I chew on my nail as I listen to the phone ring three times and then hear, “Hey, sis.”
“I’m so sorry I’m calling you on your honeymoon, but I really need to talk to you.”
“Don’t apologize, I told you to call whenever you want. Granted, I didn’t think that was going to be every day, but you know I’m here for you.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but . . . I got my haircut as you said.”
“Yes, I know, you showed me a picture. You like it?”
“I do.” I pace my office, knowing JP is just around the corner. “And I feel really sexy with the short look, and I put on that new lingerie you made me buy, and the green dress.”
“With the sleeves?”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re feeling better? More confident?”
“I was . . . and I swore I wasn’t going to call you, but then JP showed up at work yesterday, and he looked . . . God, Lottie, I feel like everything I’ve been working on this past week vanished the moment I saw him, and I was taken right back to that night. And then I had a meeting with him. Thankfully, Breaker joined us. I held it together, and I’m actually really proud of myself for acting professionally during the entire meeting. But now that it’s over, my palms are sweating, and I feel this urgent need to cry, but no tears are falling.”
“Seeing him didn’t make you miss him more?”
“Of course it did. I’ve missed him every minute of every day. And his text messages have made it even worse. I just felt so embarrassed when I looked him in the eyes.”
“I can understand that. You’re still carrying around the burden of what happened that night.”
“I am, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m being ridiculous.”
“Your feelings are completely valid. No one can dictate if you’re being ridiculous or not, because they’re not in your head. They can’t understand your emotions like you can. With that being said, do you think you’re being ridiculous?”
“Objectively, as an outsider looking in, all I can think about is how there’s this man, this wonderfully loving man, who wants nothing more than to be with me. Being in the middle of it, I guess, I just feel a debilitating embarrassment, and I don’t know how to cross that line with him again, you know?”
“Does that mean you want him back?”
“I . . .”
Knock. Knock.
I glance up at the door, and there, standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, looking more handsome than ever, is JP.
“Uh, Lottie, I have to go.”
“Oh God, is he there?”
“Yup. Talk to you later.”
I hang up before she can respond. Nervously, I set my phone down and push my hair behind my ear. He doesn’t step into my office, but rather leans against the doorjamb, looking like a model from GQ, with his hair curling over his forehead and his dark scruff lining his jaw.
“Hello,” I say, unsure of what else to say. “Is there, uh, something you need?”
“Hey, can I get your opinion?”
“Uh . . . sure,” I say. We haven’t talked in over a week, but he wants my opinion on something, that’s not weird at all.
“This suit, do you think I can pull it off?”
Utterly confused, I take in the simple black suit with a matching black button-up and can’t see how it’s different from anything else he’s worn. But given that he wants my opinion, I take some extra time to observe the way his pants cling tightly to his thighs, showing off his strong legs. I’ve been between those legs. I’ve seen them flex while I have his penis in my mouth.
Immediately, my cheeks flush from the thought, so I divert my eyes to his chest, to the lapel, and I consider the many times I’ve pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders, and how that one time, I wore nothing but his suit jacket.
More of a flush.
Okay, I think that’s enough.
When my eyes meet his again, a satisfied smile plays on his lips.
“Uh, the suit looks good.” I swallow. “You can pull it off. Do you, uh, do you have some sort of meeting or”—gulp—“a date?”
“Nah.” He pushes off the doorjamb. “Just wanted to see your eyes eat me up again.” He winks and then takes off without another word.
Wait . . . what?
That was it?
That’s all he wanted?
That . . . that’s something the old JP would’ve done, the one who used to tell me men and women who work together can’t be friends.
Why would he do that?
Consider me now more confused than ever.
“MISS GARDNER, please stay back so I can talk to you,” JP says, sitting at the head of the conference table, hands steepled together.
The rest of the construction team makes their way out of the conference room, and when the door shuts, he leans forward and asks, “Care to explain?” He lifts a knowing brow at me.
“Uh . . .” I look around. “Care to explain what?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answer, clutching my notepad to my chest.
“It was thirty-three times.”
What?
I’m not sure I can handle this right now. When I came in this morning, I wasn’t prepared for another meeting with JP. In hindsight, what I really wasn’t prepared for was to be so distracted by the smell of his cologne. I even forgot what we were talking about a few times. I swear, it was as if he sprayed my chair, and my chair alone, because it consumed me.
“What was thirty-three times?” I ask him.
“The number of times I caught you checking me out.” He rises from his chair and buttons his suit jacket. “Now, I’m letting you off the hook this time, but next time you want to spend an hour-long meeting checking me out, please schedule something on your own time.”
Is he kidding me right now? I did not look at him that many times.
“I did not look at you that much.”
He’s at my side now, that cockiness front and center. “As a matter of fact, you did.”
