“I’m leaving.” I grab my phone back and throw it into my purse.
“What? We can’t leave. What about Tina?” Remi chases after me as I make my way to find my boots by the door.
“You don’t have to go. We have our own cars,” I say, slipping on the first heeled boot.
“I don’t want to be alone with just Tina. It’s weird. You have to stay,” she pleads, peering over her shoulder to make sure she’s not being heard. “Is this because we brought up Sasha?”
“Why would I leave just because you brought up Sasha? That’s mental.” And maybe too accurate. Between all the time we spend together at work, with the family, and now girls’ nights, it could be time for me to distance myself from my intuitive bestie. I slam my foot into the other boot. “I’m just tired. I’ll see you at the salon tomorrow.”
Remi’s whispered whines continue, and I ignore them, making my way to the kitchen to say goodbye to Tina. Her breathing has seemingly returned to normal. I’m glad. She really has nothing to worry about. My brother is madly in love with her. He’s finally clued in regarding romance.
I hug Tina and thank her for hosting. Remi tries for more eye contact so she can continue to silently beg me to stay. I keep my eyes straight ahead and give a backwards wave before closing the door. I’m sorry if it’s a little awkward for Remi to be alone with Tina because they don’t have that much in common, but I don’t feel bad… for Remi.
In my car, it doesn’t matter how loud I make the music. I can’t remove the thoughts of my brother’s ex. Seeing her picture didn’t help. I should have erased that stupid picture a long time ago, along with the rest of them. But for some reason when I got to the last photo of her on my phone, no matter how much my finger lingered over the delete button, I just couldn’t do it.
Maybe I needed the reminder. Sasha didn’t just crush Henry. She also crushed me.
We were friends. Not in the same way I am with Remi. Remi is my ride or die. Although, I did just kind of ride off to let her die.
My friendship with Sasha was just... different. If I tried something new with my hair or my makeup, she noticed right away. She was nice, complimentary. She knew how to make me feel included. We had our own jokes. If I knew she was coming to the cabin, I was excited. If she was at dinner, it was more fun. When Henry would be out for the day and she didn’t have to go with him, we’d spend the day together. Just me and her. Life was better when she was around. Sasha wasn’t just my friend.
I had a crush on her.
Sugar Lips
“Are you going to eat that?” Jeanine points with her chopsticks before pinching up my last piece of sashimi and shoving it into her mouth.
We met eight months ago. Dated for two, stopped having sex after one, and have remained friends ever since. It’s nice to know that not all breakups need to be life shattering.
“I was offered a new account today. An entire firm downtown. I’ll be heading up the design team. Overseeing the project from beginning to end.” I stare into my chardonnay before taking a sip. “Two floors and a complete lobby upgrade.”
“Sasha, that’s amazing.” She finishes chewing before leaning over to hug me. “Congratulations.”
“It is, but...,” I say, and she backs away, holding on to my shoulders with a penetrating stare.
“But what? This is everything you wanted. You’ve worked years for an opportunity like this one. What could there be a but about?”
“It’s for Faulkner Financial.” Her arms drop and I take another sip of wine to keep me from choking on the words.
“Faulkner? Oh.” Her brows go up. “His firm.”
“Yes, his firm.” Henry Barclay. The ex. The one I’d spent almost two years with, playing the part of intelligent arm candy, at his side, helping him schmooze his fellow partners at numerous business functions. “My boss told me today that one of the partners specifically requested that I lead the project. I’m guessing that partner was Henry.”
“Okay, well, that’s great. It sounds like it’s his way of saying no hard feelings.”
“Does it?” I hem, teetering in my seat. “I’m not so sure, because when we last saw each other, there were some hard feelings.” Me ending things was a surprise he wasn’t prepared for. The way things all went down, I wasn’t prepared myself. I didn’t know what to say, so I said very little.
“Sasha, you can’t turn down this opportunity. Especially for a guy you never truly cared for.”
“I did care for Henry.” I’m quick to correct her. Not the way he deserved, but I did care for him.
“You just cared for the vanilla-flavored sister more,” she states matter-of-factly with a smug smile.
In a vulnerable moment after a little too much wine, I had shared a little too much truth about my feelings and shared moment with Henry’s sister.
She had been eating a frosted donut that night. She tasted like sugar. I always knew she would.
“If I accept the position, I’ll be seeing Henry practically every day. I don’t know how that will go over.” What he knows, what he doesn’t know; going down that road again could get ugly.
“He’s the one who requested you. Don’t overanalyze things. You’re a talented designer, and he knows that,” Jeanine preaches. “You deserve this, Sasha. Don’t throw away an opportunity like this. You worked hard. You earned this.”
I did, but I’m still hesitant. It’s complicated. Even though it’s been three years since the breakup, I wouldn’t want accepting this project to send the wrong message. I don’t want to confuse things. Not again.
The whole Henry thing... it just happened.
We met at the country club. Two golf enthusiasts. That’s how it started. We’d play eighteen holes, then grab a coffee. Soon coffee turned to lunch. Lunch turned to dinner.
