“I do have a date, actually,” she says. “It’s not for another few weeks because he’s traveling.”
Is it Hunter or some other asshole at TSG? And, whoever this guy is, does he have any chance of being her fairy-tale prince? “What does he do?” I ask. It sounds more like a demand.
She shrugs. “He’s a physicist in Molly’s lab. I don’t know much about him, but she says he’s sweet.”
I’m angry and relieved at once and I can’t explain either of those emotions to myself. “That won’t work for you,” I say too quickly.
“Just out of curiosity, how are you so sure that a man you’ve never met won’t work for me based solely on his occupation and the fact that he seems nice?”
Because you don’t want candlelight and rose petals, though you clearly think you do.
You want someone so fucking eager to be inside you that he can’t wait long enough to take you home, to light those candles or scatter rose petals.
You want someone who’s going to devour you, who’s going to sink to his knees and eat you out with your skirt bunched around your waist, who’ll have you soaked before he finally bends you over a desk and pushes inside you.
You want someone who’ll defend you with his life, but demand everything of you when you’re alone.
And Jesus Christ, I want that person to be me—except I’d fail her. Anyone she winds up with will fail her occasionally. But me? I’d fail her all the time.
“Educated guess,” I mutter. “Where’s he taking you?”
She frowns at me. “He suggested Nobu. I guess there’s something wrong with that too?”
“He’s probably going to expect something, you know. You don’t take a woman to Nobu and end it with a kiss on the cheek.”
“Who’s to say I won’t want more than a kiss on the cheek?” she counters. “I’ve been single for months now and was unhappily married for the six years before it.”
That angry thing in my chest tightens until it’s hard to get a full breath. Is she really going to sleep with this douchebag just because it’s been a few months? Try going for a year without it, Lucie. “You’re the one insisting on the fairy tale. Sleeping with a guy on the first date hardly sounds like that.”
“And your point?” she asks, her arms folding.
I’m starting to piss her off and I want to piss her off. I want everyone in the fucking world to feel as angry as I do, though it’s still not clear what I’m angry about. But I need to stop. I’m acting like a jealous ex rather than her friend/neighbor/boss, and it’s time to rein it in.
“The kid who was all obsessed with Lord Devereaux probably wouldn’t approve.”
Her irritation gives way to a reluctant grin. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t forget much.”
Which isn’t true. I forget everything. But suddenly I’ve become photographic where she’s concerned. I’m cataloging every laugh, every smile, every shared glance. Maybe because these are fleeting things, things that won’t remain mine forever…and I’m really starting to wish they would.
24
LUCIE
Only a few hours after the lunch with Harrison, my car is unceremoniously left in my driveway and by the following Monday, Harrison has filed the paperwork for my divorce and begun negotiating an interim agreement so I’ll finally get child support.
Fessman’s office says they can’t return my retainer—and that I’ve somehow already spent most of it. One phone call with Harrison has them agreeing to refund the entire thing. I have no idea what he said; I’m just happy things have turned around.
Work, too, is going well. The staff meeting was deemed a success and we’re getting closer to that break room I want for the seventh floor. Using an online design program, I’ve created several potential layouts, which I assumed I’d just show to Caleb at the lake, but he’s been missing in action ever since the day he introduced me to Harrison.
After nearly a week of silence on his end, I’m forced to schedule a meeting to show him the drawings. Somehow it makes the discussion seem more formal and intimidating, so I ask Molly to look them over first—she excels at finding the flaws in a plan as long as she’s not its architect.
“Hello, my nearly divorced friend!” Molly cries as I walk up. We’ve met over lunch in the mall’s very crowded food court, and every head nearby swivels at this announcement. “Let’s celebrate by getting you some lingerie.”