And something told me all I needed to do was dig.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BY NOON ON SUNDAY I’d already drafted the development agreement for Victoria and played around with concepts and layouts. The website would take no time at all to pull together at the rate I worked—a week and a half, two at most—so I relaxed as I went through color schemes and photos, templates and fonts.
My emotions jumped from one to the other—excitement, fear, guilt, disgust. Over the past couple of days, my head told me I either had to back out of the contract or tell Victoria who I was. The other side of me, the one I struggled more and more to control, snarled at the thought and told my head to shut the hell up. It whispered I should develop the website, riddle it with bugs and broken links, fixing them whenever Victoria found them, only to create others.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said, my voice breaking the silence. Victoria and Hugh were well connected throughout Portland, and beyond, so was Stan. If I did a shoddy job, the reputation I’d worked hard to build up would be ruined in an instant.
Maybe it would be better to call off the deal. It would be easy enough to conjure up a family emergency needing my attention, or I could pretend a larger project had been dumped in my lap. Maybe I didn’t have to give her any explanation other than I’d changed my mind.
Then again, why not go ahead with the contract and do a perfect job? I needed the money. It meant I could get to know her—and messing with Stan’s head was a huge bonus—but still, helping with Victoria’s professional success felt counterintuitive. What she should be experiencing, no doubt for the first time in her life, was failure.
Feeling like I’d arrived in front of a crossroads without a GPS or even a torn and tatty map to guide me, I shook my head. Since Dad’s death, being shoved aside and learning about Victoria’s glitzy life, I could feel myself changing, becoming more bitter and resentful. They say some people can’t help themselves from turning into their parents. Was that happening to me? Could I end up as twisted and scheming as my mother, when all this time I’d vowed I wouldn’t?
I was still contemplating the terrifying thought when my phone rang. It was Kyle, who rarely called on a Sunday, always insisted it was a family day he spent with his husband and kids. I slid my finger across the screen, slowly put the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Kyle. How are you?”
“Not good. You’re late again. The deadline was yesterday.”
“Deadline? I—”
“I sent you the details on Thursday,” he said, his tone like liquid nitrogen to my core.
I grabbed my laptop, my fingers furiously darting over the keyboard, scrolling through my inbox. There was nothing there, so I flipped to the spam folder, but still came up empty. As a last resort, I zipped through my deleted items. There it was, an unread email from Kyle.
How the hell had this happened? I was always diligent and professional, so terrified of giving people a reason to complain I made sure it never happened. I didn’t recall seeing the message. I’d been so preoccupied, I must have hit Delete without paying attention. I was losing it.
“I’m sorry,” I said, heart sinking. “I’ve no idea how, but I—”
“How quickly can—”
“Immediately.” I scanned through his note, speed-reading his bullet-point requests. Ten changes in all, simple stuff a toddler could handle. “It won’t take more than an hour and—”
“Fine.”
I could have kissed him. “Thanks. This will never happen again. I promise.”
“No, it won’t.” He paused, and although—or because—his voice softened, a hundred alarm bells went off in my head, a deafening metallic chorus. “Listen, Eleanor...this arrangement isn’t working anymore.”
“But, I—”
“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been great, but you’re distracted—”
“I know, I won’t—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I could tell no amount of pleading would help. “I don’t want to be a dick but I have businesses to run, and this situation has become untenable.” He paused for a few seconds, during which I didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course he was. I had been unreliable, I’d been useless. “I checked the contract,” Kyle continued, “and while I believe I have grounds to terminate immediately, I’m not going to.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, closing my eyes and sinking onto my sofa in case my legs gave out. This was a nightmare. A total and utter nightmare.
“I’ll pay your fee up until the end of the month,” Kyle said. “I’ll send the contact details of the new development team leader later today. Please give her all the login details and passwords immediately. If you handle this properly and without incident, I’ll consider providing a reference in the future.”
“Thank you,” I said, making sure I kept the bite out of my voice, determined to remain professional until the bitter end. “I’m sorry, Kyle.”
“Me, too. Listen, we’ll stay in touch. You never know how these things work out, okay?”
I hung up, gently put my phone on the table before pulling the hospital envelope I’d ignored from the depths of my bag. Heart pounding, I slipped a finger underneath the lip, tore it open and pulled out the paper. My mouth went dry when I saw the numbers, settling on the one at the bottom next to the words balance due.
Over five thousand dollars. Five grand I couldn’t afford with the amount left in my bank account. I closed my eyes, knowing there was no more room for debate. If I wanted to eat and somehow hope to keep this mediocre roof over my head, I needed to take Victoria’s contract, and I had to do a perfect job.
* * *
I spent the next few hours on Victoria’s designs, laying out pages and searching for stock photographs as placeholders before we had our own. We. Our own. I was already thinking about us as a team. If Hugh was hesitant about giving me the project, I’d have to convince him with my mock-ups or persuade Victoria it was her decision, not his. She was the one I’d be working for, after all.
