His Secret Addiction

Chapter Thirty-Two

Alex's POV

Monday morning I sent the email declining the startup offer.

Damien read over my shoulder while I typed it. Suggested changing one line to sound less apologetic. He was right. I sent it and felt lighter immediately.

"No regrets?" he asked.

"None." I closed my laptop. "What are you doing today?"

"Meeting with a venture capital firm. They want to discuss potential investments." He poured more coffee. "Marcus set it up. Thinks I should consider backing startups instead of running companies."

"Would you like that?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm willing to find out." He checked his watch. "Meeting's at eleven. Want to come?"

"To your VC meeting?"

"Why not? You're good at evaluating business models. Could use a second opinion."

I'd never been invited to one of his business meetings before. We'd worked together at Ross Industries, but that was different. This felt like he was asking me as a partner, not an employee.

"Okay," I said. "I'll come.

The meeting was in a sleek office in SoHo.

Two partners from the firm, both younger than I expected. They pitched Damien on their portfolio, their strategy, their vision for what he could bring as an investor and advisor.

Damien listened carefully, asked smart questions, looked at me twice when they mentioned specific companies, reading my reaction.

After an hour, one of the partners asked what I did.

"Marketing consultant," I said. It was the first time I'd said it out loud. "Recently independent."

"What's your specialty?"

"Brand positioning and campaign strategy. Helping companies figure out what they're actually selling beyond just their product."

They asked more questions. I answered them, falling into the rhythm of talking about work I actually enjoyed. By the end they'd asked for my contact information.

"We have three portfolio companies that need exactly what you're describing," one partner said. "Would you be interested in consulting for them?"

I looked at Damien. He nodded slightly.

"Yes," I said. "Send me the details."

Walking out, Damien took my hand. "You just got your first three clients."

"I didn't mean to pitch myself in your meeting."

"You didn't pitch. You just answered questions honestly. That's better." He hailed a cab. "Where do you want to celebrate?"

"Celebrate?"

"Your new consulting career. That deserves celebration."

We ended up at a wine bar in the West Village. Day drinking at one in the afternoon felt reckless and perfect. We ordered a bottle and cheese and sat in a corner booth talking about nothing important.

"I'm proud of you," Damien said after his second glass.

"For what?"

"Building something yourself instead of taking the safe option. That's harder than people think."

"You did the same thing. Walking away from Ross Industries."

"That was different. I was forced out."

"You chose not to fight your way back in. That's the same thing." I refilled both our glasses. "We're both starting over."

"Together though."

"Together."

He leaned across the table and kissed me. Slow and wine-flavored and completely inappropriate for one in the afternoon on a Monday. I didn't care. Neither did he.

We were both slightly drunk by the time we got home.

Not falling-down drunk. Just loose and happy and giggling at things that weren't that funny. Damien tried to make coffee and gave up halfway through. I attempted to order food and forgot what I was ordering twice.

We ended up on the couch, shoes kicked off, ties discarded somewhere.

"I love you," Damien said suddenly.

"I know. You told me yesterday."

"I'm telling you again." He turned to face me. "I love you and I'm bad at saying it regularly so I'm practicing."

"You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy. There's a difference." He took my face in his hands. "I love you. I love that you turned down a perfect job to build something yourself. I love that you came to my meeting and accidentally got clients. I love that you taught me to cook even though I'm terrible at it."

"You're getting better."

"I love that you lie to make me feel good about things I'm bad at." He kissed me. "I love everything about you and I'm saying it now because I'm tipsy enough to be this honest."

I kissed him back. "I love you too. And I love that you get this honest when you drink."

"I should drink more often."

"Absolutely not. You're a lightweight."

He laughed against my mouth. We kissed until we forgot why we'd started. Until the afternoon light changed and the wine wore off and we were just two people tangled together on a couch, building a life that looked nothing like what either of us had planned.

Later, after we'd sobered up and ordered actual food, we sat on the floor eating Thai food straight from the containers.

"My lease on the Chicago property ends next month," Damien said between bites.

"The one you never told anyone about?"

"That one. I'm thinking about not renewing it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need an escape route anymore." He looked at me. "I have what I actually want here."

I set my container down. "That's significant."

"I know."

"No more backup plans?"

"No more backup plans." He paused. "Unless you count my savings account. I'm keeping that."

"That's just being financially responsible, not an escape route."

"Good. Because I'm closing the Chicago place and putting that money toward something else."

"Like what?"

"Haven't decided yet. Maybe nothing. Maybe something we do together." He finished his food. "The point is I'm staying. Fully. No safety nets."

I moved closer to him. "I let my apartment go last week. Officially. All my things are here now."

"I know. I helped you move the last boxes."

"I didn't have a ceremony about it though. Didn't announce I was staying." I took his hand. "So I'm announcing it now. I'm staying. No plans to leave. This is home."

"This apartment?"

"You. This apartment is just where you happen to be."

He pulled me into his lap. Kissed me properly this time, not drunk or rushed or distracted. Just us, present and intentional and choosing this.

We stayed on the floor for another hour. Talking about nothing, making plans that might not happen, enjoying the simple fact of being together without crisis or pressure.

Eventually we moved to bed. Not for anything specific. Just because it was late and we were tired and being in bed together sounded better than being anywhere else.

"Thank you," Damien said in the dark.

"For what?"

"For staying. For choosing this even when it was complicated."

"It's still complicated."

"I know. But it's complicated now." He pulled me closer. "That makes it better."