All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Seal the Deal

You’d think I’d told him I was jetting off for a month of parking my ass on the beach, the way Brad reacted to my travel news. Telling him that it’s “for work” did not help my case either, since he’ll always insist that’s what lead to our demise.

Despite my best efforts otherwise, I let his disapproval and ridiculous accusations of being an “unreliable mom” wear on me the entire week. While I packed, while I finalized plans with Lucy, while I wiggled my diamond earrings in, in an effort to look like I’m someone who deserves to be signing a movie rights contract. But now that I’m getting ready to de-board in New York, I vow to push it out of my mind. This is my moment. This is probably the biggest thing I’ll ever face in my career. This is the granddaddy of all awesomeness.

But, I still feel kinda shitty.

Should I have left Jillian? She’s doing great. She’ll probably be discharged from the rehab center early next week. When I asked her if she minded that I was heading to New York for a couple days, she looked at me with bright eyes and said, “Can you bring me home an American Girl doll?” Not, “Mom, you’re horrible for leaving,” or “Mom, please don’t go.” She just wants a doll. So simple. I wish adults could be like that.

I make my way through JFK in a haze, plotting when I should call her next. Miracle of miracles, my bags are already sailing in front of me when I get to the claim area, so I grab them and decide I’ll call en route to the hotel.

Since Lucy told me she’d booked a car for me (a car! Squee!), I look around for a driver holding a sign with my name. I spot him right away and dutifully follow him outside into the warm New York night.
Now
, I’m starting to get excited. There really is something so magical about this place. I look around at the lights. The cars. The people. There’s activity everywhere. There’s hope. There’s promise. There’s life.

And I’m part of it.

You know what? Screw Brad. Screw his judging ways, screw his insecurities, and screw his nerve to disrespect me. I am a smart woman who knows how to run my life. Yeah, my job’s not conventional. Yeah, my boyfriend’s not either. And yeah, my life isn’t going to fit neatly into the package others expected from me. So what? And while I’m at it, screw Robbyn, too. She can meddle and be as psycho as she wants. I’m done letting these people have any sort of control over me. This life is short. I’m not getting any younger. I’m living the hell out of my time here on this earth and I don’t give one single fig what others think.
I will not allow these people to be stacked against me.

So there.

I can’t stop the smile that now nearly splits my face in two. I throw my shoulders back with great dramatic flair and walk toward the car like the lady boss I am. The driver takes my shoulder bag and opens the door for me. “Whenever you’re ready, Miss Reagan.”

I offer him a smile while I grab my phone out of my purse. If I hurry, I can catch Jilly before she leaves her room for physical therapy. Now, where’s her number? Why can’t I find her number? It should be the first one to pop up.

I can’t make the poor driver wait for me forever, so with my eyes still on my phone, I toss my purse into the back seat and prepare to scramble in.

“Hey, watch your purse, lady. You almost hit me in the face!”

My pulse stops. That voice! It’s a voice that came out of nowhere, but it’s a voice I know so well. So very, very well.

I poke my head into the car and see the greatest sight I can imagine. He is seriously like a vision sitting there, looking all sexy in his black pants, smoky blue V-neck T-shirt, and a white unbuttoned button-up layered over top. There is no way what I’m seeing is real.

Except that it is.

“Oh my God!” I squeal, launching myself along the car’s seat until my chest slams into his. “Niles, what are you dooooing here?”

“Surprise! Ready to celebrate?”

I’m dying. Like, seriously, seriously dying. This cannot be happening.

I don’t care that my feet are partially dangling out the door. I don’t care that the driver is waiting patiently (or impatiently) for me to get the rest of the way in so he can close the door and take off. I don’t care that any passersby who cared to could look in and see us. I cover Nile’s lips with my own and hold on for dear life.

“You . . . are . . . supposed . . . to be in . . . Colorado,” I say, between smooches.

“I’m a good fibber.” He punctuates the statement with another kiss.

I finally tear myself away and wiggle into place, gluing myself so close to him he’s nearly pinned against the door.

“You seriously made that up? You’re not going to Colorado?”

“Nope. That was a big old lie just to get you here for the whole weekend.”

“You rat!”

“Hey, Lucy was in on it, too. I cooked it up, she helped execute. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It’s all . . .” he trails off and stares at me for a second. “It’s all meant to be, Kallie.”

I drop my head against his shoulder, fully appreciating the magnitude of this moment. I thought I was coming here strictly for business. And
huge
business, it is. Instead, I get to do business
and
I get to see my boyfriend. My rock star boyfriend who loves me as much as I love him.

“I’m sure you remember when Nash surprised Emily in a car in LA,” he says.

“Of course.” God, I love him for remembering that.

“He took her to dinner, which was nice. But I have other plans I hope you’ll like even better.”

I look at him through giant eyes. “Care to share details?”

“You’ll see soon enough. But for now, let’s listen to some tunes. We have a bit of a drive.” He hands me his iPod. “Go ahead, get it started.” He nods at his device, which has a playlist called “Kallie in New York” all cued up. Aw.

I push play, unsure how my fingers are even working. My hands are shaking, my breath is irregular, and I feel like I’m a living, breathing pile of sweat. This is seriously the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. Or was it the nighttime picnic at the Charles River in Boston? Or maybe the rooftop wine, dessert, and writing sesh at his apartment? Or possibly even the gifting of diamond stud earrings at the after-party? So many options, so many options.

Lucky me.

