“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.