Meeting Milestones

EMERALD

I bit my lip as I eyed Tate. He looked at me like he knew something I didn’t. Not sure if it was a good thing or bad, though. I narrowed my eyes at him, and the corner of his mouth tilted up.

“I raise,” I said, sliding a marshmallow and a pip of chocolate into the center of the table.

“Living dangerously, are we?” He smirked but met the bet. “Call. Two pair. Jacks and nines.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” I frowned at his cards as he laid them face up.

“It was a valiant effort, Shrimp, but I’m a seasoned veteran at poker.” He smiled and reached to take the pot.

I slapped my hand on top of his, stopping him.

“I meant, I should have bet more,” I said, turning my hand so he could see the cards. “Three aces.”

His face went from smug triumph to defeat as I swept the sweet treats out from under his hands. It sank further when I looked at him and cleared my throat.

“This is not the way I thought this would go,” he muttered, and he stood up.

“I would say, ‘I bet not,’ but we can see how your betting has gone tonight.” I gestured to my pile of goodies before me. “Now, if you will. Hand them over.”

He huffed out a sigh as he looped his thumbs into the waist of his boxers and pulled them down. He stepped out of them and threw them at me, making me laugh as I held my bare stomach.

He’d only managed to get me down to my bra and panties while he, now, was standing in the dining room. Naked. Gloriously naked. Entirely, completely bare for my hungry, hungry eyes to feast upon.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he muttered.

“No. Not at all. But you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?” I smiled, feeling evil and incredibly giddy at the same time.

“You hustled me,” he accused me.

“I did no such thing.” I laughed.

“You said you’ve never played poker before,” he said.

“No, I said that I’ve never played ~strip~ poker before,” I said. “Now, come on. Don’t hold out on me.”

He gave me a hard look, then rolled his eyes as I hit play on my phone and turned the volume up on Ginuwine’s “Pony.”

I was dying with laughter. He looked so incredibly uncomfortable as he tried to do a “sexy stripper” dance butt ass naked. I took pity on him and turned off the phone, throwing his boxers at him.

“Thank fuck,” he said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tossed his boxers into his chair.

“You would make a terrible dancer, Tate.” I laughed as he came over and stood in front of me, holding my chin in his fingers, tilting my head back to look up at him.

“I’m only terrible because I’m not wanting to hurt my dick, flinging it around.” He chuckled and kissed me.

“If you did, I might have kissed it better,” I teased him, and he sucked in a breath.

“You know, I might have actually hurt myself,” he said.

“Poor thing.” I poked out my bottom lip, and he nibbled on it.

“You know, you weren’t supposed to win, right, Shrimp?” he said.

“Maybe you should take that into consideration next time, Treeman.” I smirked.

“No, no. I’m not underestimating you again.” He laughed and pulled my arm, planting his shoulder in my middle.

“Tate! Put me down!” I shouted, laughing.

“You hustled me,” he said and smacked my ass lightly.

“Tate!” I laughed louder.

He chuckled and threw me on the bed. I bounced once before he laid over me and pinned my wrists on the bed over my head.

I really liked seeing him like this. Compared to the serious, no-nonsense, asshole boss, who was hot as sin, he looked far more attractive when he was relaxed and smiling.

Part of me puffed with pride, even while the rest told me that I was giving myself too much credit for the change.

~It’s just because of the will. He’s happy because he’s got a better chance than before, not because I’m the one making him happy.~

“Stop,” Tate said, his serious tone bringing me out of my head as he moved to his knees, sitting back on his heels.

“Where did you go just now? That look…I never liked seeing it on your face, but I ~really~ don’t like seeing it now. What just went through your head?”

I wanted to tell him “nothing,” but there was no way he was going to let it go at that. He was going to push until I told him, and as stupid as it was, he didn’t need to hear about my insecurities.

I was thinking of something to say when he flicked my nose.

“Don’t think about lying to me, Emerald. I see you thinking about it.” He pointed his finger in my face. “We can’t fix what’s wrong if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s that ‘me thing’ again.” I sighed, defeated before I even got to try.

