My stomach rolls and I lean against the counter for support. That is not only a ring on my finger, it’s a…
“A tattoo,” I say in a faint whisper. “We…got tattoo wedding rings?”
A Rolodex of memories flips through my head. Derek and I were drinking at the bar and then we went drinking at another bar. And then we walked down the Vegas strip and passed a chapel. At that point we had so much alcohol in us that we laughed about how we wanted to get married “back in the day” and then thought about how funny it would be if we went ahead and did it now. Ha-ha, Drunk Nora is soooo funny!
So we did. We got married. And then we went to celebrate and have a wedding reception at yet another bar (still thinking what a funny joke it is) and that’s when we realized we didn’t have wedding rings. But once again, Drunk Nora is such a problem solver, and since there was a tattoo parlor right next door, I had the epic idea to permanently mark this bad decision on my body for the rest of my life, and oh gosh I’m going to throw up again. Or pass out. Or cry. Or all of the above.
Derek sees the look on my face and takes my shoulders in his hands. “Hey. It’s okay. So we eloped. No big deal.”
“No big deal?” I hold up my ring finger and flip him off with my new permanent accessory. “This feels like a big deal to me. Derek, imagine if the press gets hold of this? Imagine what it will do to our careers! Or no…your career will keep chugging along as usual because male athletes literally get away with everything and barely receive a slap on the wrist for it. But me…I could lose my job!”
The wings on his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. That’s not great.”
His hand snags back through his hair and I can’t help but notice his naked bicep flexing obscenely right in front of my face. It’s not my fault. I wouldn’t be expected to avoid looking at a comet crashing in front of me and this bicep is roughly the same size. I’m married to this bicep.
I need to do something. I need to move. Organize. Sort my life as quickly and efficiently as possible so I can breathe again. A good A-to-Z process always does the trick, and I’ll work through it step-by-step until everything is back to normal.
(A) Pack my clothes.
I breeze by Derek and fly into the room to pick up my few odds and ends scattered haphazardly all around the room like the wild and fun gal I am (read: neatly folded in various piles and placed in drawers).
Derek leans against the bathroom doorframe. “Nora…what are you doing?”
“Running for president. I know it seems like an odd time, but someone’s got to do it.” The sarcastic words whip out like icicles dropping overhead, aimed to kill. But I don’t have patience right now to calmly explain to him that I’m packing my bags so I can (B) catch the first flight out of here and back home, where I can (C) contact a lawyer and figure out how to get this marriage annulled. And if I hurry and get ahead of this, maybe I can (D) implement damage control before word leaks.
What are the rules on annulment anyway? Surely if you’ve only been married ten hours and haven’t consummated it, then it’s easy peasy, right?
Derek’s hand catches lightly against my arm when I try to pass him. Goosebumps flare down my back. “Nora. I need you to take a breath for a second.”
Years of finely tuned smiles and punchy jokes crack under the pressure. I lance him with a look, feeling my heart punch against my chest. My head hurts, the light in here is too bright, and I’m so hungover my skin aches. There’s no room to filter words in circumstances like this.
“Unlike you, Derek, I don’t have the luxury of taking a breath. For you, this will all be an easy, charming story that everyone laughs at over drinks. In fact, I’ve been trained to handle situations like this for athletes since day one—it’s literally part of my job to help sweep your indiscretions under the rug.” My head pulses with each fervent word. “But I will be on the other side of it carefully picking up the pieces and trying not to cut my hands in the process.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate showing any signs of weakness, so I pull my arm away from Derek and pace to the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
My knees buckle against the mattress and I hunch over, hugging my stomach as a fresh wave of nausea hits me—but not because of the hangover. “You don’t understand what it’s like, Derek. I’ve—I’ve worked so hard to prove myself over the past two years. Including going by a name that I hate because you get further in this industry when other men think I’m one of the guys over email.” I shut my eyes, hearing how ludicrous that sounds and sad that it’s true. “And still, every single one of the men in my office is rooting for me to fail. Waiting for it. They tolerate Nicole because she’s slightly terrifying, but they hate me. They hate that I’ve infiltrated their boys’ club with my silly colorful outfits and my bubblegum personality, and they’ve decided I don’t belong. At all times they think I’m an incompetent idiot—and this, Derek, this will prove it to them. Not to mention the fact that I might be outright fired when my bosses find out I’ve drunkenly married my client.”
