NOTORIOUS
IT WAS SEVEN-thirty in the morning and all Juliet wanted to do was get to work.
She’d spent the weekend with Eric and it was one of the best weekends she’d ever spent in her life. They didn’t go anywhere and they didn’t do anything special. They’d stayed in, holed up in Eric’s condo, and did what they did best together: work.
Well, there was also the sex. God, the sex!
But mostly, it was work. Eric was bound and determined to continue investigating his uncle and he spent the majority of the rest of their time combing and picking through months’ and months’ worth of invoices, and Juliet spent her time poring over details and potential design pitches for Thad Martin’s Florida resorts. She and Eric had decided on a meeting date between the two companies to discuss and present the project and then she would contact Thad to make further arrangements. This project had the potential to make Carson Innovations the number one sought-after design firm in the country and she could barely contain her excitement.
Currently, on this Monday morning, however, her occupational high had been interrupted by the obscene amount of traffic she found herself sitting in. She’d declined Eric’s offer to drive her to work and now she was regretting not taking him up on it. At least sitting in traffic with him would have been better than brooding at the rainy morning outside of the musty cab’s window.
A text from Beth suddenly jolted Juliet from her morning misery.
“Tell your driver to pull around the block.”
Juliet pursed her lips at her phone screen. “Why? We walk in the front door every day.”
“Right. And there are no vultures with cameras to meet us every day, too.”
Juliet eyes widened and she looked up in time to see the scene on the sidewalk in front of her building. What the hell was going on? Did someone die? Was a celebrity inside the building? A politician, perhaps? What all was in that building, anyway? It didn’t dawn on her until that moment that she had virtually no idea who her neighbors were.
“Miss Carson,” the thick Italian accent sounded from the front seat. “You sure you wanna be dropped here?”
“No…” she mused as she craned her neck to see the commotion. “No, pull around the block, please. I’ll use the side entrance.”
“Sure thing.”
“Thank you.”
As the taxi passed the scene, she witnessed all eyes seemingly on the building. Photographers, reporters, journalists…but for what? Who was in there?
Rounding the corner, the small street would have passed for an alley, as dark and quiet as it was. Far away from the scene, however, it allowed Juliet to slip into work undisturbed, which was exactly what she needed that morning. Her Monday was filled with meetings and appointments regarding her own office building and her new Florida contract and she didn’t have a minute to lose.
To Juliet’s surprise, Beth met her at the door and took her by the elbow, practically whisking her away toward the elevator. Juliet was so bewildered that she’d finally had enough and jerked her arm from Beth’s grip before Beth could even press the elevator button.
“Beth. What the hell is going on? Who is here?”
“You are.”
Juliet’s lashes fluttered in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
Forcefully, Beth pressed the button on the wall. “Eric told some people at the Chamber meeting this past Friday that you’re together. Word gets around. There’s an article this morning. I was practically mobbed when I came into work. They thought Travis was Eric. It was a fucking madhouse.”
Juliet could barely speak. Her throat turned to sandpaper as Beth dragged her onto the empty elevator. “They’re here for me?” She whispered. “Why? Why do I matter?”
“You know how cities like New York are. You get your name linked to one or two big names and you kiss your private life goodbye for good.”
Juliet sighed. Beth was right. Their company had designed structures for two celebrities and four politicians over the past couple of years. One of the celebrities and two of the politicians insisted on taking them to dinner to celebrate. Juliet may have found herself leaving a condo or two the mornings after, who was counting? But Beth was absolutely right, Juliet’s private life had become a train wreck ever since. Granted, she knew that she, herself, had contributed a good bit to her questionable reputation. A reputation she desperately wanted to put an end to with Eric.
But did Eric deserve to be the one who had to bear the brunt of the impending media onslaught? Because it was coming. It was practically already here.
“Beth, I’m scared,” she admitted quietly.
“Don’t worry, nobody’s going to hurt you—“
“No. This could—this could ruin us. Both of us, both of our companies, ours and Reynolds’.”
“No,” Beth disagreed as the elevator doors opened and they stepped onto their floor. “That’s not going to happen. Your notoriety is…”
“Humiliating. And Eric is going to be the laughing stock of this city for being associated with me.”
“Newsflash. He was associated with you long before this particular article came out. Remember?” Then Beth scoffed. “You think he didn’t know what he was getting into when he pursued you?”
Juliet’s eyes widened. “Is that what this is? Is that--? Is he--?”
“No. No, it is not. Eric doesn’t care about the attention, not because he likes it, but because he just doesn’t care. All he sees is you. That’s all he’s concerned about.”
“If you recall, he pursued me so that his company could get a meeting with ours.”
Beth stopped dead in her tracks, the silencing of two pairs of high heels against the tile floor was deafening. “Are you saying that Eric’s feelings for you are insincere?”
Juliet gaped at her best friend, her mouth dropping open, and then she closed it. “Uh, no,” she choked.
“Are you sure? Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to plan another escape.”
“No! No, I just…I care about him. If…if his business or his reputation goes under just for being associated with me, I don’t know how I could live with myself.”
Beth arched an eyebrow. “If you ask me, going to dinner on Eric’s arm on a semi-regular basis might relieve some of that pressure.”
