Eric paces the short length of the lift until he’s inches from me. “You said at the hotel there was no point in this thing between us continuing because whoever lost out on the job wouldn’t be able to stand the other person winning.” He looks at me wide-eyed, waiting for confirmation.
“Yes!” My eyebrows almost hit the ceiling as I completely agree with him in the most disagreeable voice I can muster.
His head tilts upward as he shoots me a sidelong glance. “Well, you were wrong. I could. I wouldn’t just be fine with it. I’d be fucking ecstatic.”
I stutter, “B-but you want this just as much as I do.”
He takes a step toward me and shakes his head. My chin lifts to meet his gaze.
“I wantyoumore. Us being on each other’s team, waking up next to you every day, taking you on real dates, watching you realize you deserve the fucking world and being the one who is allowed to give it to you. Being able to tell you every day that I’m in lovewith you. That’s me winning, Grace. I don’t need anything else.”
I take a shuddering breath. “Well... fuck. I love you too.”
It comes out so matter-of-factly that “obviously I love you, duh” would have been more appropriate. So brutally honest I don’t even stop to think about it.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly, thumb delicately stroking my cheek until he pulls away to look at me. “And you probably would have beaten me anyway. Better to end with some dignity.”
He winks at me and I let out a teary laugh, pressing my forehead against his. He holds my jaw in his palms, stroking away an escaped tear from my cheek like a windshield wiper in a rainstorm.
A man’s crackling voice bursts from the lift’s speaker. “Everything OK in there, guys?”
Eric presses the call intercom button. “Yeah. But can you give us like two minutes, please? Just baring my soul to someone.”
The gruff voice stays quiet for a few moments then states, “I can give you one minute.”
“Thanks, man.” Eric tugs me by my waist toward him. “Where was I?” he teases.
“Confessing your love for me.” I nod, trying to keep my beaming smile from blinding him.
“Ah, right.” He kisses my lips—“I love you”—my cheek—“I love you”—my neck—“I love you.”
We barely have our hands off each other as the doorsglide open on Catcher’s floor, revealing Harriet standing with her arms out in frustration. “I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes! Mr. Catcher wants to see you immediately.”
“What about?” Eric asks, hand out of sight stroking the small of my back as if he’ll never fully let me go.
“I have no idea.” Harriet runs a hand through her honey-blonde hair. “Have either of you seen Grace Hastings? I’m meant to fetch her too.”
Eric shoots me a look of amusement as we step out onto the office floor with bated breath.
35
It’s a weird combination of emotions, knowing that best-case scenario you are going to be ripped to shreds by your boss, and worst-case scenario you will be straight-up fired for embarrassing the company in front of its major investors, and yet you’re so deliriously happy you know nothing can hurt you. Feeling grateful to be in the sun even if you’re about to burn to a crisp. This is how it feels to walk hand in hand with Eric toward Catcher’s office. Harriet’s raised eyebrows suggested she had caught a glimpse of our private display of affection in the lift, but when Bancroft’s fingers interlace with mine in her presence it makes my heart swell. Whatever is coming next, we can deal with it together.
Eric’s thumb lightly traces soothing circles on the top of my hand as we pace down the hallway and pass a row of glass fishbowl meeting rooms. The occupants stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I’m not sure whether it’s because the news of me punching my ex-boyfriend in the lobby has already traveled up to this floor or whether it’s because we, the famously mortal enemiesfrom rival dating apps, are floating past on a cloud, looking like two cats who got the most luxurious cream imaginable. Either way, we both have more pressing matters to worry about right now.
We make it to Catcher’s office, squeeze, and then release each other’s hands. Giving Catcher impassioned, overlapping and entirely unrehearsed explanations as to why we both sacrificed this opportunity for the other would likely negate our very efforts. We did this because both of us deserve to be here on our own merits since either of us would thrive in this role.
We face the doorway of doom; Eric holds his arm out to knock but then hesitates. Instead, he leans into me. “I’m feeling the urge to say something along the lines of ‘good luck’... but that seems like kind of a moot point now.”
“Something like ‘nice knowing ya!’”—I mime a tip of my hat—“feels more appropriate.”
He lets out a breathy laugh and replies, “Nice knowing you too.” Then hits the door with three brisk knocks.
Martin Catcher, founder and CEO of Catch Group Inc. and the man ultimately responsible for our livelihoods, stares in silence as we sheepishly perch on chairs on the other side of his massive carved wooden desk. His office is a clichéd “old rich man who probably owns a boat” style. Red leather–bound books with gold embossing, sparkling whisky decanters arranged neatly in the corner and framed black-and-white photographs of him and every famous businessman of thetwenty-first century littered across the walls. His lips are pursed and his eyes narrow, as though he’s trying to unravel the master plan we’ve concocted specifically to ruin his day.
He takes in a sharp lungful of air and places his joined fists on the desk. “You know, I was thinking of just firing you both on the spot after the stunt you pulled.”
My stomach lurches, as though the fist that hit William actually went straight through a wormhole, time traveled to this exact moment and punched me in the gut instead.
