Love All The Way

6| Wild fantasies

Ever since Milo's unexpected proposal, I can't help but wonder what he'd be like as a boyfriend. It's so unfathomable to me that he could be any other version than the one I've seen so far–mocking, serious–but what if there is more? What if boyfriend Milo is sweet or complimentary? What if he's romantic?

It only hits me that this is what I'm thinking about when I look up from my desk. Milo strides toward the coffee machine and presses the button. Why am I thinking about what kind of boyfriend he is? He's doing me a favor, no doubt one he'll be cashing in soon, too. I need to be prepared for the fine print that no doubt accompanies this good deed of his; I need to be smart.

He grabs his coffee and makes a beeline for his desk, but not before smirking at me. This little smirk tells me I'm right, I know I am. This favor of Milo's isn't free. 

I drag my eyes back to my laptop, where I send Ashley an email asking for an update. I'm desperate to have this property ready as quickly as possible. The quicker it's done, the less likely it is that anything will go wrong. In theory. 

I spend the rest of the day typing away like a madwoman. My plate is piling up, and trying to balance everything at once feels a lot like walking on a tightrope. One wrong move, and I'll tumble to my death. 

"You coming out for drinks tonight?" Jess asks at one point. "We're all going to that new bar downtown."

I'm about to give her my typical No, sorry, but I stop myself when I'm reminded of Luke. Luke, the man I was supposed to marry. Luke, the one who told me nobody else could compare. Luke, the one getting married three months after our break up, because that's how easy it was to get over me.  

I swallow hard. "Okay." 

Her head snaps up. "Really? I mean, I was just asking to be polite. You always say no." 

"Well," I say, "this time, I'm saying yes. Count me in." 

The second I get home, I'm raiding my closet for something to wear. It's forced excitement–I'd rather stay home and cuddle with Mulan–but I'm told if you fake something long enough, it'll eventually stick. So, that's what I'm doing: I'm faking it. 

Despite my reservations, the evening starts enjoyable. Most of those here tonight are from floors five – the sevens rarely mix with us sixes, and the sixes like to think they're better than the fives.

"This will be one of the last times you hang out with us lowly fives if you get that promotion," Steve says. "No way would a seven be slumming it with the rest of us. Don't tell Patricia and Harry this, but I'll miss you the most if you get it." 

I'm sandwiched between him and Jess, who is already on her third Martini. What Steve said is true, even though I wish it weren't. It sounds petty and high school-like, but the sevens do not mix with anyone except sixes, and even then, it's rare. Laurelle does it on purpose– she wants to keep this rivalry going. Supposedly, it makes us work harder. 

Still, I say, "Of course we'll still see each other," even though we know it's a lie. 

The door swings open, and Milo walks in with a gust of fresh snow. He peels off his Vampire coat and neatly folds it over his arm. Something works its way up my stomach like a quick flash of heat. He's wearing a navy shirt and dark blue jeans that are taut and perfectly fitted. It doesn't seem to matter what he wears–he always looks expensive. 

He strides toward the bar and flags down a bartender. Steve heads off to the bathroom, so I down the rest of my drink and stand next to Milo. He looks at me briefly, the tiniest smirk on his lips. "You don't usually come to these things," he says.