In that moment, Juliet wasn’t sure how to read Beth. Was she firm because she cared about her best friend or was she sick of Juliet’s notoriety? Some days it seemed like she doubled as Juliet’s public relations rep, a hat that she didn’t get paid to wear.
Which made her think… “Do I need a PR rep?”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one already.”
“But do I need one?”
Beth shrugged a shoulder. “I think you’re fine without one.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“Because of the cameras and the publicity and—“
“No,” Beth assured her. “I’m not mad. I’m not…it’s not about that.”
“So you are mad.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You just said, yourself—“
“Are you going to leave Eric? Again?”
Juliet’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“Last time there was an article, you disappeared.”
“Well—well, yeah, but that was then—“
“It wasn’t so long ago, actually.”
“Yeah, but then—“
“When you disappear, it breaks Eric’s heart. And then my heart breaks. Because not only do I care about Eric, but looking at Eric’s face is looking at Travis’s face, and imagining a heartbroken Travis is enough to tear me to pieces. This twin thing is exhausting.”
“Beth, I’m not going to run,” Juliet firmly assured her. “Not anymore, I’m done running. Eric is who I want. He’s everything I want. And when I’m without him, I’m miserable, too.”
Beth stared into Juliet’s eyes as she spoke, and her eyes lingered for a moment longer. Then she let out a small breath and said, “Fine. We have a ten o’clock introductory call with the Miami developer…”
Ah, work. Good, sweet, beautiful work. If Beth could talk work and not relationships for the rest of the day, that would suit Juliet just fine. It was already nearing eight and she already felt like she’d been there all day.
“WELL, ERIC, THIS is…unexpected. And extremely…alarmingly short notice, you got lucky—“
“An article came out this morning that I didn’t know was coming and I haven’t heard from Juliet all day and I think she’s going to disappear again and I don’t know how to handle it,” Eric spat out. “Or if I can handle it. I think I’m losing my mind. I’m already losing my mind, we haven’t even been a couple a week—“
“Eric,” Dr. Thorne interjected calmly. “Slow down. Take a moment to breathe. Breathe slowly, in and out…”
As Eric sat there in front of Dr. Thorne, he realized what an idiot he was. He’d scheduled an emergency appointment with the therapist the very moment that Travis had shoved his phone in Eric’s face. Well, after Travis left his office, that was. He’d found himself obsessing over the article, reading it over and over again, his heart racing and his hands trembling, and it was when he finally backed away from his desk as if the surface was lava did he realize that he was steadily losing his mind. So he’d told Dr. Thorne’s receptionist that it was an emergency that he see her—that it was a matter of life and death. He had literally used those words.
And now, here he sat, feeling completely foolish.
Because, now that he’d had the moment of directed breathing, he realized that it was Monday, the start of the work week, and the day wasn’t even halfway over. In fact, it was past time for lunch and his body was beginning to remind him of it.
What was Juliet doing for lunch?
“All right,” Dr. Thorne broke the brief silence. “How do you feel now?”
“Like I’m losing my mind,” Eric whispered. “I…I jumped the gun. There…there was an article this morning. I ran my mouth at a meeting last week about Juliet and I, who--? Who was there? Who was listening, who reported it? This is…this is crazy. And now…”
“Juliet is a…very public figure in the city,” Dr. Thorne commiserated. “But she’s not of celebrity proportions. Just imagine if she was…”
“You’re right,” he nodded. “You’re right, it’s not…it’s not that bad…”
“But with the small amount of notoriety she does have, is that something you think you’ll be able to handle? It is something that comes with her, after all.”
Eric shook his head adamantly. “No. No, it’s not…that’s not what I came here for.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because—because every time the media gets involved, she disappears. She runs, she ends it, she just…falls off the face of the earth. And I can’t…I can’t keep doing it. My sanity can’t handle it.”
“Is that what she’s doing now?”
Eric stared through the glasses of the red-headed therapist, his own eyes wide. So wide, he could feel the dryness of the air already starting to get to the whites of them.
“Eric?” Dr. Thorne probed. “Has she left you?”
His eyes darted around sheepishly—anywhere but into Dr. Thorne’s. “I…don’t think so…”
“How do you figure?”
“I…well…”
“You said you jumped the gun.”
Finally, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I just—I assumed the worst. I went for it. I openly let a media article dictate my relationship and I haven’t even spoken to Juliet, yet. Why? Because it’s Monday. And Monday mornings are busy for her, what with meetings and proposals and starting the week and all. And it’s…it’s lunch time and I should be worrying about my own work and not ruining your lunch break. I’m so sorry, Dr. Thorne. Really. You know what? Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you let me buy you lunch?”
Dr. Thorne shook her head, shoving her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That really isn’t necessary. This is what I’m here for—“
“No. No, I insist. I ruined your lunch, let me make it up to you. This was stupid, my being here like this. You can say it, I won’t be upset.”
“I’m not going to say that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“All right then,” she smiled. “Where are we having lunch?”
“Excellent,” Eric smiled as he stood up and wiped his palms on his pants. “Then I can return the favor and listen to all your relationship woes for a change.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she replied with a shake of her head. “And I’m not even supposed to fraternize with my patients, but I’m off the clock and I’m hungry and you’re right—you did eat into my lunch hour.”
