I’d arrived at work just shy of eight and went straight to the executive break room to nab a large cup of coffee. It’s the good, strong stuff, not the flavored crap they brew on the third floor. This is one of the perks of being the owner’s nephew, one I’m more than happy to have along with an office with a window, which is usually reserved for directors and the executive staff.
Cup of coffee in hand, I take the curving stairway to the floor below and head toward my office.
On the outside, this seven-story building looks like all the others in the heart of downtown Atlanta, but inside is a lot of glass, chrome and angles with a dash of color.
After graduating from Stanford, I was offered a job at Pixar in California, but my uncle convinced me I would be better off working for him. At Pixar, he pointed out, I be one of many developers and 2D and 3D animators, but at PixelGraph—if things worked out—I’d be heading a team within two years. It took half that time, and after three years, I’m set to get the director job—if I want it.
I’m trying to work it so that if I take the position I can remain hands-on. When it comes to technology you either use it or lose it and I love the creative aspect of it too much to give it up.
“Morning, boss.”
I shoot a glance at the row of low-paneled cubicles that run the full length of the room. Tony Yang is seated behind his desk, three large monitors in front of him, each displaying a different character in various stages of completion.
The team isn’t due in until nine, but Tony is always in an hour earlier and typically stays an hour later than everyone else. I think he’s vying for my job, which I’ve told him more than once. He doesn’t deny it.
“I’m docking your pay for that one,” I reply, not breaking a stride, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. He knows I hate when he calls me that, which is why he does it. The last time I threatened to deduct fifty bucks from his pay for each use of the term. You see how that’s working out, right?
“Don’t worry, the twenty percent raise I’m getting will make up for it.”
Smart ass. Although annual raises are coming up in a few months.
In my office, I place my coffee and cell phone on the desk and then shrug out of my jacket before booting up the computer. I barely get my ass in the chair when my cell phone rings. Picking it up, I note with some surprise that it’s my parents’ number. The landline means it’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, stranger.”
I huff a laugh. Translation: I haven’t talked to you in over a week. Nothing like mom guilt to start my day off.
“Does that mean I shouldn’t bother showing up for dinner on Sunday?” Don’t let my mother fool you; of her four sons, I’m her favorite because I’m the baby. And don’t think growing up I didn’t take advantage of that every chance I got.
“You’d better or I’ll come down there and get you myself.”
See? Total pushover.
After typing in my password on the computer, I recline in my chair. “What’s up? You don’t usually call this early.” When she does call me at work, it’s usually around lunchtime or as I’m leaving for the day.
“I saw your friend on the news the other day. Why didn’t you tell me she saved the little girl’s life?”
Right, Erin and the kidnapping. It happened last Friday but it feels like eons ago with everything else that’s gone on. I don’t do Twitter or Instagram and barely check my Facebook account, but Mitch says she’s getting a ton of good press on social media. I did tape all her interviews to watch at my leisure. I’ve managed to watch them a few times each, so apparently, I have a lot of leisure time.
Seriously, though, she’s a great interviewee. The camera loves her but then what’s not to love. She’s photogenic as hell and warm and real, but there’s a professionalism to her demeanor that comes through in her easy rapport with the anchors.
“It slipped my mind.” My mom’s only met Erin once and she remembers her as Mitch’s girlfriend’s friend.
“Anyway, that’s only part of the reason I’m calling. Do you remember my friend Carly? We went to college together and now she’s a big-wig at America Cable News.”
“Vaguely,” I mutter. I can’t remember meeting her, but my mother does talk about her every so often, and I know my mom sees her whenever she’s in town. After college, her friend set off for New York to follow her dreams, and my mother met my father, got married and stayed home to raise four sons.
“You met her when you were in the fifth grade.”
I thought as much. I barely remember my teachers from high school much less a woman who spent a few hours in my home over fifteen years ago.
“Right. So what about her, mom?” Come on, cut to the chase. My work waits for no one.
“She’s been in town the last two weeks and we’ve gotten together a few times, you know, catching up and things. Anyway, she was over the other night when Erin was on the news and when I told her that I know her—well that you know her—she asked if she could give you a call.”
I sit up straighter in my seat. “She wants me to give her a call?” What the hell for?
“Actually, she’d like to speak to Erin, but I don’t have her number. I told her I’m sure you do.”
“Whoa. Let’s backtrack a bit. What’s your friend’s name again?”
She emits one of those heavy roll my eyes sighs. “Carly Templeton.” You boys never listen when I talk.
“And what did you say Mrs. Templeton does for a living?”
“Ms. Templeton. She’s divorced.”
“Mom,” I say, exasperated.
“She’s an executive something or other at ACN.”
“And she didn’t say what she wanted to talk to Erin about?”
“I think it has something to do with a job. But why don’t you give her a call first and find out. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. She asks about you every time we talk.”
A few years ago, when Erin was a junior in college down at Mercer University, Paige mentioned that Erin tried to get in there to do her internship to no avail. She ended up doing it at Atlanta Today Ledger, where she’s working now.
