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And then there he was.
Hannah had snapped at Sam when he called her, informing him she wasn't a dog he could summon. But she went down anyway, stubbing her toe against a dresser and knocking a book to the floor on her way out of her room.
And then there he was.
For a split second she honestly didn't even register what she was seeing. But the satisfied, jocular smile that spread across Sam's face snapped her into the moment. Elliott Michaels was in Sam's kitchen. It wasn't a thought she could have ever imagined thinking. And yet... there he was. In a three-piece suit, looking tired and relieved.
Had he worried about her? It seemed unlikely. Then her name had drawled off his lips- too familiar, speaking of intimacy, reminding her (and informing Sam) that he was quite well acquainted with her.
Once Sam excused himself, she could feel her stomach all odd and jittery match the erratic pounding of her pulse in her ears. The absolute last thing she needed was to be left alone with him. But there wasn't a choice. She felt her walls snapping into place: pride and coldness wrapping around her like an old familiar prison- keeping everyone out and keeping herself and her true feelings locked safely away. She hadn't expected this side from Elliott. She hadn't even been aware he had a side that wasn't aloof and arrogant and rude.
But hehadworried about her. He jumped through hoops to try to find out what was going on. He talked to her parents, her friends. He chased her to her ex-boyfriend's house. For what? To make sure she was alright? To pull her back to work? What?
To be his mistress, she realized, the idea sharp and metallic. He wanted to bring her back so he could keep screwing her. Use her because she was close and easy. Cheat on his wife with her. Though when he told her to admit she wanted him, when he asked her to agree to an affair with him- there had been a pleading vulnerability that she felt herself pulled to. She had already known that she wanted him. She knew herself well enough to know she was always one smoldering look away from practically jumping his bones. But she had figured it was a purely hormonal thing. Her body was attracted to his body. Pheromones. Pure animal attraction.
She never paused to think that maybe her subconscious recognized something in him. The person underneath the cool, efficient businessman. That maybe there was a part of him that saw her as something more than soft lips and spread thighs.
She had agreed before she had a chance to think it through. And then she had agreed to go back to the inn with him. She wasn't even fully aware of that until he told her to go grab her bags. As she climbed the stairs, worriedly clenching her left hand over and over- an old tick she always fell back on when she was overwhelmed. When she rounded the corner to her room, she found Sam sitting on the edge of her bed, his arms spread wide across the disheveled comforter.
"Well well well," he said, grinning.
"Why would you even let him in?" she exploded, grabbing a pair of stray socks off the floor and stuffing them into her bag.
"Because you needed to face him, Han," Sam said, smile gone, a look of sincere kindness in his eyes. "The second I opened that door, I could guess what was going on."
"And what was going on, Mr. All Knowing And Powerful?" she mocked, looking for one of her missing shoes.
"Han," he said, looking down at his feet. "I loved you since we were still kids, okay? I get you. It doesn't matter that all this time has passed. You're that same girl I grew up with. You're still that girl with the attentive parents who needed to know everything when all you wanted was some privacy. You've always had those defenses, the coolness and that smartass 'I got this' attitude," he kicked the shoe out from underneath the bed toward her. "When I saw that guy on the step... don't think I didn't notice that he was like your absolute ideal either..."
"What... no wa..."
"Oh stop. Tall dark and handsome was always your thing. Maybe that's what happened with us," he joked, pointing at his much lighter hair. "Anyway. You feel yourself getting close to someone, or heaven forbid, them getting close to you and you shut them down."
"Oh, for God's sake. Not everything is about sex," she said, defensive. While he had been understanding after they had fumbled at each other's bodies that one time and she told him she didn't want to have sex again, she had always created this idea that he had been harboring a resentment about it, despite all evidence otherwise.
"I wasn't talking about sex," he said, his brows pulling together. "Han..." he said, his voice lower, "was there no one else after me?"
A deep red flooded into Hannah's face. "Not until..."
A look of genuine surprise crossed Sam's face for a second. "Ah. Okay. Well look. I get it. It's a bad situation. He's your boss and all. But the man obviously cares about you if he traveled all the way here to see you."
"Elliott Michaels does not care about me," she enunciated carefully.
"Keep telling yourself that. Look," he said, grabbing her hand to stop her frantic packing, "get out of your head a little bit, okay? Just enjoy it. So what if it turns out to be a bad idea? Bad ideas make great stories one day. And you owe it to yourself to let loose a little bit."
"Sam I just agreed to be the mistress to a married man who also happens to be my boss. Things are about as loose as they can get."
He laughed, letting her go and helping her bring her bags down the stairs. She thanked him, really, genuinely thanked him. He was one of the best men she had ever met. Far too good for her, certainly. She wondered as she said goodbye if the pretty pixie Annabelle was deserving of his attentions. She hoped she was. For Sam, who deserved only the best.
She drove her car silently to her parents' house, approaching the door and having it swing open before she could even knock.
Her mother stood there, paint all over her overalls. Her mother the talented hippie painter who refused to sell her work. She smiled a strange little smile, tapping a wet paintbrush against her palm. "So your boyfriend was here earlier..."
"He's not by boyfriend, Mom," she objected, her voice taking on the teenage whine she remembered from years ago, the kind of voice that begged a parent to leave you alone.
"Sure, sure," Moira said, nodding, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Come in for some lemonade. Just a few minutes," she said as they walked through the cluttered living room- her father's books strewn over every surface, her mother's canvases stacked three deep against the walls. "I know you have... places to be. People to do."
"Mom," Hannah choked, her eyes widening comically.