Derek no longer leans against the doorframe. With that trademark thunderous scowl, he strides to me and drops down onto his knees. The weight of his hands dimples the mattress on either side of my hips, bracketing me—cornering me so I’ll look at him.
“I do know what it’s like to operate differently than those around you and be seen as weak because of it.” His voice fades into something raw and tender. “And how bad it feels to work your ass off for something and still come up short in other people’s eyes because of those differences.”
“How do you know?” I ask honestly. “You’ve always been at the top of your career. Everyone respects you.”
A debate runs behind his eyes. “It’s a story for another day. Right now, I want you to hear that there is nothing incompetent about you. And I swear to you, I will do everything I can to keep your name out of this. I have incredible lawyers who can be discreet. We can annul this marriage and I won’t tell a soul. I swear it, Nora.”
Something fuzzy crawls into my heart. All I can do is stare into his blue eyes—telling myself not to wrap my arms around his neck and beg him to hold me. The heat of his body curls around me and it would be so easy to just lean into it, letting his arms smooth away the sharp fear prickling my chest.
I don’t get the chance.
My phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table. I sniff and swat away the tears that have leaked down my cheeks. Derek drops his arms so I can get my phone. It’s Nicole. And if she’s calling out of the blue like this, it means she knows somehow.
“Hello?” I answer, trying not to sound like I just barfed up eighteen pounds of alcohol in the rare chance that she actually just wants to know where I filed one of her contracts.
“It’s all over the Internet, Mac.”
“No.” The word comes out as a puff of useless air.
“Yes. Not sure if you know this yet, but you guys posted a photo on Derek’s Instagram of you two last night.”
“Naked?”
“What? No.”
“Oh, right. I’m not even naked now.”
Nicole doesn’t laugh, and Derek is watching me with pinched brows before he stands, gaze searching the room. “You were fully clothed, but your tongue was down his throat and you two were holding up your ring fingers like middle fingers. A very screw-you-we’re-in-love photo. Epic…but…”
“Trashy.”
“Your word, not mine,” she says, sounding more empathetic than I’ve ever heard her.
Derek finds my purse and brings it to me. The sight of this ripped, bare-chested, tattooed male carrying my purse is something I won’t soon forget. It’s increasingly difficult to fully focus on Nicole’s bad news.
“It wasn’t a favorable look, and it’s going viral,” she says. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but…I’ve been in a meeting with Joseph over the last hour, and it wasn’t good, Mac. You’re about to receive an email invitation for a videoconference with us. And because I know you and I’m sure there’s more at play here than how it appears, I wanted to give you a heads-up so you’re not blindsided by it.”
I slump down onto the bed—crumpling under those words. I’m probably getting fired. And then like a ghost, I slip out of my skin long enough to stare at this sad lump of a person and judge her for not having the decency to remember what I’m sure was a damn good French kiss with Derek.
Life is deeply unfair.
I’m spiraling out too much to wonder why Derek is rifling through my purse. But when he pulls out my tube of acetaminophen, it makes sense. He’s just trying to get rid of his hangover headache.
“So…I’m fired?” I ask, all flat and emotional.
In front of me, Derek taps two pills into his palm and then disappears behind me to the other side of the room.
“Legally, I can’t answer that question in an unofficial phone call. But I need you to know, I’ve tried everything to dissuade Joseph from his decision. Hopefully you can come up with something better.”
“Why are you even warning me, Nicole? I deserve to be fired.”
She grunts a frustrated sound. “I really shouldn’t be saying this, but you didn’t break any company policies, Mac. There’s nothing that says you can’t be in a relationship with a client. What you did do, however, was make a spectacle of yourself that reflects badly on the agency. That’s the only reason they could fire you. So don’t give up yet—I didn’t risk my ass calling you to hear you wallow. I called so you could get a hell of an argument ready.”
“But why?” At this moment, I don’t feel worth it. Maybe all the patronizing comments the jerks at the office have said to me are true. Maybe I’m not cut out to be an agent since I clearly let my feelings for a guy get in the way of my career.
“Don’t do that,” Nicole says, almost as if she’s reading my thoughts. “You’re a damn good agent. Yes, you screwed up, but we all do from time to time. Move on. Find a way to turn this into something positive.”