“Alright, give me her number and I’ll call.”
Over the course of the next several hours, I’m in and out of meetings and going over the preliminary graphics my team designed for an upcoming short film for a studio based out of Georgia. As busy as I am, I can’t help thinking of Erin. I have to forcibly stop myself from picking up the phone to call her more than a few times by the time lunch rolls around.
After I order a sandwich and drink for delivery, I settle back in my chair and call my mom’s friend.
“America Cable News International Division. Carly Templeton speaking.”
“Hi Ms. Templeton, this is Josh Marshall. My mom—”
“Josh,” she exclaims, abandoning all formality. “Your mom told me to expect your call. How are you? I haven’t seen you since—goodness, you weren’t even a teen. I can’t believe it’s been so long.”
God, she sounds like my aunt Sheila, my dad’s older sister who lives in Hawaii. I rarely see her but when I do, it begins with meandering trips down memory lane.
“Yes, it’s been awhile,” I reply awkwardly. What else do you want me to say? This is a woman I’d pass blind on the street. For all intents and purposes, she’s a stranger—who just happens to know me through my mom.
She lets out a throaty laugh. “You must be wondering, who is this crazy lady I can’t remember.”
“Crazy never once crossed my mind,” I reply, chuckling, instantly feeling more at ease.
“Wonderful. Then I’m not doing too bad. Listen, your mother told me I might be able to contact Erin Bancroft through you. I could get her work contact information but most people don’t appreciate that.”
“I take it this has to do with a job opportunity? Something at ACN?”
“Yes, if she’s willing to relocate to our Los Angeles office. I saw the interview
she did with the local NBC station, and I think she has the look, the talent, and certainly the poise to join our cast of on-air talent.”
“LA?” I try not to choke.
“I know it would be a big move for her, but I think it’ll be great for her career. She’s young, pretty and smart, and it’s obvious she can think on her feet. In addition, she has great TV presence, a great voice and a solid journalism background. She’s exactly the type of co-anchor we’re looking for to fill the 2:00 PM weekday slot. I sent her interview to Taylor Bennett, who is the executive producer in LA, and she’d love to fly Erin in to interview for the spot.”
Los-fucking-Angeles? No, I don’t think so.
“Yeah, it sounds great.” I’m lying through my teeth. Anything that takes Erin over two thousand miles away from me is a shitty plan. “Why don’t I take your number and pass it along to Erin and have her give you a call.” If she’s interested. And she won’t be because taking a job in LA would mean the end of us—before we’ve barely started.
“Great, that sounds good. I’m heading back to New York at the end of the week. Tell her to give me a call before then. We’re looking to fill the position pretty quickly. I’ll also give you Taylor’s number in case she can’t get me live.”
Damn, that’s in four days. “Sure. Sure. I’ll let her know.”
“Wonderful. Well, it was great talking to you Josh. Hopefully, I’ll get to see you before I leave.”
“Hopefully.” I do my best to fake enthusiasm I’m not feeling.
“You take care now.”
“Bye, Ms. Templeton.”
Fuck fuck fuck.
I toss my phone down on the desk and scrub my face with my palms.
My day just took a dive.
Fuck!
Chapter Twenty
Erin
Argh! I have nothing to wear.
It’s our first official date so I have to look extra good tonight, which is why I end up calling April, a friend who lives in New York with her fiancé Troy. No one I know has a better eye for fashion than her. Not only has she been modeling for umpteen years, one day she’s going to be a famous fashion designer and I’ll be able to say I knew her when.
I stand in front of my computer holding the silvery-blue dress up in front of me.
“What do you think of this one?”
April’s beautiful face dominates my computer screen as our Skype call ticks past the fifteen-minute marker. She wrinkles her nose. “I still like the green one better.”
And just like that, the silvery-blue dress is discarded like the three dresses before it.
“Why are you fighting me on this?” April asks, baffled. “The green one is made for you, and it goes great with your hair.”
“Because I’m tired of green. Plus, Josh has seen me in that dress already.” The dress she’s talking about with the killer slit down the right side, I wore to my graduation party. He wasn’t there but I know he saw the pictures Paige posted on Facebook because he “liked” the post. He “liked” all my graduation pictures as if to remind me that I hadn’t invited him to any of the festivities. Before our frenemies-with-benefits arrangement, he would have invited himself or crashed the damn thing. I’d been surprised he’d stayed away. And then I’d been annoyed he’d stayed away.
I know. I know. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted.
“Do you have anything in the royal blue color range?” she asks before popping something in her mouth. I caught her in the middle of cooking dinner for one. Troy’s a wide receiver for the Giants and right now he’s in his hometown in Illinois for a charity event. She’s in school until the end of May—Fashion Institute of Technology—otherwise she’d have accompanied him on his four-day trip.
Padding over to my walk-in closet, I scour my expansive dress collection for anything like it. Then I spot it. The perfect dress for a nice evening out. I quickly slip it off the wooden hanger and pull it on over my lacy matching bra and panty set.