“Ah? Was that a pun I heard?”
Her response was a hard, “No.”
“All right,” Eric nodded. “Shall we?”
“There’s an Indian restaurant that I frequent on the corner. I was heading there today. And in our next session, we will be exploring the origins of your continued trust issues.”
He sucked in a breath and nodded. “All right. Then that’s where we’ll go. After you.”
Stepping out of the way so that Dr. Thorne could retrieve her coat, Eric slid his phone out of his pocket and checked his notifications as he walked down the hallway behind his therapist.
There was a text from Juliet.
“I read the article this morning. Dinner tonight?”
At that, a mile-wide grin spread across his face as he texted back, “Absofuckinglutely.”
* * *
IT’S OFFICIAL! Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelorette Off The Market! Get The Scoop Inside!
Sources attending a recent gathering of Manhattan’s business leaders reported that conversation got juicy in the corner of a Waldorf Astoria ballroom early Friday morning. Reportedly, Eric Reynolds, the hot, young CEO of Reynolds Construction, put speculations to rest by referring to Juliet Carson as his girlfriend while defending her honor to a fellow business conglomerate.
Defending her honor, you say? It’s apparent that her knight in shining armor has finally arrived to defend her name all over New York. But be careful, good sir. Juliet Carson is a hot commodity in this city. Are you her King Arthur? Or are you her Sir Lancelot?
That’s right, you read it here first! Juliet Carson is no longer New York’s most eligible socialite. For now…
“THIS HAS EASILY been one of the most fucked up days in the history of fucked up days.”
“Tell me about it,” Eric agreed with Juliet as he reached over and scooped a glob of queso onto a freshly-baked tortilla chip.
“Hey, are you supposed to be--?”
“Don’t even start,” he cut her off. Then he rerouted the tortilla and neared it to her mouth. “Besides, I made this one especially for you.”
“Aww, I love when you feed me queso,” Juliet cooed with a delighted smile.
Eric scowled. “I’ve never fed you queso before.”
“You got that right, and you’re dropping the cheese. Hop to it, Louisiana, I don’t have all night.”
With a chuckle, Eric fed Juliet and grinned as she chewed away happily on her appetizer. Dinner had ended up with them changing into casual clothes and ducking into a Mexican dive that Juliet secretly adored. From the ceiling hung various styles of sombreros and variations of chiles, with interior walls reminiscent of a Mexican adobe. The air reeked of spices, and the sounds of kitchen staff hollering over sizzling meat filled their ears. The menu prices were of the startling “you get what you pay for” variety, not that Eric was picky, but Juliet insisted that she ate there a minimum of twice per month and hadn’t had an issue yet. So, he took her word for it, snuggled next to her in a booth seat against the wall, and sipped on beer while they read the dreaded tabloid article together.
“I can’t believe you took our therapist to lunch,” Juliet remarked as she swallowed her queso.
“Can we just forget that ever happened?”
“Nope. It’s plastered all over PM Manhattan where everyone else’s reputations go to die, but the memories live forever,” Juliet grumbled.
“Okay, look. First of all, what the fuck even is PM Manhattan? It looks like…like some teeny bopper gossip site—and I’m sure it is.”
“Everybody reads PM Manhattan,” Juliet corrected him quietly.
“No, they don’t. I don’t. I didn’t even know it existed.”
“That’s because nobody’s throwing around leather balls or punching each other in the face.”
“Exactly. I’m telling you. Nobody who matters is reading this shit. Nobody who’s funding any of your projects, nobody who’s hiring you to design—“
“Real lonely housewives who are left to their own devices while their husbands are on business trips thrive on this shit.”
“And how many of those homes have you designed?”
“Hundreds,” Juliet deadpanned.
At that, Eric shrugged his shoulders and turned up his beer. Once he swallowed, he continued. “Yeah, okay. But so what, what are they, chump change? You’re in the big leagues now, baby. Hotels, resorts, office buildings. You think those guys have time to read tabloids like that? Hell, no. And they’re practically banging your door down for business, right? See, they don’t care.”
“There was the one guy in Miami who met with me just because he read the tabloids.”
“Oh, fuck him. You didn’t need some cheap, smarmy account like that, anyway. You should have let me come tear his balls off.”
“Yeah, if you’re in prison, you can’t build my designs.”
“Travis can.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it.”
“Yes, I do! You think Thad Martin gives a shit about--? You know what, wait. I’m sorry. Look, who names their kid Thad?”
Juliet burst into loud, spontaneous laughter.
It made Eric smile. “I’m serious! Thad is…is…I bet he ties his sweater sleeves around his neck and wears boat shoes. I bet he has a house in the Hamptons. I bet his teeth sparkle and ding like those stupid gum commercials and I bet he serves up Mai Tai’s from his tiki bar, complete with those little umbrellas, while parading around in plaid golf shorts and—and I bet he shaves his legs! And his chest!”
“Travis has a house in the Hamptons,” Juliet reminded him.
“Yeah, but Travis is cool.”
“How do you know Thad isn’t cool?”
“Because he’s Thad.”
