Boomerang (44 page)
Authors: Noelle August
Mia
Q: Real life, or fairy tale ending?
W
e’re about to step out of the elevator to Adam’s penthouse suite when Ethan wraps his arms around me from behind, holding me there.
“Hang on a second,” he says, pulling me against him and lifting my hair to kiss the back of my neck.
The door slides shut, and now it’s just the two of us, reflected over and over in the mirrored wall panels.
“I guess if we never go into that hotel room, we can never be fired.” I turn and lace my arms around his neck, drawing him down for a long, teasing kiss. “Is that the game plan, Coach?”
“Something like that.”
I smooth down his collar and straighten his tie, remembering how badly I wanted to do it on our first day together, to give in to my need to touch him.
“We did good work today, Ethan,” I tell him. “No matter what, we made that booth a success. Adam got
five thousand
hits to the site. In one night. That’s crazy. Four hundred people signed up for accounts.”
He smiles and kisses me again. “God, you’re sexy when you spout statistics.”
“And you’re sexy when you
breathe
.”
He laughs, but then his expression grows earnest. “Really, I just wanted to say that it’s all going to be fine. I’ve got your back.”
For a long moment, I look into his light-filled blue eyes and see a fathomless well of goodness and loyalty there. I snuggle in close and kiss his jaw, brushing my lips over the five o’clock shadow. “And I’ve got yours.” I reach around and pat his butt. “Now, let’s go get canned.”
By the time we enter, the whole gang has gathered in the penthouse, except for Adam—and it’s like being greeted by a hanging jury. Paolo slouches on the arm of a chocolate-brown sectional and rotates his cocktail nervously, making the ice clink. It’s the loudest noise in the room.
“Awesome job tonight, kids,” he says, and gives Cookie a challenging look before she even has an opportunity to form a facial expression.
Pippa, Sadie, and Rhett all murmur their agreement. Cookie looks down at her drink like she wants to strangle it to death.
“Thanks,” I say. “Really, thank you all for everything. You saved our asses.”
At least for tonight, if not for good.
“Well, Jesus Christ,” Cookie blurts. “Sit down.”
Ethan strides over to the mahogany dining table, pre-set with linen napkins, cut-crystal goblets, and gold-embossed plates, in the event of a spontaneous soiree. Behind the table, floor-to-fifteen-foot-ceiling windows reveal an amazing view of the strip, with the light atop the Luxor slicing through a starless black sky.
He brings over two chairs, and I sit, but he remains standing behind his. I know without him saying a word that the anxiety he’s giving off has everything to do with me and nothing to do with himself. I’m gripped with the irrational fear that he might just tackle Adam to the deep-pile carpet the minute he steps through the door.
But then Adam comes from one of the bedrooms, looking relaxed and affable in jeans and a burgundy dress shirt. The man really loves his jewel tones.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, as though our attendance wasn’t fully mandatory. “I see you’ve helped yourself to the bar, Paolo. Anyone else?”
He plays bartender for a bit, but Ethan and I decline. My stomach’s churning, and I feel flushed and shaky. I know some of it is just exhaustion and the residual effects of rushing home for Nana, worrying about her, worrying about this day. Now that I’ve left the safe haven of Ethan’s bed, it’s all crashing in on me.
I shift in my seat and remind myself that whatever happens here, I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten something so much better than a job. It feels almost greedy to want anything more. But I do want it. Or I want Ethan to have it. I just don’t want it to go to anyone else.
It takes Adam an excruciatingly long time to fix a few cocktails, and it’s all I can do not to lose my mind when he starts to muddle mint for a mojito. He caps the club soda and comes back to the group. Handing the drink to Cookie, he settles in next to her and crosses his legs.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Well, I have to say you two surprised me.” And that’s all he says. It goes so quiet in the room, I can literally hear a clock ticking, and I don’t actually
see
a clock on any of the walls.
Finally, Ethan asks, “Is that good or bad?”
Adam considers for a moment. “Well, let’s see. You ordered a video game that cost almost twenty grand. You interfered with the field research I asked you to do. And you totally disregarded my no-dating policy.”
My face grows warm. I know it’s a lousy time to nitpick, but I say, “Ethan didn’t interfere with my date except to get some creepy guy away from me. So that’s all on me.”
“Well, the video game’s all on me,” Ethan says, finally taking a seat beside me. “And I’ll claim responsibility for breaking the no-dating rule. It’s a dumb rule.”
I laugh and take his hand, which is strong and warm. “I think we need to split that one fifty-fifty.”
“Okay,” he says, facing Adam with a soft half-smile on his lips. “We’re going fifty-fifty on that last one, so I think that makes us about even. What else have you got?”
“I’ve got a position that needs filling,” Adam says. “And I want you both.”
“What?” Cookie sputters.
“What?” Ethan and I say in unison.
“Do you know what you did out there?” Adam asks. “You blew away the competition. Thoroughly. You impressed a bunch of old guys who are professional cynics.
And
you did all of that in the face of a relative’s health crisis and with the distraction of what I’m guessing has been a long-simmering attraction. You also came up with a perfect slogan, not to mention getting me a cut rate on the works of my favorite photographer. So I want you both to come work for me. What do you say?”
