There were two delivery guys waiting at my building door. They were holding a huge cardboard box, yelling directions at each other, rolled cigarettes sticking from the side of their mouths. I squinted, rushing toward them. “Can I help you?”
“We sure hope so, ma’am,” the sweatier one of the two grumbled.
“Bed frame delivery for Goldbloom?” The second guy, a pimply kid of nineteen, blew a dreadlock out of his face, dropping the rollie on the ground in the process. I felt my eyes widening.
No, he didn’t.
“Yes, that’s me. A bed frame?”
They nodded. “Don’t look so surprised. You paid extra for rush delivery.”
I fought a giddy smile. “Is it white?”
The teenager bristled. “Whiter than my knuckles, ma’am. Can we come in?”
I let them through. I resisted the urge to text Chase, even if just to say thank you, not trusting myself not to cave to his advances. Truth was, I couldn’t afford to help him anymore. I was beginning to not hate him, and that was a luxury I couldn’t afford, because Chase was still Chase.
The man who’d brought countless women to his bed after we’d broken up.
The devil in the dapper suit, who wore his smile like a weapon.
After the delivery guys left—promptly tipped and sent away with cans of Diet Coke—Ethan arrived. He showed up earlier than we’d arranged, carrying Mexican food. (“Can you believe China Palace closed early? Nothing is going as planned today!”) We sat down at my coffee table, which also served as my dining table, seeing as my apartment was the size of a shoebox. Daisy was pestering us for scraps, shoving her nose into the food containers and whimpering. I focused on eating the broken chips only (for solidarity purposes), my mind still reeling from those two kisses with Chase. I knew what I had to do and dreaded the poor timing, especially on the day Ethan and I were supposed to sleep with each other. I put my taco down, turning to Ethan on the couch. We were watching the local news, after the record player had broken down on us, completely ruining the already tarnished mood. Ethan was eating with gusto, engrossed in a news piece about a new footpath gate in Brooklyn that was too noisy for the residents living around it.
“So I have to tell you something.” I cleared my throat. He looked up, pieces of cheese and shredded lettuce peeking from his mouth. God, I really didn’t want to do this.
“I saw Chase today. Not voluntarily. His sister invited me for lunch, and he showed up. One thing led to another, and we kissed. I’m really sorry, Ethan. I’ve been feeling shitty about it all day.”
I was referring to the second kiss. The one with my full consent. The one that had felt like our souls were dancing together, that could have led to more than just a kiss.
Ethan put his taco down, reluctantly turning his attention from an elderly woman on TV complaining about the loud gate under her apartment building to me. “You kissed him in front of his sister?” he asked, confused.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, on the lips, a peck, I suppose. He initiated it. Then I went to his office to confront him about it, and we kissed again.” Pause. “A real kiss.”
“Let me get this straight.” He frowned. “You went to yell at him about kissing you, then let him kiss you again?”
Admittedly, I wasn’t explaining it really well. Not that there was a way to explain the insanity that was Chase and me together.
“I know it’s weird. I can’t even explain how it happened. One moment I was yelling my lungs out at him, and the next . . .”
He was shutting me up with a bone-melting kiss.
“What does he want from you?” Ethan scowled, dropping his taco on his paper plate. He wasn’t so happy about my fake engagement anymore. Maybe because parts of it were beginning to feel real. “He can’t seem to let you go, but he sure as hell did a fine job scaring you off when he had you.”
I’m sorry, how is Natalie doing? I was tempted to ask. He wasn’t really in a position to give me crap.
“He wants us to continue pretending until his dad passes away.” I blinked at the shabby flowery rug under my coffee table. It was full of crumbles from the crunchy tacos. Daisy was nowhere in sight to clean them up, so my guess was she was trying to piss into Ethan’s shoes, as she did with every person who entered her fort and wasn’t me. I’d had the good sense to place his shoes inside a plastic bag on the stand by the door.
“And put your life on hold?” Ethan scowled. “How very considerate of him.”
“I said no.”
“Of course you said no!” Ethan threw his hands in the air, then paused. “Wait, why did you say no?”
Why had I, really? Who knew? Because I was scared. Because it had seemed like the right thing to do. Shout-out to the people who understood the ins and outs of their decisions. I wasn’t one of them. I mainly went out on a limb and tried to follow my logic and whatever I thought Dr. Phil would say about my situation.
“Because of you.”
I mean, it was half the truth. Well . . . maybe a quarter. The main reason was I knew Chase was more than capable of breaking my heart again.