A thought crept into my mind, burrowing down deep. What if working together made Victoria want us to become proper friends? Besties. BFFs. The kind of women who called each other multiple times a week, had lunch and coffee, and went on mini vacations together.
I batted the ridiculous idea away. She was the exact opposite of me—which said something about the nurture-versus-nature argument. It was highly doubtful she’d want to stay in touch once I finished her project, even though she’d showed me more kindness and attention in a matter of hours than Amy—the sister who knew I existed but preferred to pretend I didn’t—had done in years. Still, the idea kept creeping back into my gut and settling there, a cute, cuddly puppy I didn’t have the heart to shoo away.
My phone rang as I was getting myself a glass of water. Victoria.
“Hello,” I said.
“Eleanor, it’s Victoria,” she said quickly. “Is this a good time? Can we talk?”
“Uh, sure.” My fragile confidence ebbed away. I knew that tone. It meant she’d changed her mind, the project was a nonstarter. I wasn’t just up shit creek without a paddle, I’d fallen out of the boat. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes... Well, no, actually. Not really.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled. “I haven’t started the development yet.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I meant I haven’t spent much time on it. If you’ve decided you don’t want me to—”
“Wait, no, that’s not it at all.”
“Isn’t it?” I said, my chest inflating as if I’d been thrown a life jacket.
“Are you kidding? I definitely want you to do the site—”
“But you’ve delayed the project? You have a different timeline or budget?”
Victoria laughed—warm, friendly—and I pictured her in her apartment, her hair loose, casually flowing
over her shoulders. I could see her sitting on her turquoise sofa, one of the mustard pillows pushed up against her tummy, something I’d noticed we both did.
“Are you trying to talk me out of working with you?” she said. “Because you can’t. That’s a done deal, I’m afraid. So yes, I called to confirm we’re going ahead with the project, but also because I’m hoping you can help Hugh.”
“Hugh?”
“Yes. He works for Bell Hops Brewery. Have you heard of it?”
“Yeah, of course. Their stuff’s good.”
“Isn’t it?” she said. “Hugh’s one of the partners. He manages the purchasing and he’s in charge of the IT department, too, although to be honest, I’m not quite sure why, considering he can be a bit of a Luddite at times, but please don’t tell him I said so.”
“Okay...”
Victoria’s voice sped up as she veered into babble territory. “Anyway, this isn’t official yet, so please keep this between us, but their web person has resigned. He got poached by another company and quit on the spot, no notice, nothing.”
“Wow, how unprofessional.”
“Right? Hugh’s freaking out because they’re in the middle of a project, and this guy—who he thought was a friend, by the way—has really screwed them over. I’ve never seen Hugh so stressed. But well, I immediately thought of you.”
“You did?”
“I thought maybe you can help or know someone who can,” Victoria said, her voice hopeful. “I don’t understand any of the technical jargon or anything, but perhaps you two could have a conversation?” She hesitated before quietly adding, “Would you? Please.”
“All right,” I said, my mind reeling with possibilities and implications. “When?”
“He’s at the office right now doing damage control. I’ll give you his details.” She sighed deeply after rattling off the numbers, her voice slowing. “I know it’s short notice again, and you can’t make any promises. I can only imagine how busy you are with all your other clients—”
“Yeah, well—”
“—but hopefully you can help him out. I know he’d be incredibly grateful. We both would be. Thanks, Eleanor. I’ll send him a text telling him to expect your call.”
We hung up, and I sat there, my mind whirling. Could I go through with this? Speak to Hugh about a job, never mind accept it if offered? While neither he nor Victoria had any reason to suspect who I was, the risk of Stan telling them at any time was still very real. I’d lose both opportunities—which would be devastating from a financial perspective—and I’d lose my connection to Victoria. But if I could pull this off, design her site and help out Hugh, my résumé would get a badly needed boost and I’d get closer to her. Screw Stan, I decided and, with rabid butterflies flapping around inside me, dialed. Hugh picked up right away.
“Eleanor? Victoria said you’d call. Thanks for being so quick.”
“Of course. She mentioned it was urgent. You’re in a bit of a situation?”
“Christ, you could say that. My web guy text-quit this morning, didn’t even have the decency to wait until Monday or do it face-to-face, the absolute... Well, I’d best keep those thoughts to myself.” He forced a laugh.
“I’m sorry he’s put you in such a difficult position. That’s rough.”
“Yeah, it is. Bell Hops is lean with its IT,” Hugh said. “We outsource some, but not the website or systems maintenance. My other person, Genie, can handle the systems. She’s great, but we’re in the middle of redeveloping the site so it’s a critical time of the project. She’s not up to speed with that stuff, you know?”
“I understand,” I said.
“Well, to put it mildly, I’m scrambling. We’re launching a new beer soon, we’ve got a huge amount of promotion going on and the site’s redevelopment is supposed to coincide.” He paused, then exhaled with a groan. “It’s a disaster. I have to find a contractor right away and Victoria suggested we speak, so...here I am. Basically, I’m begging for help.”