“Yeah. He is. And Thad is about to be a very big payday for the both of us.”
“Jesus. My success lies in the hands of a guy named Thad.”
Juliet giggled. “No, it doesn’t. You’re already successful. This is just…what, a touchdown?”
Eric gaped in awe at the beautiful brunette whose curls cascaded down her gray sweater. “Holy shit, you just used a football reference. That might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
Juliet smirked. “Yeah? I thought the sexiest thing I ever said was your name in bed?”
With that, Eric ravaged her lips with his. He couldn’t help himself. Sadly, however, he didn’t get very far with the announcement of, “Hope we’re still hungry!” ringing out over their table in a thick Mexican accent.
“Famished,” Juliet smiled eagerly as she gazed at the array of rice and beans and fajitas that were being littered upon their table.
Eric had never been so jealous of food in his life.
But it smelled delicious and over the next few minutes, the pair ate in near silence, savoring each and every bite. Juliet had been right, for a plate that was under fifteen bucks, it was some of the best Mexican food he had ever put in his mouth.
After a several bites of a guacamole-filled chicken fajita and a few swigs of beer, Juliet’s voice came across quietly, “It concerns me that you felt the need to see our therapist today.”
Something in the way she said “our therapist” warmed Eric’s heart.
How fucked up was that?
“That’s…that’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, I promise.”
“But it is. You booked an emergency appointment this afternoon after the article came out. You didn’t even call me.”
“You didn’t call me, either.”
“Am I that bad?”
Letting out a sigh, Eric put his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When I got in there this afternoon, I immediately realized how stupid I was being. I…I made an assumption and I apologize. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize.”
“So…you don’t trust me?”
“Juliet, I—“
“No,” she said quietly. “No, no, I get it. Beth, um…Beth assumed the same. So, uh…you weren’t alone in your assumption this morning.” Then she looked Eric dead in the eyes. “But I didn’t need an emergency therapy session.”
Eric’s breath left defeated from his nose. God damn this PM Manhattan bullshit. If it wasn’t for them snooping around and posting his picture on their stupid website, Juliet would have never known--doctor-patient confidentiality, right? Did she have notifications on that shit or something?
“It’s fine,” she continued. “I get it. But I asked you to dinner tonight to show you that I’m not running this time. I don’t want to. But just know that…that I’m still not comfortable with the attention. I never have been. And now you’re going to be looped in here with it—“
“I don’t give a shit what some teeny bopper housewife tabloid has to say about anything.”
“But you see what it’s done to me. I mean, it’s a wonder my business hasn’t tanked for the decisions I’ve made in my personal life.”
“It hasn’t tanked because it doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like you’re fucking all your clients.”
Juliet arched an eyebrow. “Clearly I just sleep with my business partners.”
“Except Sven. Because he likes dudes.”
“Sven works for me,” Juliet laughed. “Why are you so bothered by him?”
“Because he’s fucking beautiful,” Eric blurted. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. And then there’s…there’s…I mean, I wouldn’t kick Jason out of my bed either. Okay? You keep some very…interesting company…”
Reaching over her plate, she found his hand and laced her fingers into his as their wrists lay side-by-side on the table. “But, yet, here I am with you. The most interesting of all the company I keep. The only one I have eyes for.”
He looked her over skeptically. “I don’t know…” he snarled. “You were eying our waitress pretty hard awhile ago…”
“Can you blame me?” She scoffed. “Did you see the plates she carried over? If she’d have proposed to me with a chimichanga smothered in queso, I would have said yes. That’s legal now, you know.”
“A chimichanga? That’s it, that’s all it takes?”
“For her.”
“Damn.”
Juliet cleared her throat. “Just know that this won’t be the last article. And…and just know that you won’t have to make an appointment with the therapist every time we go out.”
Eric nodded. “Noted. Definitely noted.” And then, his eyes laid on one last flour tortilla. Quickly loading it up with fajita meat and toppings, he then offered the plate to Juliet with a smile. “Juliet Carson. Lover, friend, business partner, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my entire life, will you please make me the happiest man on earth and do me the honor of accompanying me to dessert after this delectable and digestive train wreck of a dinner?”
She curled her nose up in disgust. “I mean, when you put it that way…”
“Maybe delicious instead of digestive train wreck?”
“It’s a synonym of delectable.”
“Will you just fucking have dessert with me?”
“I dunno…I mean, after this digestive train wreck, can you even have dessert? I mean, are we going for frozen yogurt, do they have sugar-free…what?”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“You’re proposing. It’s a major life decision, there are questions that must be answered.”
“I had planned to be a gentleman, but we can just go pick up a tub at the market and then go home and have sex. I mean, if we’re gonna use synonyms for delectable, we might as well go all out, right?”
Juliet blinked at him in silence. The plate was getting heavy. His wrist was probably going to break.
“We’ll go to my place tonight.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. Now eat that damn fajita before I do.”
“Wanna share?”
“Where’s my knife?”
And that was it. That was Monday night. That was Monday night after the tabloid fiasco. That was the two of them sharing dinner and talking it out and still laughing and having a good time. That was the two of them still going home together to continue their evening. That was them, inseparable and happy.
It was everything Eric had ever wanted.