I did not. Growing irritated, I say, “Well . . . if I did, that means you were looking at me thirty-three times.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Gardner. I didn’t look at you thirty-three times, I looked at you far more times, fifty-four to be exact, almost every minute.” He wets his lips.
“Okay, well . . . then, why don’t you, uh, make an appointment to stare next time?” I say in a shaky, not very confident voice.
“Maybe I will. Have a good day.”
He retreats back to his office, his head buried in his phone. By the time I reach my office, there’s a calendar request in my inbox. When I open it up, it’s from JP.
INVITE: Staring meeting with JP CANE. 10:00am-11:00am.
Bring nothing.
Wear nothing.
My cheeks heat up once again as the smallest of smiles pulls at the corner of my lips. I reply to the request with one click on the decline button.
TO: Kelsey Gardner
FROM: JP Cane
SUBJECT: Declined Invite Request
Dear Miss Gardner,
I see that you’ve declined my invite to stare at each other for an hour for the fourth time. I can’t possibly see how your schedule is so tight that you can’t accept my request. May I ask why you continue to reject this invitation that was born through your very own staring? Please respond in a timely manner.
Thank you,
JP Cane
Smiling like an absolute fool, I consider deleting the email, but then . . . I wonder how fun it might be to actually respond back. The last few days have been unexpected. Somehow, JP has created this feeling of what it used to be like between us, and I’ve had one stark and very large realization—I’ve missed this. Us. And even though I feel awkward . . . weird, I don’t think I can ignore him. So, I write him back.
TO: JP Cane
FROM: Kelsey Gardner
SUBJECT: RE: Declined Invite Request
Dear Mr. Cane,
Your request has been denied four times because I fail to see how staring at each other can offer any productivity or progress to Cane Enterprises. If you can provide me with a detailed list as to how it might benefit the company, I’d be apt to reconsider.
Thank you,
Kelsey
TO: Kelsey Gardner
FROM: JP Cane
SUBJECT: RE: Declined Invite Request
Dear Miss Gardner,
I appreciate your loyalty to the company and wanting to further the success of our multi-billion-dollar enterprise. As to the benefit a one-hour staring contest could provide the company, I’d like to bring to your attention the following chart below. Please email if you have any questions.
Staring -> forced proximity -> makes boss happy.
Thank you,
JP
TO: JP Cane
FROM: Kelsey Gardner
SUBJECT: RE: Declined Invite Request
Dear Mr. Cane,
I’m flattered by your response, but I must remind you, your request is purely personal, and as I once was told, men and women can’t be friends in the workplace, because of the obvious attraction. I’m afraid your request borders on inappropriate behavior, something I don’t partake in. Unfortunately, your request has been once again denied.
Thank you,
Kelsey
TO: Kelsey Gardner
FROM: JP Cane
SUBJECT: RE: Declined Invite Request
Dear Miss Gardner,
Your dedication to maintaining as a superior role model should be applauded. Perhaps we should offer you a raise . . . or possibly, you can give me a raise . . .
(Wiggles eyebrows)
Yours,
Jonah
I squeeze my eyes shut and inwardly squeal from seeing his name at the bottom of his email. His name that he seems to only use with me. I’m reminded of the time I found out what his real name was, after one of our outings in San Francisco. He was walking away from my room, a smirk on his handsome face as he told me. I remember the exact feeling that washed over me at that moment, too, a connection much deeper than surface level, a connection that made me feel as if I was a special part of his life.
That feeling has been resurrected. Every email response is spreading warmth through my veins, and my feelings of embarrassment are slowly slipping away into nothing.
TO: JP Cane
FROM: Kelsey Gardner
SUBJECT: RE: Declined Invite Request
Dear Mr. Cane,
You couldn’t possibly be alluding to an erection, could you? I can’t fathom you are, being how inappropriate that would be. I suggest you consider very carefully your next response.
Yours,
Kelsey
My stomach somersaults as I press send. It’s the first time since the wedding that I’ve shown any inkling that I still have feelings for him, that I’m hoping he’s still waiting for me.
It’s been a difficult two weeks, attempting to sort through my feelings, missing JP, and trying to remember who the hell I am. Trying to see my worth. Attempting to convince myself that I’m beautiful, I’m wanted, I’m needed. And JP, in his small way, has helped that progress.
Knock. Knock.
I glance up to see JP once again standing in my doorway, sans his suit coat. My eyes fall to his button-up shirt and how it stretches across his firm chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he’s wearing that classic smirk of his, the smirk that has been stuck in my dreams for the last few nights.
Sitting tall, I ask, “Can I help you, Mr. Cane?”
He rubs his hands together. “You can. I was hoping to discuss some business with you.”
“Would you like to take a seat?”
He shakes his head. “No, this would be better discussed over dinner.”
My brow raises. “Is this a business dinner?”
