Chapter Thirty-One

Anxiousness makes my throat swellas if something is lodged in it. I roll my chair back and stand to walk up to the door. In the pit, people's gazes drift from Jake to me, and it doesn't help my nervous state.

He takes a few steps toward me on the other side of the glass, and we meet right at the threshold of my door, which I open with a trembling hand.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my attention anxiously darting left and right as I take in the stares of my colleagues.

"Thought I'd surprise you and take you out for lunch, red."

"How did you even—I was supposed to pick you up this evening."

"This guy I was tattooing yesterday had a private jet leaving for New York in the middle of the night, and he let me come along."

I can hear the surrounding whispers, and my chest tightens with unease. Unsure of what to do, I grab his muscular arm to pull him into my office and close the door. People can still see but can't hear if we keep our voices down.

"Jake, you should have texted me," I say in a shaky voice.

Something turns somber in his green eyes as if I've offended him somehow. He turns around and looks at the crowd outside. They're still staring like we are some circus attraction.

"This isn't the kind of workplace where romantic partners and friends get to swoop in," I try to explain.

As if God himself wants to make me pay for the half-lie, a blonde woman with a stroller walks into the lobby, accompanied by two young children. I wince when I recognize her as Chamberlain's wife. The latter arrives in a tan suit with a broad smile to hug her and their children before they all head off to the elevator for lunch.

Jake didn't miss the scene either, and he turns to me with a cocked-up brow, challenging my statement. "I meant it very rarely happens," I try to justify, speaking the truth.

Something else catches my eye out there, and dread fills me. Mr. Sinclair is making his way through the open floor, and he glances our way. That only aggravates the stress clogging my throat. Before things can get worse, I close the privacy curtains of my office to isolate us for good.

I have no idea how to handle this, and I hate that the messed-up situation spoils our reunion. When I look up at him again, he seems to be experiencing his own crisis.

"Are you ashamed of me, Gen?" he asks. The hurt that lingers in his tone breaks my heart.

"No! I'm not. It's—"

"You are. You're ashamed that your colleagues know you're with a man like me."

"Don't be like that."

"Like what? Expecting to be treated with the same decency I treat you? I know who you are, Gen, and I want you exactly that way," he answers with contained frustration. "I would never try to hide you because we're an atypical match."

"I'm not trying to hide you. They just—they wouldn't understand."

"Why do you give a fuck about that?

"Because I've been working toward this for a decade! I've sacrificed too much for this job, this position, this career…"

Silence follows my words, and I'm torn at the idea that I might have ruined his much-awaited return by being so cautious. Maybe he's right, and I shouldn't care about what they think of him. He matters infinitely more than they do. But it's hard to overcome my insecurities. I can't jeopardize everything I've worked so hard for. Not when we can be discreet about it.

"I'll go," he ends up deciding. "You're right, I should have texted you instead of trying to surprise you."

"Jake, please. You have to understand—"

"I don't have to understand anything, Genevieve."

Before I can stop him, he opens the door and leaves my office. Everyone outside hastily returns to their work, pretending they weren't listening through the poorly insulated glass.

Completely lost, I stand there for a couple of seconds, unsure what to do. I don't want him to leave like this, but I also can't cause a scene. My eyes are glued to his broad back, watching him walk away with frustrated and determined steps.

I genuinely can't believe he's doing this to me—having a temper tantrum at my place of work. Anger mixes in with my confusion, and that fuels my body into action. With hurried strides, I go after him, ignoring the looks my coworkers give me.

"Jake!" I whisper-shout after him. When he doesn't stop despite surely hearing me, I try again. "Jacob! Stop walking away from me."

This is ridiculous. I'm making a spectacle of myself. I catch up with him as he reaches the elevators, and to my dismay, one opens just in time for him to step inside. I don't have a choice, so I get on the ride with him. His expression as I join him in the back is closed off, and he barely grants me a glance, looking ahead to the doors that soon close, imprisoning us with ten people from my floor—including my boss. Today isn't going anywhere near as planned.

I'm unable to voice my frustration, so it builds up within me, ready to explode. I glare up at Jake, letting him know just how much I hate this ridiculous fit he's throwing.

The elevator slows down only a few floors below, so I grab his arm and pull him toward the parting doors. To my surprise and reassurance, he doesn't resist, allowing me to lead him out and then to the nearby stairwell.