IT WAS SEVEN-thirty in the morning and all Juliet wanted to do was get to work.
She’d spent the weekend with Eric and it was one of the best weekends she’d ever spent in her life. They didn’t go anywhere and they didn’t do anything special. They’d stayed in, holed up in Eric’s condo, and did what they did best together: work.
Well, there was also the sex. God, the sex!
But mostly, it was work. Eric was bound and determined to continue investigating his uncle and he spent the majority of the rest of their time combing and picking through months’ and months’ worth of invoices, and Juliet spent her time poring over details and potential design pitches for Thad Martin’s Florida resorts. She and Eric had decided on a meeting date between the two companies to discuss and present the project and then she would contact Thad to make further arrangements. This project had the potential to make Carson Innovations the number one sought-after design firm in the country and she could barely contain her excitement.
Currently, on this Monday morning, however, her occupational high had been interrupted by the obscene amount of traffic she found herself sitting in. She’d declined Eric’s offer to drive her to work and now she was regretting not taking him up on it. At least sitting in traffic with him would have been better than brooding at the rainy morning outside of the musty cab’s window.
A text from Beth suddenly jolted Juliet from her morning misery.
“Tell your driver to pull around the block.”
Juliet pursed her lips at her phone screen. “Why? We walk in the front door every day.”
“Right. And there are no vultures with cameras to meet us every day, too.”
Juliet eyes widened and she looked up in time to see the scene on the sidewalk in front of her building. What the hell was going on? Did someone die? Was a celebrity inside the building? A politician, perhaps? What all was in that building, anyway? It didn’t dawn on her until that moment that she had virtually no idea who her neighbors were.
“Miss Carson,” the thick Italian accent sounded from the front seat. “You sure you wanna be dropped here?”
“No…” she mused as she craned her neck to see the commotion. “No, pull around the block, please. I’ll use the side entrance.”
“Sure thing.”
“Thank you.”
As the taxi passed the scene, she witnessed all eyes seemingly on the building. Photographers, reporters, journalists…but for what? Who was in there?
Rounding the corner, the small street would have passed for an alley, as dark and quiet as it was. Far away from the scene, however, it allowed Juliet to slip into work undisturbed, which was exactly what she needed that morning. Her Monday was filled with meetings and appointments regarding her own office building and her new Florida contract and she didn’t have a minute to lose.
To Juliet’s surprise, Beth met her at the door and took her by the elbow, practically whisking her away toward the elevator. Juliet was so bewildered that she’d finally had enough and jerked her arm from Beth’s grip before Beth could even press the elevator button.
“Beth. What the hell is going on? Who is here?”
“You are.”
Juliet’s lashes fluttered in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
Forcefully, Beth pressed the button on the wall. “Eric told some people at the Chamber meeting this past Friday that you’re together. Word gets around. There’s an article this morning. I was practically mobbed when I came into work. They thought Travis was Eric. It was a fucking madhouse.”
Juliet could barely speak. Her throat turned to sandpaper as Beth dragged her onto the empty elevator. “They’re here for me?” She whispered. “Why? Why do I matter?”
“You know how cities like New York are. You get your name linked to one or two big names and you kiss your private life goodbye for good.”
Juliet sighed. Beth was right. Their company had designed structures for two celebrities and four politicians over the past couple of years. One of the celebrities and two of the politicians insisted on taking them to dinner to celebrate. Juliet may have found herself leaving a condo or two the mornings after, who was counting? But Beth was absolutely right, Juliet’s private life had become a train wreck ever since. Granted, she knew that she, herself, had contributed a good bit to her questionable reputation. A reputation she desperately wanted to put an end to with Eric.
But did Eric deserve to be the one who had to bear the brunt of the impending media onslaught? Because it was coming. It was practically already here.
“Beth, I’m scared,” she admitted quietly.
“Don’t worry, nobody’s going to hurt you—“
“No. This could—this could ruin us. Both of us, both of our companies, ours and Reynolds’.”
“No,” Beth disagreed as the elevator doors opened and they stepped onto their floor. “That’s not going to happen. Your notoriety is…”
“Humiliating. And Eric is going to be the laughing stock of this city for being associated with me.”
“Newsflash. He was associated with you long before this particular article came out. Remember?” Then Beth scoffed. “You think he didn’t know what he was getting into when he pursued you?”
Juliet’s eyes widened. “Is that what this is? Is that--? Is he--?”
“No. No, it is not. Eric doesn’t care about the attention, not because he likes it, but because he just doesn’t care. All he sees is you. That’s all he’s concerned about.”
“If you recall, he pursued me so that his company could get a meeting with ours.”
Beth stopped dead in her tracks, the silencing of two pairs of high heels against the tile floor was deafening. “Are you saying that Eric’s feelings for you are insincere?”
Juliet gaped at her best friend, her mouth dropping open, and then she closed it. “Uh, no,” she choked.
“Are you sure? Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to plan another escape.”
“No! No, I just…I care about him. If…if his business or his reputation goes under just for being associated with me, I don’t know how I could live with myself.”
Beth arched an eyebrow. “If you ask me, going to dinner on Eric’s arm on a semi-regular basis might relieve some of that pressure.”