“Emerald, I’m not going to change my mind about this,” he said, his voice like steel—so sure.

“You say that now, and I believe it, just like I did before. I told you, this is me, not you. You’re doing everything right, and I know it’s not fair of me to keep having these—”

I was cut off by his lips on mine—hard, demanding, possessive. Ruthless.

But also tender, in a dark kind of way. His actions up until now had been patient while he asked for my okay to go further. This, however, was not.

Every opposite of “patient” I could think of, and even a few that slipped my kiss-addled mind, were all wrapped up in this moment that I was hoping would last a lot longer than it did.

“I will ~always~ say that, and it’s not unfair. I know I’ve made a bad reputation for myself with women, and I’m paying for it now.

“I am trying, and you’re giving me every chance to prove I’m serious,” he said, holding my jaw firmly but gently so I couldn’t look away.

“I understand why you doubt it. I hate it, but I understand. We started this in an unconventional way, but I mean it. Everything that happens between us, I mean with every emotionally stunted piece of me.”

I laughed shakily, and he gave me a small smile before kissing me again.

“Better?” he asked against my lips.

“For now.” I nodded.

“Good.” He pecked my lips. “You still hustled me, and I still want to turn your ass pink for it.”

“Tate.” I gasped, but he grabbed my hips and flipped me over already.

His hand swatted my ass, and I moaned. This was going to be a good night.

***

I yawned and stretched my legs out from where I had pulled them up last night. The bed was cold and empty, meaning Tate had been up for a long time already.

I frowned and reached for my phone, pausing when I saw a piece of paper sitting on top of it.

~You looked like you were sleeping too well to have an alarm ruin it.~

I smiled as I laid the paper on the table and flopped to my back, grinning at the ceiling.

I lost count of the number of orgasms I had at Tate’s hands. And mouth. And absolutely his dick.

Jesus, I was sore in places I hadn’t been sore in for a while, and I felt like a cooked noodle. It was a glorious feeling.

I basked for a little while before I got up to take a much-needed shower and put on some comfortable clothes.

The walk from his room to the one that I refused to sleep in was like a wake-up call. There was no way I could sleep anywhere but with Tate now.

Sex aside, I liked having him next to me as we went to sleep, and I liked knowing that he was still there in the morning. I really liked it, and I normally hated sharing a bed.

I stopped in the hallway, a towel the only thing covering me as my hair dripped water down my shoulders and into the soft cotton as what he told me on my birthday filtered through my memories.

How he wanted me to move my things into his room. Everything else we had checked off his list. More than once, I might add. Why not finish his list?

I was practically already halfway there, and with Devon popping in whenever he liked, I wasn’t too keen on doing this exact walk when he did it again. Or anyone else, for that matter.

I smiled and hurried the last few feet into the bedroom I rarely was ever in and threw on some clothes before grabbing everything left and hauling it to Tate’s room. Our room, now.

It took several trips since the shopping trip had tripled my wardrobe, but when I was finished, I stood inside the closet, looking at the two distinct sides.

Something fell into place, and my skin prickled at the sudden feeling of ~rightness~ that warmed my insides.

It was interrupted, of course, by the ringing of my phone on the table beside the bed. I checked the name and smashed the accept.

“You better have a damn good excuse for not picking up yesterday, Lance Wells,” I snapped.

“Um, I love you, too,” Lance replied. “I dropped my phone in a sink of dirty dishwater. I just got a replacement like five minutes ago.

“What happened yesterday to warrant thirty-seven missed calls and nineteen messages?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed and checked my email while I explained to him on speakerphone. “And the application was accepted. She can move in this weekend.”

“I’ll see if I can find a storage unit for the things she can’t take with her,” he offered. “Now that we’re only paying for medicine and the doctor bills, we could afford the unit, right? Any news on a job yet?”

“Geez, just jump right in.” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t need to find a unit. There’s already one in my name from when I moved into my apartment. It’s a lot bigger than I needed, but it was the only one available.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, then,” he said.