Derek rounds the bed and moves in front of me. I’m face-to-face with his navel and I realize after staring for a second too long at his smooth, hard skin that he’s handing me something.
Nicole continues talking in my ear. “You’re the only other person in this toxic office who understands what we’re up against. I can’t lose you or I’ll have to quit too. So fix it.”
Even in the midst of my turmoil, I find myself smiling. There’s a man in front of me gesturing for me to take the meds and water I thought he was getting for himself. And there’s a woman who I endlessly respect on the other end of the phone looking out for me. The shadow of loneliness that has been creeping over me for a while now fizzles away like morning haze being eaten up by the sun. I’m not alone.
“You’re a good friend, Nicole.”
She’s silent a moment before answering. “We’re not friends.” And then hangs up. But I don’t take it personally because I know it’s a lie. A colleague wouldn’t risk what she just risked for me. I think Nicole is just as unfamiliar with the idea of friendship as I am. We’re both workaholics with big personalities. We’re too much for most people and used to facing everything on our own. Two little dramatic peas in a pod.
“Take these. You’ll be able to think clearer without a hangover headache,” Derek says, and it’s this tender offering that slams into my stomach.
My anxiety and nerves hold hands and twirl, forcing me to run to the bathroom and pitch my face back into the toilet bowl, throwing up all of my bad decisions, hoping to anyone above that Derek isn’t listening.
This time, it’s really not funny. I’m throwing up and sobbing into the toilet bowl because everything I’ve worked so hard for is gone.
“Please go away,” I tell Derek when I hear him enter the bathroom.
“No.” He drops down behind me.
“Derek, I’m serious. Please go! I have to deal with my bosses in a few minutes and you don’t need to be here for that.”
“I’m staying, Nora.” He leans around me to turn on the shower.
I want to shut my eyes and slump over the toilet seat and live here for the rest of my life instead of facing what comes next for me. But Derek’s arm circles my waist and hauls me to my feet. I don’t want to stand, though. I want to be left in my misery. I’ve never considered giving up before, but everything is a towering monster this time. I’m too tired.
“I can’t do it, Derek. I messed up. My career is over, and I don’t want to face it all.”
“Hey.” He spins me around and I sag into him even though I really need to stand on my own two feet. I am usually so good at it. But today, I’m exhausted, and his chest is so firm and warm and capable.
He doesn’t push me away. He slides his arms around me and holds me like my soul has been craving. I melt against him, savoring every inch of our connected bodies. This hug is like coming home from a long trip and finally drinking coffee from your favorite mug. Curling up in that plush blanket you’ve been dreaming about for days.
“You didn’t let me give up,” he says, his voice a soft rasp in my ear. “And I’m not going to let you give up now. You have a meeting to get ready for.”
“A meeting where I get fired.” I sniffle against his bare chest. “Oh yes—I should look so presentable for it. What color do you think will pair best with shame?”
Derek takes my jaw in his hand and tilts it up so I have to look in his eyes. There’s a new heat there, flaming in the black centers. It looks nothing like hate. “You’re not getting fired—and if you think for one damn second I’m going to let you get your fingers cut cleaning up my mess, you don’t know me at all. Lift your arms.”
I’m so lost and confused and scared of my future that I don’t even fight him. I raise my arms above my head. Derek closes his eyes before peeling off my shirt. Goosebumps break over my chest as he reaches around and unclasps my bra. Next he shucks my pants and underwear until all scraps of clothing are like fallen leaves, heaping on the floor at the end of a season. I’m standing completely naked in front of him, but he never opens his eyes. I wish he would. Clearly this is Distraught Nora thinking these inappropriate thoughts, and I should be grateful that Derek doesn’t share them.
His hand engulfs my bare shoulder blade as he guides me to the shower.
Once the curtain is closed, I step under the warm stream of water and close my eyes, feeling the last of my mascara melt down my face. Pitiful. You’re absolutely pitiful, Nora.
It’s quiet for only a minute.
“I think we should stay married,” Derek says from the other side of the curtain, making me startle so much that I nearly slip and fall in the tub. Thankfully there’s a handy little shower rail I grab hold of.
“Are you still drunk?” I say over the water. “You’d have to be to suggest something like that.”
“I’m perfectly sober.”
