on the screen. Ninety more minutes.
“Looks like this one’s on me.” I turn my phone to show her, more than happy for an excuse to keep her here. And to have won fair and square.
We flag down the bartender, ordering another round of what is already in front of us, adding in some appetizers as well. I let her choose, partially because I’m so hungry I’ll eat just about anything at this point, but also because I’m curious as to what she goes with. Two more beers, plus an order of nachos, potstickers, and smothered fries later, I’m pretty sure Marlo is an angel sent straight from heaven.
“All we’ve done is talk about me,” Marlo says as the bartender slides fresh pints in front of us. “Tell me about you.”
“What if I like talking about you?”
“Ha. That portion of the program is over. Your turn. And that accent tells me that New York isn’t home for you either. Georgia, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not.”
“So tell me, what brings you to New York?” She turns my own question on me, licking her lips in a way that makes me want to steal a kiss in the worst way.
But two can play this game.
“Family business. And by that, I mean literally the family business.”
“Touché.”
Marlo raises her glass in mock salute, admitting she’s been bested. I laugh, leaning back in my chair, loving the ease of our conversation. I’ve known this woman all of forty-five minutes, but it feels like forever. In the best way. Somehow our get-to-know-you conversation feels like old friends catching up.
“What’s the family business? If you don’t mind my asking.”
I inhale deeply, trying to figure out exactly how to answer that. I could tell her who I am. If she worked for Sulonen, then she knows Hayes. What she thinks of Hayes might be a very different story though. We work hard to have a good reputation in the corporate world, but business is business, and at times that can leave a sour taste in people's mouths. On top of that, I’m not sure she really wants to hear me drone on about the company.
I mean, what woman wants to hear all about the privately held Fortune 500 company, still family run out of our rural Georgia town, that covers a wide range of industries including guns and ammo, a paper mill, agriculture, a brewery, personal safety, and a bait and tackle shop?
A woman who is getting her law degree on top of her MBA, that’s who…
“A little of everything.” I shrug, trying to be generic. “We’re one of those companies that dabbles in a number of things. We date back to the Civil War and have accumulated some interests over the years, shall we say. Still one hundred percent family run—at least from the executive perspective. Dad is president and CEO, then my siblings and I oversee the different divisions.”
“Now who’s the big deal,” she teases, shoving me playfully.
My skin heats up, tingling from her touch. And right about now, I’d do pretty much anything to make her do it again.
“Still you. You spent two years in Amsterdam. I’m chief chaos coordinator for my siblings.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Seven.”
“Seven?”
There it is. The inevitable shock that comes with that number. I nod, confirming that she heard me properly.
“Five brothers, one sister. And yes, she’s the baby, spoiled out of her mind. Before you ask, our parents deny that they kept going until they had a girl, but that doesn’t stop my sister from pointing out that they ‘stopped after achieving perfection,’” I joke, trying to imitate Willa. I do a poor job, but it still earns me a giggle .
“I’m sure they didn’t.” She gives me a wink, playing along with taking my side.
Our food arrives, and we dig in, our conversation lulling a bit as we shovel in the food. As much as I want to be a gentleman, I’m hungrier than I realized, and polish off the potstickers before she even gets one. She doesn’t seem to mind though, having made it halfway through the fries all on her own.
My phone vibrates again, and my stomach clenches, eyes flicking over to Marlo’s phone, waiting for hers to react as well. Only this time, mine’s a solo act. Uh-oh.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marlo stop, a fry halfway to her mouth, trying to be inconspicuous about watching me as I check to see what it is. I swear, if it’s another delay, I might lose my mind.
Fate is on my side though. Sort of.
It’s not another delay. It is, however, Willa. Still pissed at me for being unable to control the weather.
I sigh, dismissing her text without replying. I can deal with her nonsense later.
“Bad news?”
“Nope,” I reply, popping a nacho into my mouth. “Just said spoiled baby sister. She’s upset because I am not Thor, God of Thunder.”
Marlo looks at me quizzically. “Your little sister is pissed because you’re not the hot Avenger?”
Errr…no. That’s not what I meant. Umm, shit. Shit. Time to backpedal. Because that is not what I meant. At all.
“No. No. Who was the Greek god of weather? Zeus? She’s upset I’m not him.” I huff out a breath, grabbing my beer and slugging back a couple of big swigs, as Marlo laughs. Glad one of us finds this funny. “Sorry, it’s been a really long day trying to get back to Atlanta. We have this new marketing director starting, and she’s moving to Georgia from Boston. The town we live in is three hours outside Atlanta, so we coordinated the whole thing so our flights would land around the same time and we could drive back together. Only?—”
“Only you got stuck here,” she finishes for me.
I nod. “And my sister is pissed. She is really excited about this new hire, and I am too. She comes from a fantastic firm, and her being willing to relocate to Georgia is huge, and this is not the first impression I wanted to make.”
“Gus, like you said, you don’t control the weather.”
I hold out my phone toward her. “Care to call my sister and explain that?”
“Nope!”
Time for a change of subject.
“You said you had a brother who is running the restaurant?”
“I do. I’m the oldest of three. Two younger brothers, one who runs the restaurant with my mother and grandfather and the other is in the army. Everyone is currently back in Louisiana.”
