Bailey
“Are you over your snit about me buying you a new mattress?” Declan asks.
The question surprises me. I put my Italian sub I’d been about to take a bite of down, then wipe my fingers on my napkin. We’re currently having a work lunch in his office. Like hot dogs, watching Declan eat something as mundane as a sub threatens to give me the giggles.
My chin lifts in challenge, and I know there’s a gleam in my eye. “I was not in a snit.”
Well, I was. I thought he was totally joking about it when we went Saturday after our time in Old Town, but no… he was dead serious. He bought a two-thousand-dollar mattress over much argument and consternation. I thought it was too extravagant for my home, and I didn’t want him to think his money was an attraction for me.
But he won. He just rolled right over me and got what he wanted, using charming smiles and touches while the sales associate rang up his purchase. He even paid a delivery premium to have it delivered on Sunday.
As we sit here on Monday in his office, I’ll never admit that I quickly got over my snit when we slept on it last night. I mean, we did lots of other things on it first, and, wow, was it heaven. And maybe it’s because Declan wore me out, or maybe it was the pillow top, but it was the best sleep I think I ever had in my life.
Declan doesn’t argue, merely watches me from across his desk. “Why do you ask if I’m over my snit?” I press.
“Well,” he drawls, setting his sub on the wrapper and mimicking my earlier actions by wiping his hands, then his mouth, with a napkin. “I want to update your wardrobe. You need more work outfits, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in some more sexy lingerie.”
“No,” I exclaim firmly. I even wag my finger. “No, no, no.”
“Why not?” His question is calm in the face of my displeasure.
“Because,” I sputter, completely aghast he doesn’t get why I’d be against this. “I will not be a kept woman.”
Declan’s eyes go round. He blinks several times, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, he manages to ask on a bark of laughter. “A kept woman? Jesus… are you serious?”
“You’re rich,” I say the obvious, pointing across the desk. I throw my thumb back in my direction. “I’m not rich. We are at a vast disparity in income, but I am fully able to take care of myself. It’s… it’s… sexist for you to buy stuff for me.”
“You let me buy you clothes before,” he points out.
“That was when it was a condition of my employment,” I retort, leaning an arm on top of the desk. “That is not the case now.”
“You let me buy you a mattress,” he counters, his smirk telling me he’s enjoying this exchange.
“That was for your benefit, not mine,” I reply primly, grabbing my sub so I can finish my lunch. But I lift my eyes briefly to add, “And you can take it with you if we ever break up.”
“Plotting the demise of our new relationship so soon, Miss Robbins?” he asks in a mocking tone.
“Not at all,” I reply with a sly grin. “Just setting boundaries.”
“Fine,” he replies on a drawn-out exhale. “Can I at least buy you sexy lingerie?”
I stare at the ceiling with exaggerated contemplation before giving him my attention with a brilliant smile. “Yes. You may do that.”
Laughing, Declan picks his sub back up. He went with turkey on wheat, way healthier than mine, which is loaded with olive oil vinaigrette, plus mayonnaise. But my working theory is he works so many calories off me each night in our lovemaking, I can afford it.
We finish our lunches. I quickly clean up the wrappers, wiping the desk off with Lysol I keep at my cubicle, while Declan pulls out a binder from his back credenza.
He opens it just as I’m sitting down to take notes on my iPad using the sleek new Bluetooth keyboard that appeared on my desk this morning.
“I’ve decided on the next Blackwood project,” he says, scanning inside the binder.
“San Francisco,” I guess, because I’ve watched him hammer out the pros and cons with his executive staff during meetings over the past few weeks. I can tell which way he’s leaning.
“Yes,” he says, pinning me with an appreciative smile. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” I quip, pulling up a clean screen to start typing notes.
“Or a fine ass,” he teases.
I ignore it. “So what’s first on the agenda?”
For the next hour, Declan dictates the various phases that will occur, in a rough format, of course. He’s already got the property firmly in mind, and he’ll begin negotiations on that soon. Then it will be about getting our primary contractor committed, who will then slate out the subs with a potential construction start date in about six months.
“At what point in this process will you be moving there?” I inquire, trying to sound professional in my desire to have this knowledge, but knowing deep in my gut I want to know because it probably means we have a finite end to our relationship. I always knew he’d be leaving at some point, but I wasn’t quite prepared to think about it.
