Two years later.
"You've got to be kidding me," I groan after I turn the page of the book I'm reading to find the next one blank except for the words To be continued...For a moment, I just stare at the paper with eyes and mouth wide, part of me hoping that more words will magically appear like the details of a Polaroid picture exposed to light and air. When they don't, I accept my defeat with a sigh. I close the book and hug it to my chest as I sink into the heap of pillows on my bed.I can't believe the author ended the book just like that, with the revelation of a shocking secret that I never saw coming, and which now changes everything. I don't even know how the main characters are going to end up together now, and I'll be heartbroken if they don't. It's just so mean. And yet, I have to admit it's also pure genius. It's just like when you're watching a movie, and you hate the villain but then you're also in awe of the actor because he played his role so well and made you hate him so much. This way, I'm definitely buying the next book when it comes out. In fact, I can't wait to devour it.When is it coming out?I go online on my laptop to check. Next year? I have to wait that long? Now, this is just torture.I allow myself to simmer in my frustration for a minute. If only I had someone to talk to about this book, I'd probably feel better faster, but I don't. It's sad, really.The only thing sadder than finishing a book is not having anyone to discuss it with. That's why book clubs were invented.But what can I do? I left my few friends back in New York and I haven't made any new ones.Well, there are some people from the company that I have lunch with, but I haven't had the chance to hang out with them after work. More accurately, I haven't had the time. I usually have to stay at the office until late at night. Even when I don't, I'm on the phone or the computer or by Shawn's side nearly every minute of the day, trying to keep track of everything without losing my own sanity and composure. By the time I get home, I'm so exhausted I go straight to bed.Except Friday nights like tonight. Knowing I have two days to rest gives me an extra boost of energy so I can stay up and read a book. Too bad I finished this one before ten.As I place the book on the nightstand, my eyes fall on the family photo in the red frame — my dad, my mom and me after I just played a fairy in a school play. Happy days.I pick up the frame and put it on my lap.I miss them. Growing up, I knew that I would lose them at a young age since they were already old when they had me.My mom was thirty-seven, my father forty-two. They knew it, too, so they did their best to prepare me, to make sure I could stand on my own two feet when it happened. I could. I did.But I wasn't ready.I wish they were still around. I wish I could hear my dad's laughter again even though I'll never forget the sound of it. He loved to make jokes and was always the first to laugh at them.I wish I could have more of my mother's cooking. She loved to make pastry — pies, pasta, dumplings. She would bring them to my room whenever I had to stay up late studying or when she knew I'd had a bad day. More than anything, I just wish they were still here so I could talk to them. so that I could tell them all about work and hear their words of advice and encouragement, or just talk to them about anything and not feel so alone like I do on nights like this.I know I'm alone, and most of the time, I'm fine. But there's something about the silence and the shadows of the night that turns my solitude into a sharp knife that stabs me in the gut.I put the frame back on the nightstand with a lump in my throat. Then I see the leather-bound journal. My journal.I've kept one since I was a kid.I don't write in it every day, usually just when I have ideas I want to reflect on, experiences I want to remember, thoughts I need to process or emotions I just need to get into words so I can make sense of them and take control of them. Like now.I pick up the journal, slide the strap off and find a blank page. Then I take the pen from my drawer and start to write.Nights like this, it's hard to breathe through the air of loneliness that fills my dark room. It's almost like fog or smoke.Nights like this, I wish I was anywhere else but my apartment. Maybe in a Greek seaside town, or Paris, or a charming Scottish village.Nights like this, I wish I had someone. Someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be alright.I wish I had someone I could call my own. A child. A son or a daughter to carry in my arms and press against my heart, whose forehead I can kiss, whose tiny fingers I can wrap around one of mine. I'm not sure I'll make a good mother, but I know I'm going to love the little person who comes out of my body like I've never loved before. Together, we'll conquer the world.And maybe a man of my own, too. A lover to keep me company in my bed. A good man who will keep the shadows at bay until morning, who will touch me in all the magical ways a woman wants to be touched. He'll pin my hands above my head and demand my surrender with his mouth, claiming my lips and worshiping my breasts. With his fingers, he will make me melt, pressing the secret button that transforms my excitement into ecstasy.I stop writing as heat flows from my fingertips to my toes, turning into an ache as it fills my breasts and then an inch as it settles between my legs. I can't ignore it.I put my pen and my journal down. Then I close my eyes and lie back.I lift the hem of my oversize shirt all the way to my armpits. I trap it between my teeth before pushing the waistband of my underwear down to my knees.I raise my knees and slip my hand between my legs. My fingers search for my nub and find it in seconds. As I stroke it, I touch my breast with my other hand. I pinch the nipple gently, then start to rub it.My hands in place, I let my imagination wander. I've never had sex before. Never had time for romance except for the one I had in high school which, thankfully, didn't get physical, because that guy was a jerk. So, I simply conjure the sex acts from the memories of the books I've read, pretending I'm the heroine.I think about the book I just read, about that scene in the orchard. I pretend I'm l
"Thank goodness. Such a close call." I let out a sigh of relief after getting off the phone.I managed to get in touch with the tailor in Switzerland. Thank goodness he was already awake. I've just sent him payment from the digital wallet set up on my office computer and told him to deliver the suits to the hotel as soon as he's finished with them.In short, I've managed to prevent a disaster. Now, Shawn is all set for Switzerland.And I can go home.My lonely flat.I glance at the door to his office as I gather my things. I can see the sliver of light beneath it so I know he's still inside. I should get home before he knows I'm here and —I gasp as I see the leather-bound journal inside my purse.What?I pick it up and flip through the pages just to make sure it is what I think it is. It's my journal, alright. I must have accidentally shoved it inside my purse along with my other things while I was panicking over my mistake.Oh, Felicity, you can be so stupid sometimes.I'm about to
Strange, I think as I watch Felicity disappear behind the elevator doors. I feel like the woman I've just spoken to is completely different from the one I've been working closely with for the past two years.It's not just because Felicity looked different. I've only ever seen her in stiff dresses or colored silk blouses and tight-fitting skirts, but tonight she was wearing pants and a white top that seemed to hang from her shoulders. The topmost button was left undone, too, and though her cleavage remained concealed, I could see her black bra through the thin fabric. I had to keep myself from staring at it, in fact. Then there's her hair.Apart from that first time I met her, I've always seen her with her cappuccino mane all combed back and tied up, which is attractive enough, but nothing compared to when she has her hair down. There's just something sensual about a woman whose shiny locks are flowing freely past her shoulders, like they're inviting me to run my fingers through them.
