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That would be a compromise.
I steel myself. Raise my chin in the air.
And march toward that office, ready to slay.
Chapter39
Gareth
The cork pops from the bottle and I pour two glasses. “Congratulations,” I say, grinning as Fiona takes her drink. “I knew you’d get it.”
I toast her and pour a long swallow down my throat, stomach a bubbling mess of conflicting emotions. I keep it to myself.
She smiles at me, takes a sip, and leans up against the counter. “You were so confident, but, man, I really thought I screwed it up. I mean, the guy asked about my family, and I actually told him my parents are swingers. On an interview! What is wrong with me!”
“Okay, yes, that’s admittedly not the best thing to say.”
“He must’ve thought it was funny, thank god, because I’m pretty sure I was like one oversharing story away from a sexual harassment law suit.”
“At least you’d have a good lawyer,” I say with a grin.
She sighs, shaking her head at me. But she’s smiling. “Seriously, I thought I blew it. Then Janine called the next day and was, like, they’re offering me the job, and I just…” She trails off, grinning so big I think her face might fall apart.
I love this moment. It feels so good, watching her this happy—but it’s also bittersweet, knowing she’s definitely not coming to Boston with me.
Which is selfish, I know. She should revel in her victory. I know few things feel better than standing in front of a judge and hearing the verdict I wanted. There’s nothing better than winning.
Except for maybe keeping Fiona by my side.
Some stupid voice in the back of my head wonders, what would happen if she didn’t get the job? I did everything I could to help that happen, but what if she still didn’t?
Or even worse, what if she turned it down to come with me anyway?
I want her. I still want her. If she told me now that she’s not taking the job because she wants to come with me to Boston, I’d be pissed, I might try to talk her out of it—but I’d bring her.
Because I’m still a selfish piece of shit at the end of the day.
This is better for her. Less dangerous, more fulfilling. She doesn’t need me to be happy.
But lately, I think I need her.
She walks into the living room and collapses on the couch. She sighs, head tilted back, glass to her lips. I hesitate nearby, looking at her long legs in her tight skirt, at her sultry lips pressed together, at the giddy-and-happy look in her eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful, it kills me. I clench my jaw, trying to keep it together.
She smiles at me, head tilted. “What? You’re staring.”
“Just thinking logistics, that’s all.”
“What sort of logistics?” She sighs and stretches, making this gorgeous little groaning sound. My heart reacts, racing against my will.
I sit on the arm. “Like where you’ll live.”
She hesitates. A moment of panic enters her eyes. “I hadn’t considered that. You’re going to sell this place, right?”
“Not necessarily. I was thinking you could stay here.”
She sits up, blinking at me. “Seriously?”
“It’d be good.” I slip off the arm, landing next to her. “It’d keep our fake-long-distance thing looking legit if you’re still in my apartment, and it’d also give you a place to stay. You know, on account of the fire.”
