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Robert: He’s singing your praises.
I’m happy, of course I’m happy, but I’m also devastated because of what Mr. Watanabe said to me, that he had received a glowing reference from Mr. Conti saying how I’m the best PA he has ever had and likely ever will have.
He made his choice too. We both know this is for the best.
And Robert really has shown me what Seattle could be for me, and my new apartment, though he offered to share his bed with me at his. Of course he did.
We parted on a tight embrace, I felt sad leaving him, not because I want him romantically but because we bonded over two days and I feel like I actually made another friend. My tapping doesn’t annoy him in the slightest either.
When I touch back down in LAX and locate my bag, I go to buy a coffee from a machine because I don’t want to wait in the lines, when a chest hits my back, a face hits my hair, and arms squeeze me so forcefully I can’t breathe.
I look down and smile when I see the familiar watch on his wrist.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, stroking his arm with my hand. “This is LAX, any number of yours or your wife’s associates could be here.”
“I don’t care,” he breathes, turning me and touching his lips to mine. I glance around, pulling him around the side of the coffee machine for at least some semblance of privacy.
I sag into his body, clinging tight as our tongues dance together, but then I remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea and push him away.
“We can’t.” I keep my hand on his chest, giggling when he brings it to his lips, gray eyes shining with so much love and passion.
“No, we can’t… not yet… but in a few months when everything has calmed down, then we can.”
My heart is hammering, something doesn’t feel right about this. “What are you talking about?”
“I told Elizabeth that I want a divorce.”
“WHAT?” I shriek, feeling faint and nauseous. “When? Why?”
“After our texts, because I love you and I don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pushes my hair back behind my ear.
I shake him off and brush past him, letting him grab my suitcase. “I can’t do this.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Somebody has to!” I look at him and then around, keeping my voice low just in case somebody we know is listening. That would be our luck. “You’re married. You promised your soul to another woman. You can’t just yank that back and give it to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because then how will I ever know that what we have is real? You will what? Divorce her and marry me someday? And then what? I’ll sit at home wondering every single night which receptionist you’re gonna fall for to replace me.” I stop and turn to face him. “You can’t leave your wife for me; you’ll end up resenting me if we don’t work out. Leave your wife because it’s what you actually want.”
“It is what I want…”
“Would you be divorcing her if you didn’t have me on the bench?”
He bites his lip. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy about what? That I’m stealing another woman’s man?”
“That’s not—” He blows out a breath, looking conflicted again. “Come on, I want to show you something and I want to hear all about Seattle on the way.”
We change the subject and I tell him all about Robert and his friends, and how we stayed up until four singing karaoke and we both butchered “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” together which was hilarious.
He listens with a smile on his face as he drives us through LA to location unknown. We head towards the ocean, to Santa Monica, only around a forty-minute drive to the office.
“Where are we going?” I ask, peering out of the window at the bright lights of the pier, trying not to think about the conversation that is to come.
“You will see,” he replies, grinning with excitement.
Less than ten minutes later we’re parked in the private underground parking of a tall, white high-rise. I still don’t know what we’re doing here.
He tells me to wait so he can open my door and he holds my hand as we make our way through the busy lot and to the elevator. He scans something on his keys, a round disk of sorts, using a light below the elevator button. The button lights up red until he presses it and it turns white.
“Seriously… what are we doing here?” I whisper, feeling the need to be quiet because of the lack of people.
The elevator is modern, with clean mirrors and a row of numbers, some with names next to them such as “fitness center” and “pool terrace.”
“Is this a hotel?” I ask, even more confused.
