Returning to work after a near-miss with Milo is all but impossible. I scroll through my client list, trying to focus on who I'm to contact about this new open viewing, but all I can think of is the feel of his hands as he whispered those words.
I love you.
Maybe if things had gone better that night, we'd still be together. I'd be sitting here, the perfect view of Manhattan behind me, writing a list of things to pack for Disney World. Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe the second we rejoined society, we'd have realized we weren't meant to be.
Milo and I were elevator kisses. We were quick, seductive gazes near the coffee machine and heated, heavy nights in a storm. Like embers of a fire, we were hot but fleeting; the second we burned, we were gone.
But god, was it worth it. Eyes closed, I give myself the satisfaction of picturing him. In my head, he's wearing that same mask from the Christmas party, that cute little bow around his neck. He grabs my thigh, wrapping it around the circumference of his waist as I let out a short, hot breath. I reach out toward him, but this time when I rip off his mask, I don't dare stop. I should never have stopped.
Somehow, despite my fantasizing, I manage to get some work done. I've emailed prospective clients, completed my contract for Laurelle, and emailed several people about upcoming properties, all with less than four cups of coffee. New and improved Kennedy is here to stay.
Miranda stops by at one point to invite me for welcoming drinks. While the last thing I want is to head out for drinks with my ex and a bunch of other people I don't know, I tell her I'll finish up first and meet them there. It's my first day, after all, and if I don't make an effort, it'll make my life ten times more miserable in the long run.
"Sure, whatever," she says and walks toward the window to stare at the skyline. There's an awkward pause, and then, "You must be so happy. I remember the day I was promoted to seven, and it felt like a dream come true."
Something about the tone in her voice confuses me, almost as if somewhere along the line, that dream stopped being a dream. "It's been all I've ever wanted for years," I say as I get up from my desk. I walk around the table toward her, perching myself on the table's ledge. "It's like I thought reaching seven would mean I'm the best real estate agent there is."
She turns now and smiles. "Like we're on top of the world."
I smile because she gets it. I've spent so many years imagining life on this floor, not because of the decor or the office or to work with Laurelle, but because it meant I was good enough. "Exactly. We're on top of the world."
"But we're not," she says, stepping forward. "There are always clients even richer and higher, and part of this role is knowing when to stand and when to fall back, even if it goes against your better judgment."
My heart beats faster. "What do you mean?"
"I'm saying I've seen countless people come and go over the years," she says, "and I think you have what it takes to stick around, but you need to go into this with your eyes open. Don't let the view fool you – it's not pretty when you get to the top." She crosses the room in silence. "We're meeting at La Horde," she then says with a flip of her hair, "I'll see you there, okay?"
She totters off before I can speak, so I turn to my desk and get back to work with a lump in my throat. It's hard to tell whether her warning was fake or somewhat sincere, but either way, it's pulled me down from the high I was on and twisted my stomach in knots.
By the time I've finished working, it's pushing on six, and I'm the last one left on this floor. I gather my things, then wait at the window like the coward I am until Milo exits the lobby. He's as fierce as always in his vampire coat, and I'm tempted to hotfoot it down there and pull him right back, but I don't. I've worked too hard to get to this point and fantasized too long about being on this floor. Despite Miranda's warning, I'm not about to ruin things now.
The Uber to the bar where I'm meeting the girls takes around fifteen minutes. I stare out the window, eyes on the snow-covered streets of New York, and think back to that party. It's hard not to think that if it weren't for that night, I'd never have ended up in that elevator with Milo, nor would I have gotten hurt. But that's the pain talking, the part of me that lacks all logic and sense because deep down, despite the fact it's ended like this, I can't bring myself to regret it.
Regret him.
The second the Uber pulls up to the bar, I feel nervous. I should have stayed home and spent the evening with Mulan, but once again, I succumbed to social pressures. With a slow, steady breath, I remind myself I'm a worldly seven and walk in.
The dimly lit space is alive with the sounds of laughter and conversation, creating a symphony of energy that is palpable. The bar, crafted from rich, gleaming wood, is the centerpiece, drawing the eye with its polished surface and expertly-mixed cocktails. Jess would love it – she loves anything even remotely boutique – which is why I feel lonely without her.
Lucas and the others are already at the bar sipping Pornstar Martinis. From here, it's hard to imagine a more glamorous group. I'd spent years looking forward to the moment I could join them, that I would prove to Lucas I'm just as deserving, and the idea of being promoted to seven was a dream. Still, now that I'm finally one of them, something feels terribly wrong.
I push down the feeling and sneak up behind them. Miranda turns first, her blonde hair swinging in curls around her shoulders, and gives me an awkward hug. "We were starting to think you'd bailed on us," she says before hollering down the bartender. "She'll have what we're having."
The others hug me in quick succession, with Lucas being the last to stand up. He leans forward to hug me, and I catch a lungful of his spicy cologne, which almost smells offensive. Milo's aftershave is subtle but crisp, the kind that smells like a clear winter morning or fresh-cotton sheets; Lucas smells like desperation.
