ETHAN
Tuesday Morning, October 17
"What the fuck? Tell me you're joking." I yell.
Michael takes a sip of his coffee. "Nope."
"Emma wants to go to the gala with Lanham?" I say it more to myself than to Michael.
"Not what I said. I said he wants to go with her." He says.
I suddenly have a whole new respect for the simplicity of cavemen's thoughts, because right now, I'd love nothing better than a big stick and a cliff, just Lanham and me fighting to the death, with him going over the edge.
"This is bullshit," I mutter.
"Did you miss the part where you get to manage all of Lanham's money?" Kennedy says from where he leans against the wall on the far side of my office.
"Yeah, but the asshole is using Emma as leverage. How am I the only one outraged by this?"
"Because," Amanda says, coming through my open office door and unabashedly entering the conversation, "what he's doing is not that different from what you did to her."
I glare at her. "It's entirely different. And how do you know about this?"
Kate shuts the door and shakes her head, coming to sit across from me, beside Michael. "Emma told me. And it isn't different. You used her to get him. He used you to get her. You and Jarod want different things, but you still used someone else to get it."
"The parallels really are remarkable," Kennedy muses.
"Shut up," I growl at him. "How are all three of you sitting there like this is fine? Like it's no big deal that the woman I . . ."
"Yes?" Amanda asks, sitting back and crossing her legs. "I'm dying to know how you're going to finish that sentence."
"I wouldn't mind hearing the answer to that one myself," Michael says. His tone is mild, but there's a note of warning there.
I lock eyes with him. "You've talked to her."
"Yes. We had lunch yesterday. That's when she told me about the Lanham deal."
"Fuck Lanham," I say, leaning forward. "How is she?"
There's a moment of silence in my office. Finally, Kennedy breaks it. "Did you just say, 'Fuck Lanham'? As in, the unicorn you've been chasing your entire career?"
I ignore this, never looking away from Michael. "How is she?"
"She's like you'd expect," Michael says.
"What the hell does that mean?" My desperation is coming out in my voice, but I don't care.
I am desperate.
It's been more than a week since I've seen her.
Talked to her. Held her. And the absence of her feels like a gaping hole in my chest.
Her email that she was still available "per our contract" had only made matters worse, shining light on the fact that I don't want her that way.
I don't want her to spend time with me because it's in the contract, because I'm paying her.
I don't want her to pretend to be in love with me for the sake of my bosses and my damn reputation.
I want . . .
I want her to love me for real.
She does, you idiot. You were just too chickenshit to do anything about it.
Amanda leans toward Michael without looking away from me. "Is he having a moment right now?" She says it in a whisper, but it's clearly meant for my ears.
I'm not having a moment. I've been having a week.
Or rather, a lifetime's realization in a week, without a damn clue of what happens next. What do I do? How do I get her back? How do I trust that I have what it takes?
"Are your parents happy?" I ask Amanda.
She blinks in surprise. "My parents?"
"I've met them once. They seemed happy.
"Sure, they're happy. Married thirty-two years next month, and they still act like they're on their honeymoon."
Thirty-two years of happiness.
I shift my gaze to Kennedy. "What about your parents? Happy?"
He gives me a questioning look but nods. "Yeah, they're happy."
I glance at Michael, who shrugs. "Everyone knows my parents aren't in the picture, and my foster father's longest relationship is with the Phillies. But if you're after what I think you're after—reassurance that a man and a woman can be happy together long-term—I can assure you that it's absolutely possible for two people who love each other to make it work. It may not be easy. It's terrifying as shit. But it's possible."
Amanda pats Michael's knee affectionately. "I can't say I ever imagined the day when you'd play the role of love coach, but it's an adorable look on you."
If I didn't know better, I'd swear Michael is blushing just a little, but given my own predicament at the moment, I'm hardly one to give him shit.
"You know what I mean," Michael grumbles. "I'm just saying Dolan should get over whatever moronic hang-ups he has about relationships."
