Chapter Twelve

The You Got It, Dudes

“Let’s get…married?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and I know we just met,” Darius said, “but I’m a very decisive person, and you and I could be good together.” He smiled confidently, even through this ridiculous conversation. “Maybe dropping ‘marriage’ into our second conversation ever seems a bit out there, but I think ultimately we’re looking for similar things.”

He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and pulled up the text message. Goodie. He’d saved it.

“The part where you said you make a ton of money and if that scares you, that’s your problem.” He glanced up at me, his brown eyes soft. “Women aren’t intimidated by my job,” he said. “Generally, it gets me in the door, so to speak. But it ends up being the thing that drives a wedge through my relationships—I never know if someone wants me because of me or because of who I am, what I have, and what they believe I can do for them.” He frowned.

Maybe Darius had a point. He and I had high-powered, well-paying jobs, and that did affect other people’s behavior when they were around us. He and I were kind of in the same boat.

“My thing’s a little different,” I said. “My job does often get me through the door, like you said, but it usually ends there.”

I recalled one of my most recent first dates—the one where the guy kept trying to trick me into saying how much I made, like all he wanted was to know that he brought home more than a female doctor.

“Usually, in my experience, the guy spends the entire date either explaining to me why I shouldn’t make as much as I do or trying to prove that he’s superior to me in some way.”

“Buffoons,” Darius said.

I chuckled—this time from actual, genuine relief. It was nice to talk to someone who at least kind of knew where I was coming from and who had the same issues of trust when it came to meeting new people. “They are buffoons.”

“So.” He rested his large, perfectly manicured hands on the edge of my desk. “What do you think?”

My mouth dried up. “Well, I’m intrigued.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“But two things.” I folded my hands in my lap and clutched them hard. “One, I think we should go out once or twice, just to make sure this is what we want.” I grinned at him. “I mean, I barely know you.”

“True, though I feel like I know you.” He grinned. “At least a little bit, after editing all your footage.”

I cleared my throat. “And the other thing is…there’s another guy in the mix.”

He nodded, taking that in. “Fair enough.”

“He’s someone I’ve known my entire life. Our moms are best friends—”

“So, he’s in the dependable, boy-next-door lane.” Darius steepled his fingers, resting them against his lips.

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose that’s what he has to offer.”

“Well, let me tell you what you get with Darius Carver.” He stood and paced from one end of my office to the other. “I get in to all the best restaurants and hottest clubs, VIP sections. I can get us tickets to any concert.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not a huge club person. Or concerts, for that matter.”

He winked. “You haven’t done clubs or concerts the Darius way. Just wait.”

My stomach bubbled with excitement. Being with Darius could be pretty cool. With Rob, my life wouldn’t change much, and that idea comforted me, but maybe I needed a push into something a little more thrilling. I had never been to a concert with a famous news guy. It’d be worth a shot, anyway.

He sat back down and folded his hands on my desk. “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. My line of work, if I want to go beyond where I am now—which I do—having a significant other by my side would be an asset, especially if it’s someone poised and impressive.”

“A doctor,” I said.

“Absolutely, a doctor.” He smiled. “Someone close to my age. Someone professional, who understands life and how the game is played.”

“What game?” I asked.

“The promotion game.” His hands grasped for mine. We sat there, hand in hand, staring at each other, like Meg and Mr. Brooks in the Marches’ hallway. But Darius wasn’t professing his undying love and affection. He was making a business proposition—something that my very analytical mind understood and appreciated. We weren’t all that different, Darius and me. “When I saw your text the other night, I thought, Annie gets it. She is looking for stability and companionship. A permanent plus-one. That’s what I need.”

“A permanent plus-one.”

“Exactly,” he said, as if I hadn’t simply repeated his own phrasing. “I’m old enough that I no longer believe in soul mates or love at first sight. I understand that passion fades. Been there, done that. Going into a relationship with eyes wide open, with an understanding that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement, is the mature and modern way to date.”

“Mutually beneficial…?”

“You go with me to my events, I go with you to your events, and we never have to show up anywhere alone again.”

Alone. There was that word I’d come to despise.

Darius got it. The two of us would be agreeing to not much more than mutual companionship. Maybe we could even live mostly separate lives and arrange to meet up only when we needed to. That had always been an issue for me with relationships—the expectation that I needed to be available to the other person twenty-four seven. I couldn’t promise that with my job, and neither could Darius. Our relationship would be much more transactional, which worked for my busy, independent lifestyle. I was looking for a plus-one, not a soul mate.

“You want us to be like Holidate,” I said eventually.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a Netflix rom-com—”

“Oh, I don’t watch those kinds of movies.”

I mentally started a con column for Darius. “Holidate is a rom-com about two people who decide to be each other’s perma-date for all holidays and large events.”

A slow smile invaded his face. “I like that. A ‘perma-date.’”

I kept my gaze focused on his left cheek, avoiding those eyes and that smile. “But it didn’t work. They ended up falling in love.”

Darius didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe we will, too.”