Page 69 of The Dating Contract

It was a wonder he could stand; the words were soft, yet unmistakable.

He heard her. She’d said it.

She wanted to…

Talk about the past, the one thing she’d always said she couldn’t do.

And yet.

And yet he had to go. To Liam’s party, to the celebration of the potential offer being extended. To celebrate his friend’s birthday.

And as Liam had put it: family.

But the alarm he’d painstakingly set so that they wouldn’t be late? That’s when it went off.

Of course it did.

“Table the discussion?”

She nodded. “After the party? Tonight? You and me? We talk?”

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

The smile on her face was open, clear and beautiful. Making him feel as if on a Thursday night in Queens, they’d started anew.

So he took her hand and walked out of his apartment and into the future.

*

Leah’s heart waspounding as she walked with Samuel, hand in hand from the subway to the location of the party.

The rest of the week had been horrible; playing phone tag with the Empires about this contract provision and actually negotiating the contract that would be Carly’s first with them was, to put it simply, a nightmare.

Phone tag, email tag, conversations.

There was so much to do, so much to unravel, and if she didn’t love her job, it would be horrible. But Carly would be a trailblazer, and this contract had to be special.

But she still wanted this precious time with him; she’d carved it out of her schedule and told everybody she’d been speaking to that they shouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.

Not just because she’d committed to this event contractually, but because she wanted to spend time with Samuel. To have the conversation she’d been practicing.

About high school.

About…chances and wanting more and just being together.

And all the worries about whether it was the right decision or not evaporated as she arrived at his apartment. The strong smell of ink enveloped her and instead of making her feel anxious, it made her feel at home.

And brought her right into the chocolate pools of his eyes.

She’d decided; she wanted to fix the past, and if she could do that, she could grab for a future.

With him.

And yet as she stood there, holding his hand, all she could think of was how similar the stairs looked to the stairs that led up to Gabriel Bruckner’s townhouse. The parallels between that night and this one were smacking her in the face. Hard.

The beginning and the next chapter, both starting in work parties.

“Is it me,” she said, “or are you staring at the stairs too?”

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