Page 85 of A Song for You

Cynthia studies the computer screen, her eyes roving over the proposal for what feels like hours. I peek at Sophie, and she gives me a shrug, just as anxious for our boss’s opinion as I am.

The air is filled with possibility. Like it has been for the last two months. Ever since I moved back to New England. Jay, this job, school. There is so much potential on the horizon. I’ve woken up in Jay’s arms every day for the last two weeks. The ball is in two days. And I think I have everything covered.

We’ve gone over every detail ad nauseum every night over dinner. He’s unperturbed by my constant chatter about it and my nervousness. He’s patiently gone over it all with me. The drinks, the linens, where the photographers will stand, the lighting, the flowers, the candles, the food.

Over the weekend, he surprised me with a trip to New York, where we shopped for my dress for the ball and matching masquerade masks. My dress is a deep royal blue with black lace on the bodice. I wasn’t sold on the idea of matching attire until he convinced me that since we’re running the event together, we should coordinate. Although it makes sense, a small part of me worries that it’ll lead to questions. But mostly, I’m happy. Jay is happy. And everything else fades to the back.

“Hmm.” Cynthia snaps her fingers, and Rose moves from her spot in the corner to peer over Cynthia’s shoulder. “This. I like this,” she says.

Which one?

Rose takes notes on her pad and brings her attention back to the screen.

“And this. I like this. A lot.”

“Yes, it’s amazing,” Rose parrots. She glances in our direction, her normal smugness transformed. For the first time, I see…admiration, I think…in her eyes. “Really amazing,” she remarks, her focus solely on me.

My heart flutters, and I squeeze Sophie’s hand.

“And what is your plan with this?” Cynthia asks as she sets her glasses on the desk in front of her and grants us her full attention.

I look to Sophie, but she motions for me to speak.

“Well,” I clear my throat, “we’ve noticed that Facebook has really taken off for college-age people, and it’s becoming more and more popular all the time. In my opinion, it’s the future of advertising. Jolie needs to be there. We would post content. For everyone,” I emphasize, and Sophie bobs her head beside me. “Since there will be a face—or two,” I say, smiling to Sophie, “behind the account, people our age may trust it more. Essentially, the content will be similar to what’s printed in the monthly issues, but it’ll be promoted daily on this page in an organic way.”

Cynthia shakes her head. “It’s…” she hesitates, breaking into a wide smile, “brilliant. I think you’re right. This is the future. You are our future,” she says.

My body tingles as my chest expands with pride. Magic. Possibility. “Once the ball is over, I want your full attention on this project. We’ll start testing it quietly, and when we go to Paris this winter, we’ll present it to the board.”

I bite my lip. Paris.

“Paris?” Sophie squeaks.

Cynthia settles back into her chair. “Yes, girls. Congratulations, the internships are yours.”

I practically sprint to Jay’s office after a celebratory lunch with Sophie. I’m a teensy bit buzzed from the champagne we splurged on. “Paris!” she screamed as we walked out of Cynthia’s office. “We’re going to fucking live in Paris!”

Jay’s secretary tells me he’s expecting me and to go on back. I barely make it through the door before he’s dragging me in, shutting his door, and pressing me against his wall, his hand traveling up my skirt and his mouth on mine. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Kitten.”

It’s not lost on me that the man hasn’t once voiced concern over this trip or tried to talk me out of my desire to take an internship thousands of miles away.

He encourages me. Listens to me. Supports me. All things I’ve rarely experienced in my life. Someone in my corner for the simple reason of just being in my corner.

“Thank you,” I say, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation on his part. But they sparkle with nothing but pride. His lips curve into the most genuine smile, and with his body pressed against mine, our heartbeats sync.

“So, Paris in the winter,” he murmurs as he pushes the fabric of my panties aside with his fingers and presses inside me. We moan in unison.

“Paris in the winter,” I repeat as I drop my head to the wall behind me and Jay’s fingers slide in and out of me, bringing me to the edge quickly. I’ve only been in his office for two minutes, and I’m about to come. “Fuck, Jay,” I pant.

He smirks and presses a kiss to my neck. “Such a good student you are, Kitten. Coming with my name on your lips, riding my finger like you’re going to ride my cock this weekend. Show me, Kitten. Show me how you’re going to squeeze me.”

My walls clench around him, and before I can make too much noise, he takes my mouth in his, kissing me hard. When he pulls back, a smirk he’s more than earned in place, my knees go weak. He removes his fingers, slips them into his mouth, and closes his eyes as he cleans them of my orgasm. Then he hums in appreciation, and with his hand on the small of my back, guides me to the chair in front of his desk.

I sit, and he takes the seat next to me rather than on the other side of his desk. With a smile, he reaches for my ankle and rubs circles on it with his thumb. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says again.

“I’m so proud too. This is…shit. I’m at a loss for words. I’m going to Paris.”

“Yes, baby. You’re going to Paris.”