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“You two should come to this Friendsgiving party with me and Cora next week,” he said.
I shook my head. “Not happening.”
“But you said things were fine.”
“Fine meaning…stable.” Except that was a lie. The push and pull between Jessa and me was the most unstable thing I’d ever experienced, simply because I could not convince my heart and my cock to stop reacting to that woman.
He tapped his knuckles against the countertop as he wound his way through the kitchen. “Just marry her already, will ya?”
I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see me. “Says the man who swore off marriage entirely until two months ago.”
“You just gotta find the right one,” Axel said, his voice growing fainter. “And when you find the right one, everything changes.”
I waited until I heard the ding of the elevator and the whoosh of the door before I allowed myself to relax. I didn’t need Axel’s love or romance advice. Not even a little bit. The love and romance life was fine for him, but I knew better than to jump into those waters. I could only ever dip my toe.
Because what happened if I went all the way with her, to girlfriend status and beyond? Anxiety started a slow pulse beneath my skin, bad outcomes popping up in my mind like mosquitoes on a humid night. I didn’t trust the world. I didn’t trust any of it. If I fell into marital bliss like Axel wanted, it would only set the stage for something devastating to follow. I’d seen this play out in every phase of my life so far. From Kaylee’s death to the SEC investigation and now my Dad’s decades-old secrets.
Diving into happiness paved the way for new pain. And I didn’t have it in me to handle any more pain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JESSA
Thanksgiving came and went. I spent the day holed up in my apartment, eating pumpkin pie I’d snagged on sale from a nearby bodega, while I worked on designs and watched Hallmark movies. It was never too early to start sappy Christmas movies, and now I had nobody to judge my choice of feel-good escapism where the brooding heroalwayschooses the bubbly beauty during that random weekend she’s trapped back in her hometown.
Besides, I needed the palate cleanser. My current situation with Damian wasn’t so feel-good. No, it was a mix between angst-ridden and desperate.
I wanted the man so badly I could disintegrate. But I refused to enter into anything that turned me into The Other Woman.
When regular office hours resumed, Damian worked from his penthouse for another mother-cluckin’week. Which meant it was now December and I hadn’t seen this man sincelast month.
Not like I was supposed to care. I was getting paid. Doing my job. Focusing on my studies again. This was what I wanted, right?
No. I wanted Damian, almost no matter the cost. Even just having him sitting inside his office, twenty feet from me, seemed like a better alternative to not seeing him or being near him.
It made me feel insane. The truth of my revelation pounded through me harder every day that went by without him—I loved Damian Fairchild. I’d loved him for almost fifteen years.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Though he might want my body, he didn’t want the whole package. And I didn’t want to dole out pieces of myself like a sample tray of cheese cubes in the supermarket.
My days went by in a state of mild sulking. Damian’s occasional check-in emails kept me mostly sane and reassured that he was alive, especially as we continued planning for the Programmer’s Ball. Now that we had a venue nailed down, I’d gone to town on decoration planning—including crafting a new dress just for that night. And it would obviously match the room, because hell if I wouldn’t be able to say once in my lifethe carpet matches the dress.
I might have been having a little bit too much fun plotting the particular details of this party Damian intended to throw. I also loved that it gave me an excuse to pester him, which I did freely, since it was the only way in I had.
By the next Monday, a full week after ourindiscretionin his penthouse, I was about to unravel from how badly I wanted to repeat that make out session. I’d spent no fewer than eight total hours with my hands shoved down my panties, remembering the way he’d kissed me like he was starving for me.
I’d probably use that twenty minutes as masturbation fodder for years.
I believe this was what they called#killingit.
A late-twenties near-virgin getting off to the memory of the way her boss had fisted her dress. Insert eye roll here.
I spent the majority of the subway ride into work Monday morning tweaking a roommate wanted ad I’d convinced myself I needed to post. Sure, Damian paid me more than enough to afford the apartment on my own.For now. But what happened if things didn’t work out with Fairchild Enterprises? What if I parted ways simply to finally, at long last, pursue fashion? I needed to have my ducks in a row, and right now, my ducks were halfway across Brooklyn and heading for Jersey.
I stared at my phone as I added commas and swapped outsooo excitedforeager.I was determined not to find a serial killer. I’d give this roommate hunt a fighting chance. Every applicant would be highly vetted. Hell, I could even ask Damian to run hacker-style background checks on them. That was something he could do while he worked from home and kept his indignant distance from me.
I needed to be prepared for the day I couldn’t afford rent again. And lord almighty, I just hoped that my future roommate would be somewhat normal.
