“Negotiations,” I repeat, tasting the word. It sounds absurd and grown-up and somehow perfectly suited to him.
Arthur studies me with an openness that is almost disarming. “This is new ground for me. I haven’t dated anyone in a long time. I get the sense it might be the same for you.”
I nod. “It is.”
He steeples his fingers in front of him. “It has recently occurred to me that relationships are partnerships. Why not approach them with a logical, balanced discussion aimed at managing expectations so both parties achieve a satisfying outcome?”
The sensible framework is ridiculous and also sweet, and the earnest tilt of his mouth makes something inside me uncoil. I chew my lower lip. “I thought you said you weren’t a romantic.”
He glances down, fighting a smile. When he looks up his dark eyes find mine and my heart stutters. “I don’t know how to do romance. But I’ll try to learn, if you want me to.”
I think back to early in my relationship with Shawn. The grand gestures. The empty promises. The pretty words that never seemed to match his actions.
“I don’t know how to do romance either,” I confess. “So let’s try your way.”
“Our way,” he corrects, the smallest smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
I mirror it. “Our way.”
He watches me for a long moment as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I don’t, he inclines his head and picksup his pen. The click of the cap sounds enormous in the quiet room.
“All right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Let’s start by defining our goals.”
“Great. You go first,” I say, folding my hands on my own notepad so I look like I mean it.
He smirks. “Very well. My goal is to be in a mutually beneficial romantic relationship with you.”
“So you want to be my boyfriend?” I ask, the question garbled with hope and trepidation.
He blinks at the word “boyfriend” as if it is foreign to him. “I haven’t been a boy in over two decades.”
“You want to be my man-friend?” I offer, half teasing, half sincere.
He makes a face at that and then nods once, decisive. “Boyfriend it is.”
I beam until my cheeks ache. Arthur Stetson wants to be my boyfriend. The words feel ridiculous. Too good to be true. Even so, a prickle of apprehension creeps in. Once bitten, twice shy, my inner voice warns.
He must see the shift because his brow creases with quiet concern and he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My answer comes too quickly. I pick up the pen he left for me and start doodling aimless loops along the margin of the notepad so I do not have to meet his eyes.
“Elliot.” His tone is soft, patient.
I take a breath.Be brave. “It’s just…I want this to be mutually beneficial andexclusive.” The words tumble out before I can tidy them. My voice thins at the end, smaller than I intended.
My cheeks burn as my gaze remains glued to the paper. The conference room hums around us. Seconds stretch. I feel the look of careful attention on me and finally lift myhead.
He is watching me with an expression I haven’t seen on him before. His jaw is relaxed, the usual coach-hard set softened into something gentle. There is real warmth around his eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says.
Relief rushes through me. He’s not Shawn.
“Okay.” I let the word out and it feels steadier than I expected. “Now that we have defined our goals, what comes next?”
He taps the pen cap against his notepad. “Ground rules,” he answers.
God.That has no business sounding as sexy as it does.
He studies me for a beat before continuing. “What is your number one priority?”