"I can't believe you did this to me!" I explode once we're isolated, barely containing my voice.

He's just as annoyed as I am when he answers, "Did what? Surprise you for lunch?"

"You know those people are a bunch of gossiping snakes, and you still humiliated me in front of my entire floor! I don't need them to think that Edward dumping me has me spiraling into madness."

Although it wasn't my intention, the rational explanation that I fail to formulate offends him even more, the crease between his brows deepening. "Right, because you'd have to be completely mad to date me," he sarcastically replies, clearly hurt.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Genevieve?" His words echo in the staircase, so much so that I worry they might have heard him three floors up and down.

"You know exactly what I meant. Stop being so damn stubborn!" I shout back.

When he grabs the handle of the door, a different kind of emotion sets in. Panic. I'm not letting him leave when we're in the middle of this mess. "Don't you dare open that door, Jacob!" I warn.

His hand freezes, and I let out a relieved breath. Gathering my thoughts for a couple of seconds, I try to express what I'm feeling.

"I understand that you find my attitude problematic, and I'm so sorry for offending you. But you know I have issues that I'm working on, Jake. I've made so much progress in the past few weeks, and I'm getting there, but I can't dismiss a decade of not feeling good enough with a snap of my fingers. Yes, I care what people think. I'm trying not to, but it's hard."

My eyes are teary, and I feel like I'm losing it. I'm so scared that he'll resent me even though I can't help it. His face conveys some remorse and a pinch of shock as he finally sympathizes with what I'm going through.

"But I wasn't ready for you to stumble into my workplace and expose our relationship to everyone like this. Maybe you didn't realize the kind of office this is, and how those assholes think we are better than the rest of the world. But it's so stupid because you're the best man I have ever encountered, and not a single one of them is a quarter as wonderful as you. I love you exactly the way you are, so it's not fair to say I'm ashamed of you just because I would rather they didn't end up spreading nasty gossip about us."

When I dare to look up again, he isn't as grave as he was moments before. Instead, he's grinning like an idiot, his gaze all soft as he stares down at me. Is he not taking me seriously? Does he think I'm joking or being too much? That brings back my anger at once.

"What?!" I snap, vexed.

"You just said you love me."

My eyes go round with bewilderment as I try to think back on what I said. Oh, right.

This is something I've barely admitted to myself yet, but now that I have, it's like the most obvious of truths. I'm madly in love with Jake, even though I refused to acknowledge those feelings because everything has been happening so fast. But even our calls have fed this warm sensation that glows from within whenever I hear his voice or think of him.

I am inarguably in love with Jacob Daniel Clarke.

Still in the heat of our fight, I defensively say, "Well, you don't deserve it, so I take it back."

"You can't take it back. It's already out there." It's irritating how joyful he looks.

"Watch me do it anyway, you stubborn assho—"

My words are cut short by his insistent lips. I'm stunned and a little whiplashed as he kisses me. My hands are still up in surprise by my sides when he pulls away. The earlier mood has changed, replaced with something longing and sensual. I don't want to fight anymore. Not when he looks at me with so much tenderness.

"It's been true for a while, you know?" I softly confess. "But the moment should have been romantic instead of right after I made you feel lesser than you deserve—like I'm trying to buy your forgiveness with it."

And I'm upset again, a solitary tear rolling down my cheek. This serves as a sour reminder that despite how well we work together, we're not compatible in so many ways. His world and mine are too different.

His gentle and tattooed hands, which I've missed so much, rise between us and grasp the sides of my face with all the tenderness in the world. His thumb wipes away the salty drop as he makes me look up into his green eyes.

"I love you, red," he professes with intensity. My heart flutters hectically, swelling against my ribs. "And it's been true for me for a while too."

The tension vanishes until all that's left is him and me, wrapped in a cocoon of want, need, and love. Jake loves me, and I'm officially the luckiest person in the world.

We move in unison to kiss, eager and impatient. Shivers travel throughout my whole body when our lips meet, half from the long separation and half from the love declarations.

Who would have ever thought this would be our outcome?

I can still remember with perfect precision the moment I first saw him entering the bar of The Plaza—so dashing and uniquely him. He's the one who convinced me to stick around and find out what could become of us. I owe it all to him. Everything.

