The next morning is both better and worse. Better because I'm out of my funk, ready to put yesterday's disasters behind me and blow the socks off these new clients. Worse, because with everything riding on this one single night, I'm nervous as hell.
I'm up bright and early, perfecting my hair and makeup before scanning my wardrobe for something to wear. I settle on another dress, give Mulan her food, and then gulp down two cups of coffee before making my way to the office. Today will be a good day, I can feel it; it has to be.
The whole ride there, I can't stop thinking about that kiss. I don't know why I'm thinking about Milo when I should be thinking about my viewing tonight, but I am. I keep replaying that line over and over in my head.
What if I hadn't? What if we'd continued where we'd left off that night?
He wants me to answer, but the truth is, I don't know the answer, either. Where would we be? Where are we now? Everything is so confusing that thinking about it just leaves me with a headache. I need to get this promotion out of the way, find out one way or another who's heading to seven, and then maybe.
Maybe.
The second my heels touch the polished floors of the lobby, I'm back on my A game. All thoughts of Milo disappear, replaced with a mental list of what needs to get done before my viewing. I stride toward the elevator like I mean business, stepping inside with a two and a three, who stand on either side of me.
For some reason, despite it breaking every one of Laurelle's unspoken rules, I feel compelled to say, "Have a good day," as Two steps onto her floor. Three turns to look at me, gawping as though I've just killed his firstborn baby, and I quickly avert my gaze. Sometimes, caught up in the passion of doing something I love, it's easy to forget how toxic this place can be.
Jess is already at her desk when I walk into Six. She lifts her head briefly, smiles, and gets right back to typing at a supersonic speed. With Christmas around the corner, now is the time when everyone stresses and tries to tie up loose ends before the holidays. I shake off my coat and slip into my desk before switching on my monitor.
Milo is at his desk, too, looking serious. His eyebrows are furrowed as he peers at his screen, and I can't help but notice how ridiculously sexy it looks. He's wearing a pale blue shirt with a navy tie, on the bottom of which is Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. Briefly, I'm reminded of the day he'd pretended to be my boyfriend, and he'd picked up the stuffed Stitch toy and held it above my head.
Suddenly, I'm imagining it now, him being mine, us being an us. I imagine what it's like to wake up to him in the morning, whether he's an early bird or someone who likes to sleep in. Countless scenarios fill my head, a thousand elevator trysts, and now my heart is pounding like a drum. Just the idea of him sets my skin on fire; I hate it.
"Okay," Jess says, and she finally looks up. "I'm officially taking a break." She looks around now like maybe Laurelle heard her.
Despite the fact we're entitled to breaks, Laurelle doesn't like us to look like we're not working, which is why there is rarely ever anyone in the staffroom. Our breaks are always taken at our desk on the off chance she appears on our floor, and we can hurry back to work.
"You can breathe," I say. "She's not here."
"I can never breathe when I'm at work," she says, and the sad thing is she's right.
For about a millisecond, I glance at Milo and wonder if seven will even be worth it. More hours, different people, working closer to Laurelle – it doesn't exactly sound like a fairytale ending, and yet despite all rhyme and reason, I want it. I want to be up there at the top, selling amazing properties and doing what I love, which is helping to match people with their dream homes. It's why I got into real estate in the first place, and it's why after all of these years, I'm still here.
"So," Jess says, leaning forward. "The viewing. I take it from your silence that it didn't go too well?"
"It was going okay," I say, "until Milo intervened."
Her eyebrows fly up. "Meaning?"
"Meaning, I got a code SB."
"Ah." Her eyebrows retreat.
Long ago, Jess and I came up with code words for clients so we could talk freely at work. SB stands for slimeball, TW for a time waster. There are other variations, but these are the two that end up being used the most.
"He pushed the boundaries," I say, "but he wasn't a TW, I could tell he still wanted the property. I could have closed the deal if Milo hadn't insisted on tagging along."
"He did?" She shakes her head, and I don't blame her. If someone had told me a few months ago that a Christmas party kiss with Milo would cause all of this, I'd have told them they were crazy. "That's kind of sweet that he was looking out for you like that."
Without meaning to, I glance at Milo. Sweet. It's the last word I'd used to describe him, but she's right. He was trying to look out for me in his own misinformed manner, which leads me to the question: how do I feel about that? I shake the thought from existence and focus on my screen. Whatever fleeting attraction Milo and I shared is over, and it's for the best.
"What's going on with you two, anyway?" she asks. "As much as I want you to find someone new, think about the last time you hooked up with a coworker."
"We're just friends," I say. "Scratch that, we're not even friends. Look, can we just get back to work, please?"
