Page 31 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
Fuck.
Perhaps coming to Ben’s hotel room wasn’t the best idea after all. Who could’ve guessed?
Abruptly turning away, I make my way to the round, two-person table near the window, knowing I need to get control overmyself before I let something reckless happen. Sinking into a chair at the table, I change the subject to something safe. Work. That tiny little thing I was brought here to do. “You know, if you worked forAround the Globe, you’d get all the best assignments. I’m sure Calvin would let you handpick your locations.”
Ben takes the seat across from me and studies me for a moment before asking, “Why do you keep bringing up me working there?”
“Do I?” Feigning innocence, I press onward. “I’m just saying, you had to be a little interested to take this assignment. And I know how much Calvin wants you at the company.” I briefly consider telling Ben the truth, thatmypromotion may in fact depend onhisacceptance of a position atAround the Globe. But admitting to Ben that not only does Calvin deem my work unworthy on its own merit, but also that I’m not the world-traveling writer he thinks I am, well, that would be humiliating in a way I couldn’t handle.
“So you like working there then?” Ben asks. “It’s what you pictured all those times you told me about wanting to see the world?”
Oof. Well, this is a dilemma. “It’s a great job and I’m fortunate to have it,” I say diplomatically. And it isn’t a lie. I’m very well aware that a lot of people would love to have the career I’m blessed with. It’s one of the reasons I feel guilty for wanting more.
“That’s about as vague an answer as you could have given,” he presses.
I sigh, envisioning how to tiptoe around the things I’m not willing to admit to Ben and how to best phrase the things I am.“There are things that could be better, but I imagine that can be said of any job with any company.”
“Like?” Ben’s brow lifts, the faded scar on his forehead catching the light.
“You ever work somewhere that had the potential to be a dream job if it wasn’t for the management making you miserable?”
“No.” He huffs a laugh. “But bartending and The Boathouse weren’t really dream-job material.”
That’s right. Other than those two jobs as a teenager, Ben’s only traveled with Dan and then worked for himself. “Well, it’s kind of discouraging when a company feels like it would be the perfect place for you if it wasn’t for one person.” That’s the closest I’m willing to get to admitting my career failures.
“Is that one person Cal?”
“He’s made some decisions I’ve questioned.” Like not interviewing me before hiring Devon. Like expecting us Locals to be in the office Monday through Friday while the Internationals come and go as they please. Like allowing the whole building to become a fire hazard because he refuses to tell Shirley she can’t smoke inside. The list goes on and on…I don’t say this though.
“Well, you’re giving a ringing endorsement for working there, Ems.”
Shit.“No, really,” I amend, “itisa great job. I get to write for a living, which is a dream come true. And I get to see a lot of cool places and do a lot of cool shit.” There have been assignments I’ve truly enjoyed. I’ve been sailing off of Nantucket and gone on a cheesesteak crawl in Philly and learned how maple syrup is made at a Vermont sugarhouse. And because I am likeother girls, I enjoyed the hell out of some apple-picking at a lovely orchard in New Hampshire on a crisp fall weekend. But I can’t tell Ben any of that without telling him all the places I haven’t been as well. I try a different tactic. “Wouldn’t you like more stability than being freelance?”
Ben taps his thumb against the wooden tabletop, sharp eyes suspicious as ever. “I like working freelance. No long-term commitments.”
The words land like a blow to my solar plexus, momentarily knocking the wind from me. But I recover quickly, dead set not to repeat another awkward airport scene. “Okay, but don’t you want to stay in one place for longer than a couple months? Be close to your friends and…significant other…if you have one?”
Why in the actual hell did I go there?
What’s worse, why in the actual hell have I never even considered Ben being in a relationship a possibility until right now?
Most pressing, why in the actual hell do I feel like I might throw up?
Ben’s fidgety thumb stills, his gaze never straying from mine. “Since I’m always traveling and my assignments can be lengthy, the friends I have are spread out all over the world. And do you really think I’d be sitting in my hotel roomwith youif I had a significant other?”
I’m relieved by the implication of his answer, very much unrelieved at the flash of heat that pulses between my legs. “Why not?” I venture innocently (at least that’s what I tell myself). “This is purely professional.”
Ben smirks and wets his lips with his tongue. “Ems, I think we both know there’s no way anything could bepurelyprofessional when it comes to me and you.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I do know my heart skips a beat or seven.
“What about you?” he asks. “Anyone special back at home?”
Pulse throbbing in my throat, all I can do is shake my head.
There’s a knock at the door, and Ben sighs at the disruption, mumbling something that sounds like a curse under his breath. But he stands to answer it, and a hotel employee wheels in a cart with our dinner a moment later. Meanwhile I’m frozen in my chair while my heart beats a crescendo against my chest wall that could rival any award-winning drumline. But when Ben and I are alone again, he starts arranging our food on the table between us as if everything is perfectly normal. Perfectly casual. I take a few deep inhales and will my heart to slow the fuck down.
Much like the night before, as we each devour our food there’s not much conversation other than murmurs of indulgence and whispers of,Would it be okay if I stole a fry?(Because why did I ever choose sautéed veggies when I’m this hungry?) But my mind stays busy tripping over one thing, and surprisingly, it’s not thesemomentsBen and I seem to keep having, or the conversations we keep dancing around. There will be plenty of time to overanalyze those worries later tonight when I’m not sleeping.
