Working It (26 page)

“Morning.” I tried not to be self-conscious about my just-woke-up appearance.

“Morning, beautiful. How are you feeling?”

I stretched and surveyed my body, taking stock of how I felt. I felt good. Better than good, actually. “Fine.”

“Not sore or anything, are you?” he asked, his expression concerned.

I shook my head.

“I honestly didn’t know he had that piercing.” He frowned.

I smiled. “It was fine, Ben.” And
fine
was code for “mind-blowing,” but Ben didn’t need to know all that. “Would you ever consider . . .” I looked down at the sheets, nudged up by his semierect length.

“Fuck no. I’m not crazy, sweetheart.” His hand went protectively over his manhood and I giggled, snuggling into his arms. Ben wrapped me tightly in his embrace and kissed the top of my head.

The truth was, I didn’t need him pierced, inked, or with any other embellishments. I loved him just the way he was. Whoa.
Liked
. I liked him. Not that other L-word. That would be very dangerous. And stupid.

Our late-morning cuddling session was interrupted by a knock at his door. Our eyes locked together in confusion. Was he expecting someone?

Ben climbed from bed and looked through the peephole. “Fuck. It’s Fiona.”

A cold chill zipped up my spine. What was she doing here?

“Get in the bathroom,” he commanded, pulling the blankets back, urging me from the bed. The warm, safe nest we had just shared.

Without complaint, I allowed him to guide me into the bathroom. He shoved my clothes and shoes at me and hung my purse strap over my shoulder before shutting the door. I was too stunned to move. To stunned to think. Instead, I gripped the bundle in my arms and stared at the back of the door as it promptly closed in my face.

A moment later, I heard voices fill his room. I stood naked on the cold marble floor holding the bundle of my dress and shoes.

“Messy bed . . . someone’s been a busy boy,” she teased.

“I was sleeping, Fiona. Did you need something?”

“I tried calling you last night. You never come see me anymore. . . .” The pout in her tone was clear. She missed him.

“I told you. It’s time we both moved on.”

I held my breath, waiting for her response, but she was quiet. The soft murmur of voices continued, but I struggled to make out their words. I pressed my ear to the door, trying to hear. I imagined him holding her, whispering soft words to her, knowing I was probably listening. My knees felt shaky and my stomach flipped at the thought of him touching her. He didn’t want to share me with Braydon last night, but now I was getting shoved in a bathroom when Fiona came knocking?
Oh hell no . . .

A moment later, I heard the hotel room door close, and Ben opened the bathroom door, his expression concerned.

I exited the bathroom and shoved my feet into the shoes still in my hands. I made quite a sight—dressed in an oversized T-shirt and Louboutin heels, silk Vera Wang dress wadded up in my fists.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

I swallowed a massive lump in my throat. “Ben, have you been fucking her?” My voice came out surprisingly calm, considering every nerve ending in my body was firing at once. I felt sick, dizzy, heartbroken, and slightly homicidal. I knew there was that one time with him and Braydon, but I couldn’t handle the thought of anything more.

“She and I have a history,” he said carefully. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but now isn’t the right time. I have to get ready. And if I know Fiona, she’s probably ringing your room looking for you.” He squeezed my shoulders softly. “Go.”

I nodded.

• • •

I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the impending conversation Ben and I needed to have. I showered, dressed, and went through the motions at work, but my mind was elsewhere. The beautiful evening we’d shared. The way Ben made me feel. The devastation of knowing he’d quite possibly been with Fiona this entire time.

Thankfully, Fiona didn’t seem to suspect that I’d been hiding in Ben’s bathroom that morning while she droned on about not seeing him anymore. I could barely look at her, but she didn’t seem to notice or care how coolly I was behaving toward her.

Finally, I made my way back to the hotel and collapsed onto my bed. My phone pinged with a new text.

Ben: Are you back?

Me: Yes

Ben: Can I take you to dinner?

I considered his request. I knew I should be hungry. I’d barely eaten all day. But food was the last thing on my mind. Not to mention, if we were going to have an emotionally charged discussion, I’d rather not do it in public.

