“Yes, Sabrina, I’ve been a dick. Let’s make sure we don’t forget that.”
“I won’t.” It was a small victory, but it was my turn to feel smug.
“Now can we talk about the internship?”
“I didn’t get it.” I’d been fairly disgruntled about it at the time. BellCorp was a financial industry giant and their internship always went to the top student in the master’s program, which was me. Somehow, though, I’d been overlooked, and given a position at Citi Health while BellCorp’s internship had gone to Abraham Decker, the cocky know-it-all who actually didn’t know shit, but you definitely couldn’t tell him that after he scored BellCorp. His ego had barely fit into a room before that.
The animosity hadn’t lasted too long however, because two months into the year-long position, it came out that several BellCorp executives had been involved in insider trading. Abraham Decker spent the rest of his internship trying to help the marketing team put the best spin on the situation rather than learning how to run a successful firm.
My internship, on the other hand, had gone amazingly well. The company was in a growth phase and I’d been part of several campaigns. Citi Health had even earned a statewide community award that my boss had credited in major part to me.
“Actually, you did get it,” Donovan said.
“Uh. What?” Because I heard him. Just…what?
“You did get it. But I called in a favor and asked them not to give it to you and they listened.”
“Uh, what?” I asked again. And this was a favor to him?
“I know BellCorp’s vice-president—they do a lot of business with King-Kincaid. I also knew they were about to go down for that insider trading scandal. When they did, I didn’t think it would be good for your budding career to be caught up in it. Plus, Jeremy Shotts, the guy at the Colorado office, is a major blowhard who likes to fuck the pretty interns.”
“I can take care of myself around execs with grabby hands,” I snapped defensively, though I was pretty sure my track record didn’t speak in my favor.
“Jeremy Shotts wasn’t the reason I made the call, Sabrina,” he said, annoyance underlining his tone. “Denying him was a bonus. Did you hear any of the rest of the story?”
“Yes. I heard you.” I chewed the inside of my lip, trying to decide how I felt about this new information.
No, that was a lie. I knew how I felt. I felt good. I felt really good. Protected and looked out for and…loved. Things I hadn’t felt in a long time. Sure, Audrey loved me, and she’d go to the ends of the earth for me. But not like that. Not fiercely. Not violently. Not to extremes. Not because she didn’t care enough, but because that wasn’t how she cared for people in general.
But Donovan did.
It was dazzling.
His love dazzled me.
It was rich and fierce and dazzling.
I could also name at least ten women right off the bat without thinking too hard who would tell me this was sick. That I was a victim of this or that misogynistic/patriarchal agenda. That I was weak. That I was malleable. Blah, blah, blah bad feminist.
“Stop thinking too hard, Sabrina,” he said when a whole minute had gone by in silence.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know what else to say. There was so much I wanted to say, but like the reasons he shouldn’t call me ‘girlfriend,’ there were reasons I shouldn’t talk about being dazzled. They weren’t words for right now.
So I gave him what I could. “I guess I owe you a thank you.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not why I told you about that.”
“Then why did you?” I asked, just as frustrated.
“You wanted to know what you are.”
“Okay.”
“What you are is mine.”
If there were such a thing as floating and sinking all at once, that was what I felt when I heard those words. Like I was one of the beloved giant cartoon characters that would be filled with helium and floated through the city in today’s Macy’s parade, and at the same time like someone who had just been thrown in a cold ocean with an anchor tied to her feet.
Mine.
His.
It was an answer to everything and nothing all at once. Something that seemed so unsure. Something that seemed so, so certain.
Could it be this easy?
I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.
“Finish your scotch and go to bed, Sabrina,” he said breaking the silence. “You’re not going to get any more of this figured out tonight. We’ll talk more later.”
“Okay,” I said, still dazed. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I put down my phone and picked up my tumbler, and wondered for a solid five minutes if I should text him back and ask him if he’d actually known I was drinking scotch too, or if he’d just guessed.
But I didn’t because I wasn’t sure yet if I cared what the answer was.
Chapter 7
The things Donovan had said to me in the early hours of that morning stayed with me through the next day. So much of it was meaningless banter, but some of it was so poignant, so significant, that I played those words on repeat in my head.
What you are is mine.
I pulled that phrase out like a little pet. Stroked it and fed it. Listened to it purr. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I wondered how much he’d done behind my back. The story about BellCorp was a good one. It made me feel better about knowing him. But how many other stories like that were there? Would I feel the same about all of them?
I still didn’t know if he was someone I could truly love.
But I was surer than ever that I wanted to find out.
We needed to talk. Really talk. And we would as soon as Audrey was gone. But a real relationship between the two of us wasn’t just going to depend on what he had to say about the file he had on me. I couldn’t pretend that was the only issue between us. I still didn’t know him at all.
And then there was the idea that I only wanted him for sex. If I wanted that to not be true, I needed to show it. To Donovan, but also to myself.
Friday morning, before leaving the apartment for another day in the city with my sister, I gathered the courage to call him once again.
“There’s this thing we do every year,” I said, pacing the living room with nervous energy. “This lasagna dinner tradition on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Do you already know about this?”
“I can honestly tell you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh. Okay.” It made me relax a little to realize there were still things about me that he had yet to learn. “Well, like I said, it’s this Lind family tradition. I’m going to cook lasagna and there will be garlic bread and tiramisu—”
He interrupted me. “You’re going to cook?”
This I expected him to know. Lind women were exceptional, bright, ambitious women. But neither of us could cook. We’d gone out for Thanksgiving because of our lack of skills in the kitchen. Also what was the point of making a big meal for two people?
But while our Thanksgiving was less conventional, we’d been sure to keep our lasagna dinner tradition intact. The custom had been passed down from our mother, always set for the Saturday of the last week of November. And while neither Audrey nor I were good behind a stove, this was the one dish we could both cook without burning the house down.