by Lila James
“I actually keep those in the bathroom,” an amused male voice said from behind me. I turned around.
Jackson Taylor in the flesh was a surprise. I had seen a photo of him on the back of his book, but it really didn’t do him justice. He was extremely attractive. Not as attractive as he probably thought but easy on the eyes nonetheless. He had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going on. He had dark hair and light-brown eyes, and he was dressed in what looked like a tailor-cut suit that clung quite nicely to his solid, muscular six-foot-two-inch (maybe three) frame.
“Want me to turn around?” Jackson asked, his slight grin widening. “Because I can. If you want me to. But you have to return the favor.”
I shut off the tape recorder, flushing as I stepped away from the bookshelf. I was now exceedingly aware that I still looked like a drowned rat.
“Um, you look different. From your photo.”
“Really?” Jackson asked, stepping farther into the room. “Taller? More fit? Better looking?”
Another arrogant, lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face as he appraised me. I mentally kicked myself for taking this assignment. I could already see that this guy was in love with his own reflection.
“Shorter, actually. And a lot thinner,” I said, taking pleasure in the way the smile faltered on his face. After a brief pause, Jackson gave me a playful scowl, stepping forward and extending his hand.
“Jackson Taylor.”
“Adrian Lexley.”
Jackson took my hand and started to raise it to his lips. I snatched my hand away. Jackson widened his eyes, throwing his hands up in an I’m harmless gesture.
“Call me old fashioned, but that’s how I like to greet women. Especially pretty women. Shall we do this?”
I nodded, ignoring his subtle compliment (or sexual harassment). I took the seat in front of his desk. Jackson walked over to perch on the edge of the desk. I tried not to react to his closeness, fumbling in my bag for a pen.
“Actually, do you mind if we do this somewhere else? I know it’s raining cats and dogs out there, but I like to get out of the office as often as I can. Breathe in the fresh, polluted air of the city.”
“Sure,” I replied, getting to my feet. He stood and we nearly collided. He reached out politely to straighten me, but I stepped out of his reach. “Where do you want to go?”
“I know the perfect place.”
*
“You can’t be serious,” I said in disbelief, refusing to sit down.
The delightful Jackson Taylor had decided to take me to a dank sketchy strip club (topless!) on the Upper East Side. I had at first assumed it was a bar from the modest exterior. But as soon as we got inside, with the topless strippers gyrating on the poles and the drunken male patronage, I was infuriated.
“Completely serious. Excuse me, beautiful, can we get this lovely woman a drink?” Jackson asked a scantily clad waitress.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m going.”
I started to turn, but Jackson got to his feet, placing his hand on my arm. I tried to ignore the pulsating heat I felt at his touch.
“I feel comfortable here. That’s all,” Jackson said with a casual shrug, glancing over at the stage as one of the strippers did an impressive upside-down move on her pole.
“Well, I’m not,” I said, yanking free of his arm. “I’m obviously the wrong person to do a profile on you, as I already dislike you and I’ve known you for all of fifteen minutes. I’m sure there are many eager women who would love to do this profile. I’m not one of them.”
And with that, I left in a huff, ignoring the leers of the male patrons. I stopped midstride, glaring at a group of investment banker types who were ogling me.
“Stop leering at me. I’m not a stripper.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. Obviously,” one of them said, annoyed, straining to look past me. “Can you move out of the way? You’re blocking my view.”
I left the strip club and headed back to my office. I would have gone in to tell Jean exactly what I thought of Jackson Taylor and the assignment, but he was conveniently out of the office. I was forced to endure the sympathetic stares of my coworkers until I left early with a tight smile. As I walked by I heard Leah murmur, “She’s probably going home to cry her eyes out, poor thing.” I gritted my teeth, but I continued walking out of the office.
I stopped by a sports and fitness store on Broadway to purchase some exercise gear before heading back to Liz’s place. As soon as I got back, I changed into sweats and began to intensely lift the free weights I’d purchased. By the time Liz came home, I was worked up enough to bitch about Jackson.
“I mean, the nerve. The absolute nerve,” I barked to Liz as I performed bicep curls. There was nothing like righteous anger to fuel a motivation to work out. “Did he really think I was going to interview him in a strip bar? And did I mention how arrogant he was? I mean, his book is sooo overrated.”
“You know, for someone you propose to hate on sight, you’ve been talking about him nonstop,” Liz mused as she plopped onto the couch. I noticed that she was clutching yet another carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
“That’s because he’s an ass. I mean, I thought Marcus was a jerk for what he did to me. But this guy? I can only imagine what he’s done to the poor women he’s dated. And then he goes and writes this hoity-toity book about falling in love. Please. Liz? What’s wrong?”
Liz had gone still, her eyes glued to the television screen behind me. I glanced at the television, frowning when I saw the conclusion of a De Beers ad.
“It’s nothing. What were you saying? About Jackson being an ass?”
“Liz, this has gone on long enough,” I said, putting my dumbbell down and joining her on the couch. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I’m not going to let up until you tell me what’s wrong. I’m here for you. Talk to me.”