Ethan scratched his smooth jaw. “I don’t like him.”
“Me either.” Another lie.
“Then I don’t see the problem.” He picked up his taco again. “The fake engagement is over; you are officially back on the market. So what if you kissed? I . . .” He stopped himself at the last minute. “I did things, too, while we were each seeing other people. That’s why we’ve decided to wait until now before we take things to the next level.” He arched his brows meaningfully. “Welcome to the next level, Maddie.”
“I’m not ready for the next level yet.” I tore the already shredded lettuce between my fingers meticulously, not meeting his eyes.
“We don’t have to today.”
I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“Or tomorrow, even,” he began to bargain.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, period. That kiss happened for a reason. Maybe I’m not completely over Chase. I thought I was when I signed up for SeriousSinglesOnly. I truly did. But now I’m not so sure.”
“You just said you refused him because of me,” Ethan pointed out.
“Yes, because I want someone like you,” I agreed. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to move on.”
Our silence was punctuated by the robotic voice of the news anchor on TV, who moved to another item, about a nineteen-year-old criminal who carved his name onto his girlfriend’s face. His name was Constantine Lewis. I bet if Chase were watching it right now, he’d say he hoped to hell he’d at least had the good manners to carve Stan for short.
I was predicting what Chase would say or think. How he’d react. I thought about him every waking moment. What he was doing, thinking, eating. Who he was seeing. I was definitely not over him.
“I’m really sorry, Ethan. I’m horrified that I put you through this. For what it’s worth, you’re absolutely perfect.”
“You’re giving me the it’s-not-you-it’s-me cliché.” He clutched the left side of his shirt, but his voice lacked venom. “Ouch.”
“It pains me more than it does you.” I smiled tiredly.
“But you want to get over him. It’s half the journey.”
I said nothing, because it was the truth.
“Can I at least have a say in this? I’m the wronged party here, supposedly.”
I chuckled. “That’s fair.”
“I’d like to think about it. About whether I want to forgive you for doing the unforgivable and kissing your billionaire, hotshot, not-ugly ex-boyfriend.”
I full-blown cackled now. “Are you reserving the right to dump me?”
“Nicely,” Ethan corrected. “And yes. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up on this, whatever it is. I appreciate your fair warning I might get hurt, but I might still want to give it a shot. Deal?” He offered me his hand. I took it, shaking it with a stupid smile. It was the nicest thing that had happened to me today.
“Deal.”
We fell into comfortable silence, eating the rest of our meal, until we heard a thin sound of liquid coming from the door, followed by a puppy growl.
“Daisy!” I jumped from the couch, but it was too late. My chocolate-colored Aussiedoodle was already standing by the door, tattered plastic bag in her mouth, peeing straight into Ethan’s shoes.
I spent the next three days screening Chase’s calls. Even though Ethan reserved the right to change his mind about us, I hadn’t heard from him since our Mexican-food night. I was mildly relieved by this turn of events. It was one less thing to worry about. I did send Ethan an apologetic, lengthy text message before Layla told me to stop being more saintly than the pope. “The man dicked someone else the day he wined and dined you. You were obviously not that committed to one another.”
Three days post the nuclear kisses and sort-of breakup from my nonboyfriend, Ethan, and I was beginning to breathe again. Shallow, tentative breaths of someone who knew it wasn’t over yet.
Ronan was still sick.
Chase was a man who always got what he wanted.
As for me? I was slowly learning to stand up for myself.
I threw myself into work and finished three sketches for the Mother of the Bride collection. I made one of the sketches in honor of Mom, drawing the model with the same orange turban she’d worn when she’d been going through chemo. She had the same smiling hazel eyes as Mom and the same full lips and freckles. The dress was floral and big and lacy. Something Mom would’ve worn for my wedding. When Sven saw the final designs, I could see the confusion in his face. It wasn’t common practice to put details into the face of a model in a sketch. Then the penny dropped, and he reached to squeeze my shoulder, exhaling. “She’d have loved it.”
“You think?” I asked quietly.
“I know.”
I prayed my next assignment wasn’t going to be mother related. I missed my mom more than ever, wishing she were here to help me sort the Chase/Ethan mess. So when Sven approached me after I finished the Mother of the Bride collection, I was already holding my breath.
“Maddie, I need your attention.” Sven snapped his fingers, swaggering his way to my corner of the studio. I fluffed my white and pink lilies, eyeing him curiously. He stopped a few feet from me, thrusting a stack of papers into my hands. “Your assignment.”