He was enamored of my backswing and insightful mind. I appreciated how he got my traditional Russian parents to stop questioning when I was going to meet a nice man.
Our relationship was convenient. It worked. I adored Henry; he adored me back. But it was never love. I always thought he knew that.
Then my feelings for Jenn took an unexpected turn. Henry went and bought a ring. And boom. It all exploded.
“Sasha, at least talk to him before ruling anything out.” Jeanine motions for the check.
I know she’s right. This opportunity is huge for my career.
“His firm is hosting a gala. They’ve invited our company,” I share, finishing the last of my wine. “I guess if I were to go, I could talk to him then.” I close my eyes, wishing I was at home. Then having another glass of wine or two wouldn’t be an issue. But since my car is parked right outside, this last sip will have to do for now.
“Not if. When you go.” Jeanine puts her plastic down over the bill before I do. “You’re going to put on a fancy dress, dazzle your ex with your amazing vision for his firm, and act like the true professional you are. Then design the hell out of those two floors. Okay?”
“And a lobby,” I remind her, getting on board thanks to her pep talk.
She’s right. I can do this job and do it well. If Henry recommended me for this position, I see no reason why I should worry. We’re two professionals, and this time around our businesslike arrangement will be just that: business.
Without the blurred lines of romance, a ring, and my straying affection, I see no reason why this can’t work.
It’s just him this time. Not her.
Thank God.
Just Filling In
“I hate leaving you, especially after seeing you in this tux. I should have just RSVP’d no.” Tina pouts, her arms wrapped around my brother, her overnight bag at her feet.
“Well then, don’t go. Tell them you’re sick or have a flat tire and come with me instead.” Henry plays with one of his girlfriend’s black curls, twisting it around his finger.
“I’ll call you tonight and maybe,” Tina pauses, glancing in my direction before lowering her voice, “we can do that video
thing like we did when you had to go to Boston last month.” Henry growls in response, lowering his face to her neck.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I’m dressed and ready to go in a full-length black gown with my colorful hair swept into an epic french twist that took Remi over an hour to perfect. Even if Tina were to cancel, it’s too late. I’m now the one going. “Tina, goodbye, have fun in New York baby showering.” I pick her bag up from the floor and place it into her hand. “And Henry, let’s go. I’m wearing six-inch heels, and my feet turn into pumpkins at midnight.”
Henry’s face shifts into argument formation, but Tina places a hand on his chest to calm him back down.
“She’s right, I need to leave. You two have fun tonight.” She steps up on her toes for one more quick kiss. “Keep an eye on him,” she says to me. “Make sure all the women know he’s taken.”
“Mm-hmm, I’m sure that’ll be a real problem,” I mumble sarcastically with an eye roll to match the sentiment. Fortunately, I don’t think either of them hear me.
Henry walks Tina out to her car, which will probably take another five minutes. I double-check my purse to be sure I have everything I need. Phone, lip gloss, ID. I’m twenty-seven, but a young-looking twenty-seven. There’s no way I won’t get proofed at the open bar Faulkner is sporting the bill for tonight. Free premium liquor is worth every ounce of effort my killer ensemble required. It’s just too bad I’m wasting it on a night out with my brother. Although, you never know who you may meet and when. I’m sure there are lots of hot, available women attending Henry’s stuffy, male-dominated, boring-ass financial whatever this thing is. Laugh my ass off, good one, Jenn. The best I can really hope for tonight is that I meet the right cocktail. And I have a good feeling I will.
“Ready?” Henry is back.
“Yeah, let’s go get this over with.” I snap my purse shut.
“Over with?” Henry barks. “You begged me to take you to this.”
“I didn’t beg.” I scoff.
“When you found out Tina couldn’t go,” Henry slips into his coat and adjusts the cuffs, “you said ‘please take me.’ I said ‘no.’ You said ‘please, please, please. I’m desperate for a night out.’ I still said no. You punched the arm of my couch, hurt your hand, and wouldn’t stop whining until I finally broke down and said yes.”
“How is that begging? I just needed a night out. Geez.” I’m bored and a little lonely. “A boring night out is more fun than no night out at all.” I grab my black satin wrap from where I threw it on his couch and cover my bare arms. We’ve reached the early part of November where it no longer feels like fall but full-blown winter.
“Jenn, are you okay?” Henry isn’t angered by my nonsense. If anything, he seems concerned.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You haven’t been for a while. Last year you spent all that time parked on my couch, constantly butting in and trying to help me find someone. And now every time I see you, you seem miserable and mopey. Why?”
“Really, I’m fine. Can we just go?” I open his front door, walking ahead of him to his car.
“They have websites for women,” he says once we’re both seated inside the warmed-up Mercedes. “I’m not sure if you know about these sites, but you can go online and meet someone.”
“What? Meeting sites for lesbians?” I feign shock. “Online, you say. That’s crazy. I wonder if any other lesbians know about this?”
“Maybe if you weren’t always so damn sarcastic.” Henry adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Nope. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“I’m sorry.” I give the apology he wants. “I know there are sites. I’m just not into the online thing.”
