Written by a Woman

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

SIGNE

“So, how’s your book going?” Mary randomly asked me one morning. It had been a little over a week since my dinner date with Zaid, and we had gotten together after work twice since. Once to walk the bluffs of Laguna Beach to watch the sunset and another time to try a new ice cream joint that had just opened up a few blocks away from the office in Irvine.

I held my finger up to my lips immediately after Mary’s question, panicking as I checked the surroundings to make sure nobody else was nearby.

“Cool it,” I hissed, “You and Jamie are the only ones here that know about it.”

Mary rolled her dark eyes before setting her bag on my desk and rummaging around in it. She pulled out a red lip stain and a compact mirror, applying the makeup with an effortless swipe before saying, “So, are you no longer writing the book?”

I grimaced, pulling the crew neck of my sweatshirt up over my face in embarrassment, “No, we’re getting ready to send out the first round of submissions to publishers to see if anyone is interested in the rights to it.”

Mary snickered, “Nice. I respect this decision.”

I pulled my sweatshirt down just enough for my eyes to reveal themselves, “Why is that?”

“Because writing a book is kickass,” Mary smacked her lips together before dropping her stain and compact mirror back in her bag, which was covered in buttons and stickers, “And who cares if one of the characters looks like someone we know.”

I bit my lip and dropped my hold on my sweatshirt, drumming my fingers on my desk.

Mary stared pointedly at my fingers before narrowing her dark eyes at me, “Spill.”

“I don’t wanna.” I whined.

“Do it.” Mary leaned forward on my desk, “Or I’ll tell Jacqueline about the book.”

I glared at her, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Mary glared back at me.

I held my breath, kind of hoping that I would just pass out to avoid telling Mary anything but knowing that wouldn’t actually fix any of my problems.

Who knew, perhaps Mary would have some advice for me?

“I…think I’m dating Zaid,” I whispered as quietly as I could.

Mary’s jaw dropped, “What? Since when?”

I closed my eyes and whispered again, “Since we made out and he finger banged me in Tennessee.”

Mary released the girliest gasp I had ever heard from her, before she ran around my desk and sat on the lower ledge, leaning in, and wiggling her eyebrows at me, “Was it amazing?”

Perhaps Mary wouldn’t have advice for me.

“Of course it was amazing,” I hissed, “It’s all I have been able to think about. That, and the fact that he and I are going out to dinner tonight.”

“Oh my god,” Mary’s eyes widened, “It’s not just sex?”

“No,” I shook my head, my hands tugging on the back of my neck in the stress, “It’s feelings . We haven’t even had penetrative sex yet. He keeps being all sweet and respectful, and it’s ruining my life.”

“Wow,” Mary deadpanned, “What an asshole.”

“I’m serious,” I was sweating under my sweatshirt, “What do I do? I can’t keep dating him and publish a book about him without him knowing!”

“Well,” Mary lifted a shoulder, “Maybe it’s time for you to just tell him.”

“But what if he hates me?”

“Then that’s his loss,” Mary crossed her arms, “He’s allowed to be upset about you writing a book about him without his knowledge, if that’s how he chooses to react. But you can’t have it all, Signe. You can continue to date him or keep the book a secret from him. You can’t do both. That’s just weird.”

I groaned before leaning back in my chair and swiveling back and forth.

Mary studied her chipped black nail polish while I let her words settle around me.

The elevator doors dinged, and the man himself waltzed through.

Zaid had his phone to his ear, but that didn’t stop him from smiling at me and nodding his head at Mary as he passed my desk on the way to his office.

Once Zaid finally turned the corner out of sight, Mary leveled me with a look, “You need to tell him at some point. Unless you plan on ending this relationship with him and ghosting him, of course.”

I frowned at her words, my mind spiraling around her words before I breathed out, “I want him.”

Mary shrugged, standing from her seat on my desk and rubbing my shoulder as she passed by me, “Then grow a pair of ovaries, own up to your choices.”

She was right, of course.

I needed to come clean to Zaid about my current career goals. Hopefully, secure that written consent from him so Michelle could give it to anyone who bites.

I was just hoping to have a little more time with him before I needed to face the consequences of my actions.

For now, I wanted to focus on other things.

Like the fact that tonight I was going out with Zaid again.

He had texted me to ask if the restaurant he had in mind was a good option for me or not. I agreed because Indian food was always a fun choice. Learning what amount of spice the two of us could tolerate, and also loading up on naan, sounded like a fun time with a man like Zaid Ansara.