Me: I’d rather just talk.

Ben: Okay, I’ll come down to your room in a few.

Me: See you then.

Nerves took flight in my belly and I paced the room waiting for him. I had no idea what he would tell me. Would this be the end of us? Even though I had been expecting it, the knock at my door startled me.

Ben looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes and his defeated posture indicated he’d spent the day worrying, much like I had. I wanted to hug him, collapse against his chest, bury my face into his scent, and forget about everything else. Forget that Fiona had invaded our peaceful bubble this morning, forget that he’d rudely shoved me into the bathroom. And most important, forget how he’d continually held me at a distance, insisting this was merely physical when I felt so much more.

“Can I come in?”

I realized I was just standing there, blocking the doorway. I stepped aside and motioned him forward. Ben sat down next to me on the bed and sucked in a deep breath.

“I have some questions.” My voice was tiny and unsure.

He nodded, solemnly looking down at his hands. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

My stomach knotted into a painful mess of nerves. I wished I could live in blissful ignorance but I had to know. Straightening my shoulders, I met his eyes. “Are you and Fiona lovers?” No sense beating around the bush.

Ben didn’t flinch, didn’t give away any physical clue that this line of questioning made him uncomfortable. “We were, yes.” He watched my eyes, checking for my reaction.

I suddenly felt sick, my worst fears confirmed. I fought the urge to curl into the fetal position and stared back at him, too captivated to look away. I gulped in a lungful of air. I had to know. “When . . . how often . . .”

Ben shifted on the bed, the first sign that he was uncomfortable. “We’ve spent a lot of time together . . . occasionally it got physical.”

“And you and Braydon . . . together . . . you shared her?”

He nodded. “Yes, that was just once, as I told you.”

I unconsciously scooted away from him. “How long has this been going on?” My voice was tiny, just a rasp as my throat threatened to close.

“Fiona was my first. So . . . since I was eighteen.”

Holy fuck! He was twenty-three now. Five fucking years? He’d been sleeping with her for five years? Not to mention you never forgot your first. Never.
She
was the friend of his mom’s that had taken his virginity. I felt physically ill. They were forever linked through their ongoing and obviously intimate affair.

I’d always had this underlying suspicion that she was in love with him, and now I understood why. Their relationship was so much deeper and more complicated than I’d ever imagined. It wasn’t some drunken hookup after a Fashion Week party with Braydon like I’d originally assumed. It was so much more.

Ben shifted closer and reached for my hand. I quickly snatched it away, fisting my hands in my lap.

“It was just sex, Emmy. It didn’t mean anything.”

I wanted to hit something. If he honestly believed sex didn’t mean anything—especially an ongoing relationship with the same person for five years—he was an idiot, .“I hate that she knows every intimate detail about you . . . things I thought were ours . . . she’s felt you inside of her . . . many more times than I have.”

He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I haven’t been with her in months. Since before you and I got together.”

I felt so naïve. It was too much to take in. He’d never said we were exclusive . . . yet still, I’d never imagined something like this. I felt hurt, betrayed, shattered into a million pieces. My poor heart thumped unevenly in my chest.

“How dare you wrap me up in this . . . seduce me . . . say it was just sex . . . all the while knowing Fiona is my boss, who I already have a tough relationship with. Did you ever even think about my career? What she’d do to me when she found out you weren’t sleeping with her because you had a new plaything?”

He didn’t respond but his eyes widened, telling me he hadn’t considered it.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, my knee bouncing wildly, several things clicked into place at once. Suddenly everything made sense. The fact that he’d only slept with three girls before me was a result of his ongoing affair with Fiona. He didn’t need to date, or go looking for a hookup. She traveled with him wherever he went, cock-blocked him from dating other girls, and gave him regular sex. God, I hated her.

“Ben, I can’t do this.”

He bit down, his eyes blazing with fire. ”I’ve spent the whole day trying to figure out how to tell you this. . . . I don’t want anyone else, Emmy. And after last night with Braydon, I don’t ever want to see anyone touch you again. I want you to be mine. I want a real relationship—just you and me. And now I’ve apparently fucked it up before we even got started.”

