And, for the life of me, I can’t understandwhy.
50
REED
Georgina is late, once again. Caught up in traffic. This time, because she lost track of time while reading a bunch of articles atRock ‘n’ Roll’s offices.
To distract myself while awaiting her return, I’ve been sitting on my couch with my laptop, going over the marketing plan for Fugitive Summer’s upcoming release. As I’ve been working, I’ve been sipping a glass of Bordeaux. Occasionally, glancing up at the sunset painting the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the living room.
Surely, if someone were to see me right now, not knowing anything about Georgina, they’d think I’m the perfect portrait of a man in relaxation mode. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. If Georgina doesn’t get here soon, I’m pretty sure I’m going to die from anticipation. I’d probably feel that way, regardless. Just because I’m physically craving her after being away from her for several hours. But my impatience is amplified by the flat, square box hidden underneath my couch cushion at the moment. The box I hid there when I got home, so I can give it to her at just the right moment tonight.
Georgina won’t keep my gift. Not this one. Not for long, anyway. She’ll take it from me with a beaming smile and turn around and sell it, the first chance she gets. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give it to her. Or see that beaming smile of hers when she firstopens the box and sees the sheer perfection of what’s inside. Whether Georgina winds up keeping my gift for a day or a week, her gift tomewill be the look on her face when she first opens the box.
Finally, just as I’m reaching the end of Fugitive Summer’s release package, I hear my front door open. When I turn my head, it’s just in time to see Georgina bursting into the expansive room. And, just like that, every cell in my body simultaneously jolts with a tsunami of reactions. Arousal, joy, relief.She’s home. She’s safe. She’s mine.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Georgie says adorably, barreling over to me, her computer bag clanking against her hip as she moves. “I got caught upreading a bunch of stuff, and totally lost track of time.”
Frazzled, she kisses me in greeting, and I calmly rise and hand her a goblet of wine.
“What were you reading?” I ask, settling next to her on the couch.
“Every past article I could get my hands on about every River Records artist,” she says. “Including the article that started it all—the one CeeCee wrote about Red Card Riot’s debut.”
“Oh, wow. I haven’t seen that one in forever. I’d love to read it, for old time’s sake.”
“I thought you might say that...” Waggling her eyebrows, she reaches into her computer bag and pulls out a sheet of paper. “So, I made a high-resolution color copy for you!”
“No way,” I say, as she hands me the page. “This is amazing, Georgie! Thank you.” I kiss her cheek. “That was awfully sweet of you.”
“Well, you’re awfully sweet to me, so... “
Oh, Jesus Christ. Those condors in my belly are back again, full-force. I read the entirety of the short article, stopping once to make a comment to Georgie, and, finally, place the page on the coffee table. “What a walk down memory lane. Wow.”
“I was actually thinking you might like a framed copy for your home office,” Georgie says. “You have all your major ‘firsts’ in there, so I thought...”
“That’s a fantastic idea. Thank you. I’ll give this to Amalia to get framed.”
“Oh. No. I was thinking I’d get it framed for you, if that’s okay.” She smiles shyly. “I know a framed article isn’t much of a gift, but you’vegiven me so much. I’m dying to give you something special. Something that might be meaningful to you.”
My heart skips a beat at the sweetness in Georgina’s expression—even as my heart leaps and bounds at the perfect segue she just lobbed to me. I’d planned to give Georgina my gift after dinner. But after a segue like that, how could I possibly resist giving it to her now?
“Speaking of gifts, I have one for you.”
“Oh, Reed. No.”
“Just listen. My meeting this afternoon was in Beverly Hills.” I take a deep breath. Holy shit, my heart is racing. “And when I was walking the couple blocks back to my car afterwards, I happened to pass a store window that was displaying something that instantly reminded me of you. So, I walked inside the store and bought it for you.”
“Reed, no. No, no, no.”
Ignoring her protests, I reach under the couch cushion and pull out the box I’ve been dying to give her. “This is for you. I hope you love it.”
Her wide eyes dart from the blue box to my face and back again. “I can’t accept that, whatever it is. Thank you so much for thinking of me, but it’s way too much.”
“Why don’t you decide what’s ‘way too much’ after you see it?”
“Reed, it’s from Tiffany’s.”
“So what? It could be a bottle opener.”
