The One I Want

She straightens my jacket and then pulls me in for a kiss. “And cohabitating in your personal life?”

“Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” I kiss her again. We argue very little, but we still have a few hurdles to jump. I push the button to call the elevator, and she says, “I think I’m turning in my resignation.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re right. I’ve been wondering what to do with my life for years. CWM gave me a soft place to land, but it’s time I launch again.”

We enter the elevator. I want to be happy for her, but I know what this means for me. I refuse to be selfish. One hint of fear or disappointment injected into the conversation and she’ll focus more on pleasing others than doing what’s right for herself. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“I’m going to return to research and working in labs as a botanist. I actually might even try my hand at working for one of the gardens around the city or in one of the other boroughs.” She rests easily against the handrail, some of the burden she’s been carrying now lifted. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll train the new reception assistant on everything.” She nudges me. “Except on 12:15. That’s our thing.”

Chuckling, I say, “I’m going to miss our lunchtime dates.”

“Well, you never know. I might be close enough to make lunchtime visits to a certain CEO.”

“That certain CEO better be me, Ms. Jacobs.”

“But of course, Mr. Christiansen. Only you.”

I chuckle, but inside, I like that very much.

Our hands come together when we enter the lobby. Women love holding hands. I used to think it was their way of claiming them in a public way, but now I get it. It’s not about stakes in the world. It’s about the connection. Her skin is soft, her fingers entwined with mine, and there’s an intimacy shared without saying a word.

And fine, it strokes my ego to be the one who gets to hold her hand.

We’re taken to our table as soon as we enter Asado, the restaurant Nick’s been raving about for months. We order drinks, and once we get them, we decide to look over the menu. I say, “I heard the empanadas are good.”

“I love empanadas.” She sips her drink but then chokes on it and starts coughing while looking over my shoulder. “Oh shit.”

I’m rubbing off on her. I look behind me as Justin saunters over. Fuck. I turn around and whisper, “If he says one fucking word, I’m gonna knock him out.”

Through a scratchy voice, she says, “I’ll handle this.” Coughing to clear her throat, she then gulps water. “What are you doing here?”

“No, hi, Justin, how’ve you been?”

My heart starts pounding. Not only from the sound of his voice but also from what he said to Juni that became the last nail in his coffin. He’s all smiles, eyeing her like the fucking asshole he is, but he’s failed to notice me. When he finally moves to the side of us, his shit-eating grin is wiped clean off his face. “Mr. Christiansen . . .” His gaze volleys back and forth between us. “Oh. Um.” But then his eyes bounce to the drinks in front of us to the way we’re dressed. “You guys are dating.”

I want to remind him that it’s not against policy, but he knows. It would be different if it were him dating Juni than me. He knows that too. I ask, “Are you working?”

“Very funny. I’m dining with friends. I don’t have to be a CEO to afford dinner at a nice restaurant.” His gaze returns to Juni. She shifts, and I know she’s struggling with what she can and can’t say just like I am. “From the silence, I take it I’m right. But let me ask you, did you have the ability to say no to your boss?”

Fuck.

My eyes stay fixed on her even when he leans down to taunt her. I keep my anxious fists under the table.

Her body angles toward him, and she says, “You have it all wrong. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Standing back, he laughs. “A woman who likes to take charge. I can respect that, but the clients still won’t look kindly on Andrew fucking beneath his station.” The fuck did he just say? I stand as he walks away looking like the conceited ass he is, my chair rocking back on two legs precariously. I will not let that bastard walk away like that.

“Drew,” Juni says, her tone firm. When I meet her eyes, she shakes her head. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s not about me. It’s about you and your name being dragged through the mud. I don’t want that for you.”

She holds her hand out for me. I look back at Justin weaving through the restaurant to a table for four near the windows. When I turn back, she hasn’t moved, her arm still raised, her hand in offering. I take hold of it and sit down.