“Given the circumstances, you can’t be mad at me,” Liz said, after a brief pause.
“Why would I be mad at you?” I asked, puzzled.
Liz shifted in her seat. She shut her eyes, and I could vaguely make out the following exclamation:
“Stewartjuagetenfoundcantbelievefreakinout,” Liz blurted, looking at me as if she had just revealed the reason for the existence of the universe.
I tried my best to look solemn, as if I had understood her garbling. But I couldn’t keep up the act.
“What?” I asked helplessly.
“I was at Stewart’s place the other day, and I found an engagement ring and know he’s going to propose soon, and I’m freaking out!”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to show my confusion. “Why is that a problem? You’ve always told me you’ll probably marry him someday. I just assumed that’s where you guys were headed.”
Liz burst into tears. This was an unusual reversal in our ten-year friendship. I was the one who usually burst into hysterical tears while Liz kept it together.
“This is why I couldn’t tell you! I don’t know how I feel about all that anymore. And I’m afraid if I say yes, I’ll be the one to jilt him at the altar, and then everything will be a mess and we’ll be like you and Marcus. And then I’ll completely fall apart like you have. No. Wait. I’m sorry, Adrian. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I haven’t fallen apart,” I said stiffly.
“I didn’t mean—see, I knew you would react like this. I just meant that you’ve been pretty upset, Adrian.”
“For the last time, I am fine! You could have told me what was wrong, and I would have given you advice. Instead, you chose to hide it from me because you think I’m pathetic.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“No, you made it pretty clear what you meant. And for the record, I’m not the one parked on the couch with a pint of ice cream.”
“Adrian, please.”
“No, no. I’l
l let you sort it out on your own. I’ll be in my room, sobbing. You know, because I’ve just completely fallen apart!” I shouted, marching to my room.
*
The next day at work I sat at my desk, attempting to get some work done for my column. But Liz’s hysterical words from the previous evening were still in my head. Falling apart? In my opinion, I had quickly bounced back from my breakup. I was doing just fine.
“Adrian?” Jean asked, appearing by my desk. His soothing tone was an irritant.
“I’m fine. I’m not falling apart,” I snapped.
I must have said that second sentence a little loudly because a couple of my coworkers were looking over at me with (arrgh!) concern. But Jean did not look at all perturbed at my outburst.
“So you keep saying,” Jean replied dryly. “You have a visitor.”
“I keep saying I’m fine because I am fine. A visitor?” I demanded, my eyes narrowing with suspicion. “A therapist?”
“You are paranoid, darling. Not a therapist, though I’m going to start considering it. Your former interview subject.”
“Jackson Taylor? Is he here?”
“No, he’s in Australia. Yes, here. He’s in the conference room. He wants to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to see him. I told you how offensive he was. I’m off the assignment.”
“He wants to apologize. At least talk to the man, Adrian. He came to make amends.”
I looked at Jean for a long moment. I was reluctant, but I knew that if I refused to see Jackson, I would just make a bigger deal out of the whole situation.
“Fine.”
Without thinking I reached for a compact, checking myself out in the mirror. Jean raised his eyebrows. I hastily shut my compact, getting to my feet.
“I just want to make sure I look professional.”
“Of course,” Jean murmured, but I caught the hint of sarcasm that shadowed his words. I brushed past Jean, ignoring the curious (and sympathetic!) stares of my coworkers, and headed into the conference room.
Jackson stood at the far end, gazing out the window. I cleared my throat to alert him to my presence. He slowly turned around, giving me what I suspected was his trademark lopsided grin. I noticed that his hair was damp. He had probably just gotten out of the shower. With great difficulty I managed to suppress the image of him climbing out of the shower in a towel. I remained by the doorway, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
“May I help you, Mr. Taylor?” I asked. Jackson’s grin broadened, and he let out a low playful whistle.
“Mr. Taylor. Wow. You must still be really pissed.”
“If you don’t have anything to say, I have work to do,” I said, turning to leave.
“Wait, wait, wait.”
Jackson crossed the room in three long strides, placing a placating hand on my arm. I stiffened, and Jackson quickly removed his hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. It was inappropriate for me to take you to a strip club for the interview.”
“And insulting.”
“And insulting,” he conceded, “for me to take you to a strip club to do the interview. I sincerely apologize. It was in poor taste, and I’m sorry.”
Jackson was studying me with apparent sincerity. I forced myself to look away from his intense gaze.
“Apology accepted,” I said, giving him a curt nod and turning to the door to head back out.
“So when are we going to reschedule the interview?”
“I’m sorry. I thought Jean told you. He reassigned the story at my request. Someone else is doing your profile.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“What?”
“He didn’t reassign the profile,” Jackson repeated, looking puzzled. “He told me you would do it as originally planned. Provided that you accepted my apology, which you just did. Especially after I insisted that I would only do the profile with you since we’ve established such rapport.”
I whirled around, turning to look through the windows of the conference room toward Jean’s office. Jean stood by the doorway of his office, watching us. Catching my glare, he ducked into his office.