In that moment, Juliet wasn’t sure how to read Beth. Was she firm because she cared about her best friend or was she sick of Juliet’s notoriety? Some days it seemed like she doubled as Juliet’s public relations rep, a hat that she didn’t get paid to wear.
Which made her think… “Do I need a PR rep?”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one already.”
“But do I need one?”
Beth shrugged a shoulder. “I think you’re fine without one.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“Because of the cameras and the publicity and—“
“No,” Beth assured her. “I’m not mad. I’m not…it’s not about that.”
“So you are mad.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You just said, yourself—“
“Are you going to leave Eric? Again?”
Juliet’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“Last time there was an article, you disappeared.”
“Well—well, yeah, but that was then—“
“It wasn’t so long ago, actually.”
“Yeah, but then—“
“When you disappear, it breaks Eric’s heart. And then my heart breaks. Because not only do I care about Eric, but looking at Eric’s face is looking at Travis’s face, and imagining a heartbroken Travis is enough to tear me to pieces. This twin thing is exhausting.”
“Beth, I’m not going to run,” Juliet firmly assured her. “Not anymore, I’m done running. Eric is who I want. He’s everything I want. And when I’m without him, I’m miserable, too.”
Beth stared into Juliet’s eyes as she spoke, and her eyes lingered for a moment longer. Then she let out a small breath and said, “Fine. We have a ten o’clock introductory call with the Miami developer…”
Ah, work. Good, sweet, beautiful work. If Beth could talk work and not relationships for the rest of the day, that would suit Juliet just fine. It was already nearing eight and she already felt like she’d been there all day.
“WELL, ERIC, THIS is…unexpected. And extremely…alarmingly short notice, you got lucky—“
“An article came out this morning that I didn’t know was coming and I haven’t heard from Juliet all day and I think she’s going to disappear again and I don’t know how to handle it,” Eric spat out. “Or if I can handle it. I think I’m losing my mind. I’m already losing my mind, we haven’t even been a couple a week—“
“Eric,” Dr. Thorne interjected calmly. “Slow down. Take a moment to breathe. Breathe slowly, in and out…”
As Eric sat there in front of Dr. Thorne, he realized what an idiot he was. He’d scheduled an emergency appointment with the therapist the very moment that Travis had shoved his phone in Eric’s face. Well, after Travis left his office, that was. He’d found himself obsessing over the article, reading it over and over again, his heart racing and his hands trembling, and it was when he finally backed away from his desk as if the surface was lava did he realize that he was steadily losing his mind. So he’d told Dr. Thorne’s receptionist that it was an emergency that he see her—that it was a matter of life and death. He had literally used those words.
And now, here he sat, feeling completely foolish.
Because, now that he’d had the moment of directed breathing, he realized that it was Monday, the start of the work week, and the day wasn’t even halfway over. In fact, it was past time for lunch and his body was beginning to remind him of it.
What was Juliet doing for lunch?
“All right,” Dr. Thorne broke the brief silence. “How do you feel now?”
“Like I’m losing my mind,” Eric whispered. “I…I jumped the gun. There…there was an article this morning. I ran my mouth at a meeting last week about Juliet and I, who--? Who was there? Who was listening, who reported it? This is…this is crazy. And now…”
“Juliet is a…very public figure in the city,” Dr. Thorne commiserated. “But she’s not of celebrity proportions. Just imagine if she was…”
“You’re right,” he nodded. “You’re right, it’s not…it’s not that bad…”
“But with the small amount of notoriety she does have, is that something you think you’ll be able to handle? It is something that comes with her, after all.”
Eric shook his head adamantly. “No. No, it’s not…that’s not what I came here for.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because—because every time the media gets involved, she disappears. She runs, she ends it, she just…falls off the face of the earth. And I can’t…I can’t keep doing it. My sanity can’t handle it.”
“Is that what she’s doing now?”
Eric stared through the glasses of the red-headed therapist, his own eyes wide. So wide, he could feel the dryness of the air already starting to get to the whites of them.
“Eric?” Dr. Thorne probed. “Has she left you?”
His eyes darted around sheepishly—anywhere but into Dr. Thorne’s. “I…don’t think so…”
“How do you figure?”
“I…well…”
“You said you jumped the gun.”
Finally, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I just—I assumed the worst. I went for it. I openly let a media article dictate my relationship and I haven’t even spoken to Juliet, yet. Why? Because it’s Monday. And Monday mornings are busy for her, what with meetings and proposals and starting the week and all. And it’s…it’s lunch time and I should be worrying about my own work and not ruining your lunch break. I’m so sorry, Dr. Thorne. Really. You know what? Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you let me buy you lunch?”
Dr. Thorne shook her head, shoving her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That really isn’t necessary. This is what I’m here for—“
“No. No, I insist. I ruined your lunch, let me make it up to you. This was stupid, my being here like this. You can say it, I won’t be upset.”
“I’m not going to say that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“All right then,” she smiled. “Where are we having lunch?”
“Excellent,” Eric smiled as he stood up and wiped his palms on his pants. “Then I can return the favor and listen to all your relationship woes for a change.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she replied with a shake of her head. “And I’m not even supposed to fraternize with my patients, but I’m off the clock and I’m hungry and you’re right—you did eat into my lunch hour.”
