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I should let her go, but I don’t.
Fuck, I don’t want to.
I’ve no idea what the time is, but since neither of our alarms have gone off, I keep her in my arms and think about the things I want to do with her when we’re able to spend time together.
I want to take her out on my boat.
I want to take her hiking at Breakneck Ridge.
I want to spend long nights talking with her, dancing with her, laughing with her, making her blush, and kissing the soft skin of her throat before discovering all the ways I can make her body sing.
There’s not one thing I don’t want to experience with Charlize.
Her phone vibrates on the nightstand. It does this a few times, at which point she stirs and grumbles something I can’t make out as she reaches for it.
“That’s my cue to let you go, isn’t it?” I murmur against her ear.
“I really want to say no, but yes, it is.”
It takes everything in me to do so, but I loosen my hold on her and roll onto my back. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost six.” She turns silent for a moment, reading her message before muttering, “Oh my God, my mother will be the death of me.”
“Why?”
She rolls over to face me, eyes wide in a dramatic fashion. “I made the mistake of offering to help her with one of the galas she’s planning. Honestly, I think aliens took over my head that night, but here we are and there’s no way I’ll try to get out of it. She just texted me to ask me to take charge of some of the suggestions I’ve made that I think might help her get more donors.” Her eyes widen more. “I’m not sure in which universe she thinks I want anything to do with helping run a gala.”
“But you made the suggestions, right?”
“Yes.” She looks at me with confusion. “But that doesn’t mean I want anything to do with them.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not a gala girl, Owen.”
I laugh. “What the fuck is a gala girl?”
“You know, those society women who immerse themselves in galas and charity work so they can climb the social ladder.”
“They also do a lot of good work for the world. What were your suggestions?”
She tries to wave me off with, “Honestly, they’re not even worth discussing. I don’t know why I sent them to Mom.”
“I can’t imagine any suggestion you make not worth discussing. Tell me.”
Charlize is a beautiful contradiction of strength and vulnerability. I’ve seen hints of this from the beginning, but right now, I’m seeing it in vivid color. I can tell she’s hesitant about sharing her ideas with me. Guarded, like she’s unsure she can trust my response.
But then, her fierce side takes over and she says, “Well, I’m not an expert on attracting donors, but I read through the planning committee’s ideas, and I thought they could do so much more than relying on an elevator pitch and a boring dinner that doesn’t engage the right kind of people. I see so much more potential in the time before and after the gala. It’s like sex. There has to be the right amount of foreplay that speaks individually to the heart of the person. Then, the act itself has to engage all the senses rather than just relying on one or two. And after, follow up with the person. Especially if you want to build a relationship with them. Show them the impact they made and do that from the heart.” She shrugs like she hasn’t just fucking nailed this. “I don’t know, it just seemed like there wasn’t enough heart in the plan they have. I always want to see more heart. I suggested ways for them to do this.”
Both our phones sound with the six-a.m. alarms we set. Charlize turns hers off, asking, “Do you want the shower first?”
“No, you go.” As she makes a move to leave the bed, I reach for her arm to stop her. “I would like to hear the suggestions you made to your mom at some point.”
She processes that for a moment before blessing me with a smile and moving off the bed. Right before she disappears into the bathroom, she turns back to look at me, that smile still firmly in place. “I can’t wait until you are no longer my boss. I need so many more of your three-a.m. hugs.”
Fuck me.
* * *