"Another," I tell the bartender after setting down my empty glass of Scotch for the fourth time. He refills it from the bottle within seconds."Same here," Ryker says, pointing to his empty glass of gin tonic."Looks like the two of you are having it rough," Asher remarks as he takes a sip of his martini. "It's that Swiss acquisition, isn't it?""The question is: Why don't you seem as anxious?" Ryker asks him. "Or have you forgotten that if this acquisition doesn't push through, it will be bad for the whole company?""I know, but it will still be worse for the two of you," Asher says.Ryker frowns."Maybe we should just leave him here when we go to Switzerland," I say."What do you think, Ryker?""Hey!" Asher complains. "No fair. I've already made plans for Switzerland."Ryker raises an eyebrow. "Plans?""I've heard Swiss women are gorgeous."Ryker rolls his eyes. I know what he's thinking — that some things never change."We are going to Switzerland for work, you know," I remind Ashe
Shawn is taking me with him to Switzerland? I can't believe my ears.He's never brought me along on his business trips before. Why now? Why all of a sudden? If he was planning on bringing me along, he could have told me weeks ago. I've already made all the arrangements. He didn't think of it then, so why think of it now? What made him change his mind?"I know it's a bit sudden," Shawn tells me. "But I've realized that this trip is even more important than I thought. I've never handled an acquisition this big. I want to be prepared for anything, so I need you there."Perfectly understandable, but I still can't bring myself to believe it. My fingers clutch the edges of the tablet in my hands, afraid that like this dream come true I've just been handed, it might slip away and shatter.Can this be real? Is it really alright for me to go to Switzerland with Shawn? I mean, we'll be traveling together and we might find ourselves alone together. What if I lose my composure again like I did la
The flight from Chicago to Zurich takes a little less than nine hours.I spend the first half hour marveling at the inside of Shawn's jet - well, it's owned by the company, actually, but this one is for the exclusive use of the CEO.It's a Gulfstream, or so Henry, the lone flight attendant on the plane, tells me. It's supposed to carry only eleven passengers, so I thought it would be small and cramped. Boy, was I wrong.Sure, it definitely looks like a dwarf on the outside compared to the gigantic commercial planes, but inside there's enough space for a kid to run and kick a ball around. And that's just the seating area. There's a dining area with a bar, a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower and a conference room.More than the space, it's the atmosphere of luxury that has me gasping and gaping in awe. The soft leather seats that come with neck massagers and convert into flat beds. The thick, burgundy carpet. Ambient lighting. My own 15-inch TV. Then there's the service designed to make
"I don't think I've ever eaten anything quite like that," I say as I dab my lips with the table napkin. "Is this what you eat all the time?""Not all the time," Shawn answers. "But it's one of my favorites. The chef who designed this, he was serving his food in a small hut when I first met him. Now he has an empire not just all, over Asia but all over Europe, to — ""And he's here?" I ask with arched eyebrows."No. He hates flying, But the chef who cooked for us this evening trained under him, among many others. He's very skillful,"I put my hands up. "No need to convince me. If the next dish is as good as this, I'll be very happy."Shawn grins. "I think you will be."Moments later, the second course arrives — a pair of pot stickers with a bit of salad on the side and a dark dipping sauce.The moment I see it, my chest tightens. I grip it as I draw a deep breath."Is something wrong?" Shawn asks me.I shake my head but fail to conceal my emotions. "It's just that this is one of the th
I guess those heaps of energy ran out.I turn off the light above Felicity's seat and press the button to push it back a bit further so she'll be more comfortable. She stirs but remains asleep. I drape the fleece blanket over her, Wrapping it around her shoulders. She gives off a sound of contentment like the purring of a cat. It makes me smile, but at the same time I feel a sliver of anxiety as I stare at her sleeping face.Felicity, what am I going to do with you?I've never met a woman who could make me feel so many emotions all at once. Earlier, while she was working, I couldn't help but admire her for working so hard. Her fingers were punching the keyboard like crazy, her eyes boring holes into her screen. It made me feel almost ashamed because it felt like she was working harder than I was. But it also inspired me to keep working hard myself. At the same time, I wanted to wrench her laptop away from her and tell her to stop working so we could continue with the conversation we h