“Yes.”
I don’t believe him, but I go with it anyway. “Okay, shall I pencil you in for next week?”
“Tonight. My place. Seven o’clock.”
“I’m afraid I’m not comfortable with attending a business meeting at your place of residence.”
“I understand your concern, but I can assure you, no one will be there, so there’s no need to be uncomfortable, Miss Gardner. You can just be yourself.” He stands tall. “See you tonight.”
Without waiting for a response, he walks away.
Unsure of what to do, I pick up my phone and text Lottie.
Kelsey: Oh God, he asked me to dinner, at his place. He’s expecting me there. What do I do?
Thankfully, she answers. Huxley is going to murder me when he gets home, I can feel it.
Lottie: What do you mean, what do you do? You go!
Kelsey: What if . . . what if he wants to get back together, or worse, what if he doesn’t?
Lottie: If there are two things I know for certain in my life, it’s that Huxley Cane was meant to be the man of my life . . . and JP Cane is meant to be yours. He loves you, desperately. Take the leap, the leap you’ve always wanted to take. You’ve told me over and over again that love is a roller coaster. You’re on the roller coaster, so enjoy it.
Kelsey: I think I might be ready, but I’m scared.
Lottie: Good, if you weren’t then I’d be concerned. You know, there’s something I never told you, something I feel like you should know. That night, when the boys were covering up that email, it wasn’t the way JP was portrayed in the article that made him put up the money to extract the article, it was what they said about you.
Kelsey: What did they say about me?
Lottie: Huxley told me the article not only painted JP in a horrible light with the borderline harassment email, but they said you were using JP to get ahead with your company. Huxley said JP lost it, and he said JP did everything in his power to make sure your company wasn’t dragged through the mud because he understands how hard you worked to get to where you are.
Kelsey: He did that?
Lottie: Yes, and one of the main reasons he was so off that night was because he was frantic about what was going to happen. He thought he was going to lose you. He loves you, sis. Don’t let one bad moment eclipse the magic you two share. Okay? Go to dinner. Let yourself love. I promise you won’t regret it.
I STAND at his front door, nervously waiting for him to open it. I wasn’t sure what to wear to dinner tonight. I considered a dress but felt that was too formal. Then a pantsuit, and knew that was way too . . . business-y, so I settled on a black pair of leather leggings and a simple off-the-shoulder red shirt and high heels. Simple, but I also have the confidence to walk through his door and not feel self-conscious.
After what feels like forever, the door opens and JP appears on the other side, wearing a pair of jeans, no socks, and a white T-shirt. His hair is wet and he looks like he’s fresh from the shower.
He scans me up and down, a hungry look in his eyes when they land on my face again. “Miss Gardner,” he says, a slight crack in his voice. “Glad you could make it.”
Nervously smiling, I say, “I had to move some things around. Glad I could make it work.”
He steps aside, and I walk into his entryway, immediately feeling as though I’m returning home. I’ve had so many beautiful memories within these dark walls. He shuts the door and gestures toward his backyard. The sliding glass doors are parted and the yard is lit up in shades of purple. I feel my breath catch as I approach, the entire scene familiar, as if it was plucked straight from a movie.
“Mr. Cane,” I say as I cross over into the backyard, taking it all in. The pool lights are a shade of lavender, the lights overhead are a mellow shade of gold, and the lights along the base of the palm trees are a darker purple. On the table is a pitcher of what looks to be lemonade and two glasses, which makes me smile. Next to it is . . . oh God, I’d know that cake anywhere. Honey cake. “This, uh, this doesn’t feel very business-y to me.”
He comes up to me, pressing his hand to my lower back, and he leans in and whispers, “Good.”
Then he takes my hand, leads me over to my chair, and sits me down. He takes a seat across from me. He sets his phone between us, and then reaches for a file folder next to the cake and slides it in front of him.
“I appreciate you rearranging your schedule and coming tonight. What I need to go over with you is highly classified, so I’d appreciate your discretion.”
Beyond confused, I nod, even though I have no idea what he has planned. “Of course.”
He flips open the file folder and says, “I’m going to hand you a script, and I’m going to need you to read it word for word while I record.”
What on earth is he doing?
“Um . . . okay.”
He motions to the lemonade. “Do you need a drink to clear your throat first?”
“No, I’m good.”
He takes a paper out of the folder and says, “Okay, it’s important that you don’t read ahead. Can you handle that?”
“I can.”
“Good. Let me get us set up here.” He unlocks his phone, goes to the recording app, and then hits the record button before handing me a piece of paper.
My eyes fall to the first sentence and I quickly look back up at him. This consuming, fantasy-filled feeling flips my heart in circles.
“JP . . .”
“Miss Gardner, remember what I said, read the script, and no looking ahead.” He then winks at me, and I nearly cry right there.
