Page 7 of Worth the Risk

“You know, when I met you”—I glance up to catch Austin looking at me—“I thought you were just uptight because you were stressed about finding a job.”

My shoulders drop, my hands drifting slowly back down to my desk. I’ve always been uptight, he knows that, but lately it’s been even worse. Clearly, he’s picked up on it, and while I had hoped I would be able to compartmentalize my professional life from my personal life, which is falling apart… I’m failing.

“And here I thought that’s what you love about me, my uptight status quo.” I offer a genuine smile, sitting back in my chair as I swivel to face him. “One of us has to be the neurotic one so that the other can be the easygoing, charming one.”

“Charming, huh?” He props his arm behind his head, his stomach flexing beneath his shirt. “After five years”—he winks—“she still thinks I’m charming.”

My eyes want to linger, to notice the way his belt sits perfectly at his hips. To imagine that view from above him, his hands on my waist as his voice drops to that sexy, rich tenor that may or may not make my knees go weak.

“Me, obviously. You’re the neurotic one,” I say, rolling my eyes which in turn makes him laugh. That same loud,unapologetic laugh he let out on the train car that day we first met.

“Well, if you ever need to relax and let loose, I promise I can step up and be neurotic for you.”

“I’ll take a look at my schedule and let you know. I might be able to squeeze in fifteen minutes of relaxation somewhere next month.” I reach beneath my desk, pulling off my newest pair of Christian Louboutin Athina heels and let them fall to the floor.

“I don’t know how you women do it,” he says, nodding toward my shoes. “Don’t your feet hurt?”

“Of course they do.” I shrug. “But I don’t buy them because they’re comfortable; I buy them because they’re stunning and they make me feel like a badass when I wear them.”

“You are a badass.”

“Well, we know that, but I have to make sure the men that walk through that door,” I say, pointing toward my office entryway, “know that because they like to think I’ll be impressed with the size of their portfolio. So I like to remind them that I wear heels bigger than their dick.”

His smile widens as he shakes his head. “Fuck me, I love you.”

It hits me right in my stomach every single time he says that. Delivered with the same cadence, same laugh, usually always right after I’ve said something particularly snarky.

He stretches one arm out as he sits up, reaching for one of my shoes. He picks it up, running his thumb along the edge. “You have incredible taste, though, that’s for sure.” I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as he stares at the heel, his thumb still dragging so slowly along the insole. “What was the occasion this time?”

“What?”

His head tilts, a curious smile on his face as he looks at me. “You always show up in a new pair of Louboutins wheneversomething’s happened. First day of work after we started this firm you showed up with a new pair. Different than the ones you said you bought yourself after graduating law school. And then that time the girl screwed your hair up”—he flashes me a grimace—“after I convinced you to get a bob.” He gingerly places the shoe back on the floor after gesturing with it. “So, was it good or bad this time?”

He noticed that?

A silly little tradition I didn’t mean to start for myself when I graduated. I saved for three years for my first pair, promising myself that the day I signed on with my first big firm, I’d buy my second pair. Well, I never signed with a law firm, but I did buy my second pair when I met Austin. And the hair situation… well, that was a nightmare I had to distract myself from so after my tears dried and I learned a few in between hairstyles I could pull off as my hair grew out, you bet your ass I bought my pair of fancy fucking shoes.

My breath catches in my throat, making me cough slightly. Even though we clicked the second we met and our business relationship has turned more into friendship, I forget just how much time we spend together. How deeply we’ve come to know one another whether through words or noticing little habits and routines like this.

I debate on telling him, on finally saying the words out loud.

Noah and I broke up.

A fact I haven’t told anyone yet besides my best friend Becca, but I can’t make myself say it. It’s still fresh, too new, and I really don’t feel like crying about it anymore. Not only because Noah doesn’t deserve my tears, but also because it’s been four months; it’s time I start focusing on myself and stop living in the past. I gave him almost five years. He doesn’t deserve another second.

A thought I keep reminding myself of when I find myself yet again crying on the shower floor or in my closet after a particularly long day.

“Bad,” I say with a shrug, my eyes staying focused on his so I don’t seem too upset. I know if I look away or show how upset I still am, he’ll be asking me twenty questions to get to the bottom of it. That’s what Austin does, rushing in as the white knight to try and make everyone’s problems go away.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope. What are you doing this weekend?” I change the subject. “Any hot dates?"

“Actually.” He smiles. “I have a first date and I’m pretty excited about it.”

“Oh?” There’s an unpleasant flick of something in my stomach. Austin goes on a lot of first and second dates… maybe nota lotbut enough that it’s rare if ever that he gets excited about a first date. “I thought you were seeing Penelope? Is that her name?”

“Was,” he corrects me, “and we went on a few dates. It was nice but neither of us felt a connection so on to the next.”

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