For the rest of the morning, I concentrate on work. I don't even get up to get a coffee from the machine because I know the moment I do, Milo won't be far behind me. But then eleven hits, and when the smell of coffee wafts over from Jess's desk, I can't resist. I get to my feet and cross the office, able to feel his eyes on me. I slow a little, risking a glance as I pass his desk, and his eyes meet mine, bright and electric.
As soon as I get to the coffee machine, I hear a chair scrape back. I don't bother to turn, and when a warm, solid presence slips behind me, I can feel without looking that it's him. I hit the button for my usual and take a subtle step back, right into his chest.
"Ever heard of personal space?" I ask. I still don't turn around. I can't. My skin is hot, my brain still clutching to the fake memories I'd created this morning of us. What is wrong with me?
"Maybe I just like being close to you." His voice is low. Too low. It makes my breath hitch.
"I can't imagine why."
"Me neither. You're not exactly the friendliest."
I lift my coffee cup from the machine. "Did you come over here just to insult me?"
"I came here for coffee." He reaches past me, arms brushing mine, and grabs a cup from the side before putting it under the machine. "Insulting you is just an office perk."
My heart skips a beat, but he doesn't pull back. My memories betray me, taking me back to every time we've kissed. The closer he stands, the harder it gets to deny his attraction, so I force myself to turn around. Any minute now, someone will notice I've already gotten my coffee, and now I'm just hovering like a spare part. But I can't seem to move. Every we speak, it's like getting a shot of adrenaline. Suddenly I can't focus or breathe or think straight; suddenly, I want to rip his clothes off.
"So, how do you feel about tonight?" I ask. "I mean, it's pretty much our last shot at closing a deal before Christmas."
"It is," he agrees. "At this rate, I'd be surprised if Laurelle hires either of us over Harry and Patricia. I just want it to be over."
I nod. The truth is, I do too. The constant back and forth, the being so close to attaining my dream, only to have everything go wrong. The competing with Milo. It's all so exhausting that despite hating the thought of spending Christmas alone, it feels like it can't come soon enough.
"Well, some of us have work to do," I say. "Good luck tonight."
"Back at you."
For a second, I don't move. I can see Jess across the office, lifting her head to look at us. But Milo's eyes have rendered me frozen as they flit down my body.
He leans in slightly, mouth to my ear, and whispers, "Your coffee is getting cold."
I force myself into action, tottering back to my desk. There's this feeling in my chest that I can't seem to shake no matter how hard I try, like he's under my skin. Things were so much simpler when we hated each other, back before I'd tasted his lips. Before he pretended to be my boyfriend.
Before everything.
***
The pressure tonight is even worse than the first time. If things don't go right, if no one takes the bait, then there's no way I'm closing the deal before Christmas. There's no way I'm moving to seven.
It's hard not to psyche myself out as I get ready. I keep thinking about how charming Milo can be, and how everyone stops to listen when he has something to say. Someone's going to snap up his property as soon as he opens his mouth, I'm certain of it. But then I pull back my shoulders and look in the mirror again. Doubting myself is something I haven't done since Lucas, and I'm not about to start again now. I finish the rest of my makeup, straighten out my dress, and give myself a killer smile. Maybe I won't get the promotion in seven, maybe tonight will be a bigger disaster than the last time, but if so, at least I'll know that I gave it at all, and that's all a person can do.
Jess sends me a good luck message and asks if I want to come over later. I tell her I'll let her know tonight because if this thing goes south, I'll need to recoup with some tv and popcorn – preferably alone.
When I'm ready, I pour myself a glass of wine and take a few sips, needing to take the edge off. I'm not usually this nervous about a house viewing, but then I'm not usually competing for a promotion with the man I'd like to sleep with, either. Except for that one time I did just that.
Mulan chooses this moment to rub her head against my leg. I reach down and give her ear a rub, trying to avoid her brushing against my dress. The last thing I need is to turn up covered in cat hair.
"We got this," I say, and she purrs.
My phone starts to buzz from its position by the wine bottle. I pull it from the counter, take a sip of wine, and watch as Milo's name flashes on the screen. Despite the fact that Laurelle insisted we all exchange numbers, Milo has never used it. Until now.
There's this second where I forget what to do. It's been forever since anybody other than my mother called me. Lucas used to sometimes before we lived together, but only on his terms. He'd never answer mine.
"Hello?" I say.
"Are you nearly ready? I thought we could head to Manhattan together."
The phone almost drops from my hand. His voice sounds low and silky through the receiver. And he's coming over here.
"Kennedy, are you there?"
I clutch the phone harder. "I'm here. Isn't it quicker for you to park at work and catch the subway? I'm out of the way."
"It's fine. I'll be there in thirty."
I'm so surprised that there's little protesting. I end up saying okay, hang up the phone, and stare down at Mulan, who shares the same look of disbelief as me, although I'm certain hers is down to the fact I've ceased all head rubs.