I swiveled on my stool fully, crossing my legs and holding my pencil between my teeth like it was a cigarette. I opened the file he’d handed to me. It was a thin one, and when I flipped through it, I noticed it was because it didn’t have all the things they usually gave us in a packet: mock-ups of the general fashion line, bullet points of what needed to be done, etc.
“It’s been a long time coming, but you’ve worked the hardest for years, and I think you deserve this chance,” Sven said as I read the words on the assignment packet again and again.
The Wedding Dress to End All Wedding Dresses: Croquis’s Flagship Wedding Gown
My fingers trembled around the document, and my heartbeat pulsated in my neck.
“We are launching our fall collection at the New York Fashion Week in a couple months. Traditionally, the opening item is the Dream Wedding Dress. As you know, it is the most prestigious spot in the runway show. Usually reserved for our heavy-hitting designers. It’s the dress all the Vera Wang, Valentino, and Oscar de la Renta folks are going to be looking at. The one the front-row celebrities will be ordering for their weddings. The cherry on the cake. You’re going to design it.”
I knew all of this. This was a huge deal. The person who’d designed it last year had moved up and now worked for Carolina Herrera. Rather than answering him with words, I chose the moment to ungracefully fall apart. Literally, I fell down on my ass from my chair, I was so stunned. I tried to keep my happy tears at bay, but it was hard, because I’d never thought I’d be able to secure something so prestigious so early into my career.
“Get a handle on gravity, Maddie,” Sven muttered, offering me his hand, hoisting me back up to my feet. “When Layla told me you were going to fall on your ass, I didn’t know she was being literal.”
“Layla knows I got the assignment?” I gasped, covering my mouth with both hands. But of course she did. God, these two really annoyed me. “Sven, you won’t regret it, I promise.”
“Stop it. I chose you to be my star designer this year. More specifically, your designs didn’t bore me to death. I want you to go really wild and off the wall with this one. You’ve shown that you can take instructions well, but now I want to see the mad hatter in you. The artist.”
“You got it.” I did my best not to jump up and down, laughing through my unstoppable happy tears, which I was no longer able to hold back. I usually reserved my tears for good news and Disney movies.
“When is it due?” I asked.
“A couple months, so you better get your butt in gear.” He made a whiplash sound. “Oh, and before you ask—it doesn’t come with a bonus,” he pointed out dryly.
“Starving artist for the win.” I fist-pumped the air. “How is Francisco doing, by the way?”
“Still wanting a child.”
“And you?”
“Still wanting to run away with my Equinox trainer.”
“Liar,” I said softly, rubbing his forearm. I didn’t press for more info, though. If Sven wanted to tell me more about his adoption case, he would.
I was busy browsing through my assignment packet, memorizing all the details, when I heard a bored voice behind me. “Maddie Goldbloom?”
“Right here,” I singsonged, still on a high. I turned around, coming face-to-face with a young delivery guy in yellow overalls and a purple hoodie underneath. He was holding a bouquet of lilies.
“Delivery for you.” He thrust a digital screen at me to sign. I did, stabbing the screen with the gray plastic pen.
“Ugh. Those things never work. My signature ends up being nothing more than a jagged gray line,” I muttered, scribbling harder.
“Don’t worry, dude. It’s just for legal purposes. Nobody is planning to sell it on eBay.” The delivery guy flipped his hair sideways. I took my white lilies, placed them next to my own flowers, and fished for the note. I knew Nina was going to have a field day about the addition of more flowers to my corner of the office.
I finally found the small note and opened it with shaky fingers. I didn’t let myself hope. Which was a good thing.
Maddie,
After long and careful consideration, I decided whatever it is you are willing to give me—I’m willing to take it.
I’m in.
—Ethan
I took a picture of the note and sent it to Layla. Her name flashed on my screen after no longer than five seconds.
“Oh. My—”
“Don’t you have class?” I cut into her speech.
“I do. Teaching preschoolers independency and self-management is highly important, I’ll have you know.” She snickered. I heard her voice echo as she settled in the empty hallway. “I’ll be honest—I didn’t think Ethan had a chance after Chase barged back into the picture, but this is a game changer. He is basically agreeing to be the sidepiece. Juicy.”
“No, he isn’t,” I protested.
“You know what you need to do?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“You have to screw both and see which one’s better.”
I already had a feeling I knew who took the cake (and orgasms). I stared at the note tucked inside the flowers, feeling nothing but dread and disappointment.