"I love you," I repeat into our kiss, flooded by a wave of elation, gratitude, and raw adoration. "I love you so much."

"And I love you, red. Every fucking part of you, from your witty mind and clever tongue to the last freckle on your skin."

We get a little lost in it, overwhelmed by a desire to manifest all those feelings physically, but also eagerly getting reacquainted after nearly a week apart. His hands are fondling my behind and pulling me into his erection, and mine are locked in his hair to keep him close.

When a few chatting people pass right outside the door, I'm reminded that anyone could come in. And as much as I want to keep devouring him, I can't let someone find us like this. That could lead to repercussions.

Mustering all the strength I have in me, I rip myself away from Jake. He's not done with me though, so he hungrily lowers to my throat, kissing and nibbling the skin there.

"Jake, let's get out of here," I croak, resting a soothing hand in the middle of his broad chest. He nods, hungrily giving my collarbone more pecks, and eventually lets me go.

I adjust my hair, aware that I can't do anything about the rosiness of my cheeks, and take a deep breath as I reach for the handle. Right before I open it, Jake takes my free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry, red," he whispers when I gaze up at him.

"For what?"

"I couldn't think past the excitement of seeing you again, so I didn't realize that coming here might be too much, too fast. It wasn't fair of me to force you into this, and you had every right to want to take your time. Especially since your ex works in the same building."

His apology is very welcomed, but I understand where he's coming from. I, too, might have done something foolish like this if the roles had been reversed. But his field of work would be chill and unbothered by my intrusion, whereas mine is full of stuck-up vultures.

"I hate that the people out there never bother to think past the tattoos and attitude," I say, emotions tightening my throat.

"They can think whatever the fuck they want. It doesn't matter. Not as long as the proper little Miss Kensington knows who I really am."

"She does. And she loves you to no end for it."

"Then fuck those snobs out there. I have everything I need."

We share one last kiss, intense and poignant, and as we pull away, we both utter at the same time, "I love you."

I'm grinning like a fool in love when we come out into the hallway, back to civilization. My hand is still in his, and I don't attempt to remove it. In fact, my hold tightens when I notice a familiar silhouette. Oh, crap. We're on his floor.

Eddie's on his way out for lunch, in the middle of a conversation with some colleagues, when he notices us. He freezes where he stands, his words dying in his throat. The moment is awkward, especially when he looks down at our joined hands. But I still don't rip it away. This is how I make up for my reaction earlier. This is how I accept Jake, proudly displaying that he's mine and I'm his.

Jake noticed him as well, and the two are in the midst of a staring contest. What am I supposed to do? How do I diffuse this?

Unsurprisingly, Edward is the first one to break, looking away to give his colleagues a vague gesture. "Go ahead, I forgot my wallet in my office," he tells them, visibly shaken up. The two men nod, but Eddie doesn't wait for that to turn around and walk away.

"Fucking wuss," Jake mutters under his breath before pulling me back on our way to the elevators.

The ride up is as silent as our way down, but it's charged with something else entirely. Our hands remain entwined the whole time, as if we both need this link. We're forced to let go when we walk out onto my floor though, but I can still feel his warmth all over my palm.

When we reach my office, Daisy springs out of her chair with an armful of printed sheets and a pen. "Good, you're back!"

"Yes?" I ask.

"You wanted to sign the new revised contracts before lunch so I could send them right away. We can do it this afternoon if you'd prefer."

"No, it's fine," I say with a smile.

She hands me everything as I walk up to my desk. I set the papers there and find the few pages where my signature is needed. Once I'm done, I return to her and hand back the contracts.

Jake's standing there a little awkwardly, and I decide it's another great way to show that I'm genuinely committed to this relationship.

"Daisy, this is Jake, my boyfriend," I explain as I intertwine our fingers again. "Jake, this is Daisy, my assistant."

"Ah, Gen told me she had a killer assistant," he greets with a nod, extending his free hand to shake hers.

"I'm doing whatever I can to make her work easy."

"You're succeeding," I kindly concede. "That's why I keep giving you raises. Can't afford to lose you."

She smiles, delighted by the compliment, and glances back at Jake, visibly affected by his allure. Then she shakes herself out of it and says, "I suppose I'll see you around, sir."

