12. Luther
Luther
I’ve been reading more about stuttering and learning that there are many different causes and experiences—it can be developmental, neurological, genetic, or shaped by life events.
In some cases, it can be linked to trauma, and it isn’t something that can just be willed away, despite what ignorant assumptions assholes like me make.
I can’t coach Anouk out of it, no matter how much I make her practice. This isn’t about self-confidence; this is physiological, a rewiring of the speech circuitry.
From what I have read, it’s not that the brain doesn’t know the words; it’s that the pathway between intention and speech gets jammed when the nervous system perceives a threat—you know, like a dickhead CEO who’s railroading you.
Muscles tighten. Airflow changes. The brain floods with cortisol.
Speech becomes the first thing to short-circuit.
So, when Anouk stutters, it’s not because she’s unsure or incompetent; it’s because some part of her nervous system is trying to protect her.
That makes me a complete dick because it’s evident that I was scaring her from the start, wasn’t I?
But that dinner, two weeks ago, fuck, it changed things between us.
I know that a big part of why she’s responding to me the way she is has nothing to do with charm or restraint and everything to do with the fact that I’m not being a jackass.
And I’m not being a jackass because Finn is her brother.
Not her boyfriend. Not her partner. Not the man she goes home to, laughs with, bikes with, lives with.
He’s her brother. A bond that was formed in a state home. I’ve heard the stories, and those places can be brutal. When she first mentioned it during our dinner at the diner, heartbreak uncoiled inside of me. I want to ask her more about her life, her childhood, but I don’t think we’re there yet.
She does stutter less around me, which means her brain has decided I’m safe, the guy who humiliated her on day one of meeting her.
What a fucking prince!
Her capacity to forgive despite how the world has treated her, her ability to stay positive as she does, humbles me. It also scares me, because if she trusts me even a fraction, I need to be worthy of that, and I’m not sure I am.
She smiles at me, shyly, and sometimes, she giggles.
Fuck, but that feels good to hear!
Which is ridiculous. Utterly, absolutely ridiculous.
But there you have it.
Today, during our project check-in, we bantered like regular co-workers.
Okay, so maybe not regular because the air all but crackles between us.
I also have this huge problem, that I can’t look away from her, and she arouses me merely by being there.
The situation has only escalated since then.
Her shoulders aren’t as tense around me anymore.
She meets my eyes. She smiles. I smile back.
I have a serious crush on Anouk Starling. I fear it’s embarrassingly obvious, and everyone can see it.
Sometimes I catch Vijay smirking at me as if he knows. I hope not.
I know, I need to get control of myself because no one can know. It will embarrass Anouk, and that’s the last thing I want.
When I walk out of another meeting with Anouk and the others on a Friday evening, a meeting where she cracked a joke and even rolled her eyes at me, I am in a damn good mood.
We’ve come a long way from anxious Anouk to this. It’s a victory in my book.
“What’s going on with you?” Vijay asks as he walks next to me.
“What?”
“You’re whistling, dude.”
Was I whistling? Like a fool in a musical?
“It’s Friday,” I reply lamely.
He gives me a knowing nod. “Sure, it is.”
“You know the Indian head bob is difficult to decipher. Are you saying yes or no right now?” I arch an eyebrow.
He chuckles. “Dude, you’re sunk. It’s a pleasure to see.”
Does he know? Who else knows that I’m falling for my fairy-like data analyst?
“What does that mean?” I ask super casually.
He tilts his head, looking more entertained than anyone has a right to. “You know what it means.” He lays a hand on my shoulder outside my office. “I’ve known you for five years, and I’ve never seen you…like this.”
I stiffen, not thrilled with where this is going. “Like what?”
“Happy.”
Unease further colors my body language. “I’m always happy.”
“No, dude, you’re always running. Now…it’s good to see.”
With that cryptic remark, he leaves me standing there wondering what the hell is happening to me—enough that he commented on it.
Fuck it.
I’m happy. I plan to stay that way. And if the reason is a nerdy number-cruncher with the sexiest lips this side of the Mississippi, then so be it.
The truth is, I haven’t felt like this in…years.
The last time I had a real crush was in high school.
Usually, if I like a woman, I ask her out, and if it works, we date for a while, nothing serious, just some sex with company.
I’ve never been the one-night-stand type. They feel empty to me—transactional, careless. If I sleep with someone, it’s because I like her company, her mind, her energy.
I like to date. I like an actual human connection. I like intimacy, even if it’s short-lived.
My longest relationship was six months with Erin, back at NYU. Since then, there have been several short and easy relationships.