I was at my desk, gently trailing my fingers along the thick leaves of the snake plant he gave me, when the doors to the elevator dinged and two women approached.

One was around my height, an older woman with olive-toned skin and dark hair and eyes. A beauty mark on the side of her lip. She had a very lean form and wore pressed slacks and a silk blouse with bracelets on her wrists. A colorful (and probably expensive) necklace completed her outfit. She had her arm looped through another woman closer to my age with the prettiest caramel colored hair I had ever seen. It reminded me of Jacqueline’s, though it was clear that where Jacqueline had natural caramel highlights from the sun, this woman had colored her hair for the same effect.

She also had dark eyes with long thick eyelashes, and her lip color was a fun light shade of pink. She also wore slacks and a blouse, as if the two women came from the same place.

“Good morning,” I glanced at the clock on my computer to ensure that it was, still in fact, morning, “How can I help you?” I smiled at the two women who approached my desk. The older woman rested her free hand on the ledge of my desk.

“Is Mr. Ansara busy?” she asked with a polite smile of her own.

I turned towards my computer, opening his schedule, “It looks like he is in a lot of meetings all afternoon, but there is a thirty-minute window before lunch,” I checked the time again to confirm that that free window was in the next few minutes, “I can call him and see if he’s available—”

“Could you let him know his mother is here?” She interrupted me, patting her hand on the arm of the woman she escorted through the elevators, “I have someone I want him to meet.”

I hesitated, just for a moment, as I realized a couple of things seemingly all at once.

I was speaking to Mama Ansara, the woman who cooked my lunches for the past few weeks and raised the man I was going out with later tonight.

The second thing I noticed was that the woman Mama Ansara had her arm looped through looked very nervous and almost uncomfortable. The younger woman gave me a small smile as I took her in, brushing some of her shiny hair behind her ear as a blush stained her cheeks.

“Oh, um, yes,” I nodded as I grabbed my desk phone and dialed the extension to Zaid’s office. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t answer, because even though I had very little evidence to support my claim, I was instantly feeling very territorial of the CTO.

Nikhils words from a while back started ringing in my head, she is desperate for him to find a woman to bring home.

And even though this woman looked visibly uncomfortable, as if Mama Ansara had dragged her here under duress, I couldn’t help but notice how entirely different she and I were. She was shorter than me, had a petite frame, and dark hair that probably required a hair care routine I could only dream of affording. Her olive-toned skin was flawless, and her makeup looked like it was applied by professionals. Even her professional attire was flattering, and I couldn’t help but glance down at my sweatshirt and jeans combo which ended up being the equivalent of my work uniform most days.

This was the kind of woman Mama Ansara picked out for her son.

It was unsettling to note.

“Signe,” Zaid’s voice sounded through the phone, and I jumped a little in my seat because I hadn’t expected him to be on speaker. I removed the phone from my ear and gently set it down on my desk as I replied.

“If you’re not too busy,” I tried my best to sound casual, but probably didn’t, “You have a visitor in the front here to see you.” I winked at the two women. Mrs. Ansara smiled at me in appreciation, whereas the younger woman looked almost defeated behind her thin smile.

“…Who?” Zaid asked, his deep voice making my heart rate spike. Hearing his voice while being in the presence of his mother did odd things to my nervous system.

“Bisbous,” Mrs. Ansara leaned over the ledge a little so she could speak into the phone, “Come say hello to your mother. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

The line was silent for a moment before the telltale sound of the phone being hung up rang through, and the line was dead.

I set the phone back on the receiver as I turned back to the women, “Can I get either of you anything? Water? Coffee?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Mrs. Ansara nodded as she tucked the woman’s arm tighter against her body as if securing her to this spot.

I nodded, and we sat there in what I felt most as uncomfortable silence while we waited for Zaid to join us.

“I like your shirt,” the younger woman finally spoke, gesturing to my shirt of the day. I glanced down to remember what I wore; it was just a picture of an open book with flowers and birds and greenery flying out of the pages. Thank god, because I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Ansara would have appreciated my, “anti-social book club” t-shirt I almost wore instead.

“Thank you, do you read?” I asked, leaning my elbows on my lower desk ledge and looking up at the women.

“I do,” she smiled, an accent similar to Nikhil’s coating her words, “Mostly fiction, though.”

Mama Ansara’s eyes were going back and forth between the two of us, curiosity on her features.

“I prefer romance myself,” I lifted a shoulder.