"What are your hang-ups?" Kennedy asks. "Just good old-fashioned male commitment phobia?"
"Something like that."
My friends' silence tells me my answer isn't good enough.
I sigh. "Fine. My parents' relationship is completely fucked up. It'd be one thing if they just got divorced, you know? Allowed each other to move on? Instead they just sort of accepted that their bullshit arrangement was as good as it gets."
"Which led you to believe that that would be as good as it ever got for you?" Amanda asks, sounding slightly disappointed in me.
I don't bother to defend myself, because I'm disappointed, too. I've been an idiot and a coward, too foolish to see that my feelings for Emma aren't terrifying because they're wrong—they're terrifying because they're right.
She'sright. For me.
"What if I said no?" I ask. "What if I held her to the contract, told her not to go to the gala with Lanham?"
"You'd lose him as a client, but I don't think that's what you're really asking," Michael says.
"No, it's not. I want to know if I still have a chance with her. To fix this."
"You're not going to find out by forcing her into anything with that damn contract," Kennedy says.
Amanda points to Kennedy without looking at him. "For once, the cyborg gets it right. You walked away when she was at her most vulnerable. You don't get her back by making her go to the gala with you."
"Well, I can't let her go with some other guy."
"Actually, that's exactly what you do," Michael says.
I'm already shaking my head. "If he takes Emma to the gala, I get his business, and she'll think I want to get my cake and eat it, too, or whatever the hell that phrase is."
"Where did that phrase come from?" Kennedy muses. "Marie Antoinette?"
"No, that's let them eat cake," Amanda says. "I think have your cake and eat it, too is in reference—"
"Guys," I interrupt. "A little help here?"
"Okay, okay, sorry," Amanda says. "I think I get where Michael's going with this. You let Emma go to the gala with the hot billionaire . . ."
I wince. The mental picture of Emma on another guy's arm makes me physically ill.
"And you turn down Lanham's business," Michael finishes.
I suck in a breath. I knew, on some level, where they were going with this, what has to be done. But I'm not going to say the prospect of losing out on Jarod Lanham doesn't sting.
It's just that the thought of losing Emma hurts more. A lot more.
"The Sams won't like it," I say.
"Nope," Kennedy confirms. "They'll be pissed."
"Do you care?" Ian asks.
I meet his eyes. "I care. I just care about her more."
"Do you love her?" Kate asks, going for broke.
Love.
It's a word I've never really given much thought to, partially because I didn't think it was for me. But mostly because . . .
I've been terrified. Still am, to be honest. But if anyone's worth it, she is.
Instead of answering Kate's question, I turn my attention to the guys. "Remember a few weeks back when we were taking about . . . What did you call it? The Cinderella complex?"
"The what now?" Kate asks.
"You know . . . when a woman puts on a fancy dress, goes to a dance, becomes determined to find her Prince Charming."
She rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh. That's us women, all right. It's a wonder we can even manage to fit in the hunt for the prince, what with all the powdering of our noses."
"Okay, but we picked Sabrina for your plan because we knew she'd be immune to the Cinderella complex," Ian says, ignoring Kate.
"Which is why I need your help," I say, trying to maintain my patience for what feels like the most important undertaking of my life. "I need to figure out how to make Sabrina un-immune."
"Let me get this straight," Kennedy says. "Instead of avoiding the Cinderella complex, you want to activate it? At the cost of your dream client and potentially the cost of your job?"
I nod. "You once told me that Lanham was the thing I wanted more than anything. You were wrong."
"You want Sabrina," Ian says. "But for how long?"
"I want Sabrina . . . forever. For always."
The guys look a bit shocked, but Kate merely smiles in triumph. "I knew it. You love her."
I brace for the stab of panic, and I'm freaked out, all right, but not in the way I expected to be.
I'm not in panic over my love for her. On the contrary, loving Sabrina might just be the most sane, smartest thing I've ever done.
I love her. I love her more than anything.
My panic? Fear that I might be too late—that she might no longer love me.