“Ah? Was that a pun I heard?”
Her response was a hard, “No.”
“All right,” Eric nodded. “Shall we?”
“There’s an Indian restaurant that I frequent on the corner. I was heading there today. And in our next session, we will be exploring the origins of your continued trust issues.”
He sucked in a breath and nodded. “All right. Then that’s where we’ll go. After you.”
Stepping out of the way so that Dr. Thorne could retrieve her coat, Eric slid his phone out of his pocket and checked his notifications as he walked down the hallway behind his therapist.
There was a text from Juliet.
“I read the article this morning. Dinner tonight?”
At that, a mile-wide grin spread across his face as he texted back, “Absofuckinglutely.”
* * *
IT’S OFFICIAL! Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelorette Off The Market! Get The Scoop Inside!
Sources attending a recent gathering of Manhattan’s business leaders reported that conversation got juicy in the corner of a Waldorf Astoria ballroom early Friday morning. Reportedly, Eric Reynolds, the hot, young CEO of Reynolds Construction, put speculations to rest by referring to Juliet Carson as his girlfriend while defending her honor to a fellow business conglomerate.
Defending her honor, you say? It’s apparent that her knight in shining armor has finally arrived to defend her name all over New York. But be careful, good sir. Juliet Carson is a hot commodity in this city. Are you her King Arthur? Or are you her Sir Lancelot?
That’s right, you read it here first! Juliet Carson is no longer New York’s most eligible socialite. For now…
“THIS HAS EASILY been one of the most fucked up days in the history of fucked up days.”
“Tell me about it,” Eric agreed with Juliet as he reached over and scooped a glob of queso onto a freshly-baked tortilla chip.
“Hey, are you supposed to be--?”
“Don’t even start,” he cut her off. Then he rerouted the tortilla and neared it to her mouth. “Besides, I made this one especially for you.”
“Aww, I love when you feed me queso,” Juliet cooed with a delighted smile.
Eric scowled. “I’ve never fed you queso before.”
“You got that right, and you’re dropping the cheese. Hop to it, Louisiana, I don’t have all night.”
With a chuckle, Eric fed Juliet and grinned as she chewed away happily on her appetizer. Dinner had ended up with them changing into casual clothes and ducking into a Mexican dive that Juliet secretly adored. From the ceiling hung various styles of sombreros and variations of chiles, with interior walls reminiscent of a Mexican adobe. The air reeked of spices, and the sounds of kitchen staff hollering over sizzling meat filled their ears. The menu prices were of the startling “you get what you pay for” variety, not that Eric was picky, but Juliet insisted that she ate there a minimum of twice per month and hadn’t had an issue yet. So, he took her word for it, snuggled next to her in a booth seat against the wall, and sipped on beer while they read the dreaded tabloid article together.
“I can’t believe you took our therapist to lunch,” Juliet remarked as she swallowed her queso.
“Can we just forget that ever happened?”
“Nope. It’s plastered all over PM Manhattan where everyone else’s reputations go to die, but the memories live forever,” Juliet grumbled.
“Okay, look. First of all, what the fuck even is PM Manhattan? It looks like…like some teeny bopper gossip site—and I’m sure it is.”
“Everybody reads PM Manhattan,” Juliet corrected him quietly.
“No, they don’t. I don’t. I didn’t even know it existed.”
“That’s because nobody’s throwing around leather balls or punching each other in the face.”
“Exactly. I’m telling you. Nobody who matters is reading this shit. Nobody who’s funding any of your projects, nobody who’s hiring you to design—“
“Real lonely housewives who are left to their own devices while their husbands are on business trips thrive on this shit.”
“And how many of those homes have you designed?”
“Hundreds,” Juliet deadpanned.
At that, Eric shrugged his shoulders and turned up his beer. Once he swallowed, he continued. “Yeah, okay. But so what, what are they, chump change? You’re in the big leagues now, baby. Hotels, resorts, office buildings. You think those guys have time to read tabloids like that? Hell, no. And they’re practically banging your door down for business, right? See, they don’t care.”
“There was the one guy in Miami who met with me just because he read the tabloids.”
“Oh, fuck him. You didn’t need some cheap, smarmy account like that, anyway. You should have let me come tear his balls off.”
“Yeah, if you’re in prison, you can’t build my designs.”
“Travis can.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it.”
“Yes, I do! You think Thad Martin gives a shit about--? You know what, wait. I’m sorry. Look, who names their kid Thad?”
Juliet burst into loud, spontaneous laughter.
It made Eric smile. “I’m serious! Thad is…is…I bet he ties his sweater sleeves around his neck and wears boat shoes. I bet he has a house in the Hamptons. I bet his teeth sparkle and ding like those stupid gum commercials and I bet he serves up Mai Tai’s from his tiki bar, complete with those little umbrellas, while parading around in plaid golf shorts and—and I bet he shaves his legs! And his chest!”
“Travis has a house in the Hamptons,” Juliet reminded him.
“Yeah, but Travis is cool.”
“How do you know Thad isn’t cool?”
“Because he’s Thad.”