I didn’t argue; I just twisted my hands in my lap, unsure how I felt about his little declaration. Was he just saying all that because I was mad about Fiona?

“Do you want me to go?” His voice was soft and low.

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “Yes. I need to think. Alone,” I added.

He released a slow breath. “I’m sorry, Emmy. I told you my past was fucked up. I knew I’d ruin things somehow. But I swear, I never slept with her once you and I started seeing each other.”

I had no doubt she’d propositioned him several times, so his abstaining should have made me feel better. But it was a shitty consolation prize. “I need time.” And I needed an ugly cry. No one needed to see that.

“Okay,” he said softly, rising from the bed. He bent down and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The door closing behind him was an ominous sound. I curled into a ball on the center of the bed, wrapping my arms around myself. I felt sick, humiliated, completely disoriented.

I let myself fall apart, sobbing quietly into a pillow until it was thoroughly soaked and I’d given myself a headache. Sometime later, I rose from the bed, heading off in search of a pain reliever.

When I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I winced at the girl staring back at me. My eyes were puffy and swollen; my hair was tangled and damp around my face from the onslaught of tears. I needed to pull it together.

I swallowed two pain relievers with a glass of lukewarm tap water and splashed cool water on my cheeks. I grabbed my phone and crawled back into bed. It was stupid, considering I’d kicked him out, but still, the ache in my chest intensified at seeing I had no new messages.

I dialed Ellie, too dazed to even calculate what time it was in New York.

She answered on the third ring. “Emmy!”

“Hi,” I croaked. Damn voice sounded like a man.
Awesome
.

“Em? What’s wrong?”

In some ways I was relieved she instantly knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t think I was capable of pretending, or making polite small talk right now. I took a deep breath and pulled the covers up to my chest. “You know my bitch of a boss who I hate?”

“Fiona, right?”

“Yeah. Well, I just found out Ben’s been sleeping with her on and off for five years.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah.” I let that sink in and fought off a fresh wave of tears. Speaking the words out loud was about to turn me into a faucet again.

“So he’s been seeing you both? Fucking asshole.”

“No. He said he hasn’t been with her since he and I began . . . whatever it was we had.”

“Do you believe him?” she asked, her voice rising in uncertainty.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I think so. I don’t think he’d lie about it. He’s told me whatever I asked. And he’s been with me pretty much every night, so . . .”

“Ohh-kay . . .” Ellie drew out the word, like she was mulling something over. “You guys were just casual . . . physical . . . no strings attached . . . not exclusive . . . right?”

“I guess,” I confirmed.

“Hmm. And he said the relationship with her is over . . . now that he’s seeing you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Emmy. You’re my girl and I’ve got your back no matter what, so if you tell me we need to castrate him, we will. We’ll put it on the fucking calendar and it’s done. But babe, honestly . . . you knew how he approached relationships. And this was something he was doing long before he met you. And then stopped once he started seeing you.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “You think I’m overreacting?” I quickly remembered the date and noted it was possible that PMS was rearing its ugly head a few days early.

“Well . . . it’s possible that this feels like a bigger deal because it was with Fiona—who you despise. But it’s totally up to you. Do you even want to continue this fuck-buddies relationship if your heart’s in the game and his isn’t? That can be dangerous, too.”

I remembered Ben’s solemn look when he told me he wanted to do this for real—no one but us. “Actually, he told me today that he wanted a real relationship with me. Just the two of us . . . no one else.”

Ellie remained silent for several long seconds. “Wow.”

I didn’t know how to interpret her awestruck silence. “What?”

“It sounds like this is what you wanted all along. You said he’s a great guy and you’re falling for him. And now he wants a relationship, but because of who he slept with before he ever started seeing you, you’re going to hold that against him?”

It did sound stupid when she put it that way. But I wouldn’t cave. Even if I was tempted to. Not that easily. Him sleeping with Fiona for five freaking years was a huge deal. She was my boss. His boss, too, in a sense. That was messed up.