Louisiana. I knew it.
“New Orleans?”
“Of course.”
“I’d say Go Tigers, but that’d be betraying my Dawgs.”
“First, it’s Geaux Tigers,” she says, placing the emphasis and inflection on the word so it sounds not only slightly more French, but infinitely sexier. “And second…” She narrows her eyes playfully, leaning in closer. “Dogs gets fleas.”
“And overgrown cats don’t?” I counter.
She scoffs again, a move I’m finding to almost be her signature in our short time together, those green eyes flaring wide. She shakes her head, my insides easing even more waiting for her comeback. I haven’t felt this relaxed in…I do n’t even know. For as much as my siblings tease me for being uptight and grumpy, I’m feeling anything but sitting here right now. And all because of this woman.
“I miss this,” she comments, scrunching her nose. “Californians just don’t get it.”
“Californians?”
She nods. “Yeah, that's where I'm going to school. And the magic of the SEC is lost on them. Nothing like Saturdays in the fall in the South.”
I raise my glass to her. “Got that right. Does that mean you want to move back to the South after you graduate?”
“If I can. Will depend on job offers of course. I have an internship lined up for this year with a really well-known and well-respected firm in my target discipline, so we’ll see what happens. But the last couple of years have taught me that the only LA I want to be in is Louisiana.”
She turns up her natural accent as she says Louisiana, sending a thrill through me. The air crackles around us, the rest of the bar falling away. In this moment, it’s just the two of us. Gone are the two obnoxiously loud ladies taking up too much room to Marlo’s right, or the weird-smelling hipsters behind me. The family with the screaming toddler banging his hands on the table fades into the background, nothing more than a faint noise.
All I can do is hope that she feels it too.
Marlo’s phone vibrates, but she ignores it, keeping her focus on me. “Gus, I’m going to ask you a question, and our entire future hinges on the answer.”
Our entire future? Okay, now my interest is piqued. I lift my eyebrows, ready for her question, leaning in closer.
“I’m serious,” she repeats.
“I’m ready…”
The rattle of her phone against the wood rings out, upping the anticipation of the moment, but she continues to ignore it. Her gaze is squared on me, her stony features still, except for a dance of impishness in those beautiful green irises.
“When you make the bed, do you use a top sheet? Or are you a complete heathen?”
Marlo I-don’t-know-your-last-name-yet, I think I might love you.
“Top sheet. Always. Who doesn’t use a top sheet?”
A couple of my brothers, that’s who, but I leave that part out of my answer. No need to kill whatever this magic is between us by bringing them up.
“Heathens! But you’ve passed the test.”
My heart sings, loving that more than I can say.
Another rattle of her phone, this one stealing our attention.
“You might want to check that,” I tell her, nodding at the device.
She sighs, acquiescing with a shrug of one shoulder. Breaking eye contact for the first time in minutes, she grabs her phone, and I feel the loss instantly. As if a tether has been ripped from my soul, yanking it farther and farther away. That feeling only intensifies as Marlo goes rigid, gasping.
“Shit!”
“What?”
Leaping from her chair, she frantically starts gathering her things. She’s a whirlwind of movement, all limbs and flailing making it hard to keep up.
“My flight’s boarding. And they changed my gate. It’s at the other end of the terminal now. I gotta go.”
Shit…
“I’m so sorry. I…”
She reaches into her bag, pulling out her wallet, but I stop her.
“Nope, these were on me, remember? ”
She smiles brightly, her shoulders relaxing for a moment. “Right. Thank you. This was… I liked this. A lot.”
“Me too.”
“If it’s not too forward…” She licks her lips, that coy smile returning. Taking my hand, she pulls a pen from her bag, clicking and scribbling across my palm. “You should use that once you get back to Atlanta. The woman on the other end of that number looks forward to it.”
I don’t have time to look down at my hand before she’s cupped my face in hers, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. It’s soft, sweet, and sends me into a rush I’ve never experienced. My head feels light, my heart is racing, and my skin is on fire. My whole body lights up as if I’m the Christmas tree in the town square on Thanksgiving. Who knew four seconds of contact could do all that?
It’s over before I can register it all, with the most perfect woman I’ve ever encountered rushing away, dodging her way through a crowded airport bar. I watch her go, still dazed from her kiss, my lips tingling from the touch. I’m going to be dreaming of this moment for weeks.
Not to mention doing plenty of other dirty things thinking about her.
Absentmindedly, I grab my drink, thankful I got her number. Because that means all those dreams and dirty thoughts have the potential to be more. She has the potential to be more. The potential to be everything.
Meaning, I should text her now. When God drops an angel in your lap, that’s not the kind of thing you wait on, right?
Right.
So here we go.
Pulling out my phone, I glance down at my hand, and the world stops. My stomach lurches, the beer mixing with the food suddenly turning sour, making me sick. No, no. How could this happen? Shit. I look over at the pint glass. The condensation. Shit…I didn’t even think. Rookie mistake. But maybe there’s hope. I snap a photo of my hand and send it to Milo and Hux, the two brothers I think will be the most help.
Or at least the two who will be the least asshole-ish about this.
Because I need help.
Her number is smudged.