“Yeah. He is. And Thad is about to be a very big payday for the both of us.”
“Jesus. My success lies in the hands of a guy named Thad.”
Juliet giggled. “No, it doesn’t. You’re already successful. This is just…what, a touchdown?”
Eric gaped in awe at the beautiful brunette whose curls cascaded down her gray sweater. “Holy shit, you just used a football reference. That might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
Juliet smirked. “Yeah? I thought the sexiest thing I ever said was your name in bed?”
With that, Eric ravaged her lips with his. He couldn’t help himself. Sadly, however, he didn’t get very far with the announcement of, “Hope we’re still hungry!” ringing out over their table in a thick Mexican accent.
“Famished,” Juliet smiled eagerly as she gazed at the array of rice and beans and fajitas that were being littered upon their table.
Eric had never been so jealous of food in his life.
But it smelled delicious and over the next few minutes, the pair ate in near silence, savoring each and every bite. Juliet had been right, for a plate that was under fifteen bucks, it was some of the best Mexican food he had ever put in his mouth.
After a several bites of a guacamole-filled chicken fajita and a few swigs of beer, Juliet’s voice came across quietly, “It concerns me that you felt the need to see our therapist today.”
Something in the way she said “our therapist” warmed Eric’s heart.
How fucked up was that?
“That’s…that’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, I promise.”
“But it is. You booked an emergency appointment this afternoon after the article came out. You didn’t even call me.”
“You didn’t call me, either.”
“Am I that bad?”
Letting out a sigh, Eric put his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When I got in there this afternoon, I immediately realized how stupid I was being. I…I made an assumption and I apologize. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize.”
“So…you don’t trust me?”
“Juliet, I—“
“No,” she said quietly. “No, no, I get it. Beth, um…Beth assumed the same. So, uh…you weren’t alone in your assumption this morning.” Then she looked Eric dead in the eyes. “But I didn’t need an emergency therapy session.”
Eric’s breath left defeated from his nose. God damn this PM Manhattan bullshit. If it wasn’t for them snooping around and posting his picture on their stupid website, Juliet would have never known--doctor-patient confidentiality, right? Did she have notifications on that shit or something?
“It’s fine,” she continued. “I get it. But I asked you to dinner tonight to show you that I’m not running this time. I don’t want to. But just know that…that I’m still not comfortable with the attention. I never have been. And now you’re going to be looped in here with it—“
“I don’t give a shit what some teeny bopper housewife tabloid has to say about anything.”
“But you see what it’s done to me. I mean, it’s a wonder my business hasn’t tanked for the decisions I’ve made in my personal life.”
“It hasn’t tanked because it doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like you’re fucking all your clients.”
Juliet arched an eyebrow. “Clearly I just sleep with my business partners.”
“Except Sven. Because he likes dudes.”
“Sven works for me,” Juliet laughed. “Why are you so bothered by him?”
“Because he’s fucking beautiful,” Eric blurted. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. And then there’s…there’s…I mean, I wouldn’t kick Jason out of my bed either. Okay? You keep some very…interesting company…”
Reaching over her plate, she found his hand and laced her fingers into his as their wrists lay side-by-side on the table. “But, yet, here I am with you. The most interesting of all the company I keep. The only one I have eyes for.”
He looked her over skeptically. “I don’t know…” he snarled. “You were eying our waitress pretty hard awhile ago…”
“Can you blame me?” She scoffed. “Did you see the plates she carried over? If she’d have proposed to me with a chimichanga smothered in queso, I would have said yes. That’s legal now, you know.”
“A chimichanga? That’s it, that’s all it takes?”
“For her.”
“Damn.”
Juliet cleared her throat. “Just know that this won’t be the last article. And…and just know that you won’t have to make an appointment with the therapist every time we go out.”
Eric nodded. “Noted. Definitely noted.” And then, his eyes laid on one last flour tortilla. Quickly loading it up with fajita meat and toppings, he then offered the plate to Juliet with a smile. “Juliet Carson. Lover, friend, business partner, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my entire life, will you please make me the happiest man on earth and do me the honor of accompanying me to dessert after this delectable and digestive train wreck of a dinner?”
She curled her nose up in disgust. “I mean, when you put it that way…”
“Maybe delicious instead of digestive train wreck?”
“It’s a synonym of delectable.”
“Will you just fucking have dessert with me?”
“I dunno…I mean, after this digestive train wreck, can you even have dessert? I mean, are we going for frozen yogurt, do they have sugar-free…what?”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“You’re proposing. It’s a major life decision, there are questions that must be answered.”
“I had planned to be a gentleman, but we can just go pick up a tub at the market and then go home and have sex. I mean, if we’re gonna use synonyms for delectable, we might as well go all out, right?”
Juliet blinked at him in silence. The plate was getting heavy. His wrist was probably going to break.
“We’ll go to my place tonight.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. Now eat that damn fajita before I do.”
“Wanna share?”
“Where’s my knife?”
And that was it. That was Monday night. That was Monday night after the tabloid fiasco. That was the two of them sharing dinner and talking it out and still laughing and having a good time. That was the two of them still going home together to continue their evening. That was them, inseparable and happy.
It was everything Eric had ever wanted.