“That’s fine. I’m just trying to help like you did with me.” He shrugs. “I find it strange that when it came to me meeting someone, you were this overeager, always in my face buttinsky, but now I say one little thing and you make fun. I don’t get it, Jenn.”
I don’t respond, sinking lower in the leather seat. There’s nothing for me to say. He’s right. I was desperate for him to meet someone. I butted in nonstop until I was sure that he had finally met the right person and moved on.
But it was different for me. I had to help him. He needed to get over her. It was my fault.
Sasha had said it herself; I was the reason she broke up with him.
Plan H
I check my coat and slip the ticket into my purse.
Three years ago, walking into a Faulkner event on Henry’s arm had been easy. Now, walking in alone to face the man I’d left dazed and brokenhearted is turning out to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
“Champagne?” I’m greeted at the doorway. A silver tray with long-stemmed flutes is dipped in front of me.
“Thank you.” I smile politely. But seriously—thank you. Anything to calm my nerves right now. Too bad there isn’t a silver tray of Xanax being carried around.
Bubbles tickle my throat from my first big sip. I scan the room apprehensively, desperate to find one of my colleagues and nowhere near ready to find Henry.
There’s no one from my company that I recognize, but I see Cheryl Dillon, one of the architects we work with, leaning against the bar with a glass of wine. Perfect. I drain my champagne, dump the glass, and make my way over to join her.
“Here she is.” Cheryl raises her glass to me as I approach. “The woman responsible for landing us Faulkner.”
“Hardly,” I say and gesture toward her glass for the bartender. I set my purse down, swapping it out for the glass of red he pours. “I’m sure it was the good job at the Goldberg and Platz office we finished over the summer that we owe the credit to.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Now that I have my own glass, she clinks hers into mine. We sip our wine, and I wonder what rumors are swirling around about me and the ex who is responsible for us landing this huge account. Does our past discredit all the sacrifice and hard work it took me to get here?
“Alexandra Dubovoy.” A deep voice addresses me from behind with my full name.
“Mr. Clayton.” I turn and place my glass down on the bar before extending my hand to a man I had once known well. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine, thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you at one of our functions. You remember my wife, Edie?” he says, and his round, blonde wife steps up next to him.
“Of course.” I step away from the bar to shake her hand as well. “Mrs. Clayton, it’s so good to see you again.”
Richard Clayton is one of the partners at Faulkner along with Henry. I had gotten to know him and his wife, Edie, well. Sweetest woman. But I find myself on edge, wondering what they think now that I’m no longer with Henry.
“It’s great to see you too, Alexandra. And please, what’s this Mrs. Clayton? Call me Edie.”
“And call me Sasha,” I remind her.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says. “My husband tells me you’ll be starting soon on updating the offices.”
“I’m hoping to,” I say, still unsure since I haven’t had a chance to talk to Henry yet.
“When my husband said they were finally going to hire a design firm to remodel, I knew right away who they needed to call. It took some searching, but I found you and I made sure my husband put in a good word for you and your company.”
“Yes, she did. Even came down to the office herself one day and had me make the call in front of her.” Mr. Clayton raises his brows. “Not normally the job of a CEO.” His wife shoots him a nasty look. “But as a loving husband, I was happy to do it.”
Not Henry. Edie. She had her husband call. He’s the one who made the request. My face stays controlled even as I try my hardest to pull in enough air to thank her.
“Thank you.” My gaze travels from her to him. “Thank you both. I appreciate you thinking of me—” I place my hand over my chest and draw in another breath. “—for this opportunity.”
“Are you okay
, dear?” Edie steps in for a closer look. The back of her hand presses into my forehead.
“I’m fine.” I peel her hand from my forehead and give it a gentle squeeze of assurance. “Just winded from the excitement. It’s a big project and I’m honored to be part of it.”
“You’re going to do wonderfully.” Edie gives me a warm smile. Her husband motions toward a small group at the end of the bar, placing his arm around her back. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” Her fingers curl into a wave as she’s ushered away.
I step back into place next to Cheryl and retrieve my drink.
“You look white as a ghost. Everything okay?” she asks.
“Everything’s fine,” I say and control myself to make sure I have an expression to match. The floor just fell out from under me, but in the corporate world you’re never allowed to let it show. “But if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go freshen up before dinner.” I grab my purse from the bar and search for a route to the bathroom where I can avoid people best. Hovering close to the wall, I use my small clutch to shield my face, making sure not to be seen. Seeing Henry now would be a disaster. Clearly, he was not the partner who requested me. Chances are he doesn’t even know about the remodel.
What now? Time to regroup and get a plan B. And a plan C. And D.
But life’s funny, because as the backup plans pile up in my head—E. F. G—I smack right into plan H.
Henry.
A Different Point of View
The first sip of whiskey churns in my stomach. It’s her. I can’t believe it, but it’s her.
Beautiful chestnut hair cascades over her bare shoulders. She’s in a designer gown, pale pink and strapless, the perfect complement to her dark skin. Impeccably dressed without a hair out of place; that’s always been her MO. She uses her purse, pretending to cover her view, yet her stilettos take her directly to the one person she’s clearly here to see.
Whiskey Flick Page 2