“I’m flattered she mentioned me,” I said, meaning every word.
“Are you kidding? She was so excited by your designs. She hasn’t stopped talking about them.” Although his tone had hardly changed, I thought I detected a hint of jealousy. “I’m glad you’re open to having this conversation, and I was hoping we could meet. Today, if possible?”
“No problem. I could come to your office now?”
“Could you? Man, oh, man, I’d be incredibly grateful.”
“Give me an hour,” I said, trying to stop my voice from trembling.
After Hugh gave me the company address I already knew and directions I didn’t need, I showered quickly, put on some of my new foundation, blush, a sweep of eyeliner and mascara, before observing myself in the mirror—without cringing.
Once in my bedroom, I pulled out one of two pairs of black dress pants and crossed my fingers, hoping I’d be able to get them past my thighs. I braced myself for the inevitable top-button fight, but it didn’t happen. Not only could I close the pants with ease, but the waistband sat low, almost on my hips. I went back to the bathroom, stood on my tiptoes and turned sideways while taking another look in the mirror. I knew I’d lost a little weight, and instead of rotund, I looked curvy, almost... I shook my head. No, not sexy, definitely not, but...womanly.
My breasts fit my bra better, too, I noticed, and had stopped spilling out the sides. Encouraged, I retrieved a cream-colored blouse I’d stopped wearing because it had become too tight, and slipped it on. When the fabric slid over my skin, settling comfortably around my chest, I grinned. I reached for my phone to snap a picture to send to Dad with a funny caption before remembering he’d never see it. I scrunched my eyes shut, bracing myself for the wave of grief to swallow me whole, the inevitable flick of the switch to binge mode, making me run to the kitchen and shove a tablespoon into the peanut butter jar.
“No,” I whispered. “Stay in control. Stay in control.”
Once my cravings had ebbed, I grabbed my bag with the sketchbook and Nikon as well as my long black woolen coat, the single item in my wardrobe I’d splurged on years ago. Boots on, I locked the door and went outside.
The bleak skies above did nothing to dampen my mood, and as I’d managed to blow-dry my hair into a reasonable style and didn’t want the coastal winds or incessant humidity to get to it, I opted for a ride-share rather than walking. The driver—a man called Roberto with a face much too young to drive—arrived within minutes. I settled into the back of his Toyota and gave him the address.
“Business meeting?” he said cheerfully.
“How did you know?”
“Uh, because you look like you mean business.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I think. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As we drove to Bell Hops, I wondered if there was truth in the saying “clothes make a man” or, case in point, a woman. I felt better, more confident, despite where I was heading and what I was doing. It wasn’t just because of how I was dressed, my new makeup or my hair. No. Shifts were happening inside me, too, a few seedlings of self-assurance digging their roots in deep, and I welcomed them.
“Good luck,” Roberto said when we arrived. “Although, I don’t think you’ll need it.”
I bounced out of the car and walked to the brewery’s front door, where I sent Hugh a text announcing my arrival. As I waited for him to come get me, I vowed I would work at Bell Hops Brewery. I’d make myself indispensable, convince him my experience and knowledge were exactly what they needed, and I was the only person for the job.
Yes, before he’d unlocked the brewery’s front door, casually dressed in a navy blue Diesel T-shirt and matching jeans, his hand outstretched and a charming smile on his face, I’d decided I’d make Hugh F. Watters offer me the role well before I left the building.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HUGH DIDN’T EVEN
ATTEMPT to put up a fight, and within fifteen minutes of arriving at Bell Hops, I knew the job was mine. “Can I be perfectly candid?” he said, and when he leaned in the V-neck of his shirt fell open, exposing a wisp of dark hair.
I forced myself to look at his face. “Of course.”
“My ass is very much, if not completely, on the line here,” he said. “I took on the management of the IT department because I was the most qualified, believe it or not, then convinced my partners to bring the web development in-house. You’d be doing me a huge favor if I can show them I contained this crisis in under twelve hours. Plus it’ll stop Genie from freaking out. That last thing I want is to lose her, too.”
“I’m really not sure I can, though,” I said, not wanting to show how badly I needed the contract. “You know, with my other clients and projects—”
“I’ll add ten percent to your rate. Providing you start Tuesday.”
My mouth dropped open. Up until then, I’d never had a daily rate. A monthly retainer from Kyle, sure, but one paling in comparison to what Hugh was offering. Despite his assertion, the job wouldn’t be simple. The website was only a quarter done, their deadlines ambitious to say the least, and picking through somebody else’s code could be as difficult as trying to understand long-forgotten hieroglyphics. Sometimes it was easier, not to mention quicker, to scrap it all and start from scratch.
“You can work remotely, too,” Hugh said. “If it helps.”
I imagined myself in my apartment, isolated and alone, with nobody to talk to or interact with. It no longer held the same appeal as it did a month ago. “Actually, I’m more than happy to come here. I can meet Genie and immerse myself in the company culture.”
He beamed. “Are you saying I’ll see you Tuesday morning?”
Sister Dear Page 18
