15. Anouk
Anouk
By Monday morning, the glow from the opera is still in me—soft, warm, impossible to hide.
“What’s going on with you?” Mila asks, studying my face.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
Now, she looks even more suspicious.
“Did you get a facial?” Pallavi wants to know.
“N-no.”
Mila smirks. “She does look like she swallowed glitter.”
Pallavi’s eyes widen. “Did you get laid?”
I roll my eyes.
I wish.
“Back to work, everyone,” I say with mock authority.
While my friends are happy for whatever is making me shine, one person isn’t.
Erin corners me by the printers, voice sweet enough to rot teeth. “So,” she purrs, “I heard you went to the opera on Saturday.”
I didn’t tell anyone at work. How does she…?
Did Luther tell her? Maybe he did. Maybe he saw us as a casual date and just mentioned it.
Oh God! Is he cheating on Erin with me? Is that what this is?
“I did,” I say with confidence I don’t feel. “La Traviata. The soprano—Elena Rossi—was extraordinary. And the pacing the conductor set made the whole thing feel heartbreakingly restrained.”
She looks surprised at that, unsure about how to move forward.
But she recovers quickly enough and lands her blow. “Luther’s family's box seats are very nice, aren’t they?”
She’s been there with him? So, what? He’s allowed to take whomever he likes to the opera.
“Yes, very nice.” I want to leave the room now and get away from this woman, who I know is preparing to hurt me with her words, and dim my pleasure of being with Luther.
“Did he fuck you after?”
I am shocked at her crudeness. “Ex-ex-cuse me?”
“Oh, he did, did he?” There’s malice on her face now.
A flush works its way up my neck as I remember his lips on mine.
Erin sees it. She smiles like she’s won.
“Careful, Anouk,” she warns softly. “Men like Luther—that world—those circles you stepped into this weekend? They chew people up. You don’t belong there.”
She walks away, heels clicking like little gunshots.
I hold my breath.
Count backward from ten and get to the conference room with the printouts for the Novagene project team meeting.
Erin is already there, laughing with Luther. The minute I get in, though, he turns and smiles at me, his eyes are bright, and the harshness of Erin’s words dissipates.
I don’t know how she knows about the opera, and it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t let her cattiness affect me.
“Let me take those from you.” Vijay holds his hand out for the printouts, and I pass them over, taking a seat near the middle of the table.
Luther sits beside me a moment later.
Not across from me or at the head of the table but next to me.
It’s a small thing, but it steadies me more than counting to a hundred could.
As Erin launches into the agenda, Luther shifts in his chair—and without looking or making a production of it, his hand comes to rest on my thigh, over my slacks.
My breath hitches before I can stop it.
His thumb moves once, a barely-there press.
The doubts Erin planted—about opera box seats and worlds and belonging—all lose their sharp edges.
I risk a glance at him.
He’s listening to Erin, jaw relaxed, eyes intent—but when he feels my gaze, he turns just enough to meet it. He bends low and says softly, for my ears only, “Is this okay?”
I can’t look away from his eyes. We’re in a meeting. And I’m behaving like a woman in heat.
“Please let me,” he murmurs.
I put my hand over his and relax. I like this. I like it very much.
My emotions settle.
When it’s my turn to speak, I don’t let his hand go. I also don’t stutter.
I explain the revised assumptions in the model. I walk through the updated variance bands.
When I finish, there’s a pause.
“That’s elegant,” Benjamin says from across the table, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I just called an analytical model elegant.”
Everyone laughs.
“It is elegant.” Luther’s hand squeezes my thigh.
“Exactly.” Vijay grins. “This is what we’ll take forward.”
I don’t look at Erin, but I can feel her attention sharpen, her silence louder than any interruption. She tried to make me feel small just moments ago by the printers—and almost succeeded. I won’t let that happen again.
“Can you come by my office before you leave?” he whispers as we’re walking out of the conference room at the end of the meeting.
My heart skips a beat. “Yes.”
His office is dim when I walk in.
He’s standing by the window, sleeves rolled up, looking like every romantic mistake a sane woman should avoid.
Except I don’t want to avoid him.
He turns at the sound of the door.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“H-hi.”
He watches me. And I swear he sees everything—my exhaustion, my nerves, my hope.
“Long day?”
I nod.
He steps closer. Slowly. Giving me every second to pull away.
I don’t.
“I want to kiss you again,” he murmurs.
My breathing falters. “Me, too.”
His jaw flexes. “Come here.”
I take two steps.
He takes one.
And then we’re close. I can feel the heat from his body.
He reaches up—hesitates—then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips lingering against my cheek.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I d-d-don’t want you to.”
He cups my face in both hands and kisses me.
This kiss is nothing like the one outside my apartment.
That one was soft. Sweet. Testing the waters.
This one pulls me under.
His mouth moves against mine with a slow, hungry precision. His hands slide into my hair. My fingers around his neck.
His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, and he whispers my name like it’s a prayer—
“L-Luther,” I gasp.
He stops instantly.
“What, my starling?” His voice is ragged.
I have to tell him. This is going to happen, I know it, and I want it to, but he needs to know. “I’ve n-never done this. Any of this.”
He stills, like someone hit pause on him.
“You mean….” His eyes search mine. “You’ve never had sex before?”
I swallow. “N-no.”
A breath leaves him. He steps back an inch, hands gentle on my arms.
“Thank you.” He brushes his lips against mine. “For trusting me with that.”
He looks at me like I’m fragile and priceless.
I nod. I don’t know what else to do.
Does he still want me? Or did I put him off of me?
“Are you free this weekend?”
I look up, unsure. “Um…y-yes?”
He runs a finger down my cheek, traces the shape of my lips. “Would you come to Napa with me?”
Did he ask me to go away for the weekend with him? Did I mishear?
“N-Napa?”
“Yes. There’s a cabin I love out near Calistoga. We could…be…away from the world.”
My breath catches. “J-just us?”
“Yes,” he says gently. “Just us.”
God, yes.
Every cell in my body wants that.
I hesitate—not because I don’t want to go, but because saying yes feels big. Important. A turning point.
Then I nod. “I-I’d…like that.”
A breath leaves him, slow and shaky, and I realize that he’s been nervous about asking me. It feels good to know that.
“Thanks, my starling.”
He’s started to call me his starling when we’re alone. It’s cute and romantic, something out of a book, something someone like me never expected.