Declan’s attention stays within the binder, but he answers, “I usually like to be there when we break ground on the site.”
So six months, give or take. I’m not even sure if I should consider that a lot of time or not. Compared to a lifetime, it’s the blink of an eye.
Compared to what we had yesterday, it’s enough.
Maybe.
I clear my throat, putting on my most business-like expression. “Any idea where the next project will be after that?”
Declan shrugs, giving me a brief glance. “I guess wherever I decide to open the first boutique resort.”
I frown, not over the fact he’ll be opening the sex club-themed resort after the San Francisco Blackwood, but rather by his tone, which makes me wonder if that will happen.
“You don’t sound overly excited about it,” I say hesitantly.
His eyes snap to mine, his expression surprised. “What makes you say that?”
It takes a moment for me to put it into words. “You sound like you’ve lost your passion for the project.”
Declan tilts his head. He ponders it before giving a slow shake of his head. “I honestly don’t know now that you’ve brought it up. I’ve been focused on making the decision to move forward in San Francisco, so I haven’t been devoting much creative energy to it, but…”
His words trail off as he considers his feelings. I remain quiet, letting him come to his own conclusion.
Finally, he says with a bit of a helpless shrug, “I don’t know what I want to do with it. I still have to talk to my dad about it… let him know my idea. I had planned to do that when we were in Chicago, and that got pushed to the side by circumstances.”
Yeah, his family being unbelievably rude and unwelcoming, but I don’t belabor that point. “Would your dad try to stop you from doing that project?”
“He couldn’t,” Declan says with a hard bite. “I know he won’t like it… he wouldn’t possibly understand why I’d want to do this, nor would he care enough about me personally to try to. So it’s more of a formality—a courtesy you could say—on my part to tell him.”
“Still,” I muse. “I bet it won’t be a pleasant conversation.”
Declan chuckles. “You’ve seen enough to know the truth of that. And this will probably strain our already-tenuous relationship and make working with him more difficult, no doubt.”
“Is this project worth it?” I ask him. “Worth the trouble it will cause?”
Settling back in his chair, Declan steeples his hands and taps them against his chin as he considers this. “You know, if it were just the personal relationship I was putting at risk, I wouldn’t think twice about it because there’s so little there to salvage. But I’m a Blackwood. This is my legacy. One day, my father will be gone, and it will all fall on me. Until that time, I still take my work with this company very seriously. It’s far more important than opening a fad boutique.”
It’s at this moment I realize how much I admire Declan as a businessman. His dedication to this company is without question, his loyalty to his name is inspiring, especially since he doesn’t have much of a loving foundation within his family unit.
“You can put it on the back burner,” I suggest. “That project will always be there.”
His eyes bore into mine as he slowly smiles. “You’re right.”
A dinging sound from his laptop indicates a new email, and his eyes are drawn to the screen. Then the corners of his mouth shoot up with a deep grin. He leans forward, taps a few times on the keyboard, and eyes me slyly. “Our test results are in.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, then I realize… our STD tests. I already know my results will be fine, as the first thing I did after I found out Caleb was cheating on me was to get tested. Of course, he swore up and down he’d always practiced safe sex, but I couldn’t trust his word. Not when he’d violated my trust in him as a person.
“Want to knock off work early—take these test results out for a test spin?” Declan suggests with a waggle of his eyes.
Laughing, I push out of the chair, collecting my iPad. I give him a chastising smirk. “You have a four PM appointment with your department heads, so we are most certainly not knocking off work early. Plus, I need to run some groceries by my parents’ house after work.”
Declan chuckles even as he nods. “Keeping me straight.”
“Always,” I reply with a tart wink.
“Dinner tonight?” he suggests. “After you go see your parents?”
My belly flutters that he wants to see me tonight. “I’d love that.”
Yes, we’d agreed on being exclusive, and yes, we’ve been together every night since Chicago, but I never take that for granted. I never assume he wants to spend all his free time with me, but the fact that he does, well… it starts to chip away at the wall I’ve put up.
“And tomorrow… do you think you could join Leonie and me for dinner?” he asks.
And well… my stomach practically explodes with a case of the butterflies. He wants me to meet Leonie, someone he loves and respects. This is different from him bringing me to dinner at his family’s home in Chicago.
Way different.
“Count me in,” I quip back, light words so they don’t admit just how much I love that he asked.