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Nothing about their size difference worried her. It was as though she didn’t think of herself as tiny to his tremendous and was ignorant to all the ways he could accidentally hurt her. It wasn’t like he was oversensitive about that either. Other women had balked. He’d accidentally bruised women, made them sore. Flick was small but mighty and her little body seemed made for him.
Their timing fucking sucked. Two ships passing in the crazy dark night, et cetera. It wasn’t useful to think about what they might’ve been if they’d come together earlier, if he’d thought to ask her out in the years they moved in the same hacks-and-flacks circle, if she was sticking around.
He’d never have thought to ask her out. She was everything in a friend he’d normally avoid. Except that wasn’t the whole picture. He was attracted to her. Compelled. And for all those reasons, he’d barely tolerated the idea of her moving in.
“If you’re not eating yours?” she said.
“Keep your sticky fingers off my plate.”
Yeah, he’d needed a favor from Jack Haley, but he didn’t need Flick Dalgetty to help him get it. Flick had intrigued him that night at the mixer like few other people did. And since he wanted a temporary roommate and she wasn’t staying long, it’d felt like a useful solution had fallen in his lap. If it was a mistake, it would be a short-term one.
He couldn’t call what they’d done a mistake. But it was over.
They fell into the pattern they’d established before their clothes came off. She kept long hours at Cassidy Strauss, leaving before him in the morning and arriving home before him. She still left items of clothing draped over furniture and personal effects on surfaces, but nothing designed for him to trip over.
She still woke at night and parked herself on the balcony or puttered about in the kitchen. She didn’t do anything specific to wake him, but he was acutely aware of her moving around, especially the nights she gave her vibrator a workout.
Holy fuck, those nights.
That low-pitched whirring couldn’t be anything else. It tuned him in, turned him on and left him in a state that was only resolved by doing exactly what Flick
was doing on the other side of the wall.
It was a hot, quick, desperately needy release. Slightly shameful, at least on his end, because he was the voyeur, and what if she could hear him?
They got through the week that way. Compatible roommates. Cassidy Strauss was squeezing every last drop of time out of Flick, and when she might’ve been kicking back she was stressed about handovers and unfinished projects. She had another fight with her sister Elsie and stomped around the apartment. He made her apple turnovers that night. He didn’t hug her. He didn’t reach for her hand. He didn’t put his arm around her when they sat together on the sectional. But when she rested her head on his shoulder, it was pathetic how much he enjoyed it.
If everything went well with his Friday afternoon meeting, finally firm, with Harry, he’d cook up a feast and that would cheer them both up.
When four o’clock Friday rolled around, Tom knocked on Harry’s office door. Harry was on a call, phone to one wing-nut ear, but motioned him in. Tom entered the office and closed the door, moseyed past the lounge setting and the shelving filled with industry awards and framed photos of Harry with politicians, leading businesspeople, sports heroes and Barney the Dinosaur.
This oft-renovated and redecorated corner office had been Harry’s for the twenty-five years he’d been Managing Director of Rendel Chicago. If this meeting went well, it would be Tom’s.
He pulled out a chair on the opposite side of Harry’s desk and sat while Harry finished his call. He’d sat in this chair often, for discussions about clients, key staff and business issues. He got grilled in this chair every quarter about financial projections and profitability. He’d sat here to weigh in when Wren missed out on a promotion, and to congratulate Josh on his. He’d pitched, argued, groused, resented and been impressed by Harry’s strategic brain and intuitive decision-making all from this leather visitor’s chair.
But enough with sitting on this side of the desk—his ambition to be on the other side sooner rather than later was burning a hole in his heart. They’d had an agreement about his ascension to the boss role. It wasn’t the same as having a signed contract with a new bonus clause and a surefire way never to need a roommate again, but it was close.
Until something happened to make it seem like a mirage.
Harry hung up and lunged for his glass of water. “That was Beau.” He sipped. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“We all wait for Beau.” There’d be no Rendel without first Graham and then his son Beau Rendel. Harry and Graham, who was retired, were near contemporaries, but Beau, the current chairman, was a good ten years older than Tom. They weren’t friends. Beau wasn’t a friends kind of guy. He was an “eat the opposition for breakfast without silverware” kind of guy. Tom’s contact with Beau was limited and he’d liked it that way. Managing Beau was something he’d have to adjust to.
“You’re well, Tom?” Harry said.
“I am.” His face looked normal again, without the bruising, if that’s what Harry was alluding to.
“Your talk at the convention went down nicely.”
That was generous of Harry. “Slow start, but I hope I caught up.” Tom had watched the recording. It looked like he’d completely checked out, no one home, and not all of the laughter was kind. If he ever weakened about ending it with Flick all he had to do was watch that recording and read the snarky online comments about how he’d been too busy sampling the free drugs to know it was the right decision to stay on task. It was personally embarrassing as well as disconcerting for the firm.
“We need to talk about my retirement plan,” Harry said.
It was too late to guard his body posture, not to look like he was about to leap the desk and wrestle Harry for his chair, but Tom stopped himself leaning any farther forward.
“I’m putting it off.”
Tom’s back hit the chair upright. “For how long?”