“Oh, I love reading romance,” for the first time since she entered the building, the woman looked a little more relaxed. A little more open, “Have you read anything good recently?”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded my head enthusiastically, “Most recently I read—”

“What are you doing here?” Zaid’s voice made me lean back in my chair as if I had gotten caught shooting the shit with someone when on a deadline. I wasn’t, but Zaid’s tone wasn’t exactly friendly.

I threw a quick glance at the younger woman, who had immediately tensed up again as Mrs. Ansara pulled her forward, facing the CTO who finally approached my desk.

“Zaid,” his mother gestured towards the younger woman, who looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole, “This is Aarna Pandya, she works with me at the hospital, and—”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Aarna,” Zaid interrupted his mother, an action that made her snap her mouth shut with a firm press of her lips. Zaid held his hand out, only waiting a second for Aarna to offer her hand to him in a shake.

As soon as he gave the woman a polite smile, he pulled his hand away and turned towards his mother, “May I have a word?”

His mother adjusted her grip on Aarna’s arm before saying, “We didn’t want to take up too much time, I just wanted to introduce—”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Zaid interrupted his mother twice, making visible irritation tense her facial features as she nodded and patted Aarna’s arm once, before following her son down the hall and just around the corner.

Aarna and I both turned to look at each other with wide eyes before I couldn’t help it and a small giggle escaped me.

Thankfully Aarna’s lips pulled into a grin in response to my inability to hold it in, and she covered her face with her hands, “This is humiliating.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered back to her, “Do you need to make an escape? I can cover for you.” Even though the offer was entirely based on my own personal interests and only marginally based on the discomfort Aarna was experiencing.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she turned to face my desk, leaning her elbows on the top ledge, “I was ambushed. She asked me to lunch and announced that she was going to make a quick stop on the way back to the hospital. I had no idea she was playing matchmaker today.”

“I could tell,” I grinned, “I feel for you.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, “I guess now might be a good time to let Mrs. Ansara know that I am already happily in a relationship.”

“No way,” I widened my eyes, “You must have really been ambushed.”

“Yes,” Aarna huffed a laugh as she palmed her forehead, “She means well. I don’t want her to feel too bad. She’s clearly a mama who wants her son to be happy.” Then the sound of footsteps was approaching, and the two of us turned to see Mrs. Ansara walking towards us without Zaid, who must have gone back to his office.

“I apologize,” Mrs. Ansara spoke to the two of us, “Thank you for letting me take this detour.”

“Of course,” Aarna stood taller, looking up at Mrs. Ansara as she met us both at my desk.

“Thank you for letting us interrupt my son’s workday.” Mrs. Ansara spoke to me with a kind smile attached, her eyes lingering on me in my seat for a moment longer than she had before.

I gave her a bright smile in return, the anxiety in my body leaving me in waves as I settled in the knowledge of what a flop this whole situation was. How I was still the one going out to dinner with Zaid after work. How Aarna wasn’t even remotely interested in, who I considered, the sweetest man in Orange County.

“Any time,” I desperately wanted her approval, which seemed silly considering she had no idea who I was, but I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “Also, Zaid has been sharing your leftovers with me. I know we just met, but I wanted to let you know that I think you are a phenomenal cook. The days you send him home with too much food to eat on his own are my favorite ones.”

Mrs. Ansara hesitated her departure at my words, her body only partially turned to face me as she studied me with her dark eyes that matched her son’s in color.

“Oh,” Mrs. Ansara looked like she had to gather herself, which made me feel a little self-conscious for the unsolicited compliment I attempted to throw her way, “Yes. I’m glad that he’s not letting the leftovers that I give him go to waste.”

Something about the way she emphasized certain words in that sentence threw me off, but she smiled and waved as she and Aarna finally stepped back on the elevators and left the building.

As the doors closed behind them, I released a very heavy exhale of relief, right when my cell buzzed with the arrival of a text.

I glanced down and grinned.

Zaid: Sorry about that. My mother won’t be bringing random women to the office again.

Me: It’s alright, I’m not worried about it. That must have been jarring for you to deal with in the middle of your workday though.

Zaid: A little.

Zaid: But there’s only a few hours left before we clock out and I can have you all to myself.

I felt my heart take off in my chest, fanning my collar away from my neck as I asked myself, is it hot in here?

Me: Looking forward to it.

* * *

ZAID

“Can we talk about the weird thing that happened today, or do you want to keep ignoring it?” Signe asked right after the waiter set our dishes in front of us.

