After a very long and hard fuck.
She’s getting here tomorrow, and it’s the first time she’s been to Seattle in probably two years. Judging by my apartment, though, one would probably never know that. There are pictures of her everywhere—on my walls, on my desk in my office, and in my bedroom. Even when we weren’t speaking, Halle has always been a very permanent fixture in all of my living spaces.
The last time she was here, she’d left some lotion and other toiletries, and while I threw those away after this long, I replaced them with new ones, as well as some other things I’ve seen her use when I was at her apartment. I placed an order for takeout to be delivered around the time we get home from the airport, including some of her favorite snacks, wine, and a favorite dessert. I don’t think she’ll want to go out, but we’ve definitely been known to get a little wine-drunk and nasty when we stay in.
I loosen my tie as I prepare to leave my downtown office for the day to go home and get ready for Halle’s arrival, when there’s a knock on my door.
The urge to bark out “what?” is strong, but I reach for the stress ball on my desk and give it a long, hard squeeze before I yell out a much more HR friendly “come in.” I instantly regret it when three people from my press team enter, each carrying an iPad and sporting varying levels of anxiety and nervousness. I watch as two of them exchange a worried look, and I already know I’m not in the mood for whatever the fuck they’re about to tell me.
“What?” I ask as I lean back in my chair and begin tapping my fingers on my desk, hoping it conveys my agitation. My patience is already razor-thin right now, and tiptoeing around any bullshit is just going to make it worse.
“So… Halle…” Jack, a red-haired man barely out of college, who sounds like he might still be in high school, speaks up first. “She’s flying in tomorrow?”
I raise an eyebrow at him as if to saywhat about it?
“Right, so we were thinking,” says Lola, a woman who reminds me of my motherand acts like she is sometimes too.“Maybe you and Halle should talk to the board together. Explain how different you are and how you and Halle fell in love. It’s going to be a hard sell, but maybe you can make them understand.”
My eyebrows furrow in annoyed question because I hadn’t expected them to pitch this idea. “And what, just pray that they’re hopeless romantics?”
“Mr. Wilder, respectfully, you have to do something. We understand that dating someone for appearances isn’t feasible, but this isn’t just going to go away,” Jack points out.
“Appeal to some of their softer sides,” Lola adds.
“Do they have softer sides?” I ask.
“Everyone has a soft side. Most of them are married, and if you portray this relationship as the real thing and not about lust or the heat of a forbidden relationship or aviolation of ethics,you may be able to sell them. But you need Halle. They need to meet her and see both of you. Together.”
“This feels like I’m on trial. I don’t want to subject her to this.” This whole situation pisses me off. I fucking hate that it feels like I’m being forced to “run my relationship by my job” as if they have a say in who I love.
I tried to warn you that no one would understand.I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my ear.
Lola narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, well, you kind of are, and speaking of trials, will you be going to one for punching yourotherstepsibling in the face at a bar in North Carolina?” she asks snarkily with her voice laced with disapproval.
I glare at her before pinching the bridge of my nose and letting out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I will talk to her about it.” Halle will do anything to make this situation easier for me, so I know she’ll do it, but I hate the thought of putting her through this.
The second those gorgeous eyes find mine, they light up, and her speed picks up as she makes her way toward me. I’m standing at baggage claim, even though I know she didn’t check a bag, because not only could I not wait another second to see her, but the last time she flew here, her terrible sense of direction led her to the wrong area, and I couldn’t find her for thirty minutes.
“Wild!” She’s in my arms a moment later, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing like she hasn’t seen me in months, not the four days we’ve been apart. When she pulls away, she rises on her tiptoes, letting me know what she wants, and I press mylips to hers. I pull her hard against me, and for a moment, I get lost in kissing her just like always. I can tell she wants to climb up my body, but I hold her in place, reminding her of where we are before pulling back.
“We are in public.” I chuckle before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Like that’s ever stopped us. I wasn’t expecting to see you here either!” she says as I take her small roller suitcase from her and begin rolling it behind us as we make it out of the airport.
“After what happened last time you were here, I wasn’t taking any chances,” I joke.
I don’t live far from the airport, so we’re back to my apartment building in thirty minutes.
“I ordered some food. I figured we could stay in tonight.” Usually, the first night we are together, we stay in—we barely leave the bed, let alone our houses—so I assumed that’s what she’d want to do. I also have to break the news about going to my office to meet with the board tomorrow.
She follows me out of the elevator and toward my two-story penthouse at the end of the hall. I push through the door, and she’s barely even through the door before she gasps. “Oh my God, baby.” She spins around to look at me before turning back to the flower shop that my living room has become. Fifteen dozen red and white roses sit on practically every surface in my kitchen and living room. I have the end unit, so two of the walls are floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing the Seattle night skyline to shine into the room and illuminate the flowers.
“Sebastian,” she says quietly before pressing her nose into the closest bouquet and running her fingertip across some of the petals. “These are so beautiful. Wow.” She moves toward me and gives me a kiss that she probably intended to be innocent, but the anticipation of finally having her alone in my apartment hastaken over, and I have her pressed against the wall, devouring her mouth.
“Wait, wait,” she tells me when I start playing with the hem of her shirt with the intention of yanking it over her head. “I want to shower first.” She gives me a pointed look. “Alone.”
I snort before pressing a hand over my groin in an attempt to calm the hard-on I’ve been sporting since I saw her at the airport, if I’m being honest. “And why would I agree to that?”
“Babe,” she groans as she makes her way into my open concept kitchen and grabs the bottle of red wine that I left sitting on the counter. Taking the bottle from her, I grab my corkscrew out of the drawer and open it for her. “I just flew all day. I would like to wash the travel off me if you don’t mind.”
