Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

“What is it?” Bo sat up.

“I’ve got to call my boss. I don’t feel right continuing this without letting her know. It’s the right thing to do.” I took a deep breath and got out of bed to put clothes on.

As I walked out to the living room to get my cell phone, Bo hollered down the hall.

“Always in your head, Harris!”

“Ha! Not since I met you, Cavanaugh.”

A newfound feeling of freedom came from choosing happiness, wrapped in Bo Cavanaugh and his friggen guitar; a feeling I wanted to carry with me for a long time. I took a deep breath and dialed my boss’s number.

“November? I’m surprised to hear from you, are you feeling OK?” Carrie’s concern sounded genuine. Thank you for food poisoning, Bo.

“I’m feeling a little better, just really dehydrated at this point. Thank you for understanding. We all had the fish last night,” I lied.

“Glad to hear it, we’ll need you ladies healthy for Concord on Monday.” Right, that.

“Carrie, that’s sort of why I called . . .”

“What is it?” Carrie’s tone was suddenly anxious.

“Bo-er- Spencer Cavanaugh and I actually met the Friday before he came in to our office for the meeting with all of us. Monica and I saw him performing at Finnegan’s, he uses his middle name, Bowan, or Bo, except for business when he uses his birth name, Spencer.” Words emptied from my mouth with barely enough grace to sound like an adult. Bo entered my living room and sat on the couch next to me.

“Well, that would certainly explain the awkward tension I felt between the three of you on Monday,” Carrie laughed. “It’s no big deal, kind of funny actually.”

“Yeah,” I drew out for effect, “see, we spent a lot of time together that weekend, because we really hit it off on Friday night. We were so involved with talking about music and our families, we never talked about work. I-”

“You like him?” Carrie cut off, her tone still light.

“Yes. Very much. I tried to keep everything separate and private this week. I was hoping to wait until we decided if we were going to partner with DROP. You know, why make an issue when there doesn’t need to be?” My face was an inferno of embarrassment and nerves.

Bo laughed to himself as he patted my leg. Glad you find this amusing.

“November, it’s fine,” Carrie reassured, eliciting an exaggerated sigh on my part. She laughed, “I appreciate your disclosure; it shows real maturity on your part. I suppose since Spencer, Bo, whoever,” she chuckled before continuing, “runs DROP, his personnel staff doesn’t have an issue with the relationship, and neither do I.”

“Carrie, thank you so much for understanding.” I gave Bo the thumbs-up.

“The only time we’d have to worry about it is if there is a dissolution of the relationship, and thereafter.” The word “dissolution” pinched my heart, but she was right.

“Understood. Oh, and Carrie? I guess in the interest of complete disclosure, I should let you know that a member of DROP’s legal team, Adrian Turner, and I dated in college. Before you say anything, I had no idea that he was involved with DROP and Bo had no idea Adrian had been involved with me. But, it was Adrian’s idea for DROP to approach us, among other non-profits, because he knows me and Monica.” I told Carrie all of that in one breath, as well, and saw Bo’s eyes widen in response.

After a brief pause, Carrie broke in to laughter. “Ha! That’s . . . well, good luck with . . . all of that, Ember. David Bryson and I have worked out the itinerary for the trip, I’ll email it to you this afternoon. Take care, hun.” And just like that, she hung up the phone.

Relief flooded through my body and oozed out of my pores. You’re free to be with him, nothing is holding you down. I looked up at Bo and he smiled a knowing smile.

“She’s fine with it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes. As long as your people are OK with it,” I teased.

In a flash, Bo had me pinned beneath him on the couch, my head cradled in his hands.

“I think I can talk them into it,” he said with sexy authority, burying his face in my neck.

“I really do love you, Bo.” It felt so good to say it without the pang of guilt by way of ethics.

“You have no idea, November . . .” Was all he could breathe out before we lost ourselves in the riptide.

*

“Play that song again,” Bo whispered into my ear as we lay together on my couch.

“Why?” I rolled my eyes at the thought. Singing in front of people was one thing; the fact that he accidentally heard me play the guitar was another.

“It was beautiful, and you were beautiful playing it. Do you have it written down anywhere?” He’s serious.

“Uh, no. It’s the first song I learned, and that was before I knew how to read music; I never thought to transcribe the notes.” I sat up, put on my robe, and lazily reached for the guitar.