“That won’t be fair to one of them.” I munched on my lower lip.
“Hmm, no. It would just cement the fact Chase surpasses Ethan and that you have to put on your big-girl panties and just cut Ethan loose. I’m the first to admit Chase is not boyfriend material—the guy is the male version of me. But Ethan . . .” Layla tsked. “Nah-ah.”
“Is that all?” I groaned.
“No. I also want to report Grant is excellent in the sack and congratulate you on your assignment. Love you.”
“Yeah, me too.” I hung up.
I texted Ethan a quick thank-you message, asking him if he wanted to grab coffee. It was the least I could do after his sweet gesture. His reply was immediate.
Ethan: I would very much like that.
I smoothed a blank page over my drawing board, blinking at it with a smile when I thought about my Dream Wedding Dress assignment. There was nothing that excited me more than a blank page. The possibilities were endless. It could be amazing or mediocre or bad or a masterpiece. The fate of the dress that was about to grace the page was yet to be written. It was my job to write its story.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whispered, tapping my charcoal pencil on my lips, grinning at the page.
“I’m thinking a good meal, followed by first base in the cab, followed by eating you out in the elevator up to my penthouse—sorry, I won’t be able to resist—followed by a fuck-fest that would make Jenna Jameson blush.”
I gasped, turning around to see where the voice came from. I recognized the deadpan, wry tone on impact. My knees buckled, but this time I didn’t fall off my chair.
“You cannot sa—”
“Not your boss,” he pointed out before I finished my sentence.
“Just because I don’t work for you doesn’t mean you’re not sexually harassing me.”
“Am I sexually harassing you?” He slanted his head sideways, cocking an eyebrow.
No.
My face must’ve conveyed my answer, because he let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.
“What are you doing here?” I scowled at Chase. He matched his black suit with a burgundy tie, hand tucked in his pocket, his Rolex poking out. He was the closest thing to corporate porn I’d ever seen in my life.
“Seeking you out,” he said unapologetically, glancing at the three vases full of flowers by my desk. “One vase you keep because of your mom,” he said, making my heart jolt in surprise. He remembered? “Who sent you the other two?”
“Someone I sent a wedding dress to.”
“And?”
“Ethan.”
“His are the lilies, right?” He approached the flowers, tugging at a petal. I flinched. “Nice choice. Is he mourning the premature end of your relationship?”
“The relationship with Ethan is not dead.”
He threw his head back, laughing carelessly. “Put him out of his misery, Mad. It’s game over for Dr. Seuss. A bunch of flowers aren’t going to change that.”
“A bunch of flowers change everything”—I slapped his hand away, protecting the flowers—“to a florist’s daughter.”
He cocked his head, looking at me funny now. I didn’t like his look. It was the look of a man with a plan, and I didn’t think Chase’s plans and mine were aligned.
“Is that so?” A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes.
I looked away as if hit by his beauty. I hated the giddiness that seeped its way into my gut every time his eyes were on me.
“Come with me.” He opened his palm. I didn’t take it.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s not a request.”
“It’s also not the seventeenth century. You can’t order me around.”
“That’s true, but I can make a scene that would make you wish you’ve never met me.”
“I already wish that,” I quipped, lying.
“You’re wasting everyone’s time. Ethan’s, particularly. Martyr Maddie wants to have babies with Ethan. But the real you wants to take the plunge, drown with me. Come on.”
It was pointless to argue with him. Moreover, I couldn’t concentrate on creating the Dream Wedding Dress—DWD for short—when the mystery of what Chase wanted to show me hung above my head. It was disconcerting to think he had a sixth sense of when Ethan was making a move and had chosen the exact same day and hour to show up. I followed Chase to the elevator, dodging the curious looks of people around me. Sven had his back to us. He was tucked inside his glass office, talking on the phone animatedly with a fabric provider who had screwed up one of his orders. But Nina was there, poised elegantly in her seat, watching us while filing her nails. There were at least a dozen colleagues—designers, seamstresses, and interns—who eyed us curiously as we made our way out of the studio. Luckily, other than Nina, I considered most of them friends and knew they liked me enough not to think the worst of me. Still.
“People are going to talk,” I complained under my breath.
“As long as you are the subject and not the one doing the talking, I cannot see how this is an issue.”
We entered the elevator. “I’m not like you. I’m not untouchable.”
“Madison Goldbloom, I wish you were touchable to me,” he said earnestly as the elevator doors slid shut on us in slow motion. “I wish that very, very much.”