“You can find some boxes, though, since you have my car, and try to help Barbara pack things up,” I said. “I’ll be out tomorrow to help.”

“Stick me with the manual labor, huh?” he asked with a chuckle.

“You better answer your phone next time,” I replied and went to get something to eat.

“Hey, I forgot to mention that the oil needs to be changed in my car. It’s already paid for before you ask, so you just need to take it to the shop this afternoon, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Em,” he said before he hung up, but not before I heard a female voice on the other end.

“Dirty dishwater, my ass. You were totally getting laid, asshole.” I snorted and tossed my phone on the counter as I looked at the clock and decided I’d just pick up a big lunch on the way to meet with Tate.

I stepped out of the elevator and smiled, seeing Yuri back from his long weekend off.

“How was your granddaughter’s birthday party?” I asked him as he held the door open for me and stepped out to wave down a taxi for me.

“She still hasn’t stopped smiling,” he answered with a smile of his own. “How are things with Mr. King?”

“Like a dream I don’t want to wake up from,” I answered. “Not a fan of his decorator, though.”

Yuri chuckled as he opened the door for the taxi, and I got in, giving the driver the name of a Chinese place that I knew Tate liked to order from occasionally.

Getting to the office was an event. There had been a wreck somewhere up the street I couldn’t see, and the already slow traffic was at a standstill, so I ended up walking. At least I was dressed for comfort, shoes included.

There were a few more stares and some whispering than there had been lately, and I was kind of curious as to why that was but couldn’t bring myself to care as I made it up to the top floor.

Candy was there, looking like she was about to cry, and she jumped a little bit when there was shouting from inside the office.

“What’s going on?” I asked, and she paled.

“I have no idea. He got a large envelope delivered a short time ago, and he’s been like this since,” she answered, flinching again as something inside made a heavy thud.

“Do you know who it was from?” I asked her, trying to get a feel for how pissed he was.

“There was no address. Security brought it up, saying that it was left at the lobby desk.” She shook her head.

“Go ahead and take your lunch.” I nodded at her and pushed the door open just as Tate shouted out another curse.

I closed the door and locked it before surveying the damage. It was an utter disaster. Tables were sideways, chairs were flipped over, and the sofa was a bit crooked.

Everything on Tate’s desk was on the floor, save his computer screen, which was mounted on the desk itself, and the man himself was standing behind it, leaning on his fists, breathing hard as he looked at me.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” I commented, picking my way over to set the food on the desk. “I’m glad I moved Harold to the shelf.”

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, and I lifted an eyebrow at him.

“It’s lunch?” I tilted my head. “Well, it’s a bit late, but that’s because there was some fresh hell going on with traffic. Is there a reason for your sudden urge to redecorate?”

“You sure?” he asked and bent to pick up a large yellow envelope.

“Pretty sure, yes.” I frowned as he tossed it onto the desk so it slid across to me. “What’s that about?”

I picked it up and looked inside. Ha. What a fucking joke.

“These are from two years ago,” I said, pulling the photos out and flipping through them. “They were taken by a terrible blind date-turned-stalker.”

“Who’s the guy you’re kissing, Emerald?”

“My ex, Justin. At the time, we were dating. It didn’t last very long,” I answered. “That’s what the wreckage is about?”

“How the hell am I supposed to react to seeing this?” he snapped.

“I’m shocked nothing’s broken, actually,” I admitted, looking around. “Although, I think that one chair is done for.”

“That’s all you have to say about this?” he demanded.

“What else do you want to know?” I asked, unpacking the food. “I can have the police report faxed over if you want.

“Has copies of all of those pictures and then some, which might be how those pictures ended up here. It kind of stinks like Leo, doesn’t it?”

I finished setting out the food and righted a chair to use at the front of the desk while Tate tried to calm down.

He really looked like a crazy person right now, but he was starting to come back to himself. I don’t blame him. I’d be pissed, too.