"Just Jake, dear. Only this one gets to call me sir in the right setting," he explains with a mischievous wink and a tilt of his head toward me.

I elbow his side, sensing my cheeks warming up, and Daisy lets out a small giggle before she leaves us and closes the door behind her.

"You're lucky she isn't part of the gossiping squad," I scold Jake with a frown.

"You told me before that she wasn't, red. I wouldn't have made the joke otherwise. If it were that bitch Isabel, or that other knobhead, though… Which one's Larry, by the way?" he wonders, glancing at the people in the open space who haven't left for lunch yet.

"The balding one with the dark blue suit and the yellow tie."

"Of course he's fucking balding." Jake easily finds him, eyes murderous, and then turns to me to wrap his arms around my waist. "So, what were you saying about getting out of here?"

"Did you come on your bike?"

"Yeah, I stopped by the flat to drop my things and hopped right on it."

"Then we can be at my place in under five minutes—ten if we stop by that Peruvian restaurant you liked last time."

"And what would we do there besides eat?"

I can't hold back the grin that takes over. "Maybe you can let me show you how much I've missed you? And maybe I can do the same in return?"

"Your break won't be long enough for that, red. But we can call it a warm-up for tonight."

"Sounds like a solid plan, yes."

We kiss once more, and this time, he's the one who puts an end to it, even when I whimper because I'm not ready to let go. "Your place," he asserts. "I've missed the taste of your pussy. And that thong I brought stopped smelling like you days ago."

"Used it too much, did you?"

"Been wanking with it from day one, red. But even that quality of satin and lace isn't as soft as your cunt wrapped around my cock."

Jesus Christ. Maybe we won't stop by the Peruvian restaurant after all, and I'll eat something in my office when I get back.

Impatient to get to my place, I abandon him to fetch my things from my desk, as well as my jacket on the coat rack by the door. With nervous hands, I arrange my hair, hoping I don't look as horny as I feel.

"Everything will be alright, sweetheart," Jake promises as he adjusts a loose strand behind my ear.

His reassuring words are enough to build back my inner strength, and I open the door.

I expect us to walk side by side to the elevator lobby and face the discreet looks and bold stares together, but he surprises me by taking an unexpected detour into the open space.

As soon as I realize what he's doing, my earlier nervousness resurfaces. No, no, no. He can't talk to Larry.

I catch up with him just as he's reaching out to my unsuspecting colleague. "Hi there, Larry," he calls out, making him turn around, surprised. Jake grabs his hand as if to shake it and inches closer, his imposing frame domineering compared to Lawrence's.

Instead of making it worse by panicking, I decide to trust Jake's judgment and stand there in silence, my hands clenched tightly around my things.

There's no one nearby, so only the three of us are privy to what Jake threateningly mutters right into Larry's ear. "Next time you use the words ‘block of ice,' under any fucking circumstance, I'll break every last bone in your fingers. Is that clear?"

Larry hastily nods, his face oddly red. That's when I realize that between them, Jake is squeezing his hand in a death grip. I should do something to stop him, but this honestly feels good to watch.

"Good," Jake continues in a condescending tone. "My woman's off-limits to you, Larry, so keep her out of your fucking mouth."

My coworker nods again, and Jake releases him. Jake doesn't even grant him another look, grabbing my hand again and getting us back on our way to the elevators.

"That wasn't necessary," I feel compelled to say.

"Oh, it was very necessary, red. Made me feel fucking splendid."

How could I not love this man with every fiber of my being?

Taking him by surprise, I pull on his shoulder to make him lower and then claim his lips for a poignant kiss—right in front of everyone. They can think whatever they want. I don't care anymore.

When I pull away, he looks down at me with something that resembles gratitude. This was me accepting him, embracing him no matter what, and we're both aware of it.

"I love you, wombat," I whisper, still not over the fact that this is really out.

"And I love you, Miss Kensington."

While I didn't expect to take this step so soon, I'm glad it's done. Now, whatever happens, happens, but at least I was true to myself.

The next big step, and the most arduous of all, will be my parents. I can—worst case scenario—find a new job, but I can't get myself a new family, can I?

We'll get one shot at this, and I hope to God things will be fine. I can't lose this man. Not ever.