As if tonight isn't stressful enough, Laurelle sends a last-minute email telling me a deal must be closed by the morning. It ramps my heart rate up a few notches, but I try not to let it get the best of me. I think back to this docu-series on positive thinking and manifest the deal into existence. If it works, I won't know until the morning.
My phone pings once Milo is outside. We're a little early now that he's picking me up, I call him up to the apartment. A few minutes later, there's a knock at the door, and he walks into my living room. Mulan heads straight for him like the traitor she is. If this were Lucas, he'd be doing a little dance to avoid any cat hairs, but Milo scoops her into his arms and gives her ear a scratch.
After a second or two, his eyes fall on mine. He takes in my lips, which are coated in a pinky red lipgloss, and then my dress. He looks good, too. He's wearing a fitted gray shirt and smart jeans. He always looks like he's stepped off a photo shoot for some high-end magazine, but not because he tries hard, which is all the more annoying. He doesn't try, and yet he succeeds every time.
"I'd offer you some wine," I say, "but I know you don't drink much. Did you want some...orange juice?"
He laughs a little. It's a sound not all too familiar to my ears but one I enjoy non the less. "I'll take the wine."
"Excellent choice." I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour him a drink. He puts Mulan down, much to her disappointment, and takes it from my hand, letting our fingers brush. Even though it's implausible – this isn't a movie, for crying out loud – I swear I feel this spark.
"So, you figured out how you're spending Christmas yet?" he asks.
"Snuggled in bed with Mulan and a jug of egg nog."
He raises an eyebrow. "A jug?"
"Yeah, I think a jug is about enough to make me forget about the impending patheticness of spending Christmas alone."
"I see. Does that mean I need a jug, too?"
"You don't drink much, so half should be enough."
He laughs like I'm ridiculous. "I'll keep that in mind."
We sit on the sofa and spend the next few minutes drinking and making small talk. It's not the awkward kind of small talk we used to have when we'd pass in the hallway. It's the kind that is seemingly non-important but says a lot about a person. I find out he prefers reading non-fiction books because he struggles to imagine a story in his head. I'm a movie buff myself, specifically romance, though I'm partial to some Sci-Fi.
"So, if you're not good at imagining things in your head, what do you do before you fall asleep?" I ask.
His eyebrows furrow. He puts down his glass and turns to face me properly. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you imagine different scenarios before you sleep? Like a movie plot?"
"Kennedy." He's on the verge of smiling. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What exactly do you imagine before you sleep?"
"Well," I say slowly, "I might create two people in my head, and then I'll make them fall in love and throw obstacles at them and stuff, like the plot of a movie." I don't bother to mention that the two people in my head are usually us. "I thought everyone did that. How do you get to sleep?"
He's looking at me with an expression that sits somewhere between thinking I'm cute and thinking I'm insane. "I just close my eyes and fall asleep."
I blink back. "Straight away?"
"Yeah. I mean, sometimes I might think about what happened that day, but yeah."
I sit back, truly horrified. "Milo, you sound like a psychopath. What kind of monster falls asleep straight away?"
He laughs again. "You force random people to fall in love in your head, but I'm the psychopath?"
"Yes," I say.
He shakes his head, but the smile doesn't leave his lips. He takes my glass out of my hands and places it on the coffee table. "Do you ever create scenarios about people you know?"
I shake my head, but the look in my eyes must give me away because he leans in closer, intrigued.
"Who?" he asks. "What kind?"
I glance at the nonexistent watch on my hand and say, "Would you look at the time? We should get going." I rise to my feet as he does the same, but neither of us moves much further.
"I lied before," he says in a low voice. "Sometimes, before I sleep, I'll think about things that happened a while ago."
Tense, I say, "Like what?"
I'm right where he wants me. The corner of his lip lifts, and he positions his mouth near my ear, "Like the elevator."
Suddenly I'm hot. I let out a breath, but it ends up coming out as more of a sigh. The sound is enough to make him step closer. He bites his lip like he's contemplating something, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what.
"In an hour, I'll be undergoing my last chance at getting this promotion," I warn, "and if you do something right now to unravel me, I'm going to kick you."
He smirks and leans even closer, forcing my breath to hitch. "Relax," he says. "The next time I kiss you, it's going to be when there's no chance of interruption."
I'm so shocked by his comment that I just stand here. The next time I kiss you, like he's already decided on a date in his head.
"We should get going," he says now, striding toward the door.
The shock wears off, and I grab my coat, which Milo then helps me to slip on. Then, with one last look, we head downstairs and into his car, ready for a suspenseful night.
The ride to the office is silent. I'm not complaining – I need this time to mentally prepare – but sitting next to Milo is unnerving. I keep replaying what he'd said about kissing me when there are no interruptions, and the heat between my thighs grows hotter.