The first song is “The Sadder Side of Midnight,” the one of his I listened to on the flight down to North Carolina. The one I could hear over and over and over for the rest of my life. “I know it’s your favorite,” he says. “Someday I’ll sing it to you when we’re alone, just the two of us. But for now, we can maybe just do some of this . . .” He leans into me and kisses me so slowly, so passionately, and so deeply I lose sense of everything else except him and me. I think about nothing but this moment, how he feels and tastes and how amazingly well we fit.

We kiss through the entire song, and are jarred back into reality when the next one starts. It’s one of those songs that you know you know, but totally can’t place . . . like it was in a movie or something. It’s decidedly ‘70s-ish, but its title isn’t obvious to me until I hear the chorus. But the second I do, my head whips toward him and smiles erupt on both of our faces.

“‘Go All the Way?’ Really?” My cheeks flush so badly I bet you could see the red even in the darkness of the car.

“What? You don’t like this song?” He is failing so hard at pulling off the innocent look, and it is totally, totally adorable.

“I like it just fine. But are you trying to say something specific, Mr. Russell?” I wiggle my eyebrows and give him my very best sexy smile.

He answers by putting his hand on my knee and slowly dragging it up until it’s high on my thigh. “Take it how you will.”

We seriously can’t get out of this car fast enough. I don’t know where we’re going, but it better not be much farther away. And it better be private.

I don’t even hear the next song. I am so focused on keeping my cool despite the fact that his hand lingers on my leg. I allow mine to travel up and down his leg, too. We chat about Jillian and my trip, I call her quick to check in, and then Niles drops a bomb. A bomb of the very best type.

“So . . . Robbyn’s moving to LA,” he says, looking at me as though he’s just won a new car.

“She’s
what
?!” I shriek.

Incredulous. Joyful. Relieved. Ecstatic. All of those emotions live in my two simple words.

“Kelsey pulled some strings. Robbyn will be working for her firm’s West Coast division. She leaves in two weeks.” He holds his hand up for a high five. “Up top!”

My hand flies up to meet his and my head falls back until it hits the back of the seat. I haven’t heard such sweet news since the docs told me Jilly’s going to be all right.

“This is so amazing. Seriously, unless you told me Brad is moving, too, this night couldn’t get any better.”

Niles gives me the side-eye and a super sly smile. “Oh, but it will.”

I shiver.

Finally, after seventeen, maybe twenty years of driving, we round a corner in a neighborhood that’s looking really familiar. My head feels like it’s on a ball joint as it swivels around, taking in my surroundings.

“Hey, is this . . .” I turn toward Niles, but by the time my eyes reach his, no further words are necessary. He’s already in full grin.

“We’re here, Mr. Russell,” the driver says, his reflection speaking to us via the rearview mirror.

“You can leave the bags right outside the door,” Niles answers, handing him some money. They continue talking business for a moment as I sit dumbfounded. I can hardly register any of this.

When they finally stop talking and I finally find my voice, I look at Niles and say, “Seriously. What are we doing here?”

He answers by reaching into his shirt pocket and cupping a key in my hand.

“Welcome home, Kallie.”

***

Just like the last time we were here, I trail behind Niles as we make our way up the stairs. And just like last time, he’s holding my hand. But
unlike
last time, we’re here alone. There is no Mindy.

It’s just us.

“I can’t believe this.” I’ve said this at least fifteen times since we left the car. And it’s true. I absolutely can’t believe it.

I’m so shaky, Niles has to help guide my hand to insert the key. “This is our place now,” he says, his hand resting on mine. I look at him, trying to ask him to explain more, but my words don’t come out.

“Since we didn’t put in an offer when we first saw it, someone else got it. But the first buyer backed out and the minute I found out it was available again, I pounced. By then, I didn’t care what it would take.” He touches my cheek. “I had to have you back. I had to get over myself long enough to realize that some things are bigger than just me, and I had to get you back. I figured securing this apartment would be like an invitation for the universe to comply. And I was right.”

That’s all the explanation I need. Now, it’s time to go inside. Inside our place. Ours.

I push the door open slowly and am greeted with dim lighting and the incredible scent of an Italian feast. There is music going and a small table set for two.

“Come on in.” He tugs me hard enough to dislodge my feet, which have somehow become frozen to the floor as I take this all in. “We’ll eat in a bit. Let’s look around.”

He leads me into the living room, which has no furniture other than two beanbag chairs—one princess pink and one ocean blue—and a gloriously large TV. “I want you to pick out the décor in here, so I didn’t touch a thing. Well, except for those ultra sophisticated chairs, of course.”

“The girls will love them.”

“That was my plan.”

Tears flood my eyes as I follow him back into the kitchen, my hand still grasping his as if I’d somehow get lost if I let go.

“I got enough necessities to get us through the weekend.” He motions toward the fridge. “Bare bones, though. I don’t know how much time we’ll have to cook.” He turns to me and raises his eyebrows.

Whatever is he suggesting?

We walk down the small hall, where I see a few towels and basics in the bathroom, a blank slate of what will be the girls’ room, and the little outdoor deck where we’ll surely have a nightcap or three.

And a steak. On a Monday. Just like we’d dreamed.

Finally, we reach the end of the hall, where we’re greeted with the closed door of the master bedroom. “Open it,” he says quietly.

I turn the knob and nudge the door open. My breath disappears when I see candles everywhere, lining every inch of a gorgeous dresser and the two nightstands that flank the incredibly outfitted bed.

“Niles,” I breathe. “How did you . . .” I turn to face him.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

“It’s unbelievable.”

“You get to decorate most of the place . . . but this room needed to get done first.”

I try to smile, but he has other ideas for my lips. We kiss in the doorway for ages, migrate to our left until I’m pinned against the closet door, and finally stumble our way around until we’re hovering near the edge of the bed. Our lips have not left each other’s, not even for a second.