Because . . . oh God . . .
Clearing my throat, I read what’s written. “‘Meant to Be Podcast. Jonah and Kelsey. Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Jonah, thank you so much for joining me today.’”
“‘Thank you so much for having me. Huge fan. My favorite episode had to be Jason and Dottie.’”
I’m smiling so hugely, I can barely speak. “‘Yeah, that potato salad was what miracles are made of.’” I laugh, a wet snort popping out.
“‘I can’t wait to get my own tub.’”
“‘Coming to stores near you soon. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to talk about the love of your life, Kelsey.’” A tear falls past my cheek, and before I can wipe it, JP whips a box of tissues out of nowhere and sets it in front of me. I take one and dab at my eye. “‘How did you two meet?’”
“‘You see, my brother Huxley, he got our company into a bit of trouble. It’s a long story, but because he made a promise to this girl he struck a deal with, we had to sit down with her and her sister and listen to them pitch us a business proposition. I was kind of annoyed, you know, because Huxley was making decisions without us, so when we lined up for the pitch, I didn’t expect this smoke-show of a woman to walk off the elevator. Immediately, I felt something change in me, something so deep, so profound, that I could’ve sworn a puzzle piece that’s been missing my whole life finally found its home.’”
My lip quivers. “‘Are you referring to Kelsey?’”
“‘I am. Unfortunately, her sister ruined the entire meeting but, that whole time, while she was making a show of it, I watched Kelsey. I watched her face turn red with embarrassment, but I also watched how she kept herself composed even though her hopes of bringing her business to the next level were vanishing right in front of her. There was something so raw about that moment that I’ve never forgotten. And I knew I had to see her again.’”
I wipe at my eyes. “‘So, it seems like you did.’”
“‘Yeah, they were able to pitch again, and her idea was absolutely brilliant. We’d have been idiots if we said no. Lucky for me, the new business fell under my management, and that’s when I got to spend more time with her. It started off as playful, but the more I hung out with her, got to know her, the more I knew this girl was meant for me. The only problem, though—I had to prove to her that I was meant for her too.’”
“‘How . . . how did you do that?’”
“‘Tried to be her friend, even though I told her that was impossible. And when the moment was right, I planned this entire night where I’d tell her how much I wanted to be with her. But, to my horror, she was going out with someone else that night.’”
My heart sinks just thinking about it. My eyes fixate on the paper in front of me. “‘Wow, what a harlot . . .’” I glance up at him and he chuckles.
“‘Nah, I didn’t give her sufficient hints that I was interested in taking things further. I don’t blame her, but I did beg and plead for her to not leave with him.’”
“‘Did she?’” I tilt my head, watching him as the largest smile spreads across his face.
“‘She didn’t. She stayed with me, and at that moment, when she kissed me for the first time, I felt whole again. I felt like all the stars aligned and I was exactly where I needed to be, with the girl of my dreams. It wasn’t easy, and it took some convincing on my end, but we started as co-workers, then enemies, then friends . . . and now, I’m hoping we can continue as more than friends, if she’ll have me.’”
He sets his paper down and I set mine down too right before he takes my hand in his. “What I’m about to say to you isn’t a moment in time to simply rectify our relationship. It’s me, speaking from the heart, letting you know how I feel, because I can’t go another day without you knowing.” He wets his lips and says, “I love you, Kelsey. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you from the moment I watched your face fall during that first pitch. And I know, for the rest of my life, I won’t stop loving you, ever, because you were meant to be with me. I know, deep in my soul, to the very marrow of my bones, that you’re my girl, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
My hands are shaking. My lips won’t stop trembling as I lean forward and, with my free hand, press my palm to his cheek, look him in the eyes, and say, “I love you, Jonah. I’m so sorry that it took me this long to say it to you.” I rub my thumb over his cheek. “But I do, I love you so much, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much.”
The corners of his mouth lift as he gives me the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. “Christ.” He blinks a few times as he moves even closer. “Come here.” He pulls me onto his lap, and his arm goes around my waist as I settle my hands on his shoulders. “You love me?”
I nod. “I really do. I’ve known for a while. I’ve just been scared. This feeling I have for you, it’s so powerful, it’s so real, I was afraid that maybe you didn’t return the feeling.”
He chuckles. “You don’t need to worry about that. Pretty sure I loved you before you even considered looking my way.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Is it too soon to beg you to move in with me?”
I laugh as tears fall from my eyes. “How about we go on a date first?”
“Okay, date first, then you move in with me.”
“Date first, the bedroom next, and then we talk about possibly moving in.”
He smirks. “Sounds like a plan, baby.”
He closes the space between us and kisses me. A searing kiss that tears through me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. His kiss claims me, showing me that no matter what happens, no matter what journey we take, I’m his. He’s mine. And together, we’re so meant to be.
