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“And after that?” I asked, the question escaping my lips.
But admittedly, it was with little resistance, because I couldn’t convince myself not to ask him. To doubt that it was any of my business.
It was.
And at this point I needed to know, even if it meant Iain looking at me the way he was looking at me now, his brow lightly furrowed, his face as torturously handsome as usual, but once again unreadable in a way that drove me quietly crazy for what felt like way more than the four seconds it actually was.
But then he cracked a smile.
“I think we’ll probably have to meet to amend the terms of our agreement,” he said.
And immediately, I broke into a grin, not even trying to hide it. “Like a contract renegotiation?”
He smirked. “Something like that.”
“Perfect. I hear you’re good at those,” I said.
And for the next few seconds, our gazes lingered on each other, glowing with what I swore was the same exact excitement. For the weekend.
For the time after.
It honestly felt for a second like my heart was going to burst, but as if sensing that I needed a bit of rescue, Iain cupped my face with both his hands, bringing my mouth back to his and kissing me so softly it was like being hit with a tranquilizer.
One so strong that for the rest of the day, I felt light as a feather.
Between the drama with my mother and the night I’d had with Iain, it felt like twenty-two years’ worth of questions and burdens had been suddenly lifted from my shoulders.
And like I had even more ahead of me than I could’ve ever imagined.
29
IAIN
I was still completely swamped in the office by 9PM on Friday night. Half the lights on the floor were turned off, and I only had my lamp on, which made it feel that much later.
But on the bright side, I knew that I had the entire weekend ahead of me with Holland.
I hadn’t been able to see her yesterday after leaving her apartment in the morning, and thanks to a client emergency, I hadn’t been able to fit seeing her for just an hour during lunch.
It had made me resentful. Surly, almost.
Which I found amusing because at one point not too long ago, I had lived for these days. I’d enjoyed showing myself how well I could run on fumes. How I could get three days of work done in one with barely any sleep—not that I’d ever been much of a sleeper to begin with.
My love affair with being overworked was a Manhattan cliche, but it worked for me. It was supposed to be the life for me from now till I was dead in the ground, because for so long, when I saw my future, it was this office. My clients. The numbers. The thrill of the fast-paced competition. Beating others. Beating myself.
And on top of that, I enjoyed the control.
Aside from inking one record-breaking contract after the next, I enjoyed the challenge of managing the most unmanageable, egomaniacal figures in sports. Their larger-than-life careers depended on my careful orchestrating, which gave me the high stakes I needed to know that I’d never let myself go back. Never let myself fall back into the man I once was. It was the perfect survival plan, and for so long, this job had gotten all of me.
For so long, I was a machine.
But in the course of the past three weeks, starting from the night I’d first seen Holland waitressing at that bar, I’d begun to realize that I wasn’t in fact unstoppable. That indestructible machine.
Whether I liked it or not, there was still a shred of human left in me.
More than a shred, really, considering the fact that I was briefly gutted by Holland’s latest text.
HOLLAND: Looks like they did change the surprise brunch to a surprise beach party but it’s only at Long Beach so that’s good. They’re going to get there early to beat the crowd so at least I can make an appearance and then take the train back so we can leave for our plans by 2:30-3 :)