Finally, I can't take it. "What did you mean about kissing me when there are no interruptions? What makes you think you can just kiss me whenever you want?"
His mouth quirks a little. "I said that ten minutes ago. You're only asking this now?"
"Yes, I want to know."
He doesn't answer, but I can tell I've amused him. I fold my arms like a petulant child. This is probably his way of unraveling me before the viewing, but I'm not going to let him get the upper hand. Two can play that game. I shift a little in my seat, which only makes my dress shift higher, exposing more of my thigh.
His eyes flit down almost instantly, taking me in. He holds his breath, then looks at the road. "Unless you want us to crash, I suggest you pull that back down."
"Why are you looking at my legs, Milo?"
His neck muscles tense. His eyes flash to mine again, dark like liquid. "Because I can't help it."
My plan has well and truly backfired. I'm now the one unraveling. "Well, get a good look," I say, turning to the front, "after Christmas, we'll be back to being strangers."
It's true, too. This thing between us is bordering on insanity, and what's even worse is that after Christmas, we might never be like this again. One of us could be up in seven, the other in six, and with Laurelle's hard rules about no cross-floor mingling, whatever this is will fizzle to an end, even if I don't want it to.
I can't make that mistake again.
Milo glances at my thighs again, biting his lip. "All the more reason to make the most of our time, no?"
"Eyes on the road," I say, but now I'm hot. Too hot. If we don't release this tension soon, I'm going to combust.
We pull up to the office before anything else can be said. He reaches across me, undoing my seatbelt in what I'm certain is just an excuse to touch me. He's leaning so close that I can smell the light cologne on his neck, a mix between something earthy and sweet.
"Thanks," I say, but my voice comes out faint.
"Anytime."
He gets out first and hurries around the car, opening my door for me. I step out, too, and the pair of us start our walk down the street. It's colder than usual, a layer of thick black ice coating the sidewalk. Without warning, Milo hooks an arm around my waist, helping to keep me steady.
My eyes stay fixed ahead as we walk toward the subway. It's surprisingly quiet on the streets tonight, most likely due to the cold. Milo and I can actually walk side by side instead of one behind the other in order to fit through a moving crowd. We head down the steps into the subway station, catching one as soon as it pulls up.
It's easier to think straight in public. The gentle sway of the subway rides is calming, but so is having Milo's leg against mine. Every so often, we share this look in the reflection of the window, and it makes my skin prickle.
As soon as we get to the apartment building, Milo hooks his arm around me, helping me to navigate the ice. I keep stealing these hopeless glances at his profile, wishing my heart would stop pounding.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says in my ear, "or else I'm not going to be able to help myself."
The heat in my thighs is unbearable. I force myself to keep on walking, refusing to acknowledge what he'd said. If I acknowledge it, I'll have to acknowledge I can't help myself either, and right now, I have to.
We manage to make it to the building, which is a feat in itself. It feels odd turning up together, especially when we're technically competing, but I can't bring myself to mind. The truth is, having his arm around me, cocooning me from the cold, is something I've deeply missed.
The building is quiet as we step into the elevator. My heart does this jump, the way it always does when we're in an enclosed space, but especially now. I don't think I'll ever think about an elevator the same way again.
My nerves are getting the best of me. I tap my foot as we climb up the floors, unable to stop myself. Milo appears calm in the reflective doors, collected like he hasn't a care in the world. He probably doesn't.
"Don't be so nervous," he says when the doors open. "You'll be fine."
"Easy for you to say. Being confident comes naturally to you."
"Maybe that's just what I want you to think." He turns to face me as we get to our respective doors. "I'll let you in on a secret." He leans in closer, and my heart stops. "The majority of people aren't naturally confident. They're just good actors."
His words ease me a little. Maybe he's lying or just plain wrong, but knowing everyone else is trying just as hard as me to keep up appearances is almost a relief, especially with him.
"I guess this is it," I say.
He nods, and I can't help but notice there's this look in his eyes like maybe that's not such a bad thing. "Meet me out here when you're done?"
Surprised, I nod. The old me would have assumed he wants to gloat about closing the deal or something to that effect, but the more time I spend with Milo, the more I realize that's not really his style.
With one last look, we head into our own apartments, where I spend the next ten minutes plumping the pillows and wiping away imaginary dust. It's hard to relax despite the wine and Milo's tip because tonight is such a big deal. Tomorrow morning, I'm either walking into work with a good chance at a promotion, or I'm walking in as a failure. Both are undoubtedly terrifying.
In a bid to calm down, I step onto the balcony and take in the city. It's freezing cold, but something about the cool air on my cheeks and the twinkling lights relaxes me. I stay like this for a good ten minutes, and then finally turn to the door.
Lights, camera, action.
A/N
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