Good sex with good people.
No chaos, no emotional shrapnel.
For the past year, I’ve practically been celibate. You try to work eighteen-hour days, live out of suitcases, fly between divisions of your father’s empire, and still manage a social life.
I’m not cynical about relationships. I want what my sister has, what my parents have, but I just haven’t met anyone who makes me want that with them.
My mother’s opinion is that I’d do well to find a woman who is smart and ambitious but not locked in the same relentless pursuit of achievement that drives me.
“You need someone who makes you curious and slows you down,” she told me, not too long ago. “Someone who makes you feel something that you can’t logic your way out of. So, that eliminates Erin.”
“Mom, I’m not interested in Erin like that.”
“I don’t know why you’re interested in her anyway,” Mom sneered.
She doesn’t like Erin at all, never has. We know her family in New York—they’re part of my parents’ circle—but they’re not my parents’ friends because they’re too eager to climb the social ladder.
When I step into my office thinking about how my mother will react to Anouk, I remember that I have a one-on-one with Dot, who is waiting for me while I’ve been daydreaming.
She looks up from her phone, shoving her reading glasses onto her forehead when she sees me. “You look smug. Should I be concerned?”
“I don’t think so.” I drop into my chair. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You had the Novagene project report out.” Dot sets her phone on my desk. “How did it go?”
“Really well.”
“And Anouk?”
I can’t help it; my face breaks out into a smile. That seems to happen with some regularity every time I think about, talk about, talk to, or see Anouk.
“She’s brilliant,” I tell her, aware I’m gushing. “Absolutely brilliant. The model she built—Dot, it’s top-tier. Better than the ones we saw in Singapore. Better than the one our genius in New York built for that oncology portfolio.”
A grin spreads slowly across her face. She’s cat-who-got-the-cream smug. “Is this a good time for me to tell you I told you so?”
“You already have. Repeatedly. Loudly. With hand gestures.”
Dot laughs.
“She…ah…she’s….” I want to ask her about who was dying, why she had a nervous breakdown in the office, and her childhood, but it would be a breach of trust.
“She’s what?” Dot coaxes.
“I thought Finn was her boyfriend.” The words are out before I can think them through.
Dot steeples her fingers. “Why would you think that?”
“Maybe because he told me when I bumped into them that he was her date.” I shake my head, now worried about how far I’ve fallen that I’m discussing my crush with her supervisor.
Really classy, Luther.
“Anyway”—I regroup, take a deep breath—“it doesn’t matter.”
“Luther, Anouk is special.”
“I know.”
She narrows her eyes in disbelief. “What brought this change about? You suddenly decide to use your eyes? Or did you grow new ones?”
“I got to know her,” I admit, and realized I was a jackass. “I misunderstood her."
“Men-derstood her,” she corrects, smirking. “That kind of judgmental nonsense is exclusive to your species.”
I raise both hands, palms out. “I accept that I was in the wrong. But….”
“But?”
“She’s not client-ready, Dot.”
Dot sighs elaborately, makes a production out of it. “What does that even mean?”
“It means impressing the client. If our presentation is shabby, then they won’t trust our numbers, our plan.”
Dot purses her lips. “She has a physiological condition, Luther. It qualifies as a disability. It’s not who she is.”
I exhale long and hard. “I know. I want to give her more visibility, Dot. I just need to be careful how and when I do it.”
Dot glares at me.
“Look, there are people who don’t present well, and we don’t put them in front of clients and important stakeholders, right?” I continue. “This is no different.”
I see disappointment flare in Dot’s eyes. “She’s a good presenter, just slow because she takes more time than others. She knows her numbers and data better than anyone else.”
“You’re preaching to the choir here, Dot.” I lean forward. “I promise I’m going to take care of her.”
Dot sobers quickly. “Okay. But keep an eye on Erin.”
I stare momentarily thrown. “What does Erin have to do with this?”
Dot sighs the sigh of a woman who has seen too much corporate nonsense. “Erin doesn’t handle competition well. She sees Anouk as a threat.”
“Anouk isn’t competing with her.”
“But Erin thinks she is.” Dot puts her hands on my desk and holds my gaze. “Luther, Erin is corrosive. Smart, useful, hardworking—but she bulldozes to get her way. She’s not senior-executive material.”
There’s some truth to that. But still….
“She’s my right hand,” I argue. “Erin does a lot for me—she’s indispensable.”
“No one is indispensable,” Dot retorts dryly. “Coach her if you want. But watch her. Especially around Anouk.”