“How about Tuesday at three? There’s this great coffee place by my office. A lot less scandalous than a strip club. And it’s an actual coffee place. Promise.”
I turned back to face Jackson’s annoyingly handsome face. It looked like I was backed into a corner.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Great. It’s a date,” he said with a wink, heading out of the conference room.
“It’s not a date!” I shouted after him.
Jackson continued out, nodding cordially at my coworkers. Leah and Nora leaned over their desks as he headed out, unabashedly checking him out. Leah straightened, fanning herself. Nora pretended to faint. And then they both proceeded to dissolve into girlish giggles. I rolled my eyes at them as I headed back to my desk, but I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the outer office as Jackson headed to the elevators. Just a quick glance. The man was easy on the eyes.
*
On Saturday I forced myself to return to my old apartment to get the remainder of my things. The majority of the apartment’s furniture had belonged to Marcus, and I noted bitterly that he had pretty much taken care of clearing it out. Our apartment looked like an empty shell of the love-filled home it had been just a couple of weeks before. When there was a knock at the door, I grimaced, thinking it would be Marcus. I peered through the peephole, surprised to see that it was a contrite-looking Liz instead.
Liz had apologized to me for the whole falling apart comment she made the other night, and I had accepted, but I could tell she still felt a little guilty. I smiled, stepping aside to let her in. Having the company of my best friend while I packed up Relationship Headquarters seemed like a good idea. Liz clutched a small brown bag as she entered, looking around the near-empty apartment in disbelief.
“It’s weird to see it like this,” she mused, placing the bag down on the floor.
“Tell me about it.”
“I know we’ve already been over this. But I really didn’t mean what I said the other night,” Liz said in a rush. “You are handling this whole thing really well. A lot better than I would have handled it, that’s for sure. Because I think I would have fallen apart. Had it been me, I mean.”
“That’s not true,” I said, shaking my head.
“No, really. You’re so strong. I’m proud of you.”
I gave Liz a tight smile. If only she knew that I had spent the entire walk over tearing my eyes away from every single couple I saw.
“I brought refreshments.” Liz reached into the bag, grabbing a small carton of mint fudge ice cream. I couldn’t help but smile. Liz had the type of metabolism that enabled her to consume massive amounts of food and never gain an ounce.
“I’m dieting, remember?”
“Suit yourself,” Liz said with a shrug, perching herself on one of my packed suitcases. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’m almost finished. You can, however, confide in me about Stewart. Have you mentioned anything about the ring to him?”
“No,” Liz said as I began to stow some more of my things into a suitcase. “But I have to do something because it’s obviously only a matter of time before he proposes. Did Marcus act a particular way before he proposed? I keep waiting for telltale signs.”
“No. He acted perfectly normal. Little did I know, he was about to drop the bomb that would ultimately destroy our relationship. Oops. Sorry. You and Stewart are totally different. Hm. Now I see why you didn’t want to tell me right away.”
Liz laughed, swallowing a mouthful of her ice cream. She looked far away for a moment.
“Can you believe we’re here, Adrian?”
“Here where?” I asked, heading over to the closet.
“Here. Grown-ups. You’ve been engaged and nearly married, and Stewart’s on the verge of proposing. Remember when our biggest relationship problem was wonderi
ng when he was going to call? I miss being nineteen.”
“We’re twenty-eight,” I said, shooting her a look. “Not necessarily in our golden years yet.”
“Yeah, but those carefree days are waning to a close. I can feel it. Thirty is hovering there like this roadblock. Can’t back up to pass it. Can’t go around it. It’s just there. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Gosh, you paint a pretty picture,” I said, trying to sound light, but her words were causing a mild feeling of anxiety to grow in the pit of my stomach.
“You know what I mean,” Liz continued. “If you and Marcus had gotten married, you’d be someone’s wife right now. As in Mr. and Mrs. As in white picket fence and kids and soccer practice.”
“We were going to stay in the city,” I protested, but my stomach lurched at the picture Liz was beginning to paint.
“Things still would have been different. You’d be married. Things would have inevitably just changed.”
“Right,” I murmured. The more Liz spoke about my possible married life, the more nauseated I felt.
“Sorry,” Liz said, shaking her head. “I’m talking too much. But ever since I found that ring, that’s all I can think about.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t get the image of escorting around a dozen kids to soccer practice in an SUV out of my head. Gardening in front of my house in a neighborhood, where the houses all looked the same. Attempting to cook pot roasts and socializing with other wives. I felt queasy. Why hadn’t I thought of this while I was engaged? I’d convinced myself that nothing major would have changed. But Liz was right. Everything would have changed. Not drastically overnight, but in slow increments over time until maybe I wouldn’t recognize myself. I shook my head, attempting to clear it of those disturbing thoughts.
“Oh God, now you’re thinking about it. I’m just going to shut up.”
“Please, Liz, vent as much as you want. I want to be your sounding board. And hey, I guess we can say I dodged a bullet, right?”
“Every couple is different. I’m just freaking out a little.”
“Feel free to freak out as much as you want,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a carefree smile as I opened the closet door. And the smile froze on my face.
