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“But at what price?” My voice is fierce. “You know I’ve been struggling. I’m not proud of how hard I took that breakup, but I’ve fought for my independence since then. I don’t want to give that up for Jonah. Especially knowing that if things ended between us, the fallout would be one hundred times worse than Eric.”
“Would you have to? Give up your independence?” Adriana’s eyes are calculating. She’s not one to be taken in by promises and the thought of true love.
“I think he’d make me give up the paper.” My heart beats faster at the thought. “And why wouldn’t he? If I were a billionaire’s girlfriend, I’d have no reason to work. Most people would call me insane for even thinking about it.”
“Has he said that?” Luz’s face is scrunched up. “Maybe he wouldn’t mind. I mean, lots of rich guys have partners who work. It’s not unheard of.”
“It’s not that.” I shake my head. “He hates reporters. And I don’t think he can get over that, even for me. You should see the way he shuts down every time I mention the paper. I don’t think he’d be okay with it, and I can’t handle that.”
“Well, shit,” Adriana murmurs.
“Shit is right.” I take another gulp of wine. It’s making me warm and fuzzy, but not enough to feel settled.
“I think you should go,” Luz volunteers. “Nothing is irrevocable. If you change your mind, you can always leave.” She shrugs.
I’m not so sure. Jonah is like a force field. He draws me in whether I want him to or not, and that’s the scariest thing I can imagine.
* * *
I walk home from the wine bar and end up wandering. It’s an unusually warm night, the last gasp of warm fall days before the November chill. My neighborhood is bustling with families buying groceries, couples walking home hand in hand.
Jonah sends me another message while I walk.
Jonah
Thompson.
That’s it. Nothing else. It feels like a secret code between us. The name no one else calls me. It’s a sign of his caring, masquerading as gruffness. My chest aches at the possibility of losing what I have with him before it’s even started. My feet must know something my mind doesn’t, because they carry me to his townhouse. The windows are dark except for those on the upper floor. I picture him there, alone, except for his chef.
Before I think better of it, I pull out my phone and text back.
Callie
I’m outside.
I wait for minutes, shifting from foot to foot in the crisp air. He doesn’t respond. My heart settles somewhere in my stomach, and I turn to go. I’m ten feet down the block when I hear, “Thompson.”
It’s him. My foolish heart soars back up into my throat, and I turn. He’s in lounge pants, slippers, and a huge wool coat. The high collar frames his jaw. He’s holding a bottle of water in his outstretched hand.
“Hi.” I smile despite myself, feeling a little silly for showing up at his house.
“Take the water,” he responds gruffly.
“Why?”
“I know you went drinking with your friends tonight. Thought you might need it.”
My smile grows and I take the water. “You know, Jonah, you’re not so bad.” I like you. All your harsh pieces and your soft heart.
“Don’t read into it,” he says crisply and tucks his chin into his overcoat. “I need you hydrated for tomorrow morning. Maybe you’ll finally beat me.”
I roll my lips to keep from laughing. I’ve been trying to land just one punch, but I’m no closer than I was on Tuesday morning.
He turns toward Central Park. “You coming?” he tosses over his shoulder.
I hurry to keep up. “You want to walk?”
“It’s better than sitting in my apartment reviewing documents, so yes.” He slides me a look that says he has other reasons too, but I better not mention them.
