“No, I’m not, but it’s cute that you think so.” She leaned forward suddenly and snatched the letter off the desk, held it lightly in her right hand. “Of course, I’m not going to let you off so easily. You have accounts of key clients still in your queue. I expect you to stay on in a consulting position for an indefinite period of time.”

I blinked my surprise. “You want me—you want me to—you—”

“We’ll pay you your hourly rate as a contractor. Rachel will send you the details tomorrow. Also, it would be best if you and Mr. Fitzpatrick got married at some point, had a few beautiful children that played rugby. Everyone loves a DILF.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was shocked, quiet and soft at first, but then it erupted into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Joan’s expression did change then. She looked both dismayed and diverted.

“Oh, my lord. What is that sound you are making? Is that…a laugh?”

I shook my head, then nodded, and then shook my head again, holding up one hand as I clutched my belly with the other.

Joan glanced at me askance. “For the love of God, don’t ever laugh in public. No one will forgive you for it. You’ll be ridiculed, Ronan will go on an assault spree, and then Ian will have a mental breakdown trying to clean up the mess.”

***

Gerta cried when I told her the news but then stopped crying when I told her I would be staying on as a consultant. I was surprised by the force of her reaction and found myself comforting her with an awkward one-armed embrace. She laughed at my lack of ability to comfort and pulled me into a full hug.

“Oh, Annie….” she sighed; I felt her shake her head against my shoulder. “Now we can be friends outside of work, too.”

I was speechless. Friends. I was going to have friends. Ronan’s mother Jackie, his sister Lucy, the wives and girlfriends of his teammates…these would be my friends. Being with Ronan would mean an instant circle of friends.

And then it hit me that all my online friends, the ones I’d made as The Socialmedialite, might now become actual, in-real-life friends. This thought felt a little overwhelming and a lot exciting. Being with me might mean an instant circle of new friendships for Ronan as well. Maybe WriteALoveSong and I would meet for lunch, or go to the movies, or hang out like real people.

Maybe he and Ronan would become good friends, too, especially after I explained that WriteALoveSong—whose real name was Broderick—had helped me understand that I needed to go public with both my feelings for Ronan and my identity as The Socialmedialite. Broderick’s idea had been tamer, less risky than what I ultimately decided, but his original suggestion made me recognize that I needed to take a risk and now was the time.

Gerta left to find me some boxes, and Ronan appeared a moment later, bursting into my office with restless energy and a stern expression. Even so, my smile was immediate.

“Ronan.” I beamed, crossing to him.

“You quit? You quit your job? Why? Did Joan make you? Because if she did, I swear to God I’m going to—”

“No, wait. Listen—it’s not like that.” I reached for his hands, needing to touch him. Our reunion this morning had been too short, and I was low on sleep. I needed the feel of him to prove that I wasn’t dreaming while awake.

“Then what’s it like? Because that fuckface Ian Shitforbrains stopped me in the hall and told me you were in Joan’s office and you quit. You are fucking awesome at your job, Annie; and if they can’t see that, then they’re all wankers, the lot of them.”

My smile widened as I rushed to explain, “It was my decision. I quit on my own, with no pressure from Joan. In fact, she wants me to stay on as a consultant.”

His eyes narrowed. “She’s not pushing you into staying on, is she?”

“No.” Rather than laugh at his expression of suspicion, I pressed my lips together and added, “It’ll be the best of both worlds. As a consultant, I’ll be able to pick and choose which clients I work with. It’ll be great. I’m very pleased.”

“Hmm….” He surveyed me, searching for sincerity. Obviously finding it, his expression cleared. “Okay. Good. I guess this also means more working from home?”

“Yes. I’ll be working from home all the time now. No more office visits.” I glanced around my office and realized with a little pang that I was actually going to miss the three walls and window view. My days here, even though they were sparse, were the only times I had to leave my apartment. Now I would have nothing to force me from my home other than my own will.

I felt the weight of Ronan’s stare and turned my attention back to him. He was watching me with a heated and focused longing that nearly stole my breath. Searching my gaze, his own growing almost devilish, he lifted his hand to my cheek, his fingers wrapping around my neck, and tugged me closer.

“It’s a shame that we never christened this office….” he whispered against my mouth.

“Christened?”

“Fucked on the desk.”

“Oh!”

He slipped his arm around my waist and crushed me to him, his mouth fiercely colliding with mine, his hands possessive. We hadn’t been separated that long. Measured in time, we’d made love four days ago, but the emotional distance between us had been boundless—at least it had felt that way to me. His touch, possessive verging on desperate, told me he felt the same.

Peripherally, I heard Gerta’s squeak, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut. Ronan’s kisses grew softer, more loving, cherishing, even as he walked me backward to the desk. His deft fingers untucked my shirt and adroitly moved to the clasp of my bra.