Page 20 of The Arrangement

PETER

I was on a call with a contractor when Gina stepped into my office. She walked forward and took a seat across from me, hands folded on her lap and one leg crossed over the other. The black fabric of her top stretched across her chest, and I watched as she leaned forward, rubbing a hand across her bare calf. When she met my eye, there was a mischievous look in her eye.

“Hello? Peter? Did I lose you?” the voice on the other end of the line called.

“Sorry, Jim. No, I’m here. And yes, that’s fine. I can revise the blueprints to fit in the extra closet. Send me over the specifications, and I’ll see about getting it approved by the end of next week.”

“Excellent. I’ll let the client know. Thanks.”

“Talk soon.” With that, I lowered the phone from my ear. I cleared my throat as I set it down, ending the call. “Sorry about that. Can I help you with something?”

“I’m hoping so.” She smiled, and I wondered if her visit was a business call after all. “I’m surprised you didn’t text me.”

I frowned. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I just wondered what the holdup was. Are you not interested anymore?”

“I-no, no, that’s not it. I just…well,” I ran my fingers through my hair awkwardly, “I don’t want either of us to get hurt or…attached. You know. Because Ainsley and I are still trying to figure everything out. So, I guess I’m more or less looking for something fun and casual.”

“And you don’t think I’m fun and casual?” She blinked, her green eyes drilling me from behind the thick frames of her glasses.

“Well, I didn’t say that. I was more worried I wouldn’t be able to keep to the agreement. Seeing you every day… Anyway, I thought you said if I didn’t text you, we’d never discuss this again?” I said, keeping my tone light. I hoped she would realize I was joking.

“Yeah, well, I guess I lied.” She gave a dry laugh and leaned forward. “Come on, Peter, take me on one date. If you go back to your wife afterward, oh-fucking-well. I’m a big girl. I can handle rejection. I can handle fun and casual. What I can’t handle is not even being given a chance.” She paused, watching as I struggled with the decision. “Come on. We matched. That’s a tangible social contract that you’re breaking with zero regards for societal norms.”

My hands went up in defeat, an easy smile playing on my lips. “Well, I can’t break our social contract, now can I?”

“What kind of animal would you be?” she teased. I chuckled, and she went on, “So, it’s settled then? An official date is on the books?” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ears that had fallen loose from her low bun.

“An official date.”

“Excellent.” She smacked her lap, standing up. “When and where should I meet you?”

“Thursday at seven work for you?”

“Thursday, as in a week from now?” Her brows knitted together.

“No, Thursday as in six days from now.”

She shook her head, not bothering to laugh at my joke. “That’s too long. I’m free tonight. Meet me at Jonathan’s at six.” With that, she was out the door, and I had no time to object.

It was Friday, which meant there were no dates allowed and family time was firmly on the books. I had a choice to make. I stared at my computer, my mind racing, and jolted when my phone chimed. Her name stared back at me, with a Can’t wait and a winking emoticon.

I sighed, and then, without any additional thought, I chose wrong.

Chapter Thirteen

AINSLEY

When my phone buzzed again, I was filled with dread. I’d spent all morning stressing about Stefan and trying to put it out of my head. After his message that morning, I was hoping he’d give up. I was clearly not going to respond to his messages, but in less than a week, I had received more than ten in total, so every time my phone went off, I’d begun to assume it would be him.

To my relief, it was only Peter.

I have to work late tonight. Can we reschedule family night?

I rolled my eyes and groaned. It was not a surprise. Peter had been working on two big projects at work, so I knew he was busy, but I’d hoped that night would be different. Especially given what had happened between us that morning.

I texted back a quick Sure and slid my phone into my desk drawer. I hated the way the disappointment sat with me. It was heavy, palatable. Like a meal I couldn’t seem to rid myself of. It was the same feeling I had as a teenager before lowering my head over the toilet bowl and shoving my fingers down my throat. The action that gave me control over the feeling I hated so much. For the way I was feeling, no amount of purging would help. No amount of slicing of the skin of my inner thighs or running until my feet bled would solve this either, which were my other two coping mechanisms. I felt disgusting. Why had I let him do it to me again? Why had I allowed myself to hope things would be different? I hated feeling powerless. I thrived on fixing things and, when I had no way of doing so, it enraged me.