It’s Just Business

Walking up the last half flight of stairs, I note how badly my thighs ache, and it’s not from the effort of climbing the very familiar stairs.

It’s from giving in to the temptation that is him.

The warm butterflies stir inside me as I reach the top stair and almost sway drunkenly. I lay a hand on the wall, steadying myself and taking a deep breath. If I am drunk, it’s on one thing—sex with Dylan.

God damn, can Dylan do things to my body. In addition to the feeling between my legs, my skin still tingles where he touched me, and my throat still aches from the cry I held back at the end in deference to our location. He might’ve reassured me about the lock, elevator, and potential audience, but I’m no fool. I learned that lesson the first time. Well, mostly.

Dylan Sharpe shook me from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, from my brain to my pussy to my soul. And I get to do it all again tomorrow.

Unable to stop smiling, I get my door open and half stumble inside, where I hear a hoot and a cheer from Ami. “Hell yeah, the gang’s all here!”

I wince, having forgotten about tonight’s plans. I’m quick to correct my expression and give an excited tone when I say, “It’s your birthday!”

Not officially. Actually, Ami’s birthday isn’t for a few more weeks, and there’s going to be an official party then. But Ami’s a believer in celebrating not just birthdays, but birth months. In her mind, the anniversary of your appearance on this planet is something that should be celebrated on an epically large scale. Which means at least five, if not more times this month, we’re going to be celebrating the blonde ambition that is Ami.

Some of the celebrations are probably going to be small, like her saying our after-work hang-out tonight is in her honor when we do this fairly regularly. Others are going to be larger, with various friends and groups, and of course, the main event itself is going to deliver on the celebration.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“Oof, we were thinking karaoke, but you don’t look like you’re up for cocktails n’ crooning,” Ami says, walking over with a tall glass that looks suspiciously like a mojito, her favorite, and looking at me closely. She’s definitely pregaming. “Everything go okay today? He didn’t jerk you around on all of this, did he?” Her voice hardens in that protective way that makes me love her, and I have to smile.

“Oh, my God, he didn’t fire you on your first day, did he?” Maggie asks, getting up and joining in on the worry parade. I must really, really, look a mess, and at that realization, my smile widens to a full-blown grin.

“I’m okay,” I assure them, toeing my heels off and hanging my bag by the door. Running my hand through my hair to try and smooth away the freshly-fucked look to my tresses, I add, making sure my tone is light, “I promise. Just tired, that’s all.”

Both of them stare at me, Maggie in leather leggings and a crop top sweater I doubt I could pull off and Ami in flared jeans and a sexy hot pink blouse. I look down at myself and realize this is not going to cut it tonight. The heels can stay. The rest needs to be changed.

“Good tired or bad tired?” Maggie asks and then heads to the kitchen, pouring me a glass of wine. My savior. “Come on, sit down and share while you gird your loins with some good stuff.”

“I don’t think I… okay,” I reply as Ami pushes me toward the couch, not taking no for an answer. I guess since I’m putting a damper on her birth month celebration tonight, I’ve got to do what she says. My mind races with exactly what I should tell them. My instinct is to divulge every single freaking detail because they’re my best friends. But I’m not entirely sure that’s wise. I’ve had enough judgy looks in the last week to last me a lifetime, and I don’t want to add their frowning faces to the lineup.

Maggie comes over with one of the big glasses, filled with far too much wine for the shape, and sits down next to me. The sofa shifts, and I worry for that wine, but somehow, it doesn’t spill. “Take a drink and spill.”

I take a deep sip of the wine, once again appreciating Maggie’s background. She grew up with a lot more refinement and education where it comes to taste, and that carries over to her pick of il vino. It’s a good wine, probably a lot more expensive than the cheap corner store stuff I normally pick out, and as I take another pull of the wine, I’m thankful for it and mostly for her and our friendship.

“Work today was smooth,” I start off, trying to organize my thoughts and twirling my glass between my fingers. The wine sloshes, not spilling out but making waves that help me focus. “They had me do a bunch of HR related stuff at first.”

Maggie rolls her hand at the wrist. “Get to the good stuff. Did you see him?”

I’m about to say something, though I’m not sure what, when Ami screeches, “Wait. Hold that thought. If we’re not going out, I’m still going to celebrate me and my awesomeness. And I know a place that makes this mac n’ cheese that you will swear is better than sex. Best of all, they deliver.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her quickly, the apology clear in my tone, leaning closer. “I can rally,” I tell them, and they both shake their heads.

“Gossip is better, and I’m a bit tired too,” Maggie confesses quietly. Ami’s focused on her phone, desperate for mac n’ cheese, and doesn’t hear our shared groan of relief at not having to summon energy for the club tonight.

“Aaaand… done,” Ami cheers, doing a little dance. “Dinner will be here in forty.” Looking back at Maggie and me, she says, “Where were we? Oh, yeah, did you see him?”

I smile into my wine, which is answer enough, apparently, because in unison, they both say, “Ooh!”

I can feel a blush heating my cheeks. “He came by my desk this morning to check in. Make sure I was getting settled, you know.”

Ami takes a sip of her mojito, smiling around the straw. “Of course he did.”

I should give what I’m about to say next a little build-up, a bit of warning, but I don’t. “And he dropped a million dollars in my lap for me to trade with,” I say, acting like it’s no big deal.

Maggie, who’s taking a sip of wine, chokes slightly. “He what?”

“For me to invest. To make money with,” I clarify. “It’s not like I could go to Tiffany’s with it or something.”

“And did you make money?” Ami asks.