I feel such a rush of euphoria, shock, and gratitude that I can barely speak. It’s like I’m dreaming.
But then Ethan says, “I appreciate that. I really do. But I’m afraid I have to pass.”
“Wait.” I turn to look at him. “Why?”
He grins and massages his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I want you to have it. It’s meant to be yours, Curls.”
“What are you saying? You wanted the job every bit as much as I did.”
Ethan shrugs. “I wanted the money. But you wanted the
job
.”
“Lord, I’m confused,” says Paolo. He drains his drink and gets up to refill at the bar.
“Me too.” I take both of Ethan’s hands and search his face for answers. “So, what will you do?”
“Well, I was waiting for the right time to tell you this.”
“Now works,” Sadie says.
“Yeah,” Rhett agrees. “Works for me too.”
Ethan looks around. “All right,” he says. “Now it is.” His eyes sparkle as they turn back to me. “While I was in Colorado, Matt told me about a graduate program at USC in sports psychology. He hooked me up with the guy who’s starting it and . . .” He shrugs. “I’m going to do it.”
“But what about the loans? What about—”
“I’m handling it. I’ll look at becoming a trainer there—which would get me a free ride. And I’ll take out more loans if I need to. But it’s where I want to be.” He looks at Adam. “I’m sure you understand?”
Adam nods. “It’s a loss for me, but Rhett tells me you’re very good with your team—and you’ve certainly helped bring the best out of my group. So, yes. I understand.” He aims his thoughtful gaze in my direction. “What about you, Mia? You still aboard?”
“God, yes,” I say. “Absolutely.”
“Thank God,” Paolo says. “Would have been hella dull there without you
both
.”
“Yes,” sniffs Cookie. “Thank God.” But there’s that hint of something that’s unlike her again—just a flash. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s a smile.
Pippa gets to her feet and says, “I propose a . . . a . . . speech-type thing!”
“A toast?” laughs Sadie.
“Yeah, a toast.”
Adam gets to his feet and then everyone does. “Excellent idea, Pippa. Let’s get this party going.”
We clamor around the bar, and Adam mixes more drinks. Rhett tells me to come in on Monday to fill out more forms, and Paolo says he’ll find me a desk near his. I’ve been sprung from Intern Gulag.
We drink, and then we put on music.
Ethan and I dance and dance, and I’m not surprised to find he has excellent moves. The music slows, and I move into his arms, warm and exhilarated and amazed at the possibilities taking shape all around me.
“That night at Duke’s,” he says. “I watched you at the bar. And I couldn’t stop looking. I kept finding my way back to you.”
I smile. “Like a boomerang?”
Paolo bumps into us on his way back to the bar. “Oops.” He weaves a little. “Hey, either of you want a refill?”
“No thanks,” I say and pull Ethan down for a long, seriously unprofessional kiss. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
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F
irst, thanks to ALL of those in my amazing and far-reaching writing family, whose individual members will be impossible to name here. If you think you should appear on this page, believe me, I think so too. I’m so fortunate that so many of you have started as clients, students, and colleagues and have become lifelong friends.
To Don Maass, Erin Anderson, the awesome BONI faculty, and all the students who’ve attended over the years, thanks so much for your hard work and for providing constant inspiration. I’m grateful beyond the telling.
For students and faculty of WRW, thanks for wonderful evenings on the back porch at Marydale. In honor of Gary Provost and Robin Hardy, and with much appreciation to Gail Provost, Elizabeth Lyon, Carol Dougherty, and Jason Sitzes and his late-night texts.
To my literary agents, Josh and Tracey Adams; my editorial compatriot, Emma Dryden; and my fearless (and underemployed, by me) assistant, Kelsey Tressler—thanks for bringing the awesome, all the time.
To Roman (Chewy) White for impromptu toy instrument jam sessions and years of laughs; Katie Lu Krimitsos for sushi and butt-kicking; Kim Frost for her companionship on so many late-night drives; my local writing amigos, Tom, Chris, Liz, Larry, Usman (and Gemma and Geodie in spirit), for lots of great talks and a little bit of critiquing; to Jackie P. for modeling determination; and Kim L. for conversations about viscera.
Thanks, of course, to Tessa Woodward and everyone at HarperCollins. And to my lovely coauthor, Veronica Rossi, for a ridiculous number of laughs and virtual high-fives along the way. It’s an honor, Minty.
Lastly, to my crazy, hilarious, awesome family: Lisa, Mustafa, Alex(panda), Andrew, Dina, Samantha, and Abby. And to Brenda, Jose, Liz, Anna, and Kyle. We’re weirdos, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
—LO
My deepest gratitude goes to the following people: Lorin Oberweger, for your friendship and general brilliance. Josh and Tracey Adams, for black-belt agenting. Tessa Woodward, for the support and editorial guidance—thank you. The rest of the William Morrow gang, Molly Birckhead and Megan Schumann especially, for all your efforts to spread the word about the Boomerang world. To my family and friends, thank you for being the reason why. Finally, to the bloggers and readers out there, thanks for taking another ride with me.
—VR
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