“Okay then, suffering from some sort of alcohol poisoning to the brain. Call a doctor. Because a few days ago you told me you don’t even want to be friends with me—and now you’re suggesting we stay married?” I squirt some shampoo into my hand and it makes a gross noise. “That was the shampoo bottle, by the way.”
“Mm-hm.”
I gasp and clutch the shower curtain to my chest, peeking around it. “How dare you not believe me at an overwhelming time like this?” Should I laugh or cry? I don’t know anymore.
He’s grinning and leaning his half-naked body against the wall, arms folded—Casanova in the flesh. His eyes are not closed now, and they rake over my wet hair and exposed collarbones. Suddenly, I’ve never felt more naked in my life.
I let the curtain fall closed again and shield myself from whatever look he’s giving me.
“Hear me out,” Derek says, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “Most likely your agency thinks this was all a drunken mistake that we’re going to annul as quickly as possible.”
“And they would win a million dollars because that is correct.”
“Okay, but what if we convince them that it’s real. That…we’re staying together and purposely got married?”
I pause with my hands in my hair full of suds. “Why would we do that?”
“Because I have a feeling that they don’t want a scandal on their hands just as much as you don’t. So if we can let them know it’s not a scandal and not something we’re ashamed of—maybe they’ll let you keep your job.”
Wait. Maybe he’s not wrong. Maybe this is exactly the kind of plan Nicole was telling me to make.
I don’t even care how I look, I peek around the curtain again because I need to see Derek’s face. “Why would you even consider doing that?”
His smile curves softly and when he shrugs, the combination is almost sad. “Because it’s for you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Or even what to make of it, for that matter.
“But you hate me now,” I say quietly, and a bubble stream streaks down my face.
Derek shoves away from the wall and moves to me. He wipes the bubbles back from my face and sinks his fingers into my soapy hair. “Hate is not the word for it, remember? It was never hate.”
No, I don’t remember because all thoughts have fled from the way he’s looking at me. There’s steam behind me, a naked male torso in front of me, and cold air brushing over the exposed portion of my chest and neck. It’s a swirl of sensations—all of them mixing to be something dangerous. Something unforgettable.
And for one split second, Derek’s eyes drop to my mouth—they hold there long enough for me to wish it were his mouth on my lips instead of his eyes. But then he removes his hand from my hair and steps away, drying his hand on a towel. I can’t look away; my body is tuned to his movements, feeling that something is coming.
He gives me a quick hesitant glance before he reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.
A pang of disappointment hits me. “Are you changing your mind and you’re going to pay me off? You should know, pal, I’m very expensive.”
He only smirks and removes a little piece of paper. It’s yellowed, and the creases are so well worn it looks like it could tear into halves from a light breeze. I know what it is without even having to open it, but I reach my arm out from behind the curtain and take it from him anyway. My fingers itch for the memory. To be taken back to the time when I wrote this.
“It’s the IOU I gave you.”
I remember the day like it was yesterday—waking up almost as hungover as I am now after Derek had taken care of me all night despite having only just met me. And since I’m not comfortable with people helping me out of the goodness of their hearts, I gave him an IOU to redeem at any point.
“I want to use it now,” he says confidently. “I want you to stay married to me for damage control—you owe me.”
I’m going to cry again. I will dissolve into a puddle of feelings and swirl right down the drain. Of course he would use his IOU to help me. Because when he says damage control, he means damage control for me.
I look back down at the little innocent paper Derek has held on to all of these years. Even when he hated me. Even when he thought he’d never see me again, he’s carried this with him in his back pocket. Why?
I look him right in his burning eyes, hunting for any signs of distress. There’s nothing but assurance. Unwavering dedication that I don’t feel I deserve but absolutely need right now. I have no choice—if he’s willing to help me, I need to accept his help.
“Well…I can’t argue with this very formal and binding IOU, now can I?”
“I wouldn’t advise it. I do have good lawyers.” His mouth tilts into a sideways grin that has Pop Rocks crackling in my belly. He then plucks the IOU back from my fingers, refolds it, and seals it into his wallet once again. This is mine, his eyes say.
“Might want to rinse your hair out. You’re about to get shampoo in your eyes,” he says, and that’s when I realize I’m having this lovely, effervescent moment with a bubble wig on my head.
Sexy as always, Nora.
