11. Woodley

ELEVEN

Woodley

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas / Just like the ones I used to know.

6:49 am

I scroll through my phone, looking for any news on the bombing. Strangely, all I've found so far is a mention of it from the AP and a few Tennessee local news outlets, but not a ton of coverage.

The media love to jump on anything salacious. So I find it is bizarre that information on it has been so sparse. Besides that there was an explosion, the thing has not been covered. I'm guessing it's because of the holiday?

I sit across from Thorne, my fingers tapping restlessly against the table. The early morning lobby is still quiet, save for the Christmas music playing softly in the background. Outside, the snowstorm shows no sign of letting up, and neither does my complete annoyance with him.

Or, maybe the annoyance is with myself for sleeping with the prick. Or, could it be that I'm actually attracted to him even though he is a prick?

All of the above.

Thorne has surprisingly apologized in more ways than one. I should probably let up just a little. But, he should apologize! He was a smug jerk, even if I was admittedly overreacting.

The more I wait, the more my anxiety ramps up. We have to do something. I think this is him waving an olive branch but I'm not ready to concede.

Thorne's phone rings, the sound sharp amidst the familiar Christmas tunes. I look over and see a flicker of stress cross his face as he glances at the screen. He presses his lips together and stands, sliding the phone out of his pocket.

"I've got to take this," he mutters, excusing himself and walking away toward a quieter corner of the lobby.

I watch him go, the frustration easing somewhat. He does have a cute little ass, even though I hate him.

Pressing hard, I rub my temples, trying to ease the headache that's been building since we got the text at the butt crack of dawn.

Maybe he's right. I'm sure there's a middle ground that I'm unwilling to see…since I'm so certain I'm in the right and he's a hanger-on with no real skin in the game. He has the level head, I have the drive. Together that should be a winning combination.

I glance up as Thorne returns, slipping his phone into his pocket. He looks a little more rattled but seems a bit more focused than he did before he took the call.

"Everything okay?" I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

He nods. "Yeah, just my dad."

"Look," Thorne starts, leaning forward slightly, "I get that you want to push for today. And I see where you're coming from. What do you say to exploring it without pushing it? I'm thinking we reply to Thom's text and ask him to jump on a call with us to feel out the options."

I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. "And just so you know, I don't want to just sit around here and do nothing about this, either. There's got to be a way to respond to the text without looking desperate but still showing that we're ready. Maybe the three of us together can come up with something that works for everyone."

I cross my arms, thinking. He's right. As much as I hate it, he's right. "I'm not opposed to that, as long as we are assertive. We are here, they are here, I want to plow ahead, pun intended, but I'm open to feeling it out instead of coming in hot and seeming a little crazy and desperate."

"What if we suggest something in between?" I say after a moment. "We could offer to do a video conference today if there is no place we can all get to in person—but still let them know we're flexible and ready whenever they are. That way, we are assertive, put out some options, but ultimately agree we will defer if he seems hellbent on putting this off. Hell, maybe the weather will be conducive to meeting tomorrow and all of this is for naught."

I think we both know the weather isn't getting any better between now and tomorrow. But it is a compromise. I'm trying, here.

Thorne nods slowly, considering it. "That's reasonable. It shows we're ready, but we're not trying to force their hand."

"Exactly," I say, feeling a small sense of relief. This could work. "We don't push, but we're not passive either. We show them we're adaptable, that we're committed to getting this done, no matter what, that we are hungry, and will trudge through the snow and wind to prove it."

He leans back in his chair, his gaze softening slightly. He clasps his hands on his chest, clearly pleased with himself.

"Alright. Let's draft something together. We'll need to word it carefully before we call so we have a plan of how to present it."

I pull a sheet of paper out of my bag and a pen. As I start writing, Thorne leans in, reading over my shoulder. We go back and forth, tweaking the message, finding the right tone to strike that balance between eager and professional. It's a push-and-pull, but for the first time, it feels like we're on the same page, that we are hearing each other.