Thank goodness it still fits. I haven’t worn it since I was a sophomore in college, and I only wore it the one time. It’s elegant and chic without being too dressy.
I rush out to get April’s opinion. “What do you think?” I ask, turning slowly around to give her a chance to take it in from all sides.
There’s a long pause, followed by a long exhalation of breath. “Stop the press, you found your dress.”
Breathless reverence. I’ll take that.
“You look beautiful.”
My face warms. Keeping in mind who’s issuing the compliment, I don’t take it lightly. April is bi-racial with green eyes, long, dark curly hair and light skin. She has it all; a beautiful face and a knockout body. If she says I look beautiful it means the dress is doing exactly what it’s designed to do.
“Thanks.” I smooth my palms over the cinched waist and around the fitted skirt that flares out in the back, designed to make walking less restrictive.
“When is he picking you up?”
I glance at the digital clock on my dresser. “Seven.” It’s quarter after six and I still have to do my hair and makeup. “Which means I need to get going. By the way, I’m planning Paige’s bachelorette party and I’m looking for ideas. Feel free to send me yours.”
“You should team up with Josh and plan one together. Make it a coed thing. It’ll be fun.”
“That’s a great idea.” I knew I asked the right person.
“Speaking of Paige’s wedding, can I ask you a huge favor?”
“Hold on, I’m going to switch the call to my phone so we can talk while I put on my makeup.”
I grab the phone from where I tossed in on my bed. We’re reconnected within seconds as I shimmy out of the dress, and in my bra and panties, I walk into my bathroom.
“You there?” I ask after I click the speaker icon.
“Yep, still here.”
“Okay, what’s this huge favor?” I open my makeup drawer beside the sink and begin to pull out everything I’m going to need: eyeliner, lipstick and light powder foundation.
“You remember me telling you about ? She lived in the apartment next to me when I was up in Warwick.”
“Yeah, I remember her.” Staring at my reflection, I expertly line my eyes with dark brown liner.
“Well, her twin sister Chelsea just got a job in Atlanta. She’ll be moving there next month from Illinois and she doesn’t know a soul. I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t mind showing her around. Introducing her to some of your friends?”
I smile at the hopeful note in April’s voice.
“You know the rule,” I mock scold her. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. And any sister of a friend of yours is now my responsibility.”
April snorts a laugh. “Great. I’ll let Kelsey know.”
“I should probably also invite her to Paige’s bachelorette party since she’ll be here by then and so will you.”
April lets out a mini-squee of joy. “Oooh, good idea. Kelsey will love that. I’ll text you her number and I’ll let her know that you’re there if she needs recommendations on places to live and all that good stuff.”
“I’ll be her designated tour guide if she wants.”
“You’re the best.” I smile upon hearing the kissy sound that follows.
I let out a dramatic sigh and reply facetiously, “I know. That’s what they all say.”
April laughs. “Tell Josh I said hi and that I said I knew you two would end up together.”
She said as much the last time I saw her, which was last September when the Giants played the Falcons. Mind you, this was long after we’d stopped having sex.
“Make sure to say hi to Troy for me.”
“Will do. Have fun and let me know how it goes.”
After we sign off, I finish putting on my makeup and then curl my hair, giving the heavy mass some semblance of body.
Once I put the dress back on, I opt for the black heels that go with the decorative buttons running from just below the jewel nec
kline to the waist.
There! I pause to take one more look in the mirror. I look more than presentable. Let’s hope Josh thinks so too.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize I’m not alone in a house where I should be alone. I’m barely able to swallow back a scream when I realize it’s my mother staring at me from the bottom of the stairs.
I have to pause to catch my breath. That’s one life gone. Eight more to go. I slowly resume course.
“Mom. I didn’t know you were home.” You scared the crap out of me. And aren’t you supposed to be in Japan?
I join her at the bottom of the stairs.
If you’re expecting a hug or a kiss—we haven’t seen each other in over two weeks—you have the wrong mother and daughter. That’s not us. The only time my mother remembers I’m here is when she wants to criticize me for something…anything.
“Didn’t Alice tell you I came home last night?” Her voice is Southern and refined just like her clothes. If that makes you think she has something stuck up her ass, you’re getting the picture.
“I’m sure Alice didn’t realize that was part of her job.” Alice is our cleaning lady and she comes by three times a week; four on the weeks my parents entertain.
My mother runs a critical eye over me, inspecting and no doubt dissecting my dress, hair and makeup. It’s what she does best. Next to her, I’m country bumpkin gauche.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
One of things I really love about my mom is how she loves to state the obvious.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo?” I ask as I make my way to the front door.
She trails behind me down the hall, pausing by the marble-topped console table to peer up at the security monitor. “It wasn’t until I was there that I remembered I don’t particularly care for Tokyo. The food doesn’t sit well with my stomach.”
Just so you don’t think it’s only Tokyo that’s earned my mother’s disdain, she doesn’t like Paris, parts of London’s westside, and she absolutely abhors New York City. It would be quicker to list all the places she actually likes.
Played (Trapped Book 3) Page 16