“Um,” I cleared my throat, wondering what exactly her thoughts were on my mother obviously trying to set me up on a date, “Sure.” I reached for my glass of water, an attempt to hydrate my throat so I didn’t panic throughout the entirety of this conversation.

“You can unclench your butthole,” Signe replied, making me choke on my drink for the second time in her presence, “I know that you were super uncomfortable with your mother showing up.”

I patted my chest to help me inhale a breath of air before giving her a smile, “I was. Very much so.”

Signe nodded, casually stirring her curry with her spoon, “I was, too. I didn’t picture meeting your mother like that.”

I paused my own movements to give her a look, “You’ve pictured meeting my mother?”

“Well, yeah,” she took a quick bite of her curry before swallowing and grinning at me, “Obviously I want to meet the woman who has been feeding me the past few weeks.” I grinned at her, “I told her I loved her cooking.”

That made my heart jump in my chest, “What did you say, exactly?”

Signe ripped a piece of naan and dipped it into her curry as she replied, “Just that I loved her cooking, and how I appreciated her giving you more leftovers than you can eat yourself.”

Shit .

It was a small detail, perhaps a detail that could go past my mother.

Hell, who was I kidding? My mother was a very intelligent and observant woman. She would remember that I had been the one specifically asking for extra leftovers the last few weeks and that she hadn’t forced the extra food on me at all.

To hear Signe claim that she was the one giving me extra leftovers, she would start to put some things together before I was ready for her to.

“And what did she say in response?” I asked, wondering if my mother had blown my cover.

Signe furrowed her brows a bit, before chewing her bite and saying, “She just said you’re welcome.”

I relaxed my shoulders, knowing my mother was probably going to be a little snoopier for the time being, but it was worth it. Hopefully, if things went according to plan, she would be seeing a lot more of Signe anyway.

Though, I wanted to see more of Signe first.

I wanted her to get to know me, to trust me. Which, now that I thought about it…

“I asked my mother for the leftovers,” I rushed the words out, unable to take them back as Signe froze with a piece of naan hovering above her mouth, “She didn’t push them on me.”

Signe blinked a bit, before lowering her bread and asking, “You did?”

I nodded, in for a penny, in for a pound, “It was an immature act of jealousy, on my part.”

Signe’s eyebrows rose at my words before she shook her head once and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“Hearing you talk about your lunch date,” I found myself tightening my hold on my water glass before loosening my grip, “It made me jealous. I didn’t want you going on another one. I figured if I could take up your time during lunch, you wouldn’t feel the need to. That, I don’t know, we could have our own lunch dates.”

Signe was silent, her wide hazel eyes staring at me. I squirmed in my seat under her stare and added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped like that.”

Slowly, Signe shook her head just once at me.

“I’m not sorry,” Signe’s voice was lower, a grin tugging at the corners of her tempting lips, “I’m flattered, mostly. I’m not against what you did.” She released a small, breathy giggle before taking a sip of her own water.

I returned her smile, “That’s a relief to hear.” I felt the muscles in my shoulders loosen at the admission, glad I could be honest with her.

I knew what she was about to tell me in Tennessee, but I tried to stop her from blurting out anything about her book. It was clear she was in distress at the time, and for some reason, I realized I didn’t want her to tell me like that. I didn’t want her to tell me about the book out of fear, but instead out of trust. Excitement for it, even.

Hopefully, me admitting this small piece of our history to her will help her lean in that direction more.

The dark green dress she was wearing made it very difficult to remind myself that I wanted to wait before sleeping with Signe. Something I momentarily lost control of in Tennessee, because I was seconds away from ripping all her clothes off and taking her right then and there.

The deep V-neck plunge of her dress made my mouth water when I picked her up at her apartment tonight, a small studio space. I could see all the furniture she owned when she opened her front door, including her bed. Which, because I was obsessed, made me visualize how she’d look in that bed if she let me touch her in the way that I dreamed about.

How it would look if I was the type of man who planned to take her back to her apartment after this dinner and slowly peel her dress off of her body.

I was desperate to see her curves, especially now that I knew how soft she was under my hands. I was entranced.

“Zaid?” Signe’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I asked, quickly taking another bite of food to hopefully distract myself.

“You’re staring at my cleavage.”

I felt heat, that didn’t come from my meal, stain my neck and ears, “I apologize.”

“You don’t have to,” Signe smiled, “I wore this specifically for you, so, it makes sense for you to look.”

I gave her a heated look, which made her eyes widen as she slurped another bite of her curry, her breathing hitching when my eyes locked on hers.

“Did you, now?” I asked, pushing my glasses farther up my nose.