When we're done, I glance at him. "So, are we good?"

He meets my eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, we're good."

"You want to call, or want me to? Should we go to the room for quiet or do it here?"

"Your phone and let's go back to the room. I don't want ‘Oh, Holy Night,' to lull him into remembering that no one should be working this damn hard so close to Christmas."

It's not exactly a peace treaty, but it's a step. And right now, I'll take it.

7:21 am

I end the call, my heart pounding, but for the first time since this whole shitshow started, it's not from stress, it's from excitement. I look over at Thorne, and he's wearing the same expression of disbelief mixed with what looks like relief.

"That went... well," I say, barely able to keep the grin off my face. "We're doing this, Thorne!"

"Better than well," Thorne replies, shaking his head like he's still processing it. "I can't believe it was Thom who suggested the video conference. I thought we were going to have to push, but it was his idea. That was my biggest worry, that he would think we weren't taking this seriously."

I nod, feeling a mix of pride and surprise. I want to say to Thorne that I'm not so desperate, after all, but I prefer to focus on the win. It's a smart solution to keep things moving despite the storm.

Apparently, Thom has been watching the weather and figured this was the best way to get the pitch done. And he seemed just as eager to make it happen as we are. That was the part that caught me off guard. It almost feels like we already have the job.

Still, God knows I'm not going to get ahead of myself yet.

"I didn't see that coming," I admit, leaning back in my chair. "But I'm not complaining. We've got some time—are we ready? Of course we are, but, God, I'm so nervous again all of a sudden. Let's do this!"

Thorne leans against the table, arms crossed, but there's a lightness to him that wasn't there before. "Yeah, and if we nail it, we'll be out of here by three, heading to the airport, on time to make our flights."

I glance at the clock on my phone to check the time. The meeting's at 11:45, which gives us a solid window to prep, shower again and be ready to blow their socks off. And, still have time to get to the airport afterward.

The rush of it all—the timing, the fact that we've pulled this together after days of chaos—feels like a win. A big one.

"We'll probably have to come back," I say, grinning. "If we land the account, there'll be meetings, follow-ups, more face time with the team. I don't think we can get this big account with only a video conference."

Thorne chuckles, a sound I'm starting to appreciate more than it annoys me. "Yeah, but let's worry about that after we knock this out today. And after the holidays."

I feel the adrenaline running through me, the excitement of everything falling into place after so many setbacks. And it's not just the win itself, it's how we got here.

Thom's suggestion gave us a viable path forward, but we're the ones who've kept this thing alive. Thorne and I, as much as we've fought, we've worked together to make this happen. We do make a good team.

And the more I think about it, the more impressed I am with him.

Thorne, with all his overt swagger and inflated ego, managed to stay level-headed when I was pushing too hard. He found the balance, and now, here we are, on the verge of sealing the deal. I glance over at him, watching as he scrolls through his phone, already focused on whatever we need to do next.

He looks... good. Better than good. The way he's handled this, the way he stepped up, it's a turn-on, and I can't shake the heat that was ignited that night in Virginia at the motel and has continued to smolder ever since.

I shift in my seat, the excitement of the morning mixing with something else, something I've been trying to lock away. But now, with everything going right, it's hard to keep it buried. Thorne glances up, catching my eye, and there's something in his gaze that tells me he's feeling it too.

"Hey," he says, his voice lower, more relaxed. "We've got a few hours to kill…"

I can hear the unspoken suggestion in his tone, and I know we are on the same page. My heart speeds up, but this time it's not just from the excitement of making this presentation happen today, it's from him.

The way he's looking at me now, the same way he looked at me last night, like we've crossed a line that neither of us is in a hurry to step back over. And this time, there is no alcohol to cloud my judgement. This time, I'm stepping over that line with my eyes wide open.

I stand up, crossing the room toward him. "Yeah," I murmur, "we do."