I was a little annoyed that he went right to belief instead of doubt, but then, I had to remind myself he hadn’t had much practice with how a normally functional adult relationship worked in any capacity.

Hell, I was impressed Vince had stuck around for as long as he had, which is the only thing Tate’s had for his whole life, pretty much.

“I…” Tate looked around, his face slowly switching from anger to horror as he realized what happened. “I don’t know what came over me. Shit, I’m so sorry, Emerald. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but we’ll discuss it later. Right now, I want to know about the other parts of your morning,” I said, holding out a pair of chopsticks. “Didn’t you have a phone call with Bryers?”

“I did.” He sighed, taking the sticks and fixing his own chair. “They’re shaky about the renewal coming up and wanted to have dinner to discuss things in a more relaxed setting.”

“Want me to be there?” I asked. “You know what they’re going to be asking about.”

“I know, and I’m not sure.” He sighed again, tossing the unopened chopsticks to the desk as he sank into his chair. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

“In the three years since you took over, you’ve never had to deal with bad publicity?” I asked him.

“I’ve worked very hard to keep myself ~out~ of headlines as much as possible,” he said flatly.

“Solid strategy, but potentially harmful. Having a weak media presence is almost as fatal as having a poor one these days.”

“It’s not even making a big splash here.” He gestured to the office in general. “It’s a bunch of small things that are just mixing together. I have no idea how to deal with all the blowback from Leo and fucking ~Nicole.”

“You suck at crisis management because you’ve never dealt with one.” I shrugged, looking pointedly at his untouched food.

He rolled his eyes but picked it up. When he started eating, I continued. “That does speak volumes on your crisis ~prevention~, but now, you need to put out the dumpster fires before they turn into an inferno.”

“And I have no idea how to do that without wasting countless hours coddling nervous businessmen.” He stabbed viciously at his food.

“I said we needed to make a statement. Now is as good a time as ever, right?” I asked.

“Do you have something in mind because my head isn’t straight right now?” He glared at the photos under the food.

“How do you feel about getting several birds with one stone?” I shrugged. “I need to meet your family at some point, and I would really like to know more about the charities.

“You said your grandmother would know more about them.”

“We’ve only been ‘together’ for two weeks,” he said. “Isn’t that fast?”

“Not if we factor in the time we’ve spent working together. No one is going to know if that time was spent ‘bonding’ or not, so who’s to say it’s fast?” I pointed out.

“Besides, planning a wedding fit for a King is going to take time. The sooner we get past the important milestones, the better it’ll be when it’s not a rushed process.”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Shrimp?” He smirked up at me.

“You already asked me, so don’t let it go to your head.” I pointed my chopsticks at him.

“And no. I’m not asking for an official proposal. Meeting friends and family is one of those steps we have to take, so don’t go ring shopping just yet.”

“I already have your ring.” He chuckled.

“You are so full of shit.” I narrowed my eyes at him, seeing his poker tell.

“I am, but I do know what I want it to look like, so does that count?”

“God, we are so backward.” I laughed.

“I think it kind of suits us, actually.” He smiled, then looked around the office. “This is going to be a bitch to fix.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help. Consider it practice for this weekend.” I grinned.

“What about this weekend?” he asked.

“Mom’s application to Bloomfield was approved, and she can move in on Saturday. Lance is getting some boxes, but I’m not about to go lifting furniture with just Lance to help me all day.

“I’ll be completely useless for days afterward.” I made a face at the memory of when Mom moved into that apartment.

“You did it by yourself getting her in, didn’t you?” Tate said, reading me like a book, the asshole.

“I did, and it sucked. You get to meet my mom and be useful at the same time. Perfect opportunity.”

“Hm. I knew you just wanted me for my body,” he teased.

“Oh, I most certainly do, Mr. King, but the things I want it to do wouldn’t be appropriate around family.” I grinned. “Moving furniture, however, is more of a goal than a requirement.”

“I’m always happy to help you with whatever furniture moving needs you may have, Shrimp.” He chuckled with a lot of sexy promise. “We can start in here.”