Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,79
I could maybe find a job in the industry here and there’d be no ghosts following me around, like I felt there would in London. I lucked out—the first job I got in Miami was another AP job. I kept my head down, did my work, didn’t make a lot of friends. I was soon elevated to producer of the midday show, then the evening. Then I got the interview for the Sports Channel, and it was something I was looking for, to get me out of news, but then—”
“You ended up on Channel 4.”
“Yes,” Henry said, with a dip of his chin.
“And Claire?”
He lifted his shoulder, briefly. “Last I heard, she was elevated to AP.”
“So, she won,” I said, louder than I intended.
The corner of Henry’s lip lifted upward. “I haven’t looked at it that way.”
“Wow, Henry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“So do you understand better now?” His eyes peered into mine, so much hope there that I would get all that he was saying.
I leaned my head fully back against the couch, my eyes looking up toward the white high-gloss-painted ceiling. “I do understand: Claire . . . that whole situation was a nightmare. But, Henry,” I said, sitting up again so he could see my eyes. “I’m not Claire.”
He shook his head. “You’re not. But once upon a time I didn’t think Claire could be that kind of person either.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I want to. We haven’t known each other all that long, though, have we?”
“No,” I said, hating that fact. It didn’t feel like I barely knew Henry. It felt like I’d known him much longer.
“Then you at least can see why I need some boundaries. At least when it comes to work.”
I did see, even though I didn’t like it. I also felt like even with us dating in secret, if things went bad, who’d stop me, or anyone else from doing what Claire had done? Not that I’d do any of that. But even keeping it secret was still a risk. Obviously one that he was willing to take for me, at least this much. So, it wasn’t throwing caution to the wind or moving mountains for me, but it was something. Like throwing a leaf into the wind or moving tiny foothills. Still, things were being moved.
I felt better about it—good, even. I floated home last night. But once I got into bed, my fanciful brain started going off on its own. Instead of romantic ideas, this time it was finding fault and plucking holes in Henry’s decisions.
One thing was for certain: I wanted to be with Henry. I had feelings for him that I’d never had before, and for once they felt reciprocated. But my crazy brain kept pushing one word to the forefront of my mind: settling. Was I settling again by having this secret relationship with Henry? I mean, there was no end in sight. Even when I had asked him how long, all he could do was shrug and tell me that he didn’t know.
I woke up feeling less excited about the whole prospect of being with Henry and had worked myself into a tizzy by the time I got to work. I was going to march into his office and tell him that we needed a better plan than this. I needed more than this; I deserved more.
But this morning when I walked into his office all riled up and ready to say my words, he shut the door behind me, pushed me up into the corner of his office, and let his lips and tongue and hands do the talking. By the time he pulled away from me, my lips swollen from his not-so-gentle kisses, I’d forgotten what I’d planned to say. I’d forgotten all words, to be completely honest.
Then the texting started.
Henry: I love that outfit on you. Very sexy.
Henry: I fancy the hell out of you.
Henry: Dinner tonight? We could order takeaway. Also snogging. And lots of it.
My belly would do a flip-flop thing every time I heard or felt my phone vibrate.
I don’t think I realized how hot a secret thing could be. I’ve gone about the day feeling so turned on, so giddily happy inside, that I couldn’t help but change my mind.
Now, sitting here across from Henry at our work meeting, carefully stealing secret glances, remembering how it felt when he practically accosted me with his lips in his office this morning . . . I’m quite keen on this whole dating