The air between us feels charged, the buzz of the morning shifting into something more. Before I can second-guess it, before I can let myself overthink what's happening, I'm standing right in front of him. His eyes darken, and without another word, he reaches for me, pulling me toward him.

The heat of his body next to mine, the way his hands slide over my waist, it all feels electric. I lean in, and before I know it, our lips are connected, the intensity of it matching the rush we're both feeling from the morning's success. It's not just about the presentation—it's about us. About how we've been navigating this storm, both literally and figuratively.

And right now, nothing else matters.

The rush from our potential win is still coursing through my veins when I find myself in Thorne's arms, the arms of the man I've been at odds with since day one. Yet here we still are, fueled by adrenaline. And by an undeniable attraction that's been simmering beneath the surface, now boiling over with reckless abandon.

I start with his white work shirt, fingers fumbling with each button in a mix of impatience and excitement. I can feel his eyes on me, heavy with anticipation as I push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned chest beneath.

My hands explore the contours of his chest before moving lower, my fingers deftly undoing his belt and pants, which I then push down, revealing the proof of his desire for me.

He doesn't waste any time, tugging my shirt over my head, his hands immediately seeking out the clasp of my bra. The moment it's unhooked, he cups my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples into hard peaks, sending waves of pleasure straight to my core.

I moan spontaneously, my body responding to his touch with an eagerness that surprises me. I've never felt more in sync with someone else as I do with him righ tnow.

With a groan, he reaches down, his fingers finding the slick heat between my legs. I'm already so turned on, the evidence of my arousal coating his fingers as he strokes me expertly, his touch both gentle and demanding.

I wrap my hand around his length, feeling him pulse in my grip. I stroke him, loving the way his head tilts back, his eyes closing in ecstasy as I work him.

His breathing becomes ragged, and I can feel him growing impossibly harder in my hand. Until finally, with a low growl, he comes undone, his release spilling over my fingers.

The sight of him, lost in pleasure because of me, sends a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs.

He guides me to the bed, his hands on my hips as he positions me exactly where he wants me. With his eyes fixed on mine, he kneels before me and slowly enters me, deepening the connection between us to new heights.

I gasp as he fills me, stretching me in the most delicious way. He feels incredible inside of me, the warmth of his body melding with mine as he moves, each thrust hitting just the right spot.

We find a rhythm, our bodies syncing in a dance as old as time. It's wild and uninhibited, the urgency of our movements echoing the storm of emotions we've been through.

But it's not just physical—there's a tenderness underlying our passion, a shared understanding that we're in this together, for better or worse.

Our conversation during the sex is a mix of playful banter and urgent moans. I tease him about his control issues, and he promises to make it worth my while.

And, God, does he ever.

I call out his name, my nails raking down his back as he drives into me, harder and faster, until I'm clinging to him, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

The sensations build, each wave of pleasure cresting higher than the last until I'm teetering on the edge, every nerve in my body screaming for release.

And then, with a final thrust, we fall over the edge together, our cries of ecstasy filling the room as we ride out the storm.

As we lay there, tangled in each other's arms, I can't help but marvel at how far we've come. From adversaries to allies, and now... something more.

But as the afterglow begins to fade, the reality of our situation starts to sink in. There's a meeting to prepare for, a win that's within our grasp if we can stay focused.

Thorne seems to sense the shift in my mood. He props himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching mine. "We've got this, Woodley," he says, his voice steady and sure. "Together, we can handle anything."

I nod, feeling a renewed sense of determination. We're a team now, in more ways than one, and I believe him. We can do this—we can win this account and prove to everyone, including ourselves, that we're more than just the sum of our parts.

Thorne leans in to kiss me and I don't want it to end but I'm starting to feel anxious about getting ready. I don't want anything else to derail this. "You know, I could lie here all day with you. But we have a call in a few hours."

"I know. But you feel so good. Five more minutes?"

We agree we should begrudgingly leave each other to get ready, but I agree to five more minutes. We have had a crash course in making compromises between us and I'd say we are a fast study.