Into You Series: The Complete Collection

43. Cameron

CHAPTER 43

CAMERON

“ I ’m never going to hear the end of that.”

Ian and I walk uphill on the sidewalk in the city’s historic downtown. The buildings we pass are quaint and home to small businesses that seem to only be found in these types of areas: Florists, antique shops, barber shops, local bakeries—the works.

I normally avoid coming downtown because parking is horrible. To add insult to injury, this area is shaped like a bowl and the parking deck acts as the depressed center, making everything else an uphill walk.

Ian’s forehead gathers sweat and his normally suave, curly hair melts into a damp mass.

“She’ll get over it,” I pant, ripping off my suit jacket and laying it over my forearm as we continue to climb this tiny Mount Everest.

What is the point of running every day if I break out in a sweat this easily?

“Well no, probably not,” he says. “Nia is a beautiful dragon from the hell fires of corporate America come to rain her fury onto me. But that’s an issue for Future Ian. Why are we going to see Abby, again?”

“Because apparently, I love shoving my head into a wall”—I tilt my head from side to side considering—“which would honestly be preferable to this.”

“Okay … so why take me, too?”

“I need a lawyer present.”

“Ah.”

Even though my decisions haven’t been set in stone, I figure it would be best to have Ian close. If anything, he can be a buffer between the two of us. It’ll stop her from making too many snide comments, and I may be smart enough to avoid losing this opportunity over a couple misconstrued words.

Abby is a recruiter, so I took a page out of Grace’s book and used the fact that Abby cheated on me as leverage to have her get in touch with Mr. Feldman. I wanted to see if they have any open architecture jobs.

Turns out they do.

Turns out he liked me as well.

“Did you … mean to get caught with Grace?” Ian asks.

“Why yes, I absolutely wanted HR to come in and accuse me, in so many words, of sexually harassing one of my direct reports.” I roll my eyes. “All part of the plan.”

That was more hostile than Ian deserves, given that he bailed me out of completing unnecessary harassment and termination paperwork. Plus, he’s taking his lunch break to mediate between me and my cheating ex. I can tell he feels the same way about my snarky comment because he grabs my shoulder and forces me to turn and look at him.

Ian doesn’t really get angry with me. He gets frustrated with people if they don’t agree with him, but that’s any lawyer for you. But he’s always been quite cordial with his close friends even if he is irritated. So even though I know Ian isn’t about to lash out, it’s clear he still isn’t satisfied by my answers.

“You’re gonna have to fill me in, man,” he says, tightening his grip.

“Okay, I get it, you have questions,” I say, moving my shoulder away from his hold. “Can we walk and talk?”

“Let’s,” he says.

So, I delve into everything. I talk about how Grace and I were sort of dating, how there was no rhyme or reason to it, how suddenly it’s like she became my best friend, and how I don’t really believe in soulmates or anything but, “She’s different.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Ian says with a smile.

Me neither . But there’s something about Grace that makes me want more with her. I don’t want the bachelor life anymore. I want her. Forever.

We stop in front of a café. The storefront is floor-to-ceiling windows with a desaturated pink painted over the old-fashioned wood, adorned with white shutters that look so crisp it’s as if they were painted just this morning. Looking inside, I spot Abby.

Even with her arms crossed and a look that could shrink your balls up to your scrotum, she’s still as beautiful as always. She’s dressed in a sharp suit, jacket and all. She’s pure business with a look that tells me everything I need to know about how this will go down.

She is so similar and yet so drastically different from Grace.

“Je-sus,” Ian says, shaking his arms in a mock shiver. “Never thought I could be so turned on and so terrified. Why are we here again?”

“Abby is helping me move on.”

Ian guffaws. “Yeah, sure she is.”

I open the door and a tiny bell above it dings. The smell of bread and cheese wafts through the air with a hint of chocolate fudge that reminds me of those kitschy tourist traps that blindside you into buying a pound of fudge you only eat half of. The place could have been included in a Barbie funhouse with the amount of pink that’s glaring at me from every wall, counter, and display case. Even the sandwiches inside have hints of pink to them. I read “ Daily Special: Pink Sugar Bread ” and I wonder how that could possibly be enticing to anyone.