I squirm from his hug and slip onto a barstool. Across the table, he watches me with the same suggestive look that would drive me insane but which I now find creepy. It's funny how that happens – the very things you loved about someone can give you the ick.
For the next ten minutes, as I work to avoid him, things aren't as awkward as I thought they'd be. We make small talk about life, with the girls asking me where I grew up and went to school. They're surprised – and thrilled – to learn it's LA, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. Still, coming along tonight had been the right move. It's eased some of my nerves, and now when I see them at work tomorrow, at least we'll have something to talk about.
We're on our fourth Pornstars, the room slightly spinning when Charter lets out a huff. "Oh god," she says at something behind me, "the sixes have walked in."
I look to my left and freeze. Sitting in the corner is most of the office from six, including Jess and Milo. What are the chances? And what are the chances tonight is the night Milo decides to be sociable? I swallow hard and contemplate using my coat to hide me, but it's too late. Jess looks first and beckons me over, but a quick look at Miranda, who briefly shakes her head, gives me pause.
Milo looks over, his blue eyes like lasers as they settle on my face. His eyebrows furrow at Lucas and me, and something fleeting crosses his features, but it's hard to tell what it is. He looks good, though – too good. Gone are the charcoal trousers and dark navy shirt, replaced with black jeans and a fitted gray tee.
I realize I'm practically undressing him with my eyes and force myself to look away. To the girls, I say, "One moment," and get off my barstool. Lucas grabs my arm to stop me, which stops me in my tracks.
"You're going over there?" he asks.
"Why not? We're not at work," I say. "Saying hi to my friends isn't going to hurt anyone."
Lucas purses his lips, but I'm too drunk to care. I shake him off and make my way over, able to feel their daggered glares on my back as I walk. As much as this might ruin me tomorrow, there is no way I can sit there and pretend like I didn't just see Jess wave at me. As soon as I get there, Milo nods briefly and walks right past me to get to the bar. An inkling of rejection tugs at my stomach, but I fight to push it back.
"Hey," Jess says as she gets to her feet, "how was your day in seven?"
"Different," I say. "Kind of awful, actually." I look past her shoulder to study Milo again, but he refuses to look over. Maybe this means he's over me already – maybe he's already searching for his next fling.
Jess frowns a little and squeezes my arm. "It's only your first day, Kenny; it's going to take some getting used to. Don't you remember when you first moved to six, and you were a wreck? It took me a week to coax you out of your shell. You spent all your time hiding in the bathroom."
"You make me sound like a social reject."
She laughs and says, "You were, but that's why I liked you, and that's how I know that even though it sucks today, it won't tomorrow."
It's exactly what I need to hear, which is why I love her so much. Jess has this way of knowing what you need and exactly why you need it. "I love you," I say, squeezing her back, "you know that?"
"Yes, I'm extremely lovable."
I laugh, and then, "Are they looking?"
She peers behind me, "Oh yeah. They're seething, especially Lucas. You should probably go back over there before they start icing you out."
"Yeah," I say, and I can hear in my voice the slight slur of the word from one too many Pornstar Martinis. With one last look at Jess, I turn to the bar and see Milo standing there, watching me. Even though the smart thing would be to return to the sevens, I suddenly change trajectory and head to the bathroom, hoping he'll follow me. After a quick check of my lipgloss in the mirror, I wait in the hallway, straightening up when someone rounds the corner before sinking again.
Lucas.
"Hey," he says, walking over. "Mind if we talk alone?"
I fold my arms and try to see past him to Milo, but the bar is too busy. "About what?"
He shrugs as if he doesn't already have a pre-planned topic in mind. "Maybe it's wrong of me to admit this," he says, lowering his voice, "but I've missed this side of you, Kenny."
I stop searching for Milo and look at him properly. God, I hate how he says this side of you like he's not the one who took her in the first place. "What are you doing?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
I gesture between us. "Here," I say. "Now. You're talking about how you miss this side of me while you're happily engaged."
He pauses for a long, solid moment and then, "What if it's not happily?"
I'm barely listening as I straighten out my hair. "What?"
"My engagement," he says with a hint of urgency. "What if I'm not happy?"
My eyes flit to his and stay there. To say I'm surprised is an understatement. For the longest time, I daydreamed that Lucas would realize his mistake, come bounding down from seven, and kiss me in the middle of the office. Even after I found out about his engagement, some part of me still wished it would make him unhappy, and now that it has, I don't care.
I do. Not. Care.
I smile because the very thought is liberating. Lucas smiles too, because the poor soul has no idea how much I'm over this. "Look," I start, but he's already swooping down and kissing me.
The warm yet slightly wet feel of his lips leaves me frozen. In my head, I'm wondering if this is really happening or if I drank too many martinis, but then he snakes an arm around my waist, squeezing my lower back, and it hits me. Lucas is kissing me.
And I want to be sick.
I pull back and rest both arms on his chest, but by then, it's too late. Standing behind Lucas, his expression one of stoic disillusion is Milo.
I open my mouth and close it again like an oxygen-deprived fish. "Milo," I say, but in the seconds it takes to wriggle from Lucas, he's already gone.
A/N
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