“Is…is that all right?” It was one of the most self-conscious tones I had ever heard Signe use. I didn’t expect it. Signe had always given off an air of confidence I had desperately tried to match. I studied her as she avoided my gaze, a small but nervous smile on her lips as she studied the way her spoon dragged across her curry.

“Signe,” I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the edge of the table to provide a little more intimacy in this restaurant, “I have struggled to keep my eyes off you for a long time now.” At that, her gaze snapped up to meet mine, her lips parting a small fraction, “The thought of you choosing that dress,” I lifted my chin towards her, “with the motive of gaining my attention, makes me want to throw cash down on the table, drag you out of this restaurant, and lock us in the back seat of my car.”

Her breathing had picked up in speed, making her breasts heave behind the satin fabric of her dress, “Oh…what would we do there?”

I lifted an eyebrow, making her raise both of hers in challenge as she took a sip of her water.

“In this fantasy,” I glanced down and gathered another bite of food on my fork, “You’d be on my lap, both of your legs around my waist.” She glanced around, similarly to how she did yesterday in the office. I took a bite of food as if this was a very normal, appropriate conversation for a public space, and swallowed before continuing, “No one would see inside because of my tinted windows,” I let my fork drag across my food as if I was preparing another bite, “But I’d see you. I’d see everything you’re hiding underneath that mouthwatering dress,” I grabbed my glass again and took a sip, meeting her eyes that were looking more hooded as she watched my throat work around my drink, “I’d feel everything. Hear everything. Every little sound you made back in that hotel room, and more.”

Her breathing caught before she reached for her own glass of water again and took a drink.

“But we’re not going to do that,” I shook my head, my lips tipping up in a smile as I saw her shoulders slump and her eyes widen in disbelief.

“We-we’re not?” she asked.

I shook my head before leaning back in my chair and taking another drink of water, setting the glass down on the table, “No, we’re not.”

She sat there, nodding her head once as a small pinch in her brow formed, her hands falling into her lap, “Can I ask why?”

I grinned, “I don’t like to rush things.”

She nodded again, taking another sip of water, and fanning her neck afterward, a self-deprecating smile tugging on those pink lips I desperately wanted to taste again.

“You didn’t consider what we did at the hotel rushing things?”

“I actually do,” I forked another bite, before locking eyes with her, “I was a man unprepared for your attention. But this is our first date, Signe. I want to savor it.”

Her expression softened a little at that, and as she watched me take another bite of food and chew it behind my closed lips, her shoulders relaxed a little bit before she nodded for the third time.

“I think I like the sound of that,” she grabbed her spoon and scooped another bite of curry before adding, “Though, you need to cool it. Otherwise, I’m going to soak through my dress here soon.”

I didn’t choke on my food this time; I just gave her a hungry look that I’m sure conveyed how desperate I was for her.

“So,” I cleared my throat, the straining in my pants desperate for me to change the subject, “What else is there to know about Signe Lange?” I took another bite and stared at her. I noted the look of nerves that flickered across her features, and how she adjusted in her seat as if she was momentarily uncomfortable. Because she didn’t know that I was already fully aware of how she was in the process of writing a book with me in it.

How I wasn’t supposed to know it even though that knowledge of mine is what led us to this dinner tonight.

Signe recovered after squirming in her seat for a moment, grinning at me and straightening her back with confidence as she pointed to the plate of naan, “Signe is a huge fan of carbs.”

I smiled and nodded, “I’ll make note of that.”

“…And I guess free food in general.”

I hummed noncommittally.

“…And you.”

I felt something warm bloom in my chest at her words, wondering how much longer I could keep up this charade of mine. Part of me was curious how long we would see each other before she felt the need to bring up her book. I remembered my sister’s warning from a while ago, about how it would be important for me to inform Signe that I was fully aware of her book, to avoid any conflict the longer our future relationship lasts.

But a part of me also struggled with the thought of why Signe was still keeping it a secret from me, I didn’t want to push her to share with me before she was ready. Surely, if this relationship we were exploring together were to become more serious, she’d have to share it with me at some point. Then I could let her know that I loved the idea of her pursuing her dream, even if I unintentionally helped inspire her to do it.

Maybe she wouldn’t be upset with me for keeping her secret just like she was?

But I didn’t let those thoughts spiral out of this moment I was having.

After months of pining, and longing for her, I was here. Having dinner with Signe.

I didn’t want to ruin this experience by focusing on both of our deceptions.

…I just wanted to focus on Signe.