At the sound of our arrival, Abby’s already shaking her head, and I’m trying not to regret every life decision I’ve made up to this point. But then my thoughts drift to Grace, and I picture her smile, her tenacity, and the knowledge that she would be proud if she knew why I was here.

The restaurant is only big enough to hold three tea tables with two chairs at each, so Ian pulls a chair to our side, swinging it around to sit in it with the back facing front and his arms hanging over.

“You brought Ian?” she snips. “I didn’t know we were bringing a posse like opposite sides of war.”

“Sweetheart, you wish you had a posse.” Ian grins.

“This isn’t about sides,” I say. “I brought Ian in case any contracts need to be written up.”

She looks like she’s staking out prey ready for the taking. On some women this could be hot, almost like a dare, but Abby is like the cat that eats their owners’ faces off seconds after they die. Except she probably wouldn’t wait until they’re dead.

“Already have one written,” she says, reaching into the black briefcase beside her. She pulls out a stack of papers about the size of a movie script.

I glance to Ian, who’s already scooting the mountain of paperwork closer to him. He slides his glasses to the end of his nose and begins flipping through. “Hey, look at me, still being useful.”

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Abby says through an exhale, as if this meeting is already boring her. “Sign where the labels point, and you’re locked in for a year. I’m not sure how much they offered you …”

“Two hundred thousand, it looks like,” Ian clarifies, his finger scanning each line. I think I see a hint of a smug smirk on his face.

“Right,” she says through clenched teeth. “But unfortunately, no benefits with this being a contract position.”

“With that much, who cares,” I laugh.

I think I see a smile tug at the edge of her lips, too, but she just picks up her phone and begins sifting through anything she can use to distract herself while Ian reads the paperwork.

My lack of—no, my fear of—commitment has been stifling my happiness for too long. I’m happy that it didn’t work out between Abby and me. Even without my aversion to commitment, I don’t think we would have resolved our issues in the end. But it’s high time I take control of my life—pursue what I want. Have the career I want. Have the woman I want.

Ian nods as he finishes flipping through the pages. He reaches into his chest pocket and clicks a pen, handing it to me. I take it and begin signing, turning pages every so often to double check I’m not missing anything. After a few minutes of silence, I scoot the papers back to Abby, giving another click of the pen to finalize the deal.

Ian claps his hands. “Well, as long as we’re here, I’m getting some of that … what is that? Pink bread? Sure.” He gets up to ding the bell on the counter, pointing to the pink sugar bread. He requests the entire loaf, and at first the employee laughs—at least until he throws his card down on the counter with a pointed ‘ Do I look like I’m joking ’ face.

I look over and Abby is already staring at me. I forgot how beautiful she was, hidden behind all my resentment for the last few months of our relationship: All the late nights arguing, the lack of physical intimacy, and, of course, my deep-rooted hate for how things ended. But it doesn’t even matter now, and it’s almost laughable how true that thought really is.

“Thanks for meeting us, Abby,” I say. “For getting this done so fast.”

“They were going to kill me if I didn’t get this signed today,” she says. “Turns out Mr. Feldman really wanted you on the team.”

She lets out a small laugh, and it’s genuine. Now that it’s just the two of us, she’s let down her business fa?ade.

I look around and sigh. “I actually thought they were going to come.” It’s more a question than a statement.

“You know how Mr. Feldman is. Busy man.” He is, but Abby’s recruiter skills made it easy to get a hold of him. “Sorry for the false alarm”—she looks me up and down—“nice suit, though.”

“Lucky for him, I didn’t intend on putting in a two weeks’ notice.”

“Run into a bit of trouble?”

“Something like that.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Tell me something, Cam; I always asked you to pursue architecture. Why are you doing it now instead of before?”

Because it’s about time I grew up. Because I love it. Because I love Grace.

“I think I need to take a bit more chances,” I say, shrugging and leaning back in my chair, both elbows propped on the back.

“I really do wish you the best,” she says. “Even if you do still hang out with this guy.”

We both look over to Ian and he’s bagging up the giant loaf of bread and walking back over to us.

“I’m taking most of this back to Nia tomorrow. Think she’ll love it?”

I laugh. “How could she not?”