“Well, yeah,” I say with a touch of pride. “I mean, it takes time and all, but yeah.. And then… he called me to his office to go over my numbers and…”

Maggie and Ami both look at me eagerly, their eyebrows climbing as they see me squirm some at the comment. “He called you in his office?” Maggie’s tone is comical. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

“Sort of?” I reply before attempting to hold back a grin and failing. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe I’m just still flushed with post-sex hormones. I don’t know, but I know Ami and Mags won’t blab about things. “At the end of the day, I went to his office to talk about my trade performance. He said I did a great job.” I slowly recall everything and how it all happened. “Then he had me look at a deal he’s working on.”

Maggie looks at Ami and throws up quotation marks like ‘deal’ as she nods knowingly.

I shift as memories of what Dylan and I did in his office come to the forefront of my mind. I can still feel the ache between my thighs, and my heart does that flip thing I wish it would stop doing. “I guess the important part was that one thing led to another and…”

“In his office?” Maggie balks. She’s giving me that judgy look I was worried about.

Ami kicks out at Maggie. “Quit ruining it for her. This is amazing. Like a fairy tale.”

Maggie tilts her head, looking at Ami. “What fairytales are you reading? I think you mean porn. She’s fucking her boss in his office, after hours. Not exactly Cinderella.”

Ouch. That hurts.

The jolt must show on my face because Maggie changes her expression really quickly and seems to understand where I’m coming from. “Sorry, girl. I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly, attempting to backtrack. “Look, I know I told you it was no big deal, but that was when it was a one-off and you weren’t working there. Just… be careful, okay?”

I feel like everyone keeps telling me that. Like I don’t see the red flags myself even though they’re nearly on fire and waving around like a pyrotechnic show.

But I also feel what I feel, and I know what Dylan said.

I meet Maggie’s eyes, understanding that she’s doing her best to look out for me and be a good friend. “I hear you. Really, I do. But we talked.”

“Before or after?” Ami asks with a grin. At least she’s on my side, wanting sordid details more than conversational ones.

“Both,” I say, fighting back a grin to match Ami’s. “He told me that it had nothing to do with my work. That we can keep them separate. And he said that no one has to know unless I want them to. He’s not hiding me, like Evan was.” That causes a little unexpected twinge in my gut because that’s exactly what Evan did. Shaking my head, I add, “He’s not sleeping with anyone else or seeing anyone else. Just me.”

That means more to me than he realizes. It should be an automatic, but as I’ve recently learned, it’s most definitely not.

Maggie and Ami have been listening closely as I tell them everything, so now I hold my hands out. “Okay, hit me with it. Have I completely fucked my life up? Am I a disaster waiting to happen?”

They silently meet eyes, making me wait for what feels like an eternity but is probably less than two seconds.

Maggie sighs. “I don’t think so, but I will not be held responsible if it all blows up. I’m hereby releasing you to the wilds of your own decisions.”

Ami laughs, ticking off on her fingers. “All I’m hearing is Hottie McMoneybags has it bad for you. You love your new job. And your boss said you’re great at it. So, congratulations!”

As if dinner is agreement with her, the buzzer goes off. “I’ve got it,” Ami shouts, hopping up to let the delivery person in the door downstairs and then the apartment door.

She comes back a moment later and passes out cardboard containers of something that smells delicious. “You know what you’ve gotta do now, right?”

“What?” I ask, opening up my container to reveal ooey, gooey, cheesy yumminess. “Ooh.”

“That’s the lobster one,” she says happily, pointing at my food with her fork, and then she answers my other question. “You’ve gotta bring your new man to my party! My actual party, not just the times we’re gonna celebrate me and my utter awesomeness.”

New man? I don’t think she’s really understanding the nature of this relationship, but she’s tipsy and it’s her birthday and I don’t want to pop her bubble at the moment.

“What are we doing for your actual party?” I ask, and Ami grins. “What? I’ve been sort of caught up in my own drama. I’ve missed the details. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, she’s not grinning about that. She looks like that because she’s got some news of her own,” Maggie whispers my way, even though Ami can totally hear her. As she opens her own container, she prompts, “Ames is thinking a swanky but cheap get together at… drumroll, please.”

Ami does her own drumroll, kicking her feet on the floor in a way that’s absolutely going to irritate our downstairs neighbor, before she squeals, “Los Ingobernables!”

It’s my turn to choke on my drink, and I cough repeatedly. “You think you can have something cheap at Los Ingobernables?” I ask. “That’s one of the hottest restaurants in the city!”

“And I just happen to have a favor I can call in with the sous chef,” Ami says mysteriously. Seeing my look, she shakes her head. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I only assisted in helping him do something, so he’s paying me back with helping with the party. Private room, fully catered, chef’s menu.”

My jaw drops, and I’m already looking forward to it.

“That’s going to be amazing,” I reply. “What else do you have planned for the month? It’s kinda impossible to top that.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she answers with a shrug. “Even if everything else is just ‘twenty day celebration till Los Ingobernables’, ‘fifteen days’, ‘ten days’, and so on and so forth, it’ll be fun.”

Suddenly, I’m excited for Ami’s birthday month celebrations.

Laughing, I lift my glass, and we toast. “Thirty days and counting!” Ami cheers, starting her own countdown.

It’s hours later when I finally wander off to bed after Maggie and I tuck a tipsy but happy Ami into a taxi. “You know,” Maggie says as she brushes her teeth, “I think we’re going to be okay.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I hope so.”

As I lie down, curling up under my blanket, I sort of feel okay too. Or maybe even better than okay.

In one day, I’ve got a good job that’s got a promising future.

I’ve got good friends.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ve got a man, too.

Could I have stumbled into having it all, the whole enchilada?

Or is it the wine still talking?