Four Sides of a Triangle: An Austen & Cufflinks Novel (The Austen & Cufflinks Series Book 1)

by Heather C. Myers

  I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist or anything.

  Normally, Robert turns down pointless parties, openings, galas, and anything else in relation. But tonight is different. It doesn’t matter that we had an event only yesterday that neither of us left until three in the morning, because Robert promised his friend Simon Rowling that he would be here, and Robert’s not the type of person to back out of something when he’s given his word. That is why I made a quick stop to the grocery store in order to make sure I had all the ingredients for my hangover remedy because I’m certain Robert’s going to need it.

  Because I’m not technically off the clock, my outfit is a tad bit revealing, more so than normal. I’m wearing a little black dress that reaches my knees, but instead of it being high-neck, it’s a sweetheart cut. My décolletage isn’t too noticeable, although when you’re blessed in the chest area, cleavage isn’t a requirement to show off your breasts. I decide to pull my hair back into a simple bun, which is rare for me because I really do like having hair in my face. I guess my hair is some kind of security blanket. And my makeup is light and classy because I’m not all that fond of makeup. Even if eyeliner does make my eyes pop.

  “You think this is okay?” I ask Jewel as we step into the crowded club. “I know it’s not exactly nightclub friendly, but I really don’t have nightclub outfits.”

  “You look amazing, Madeline,” Jewel says with a smile.

  To be honest, I’m surprised Jewel has agreed to come with me. Because this isn’t a Swift Enterprises event, she isn’t actually required to be here, but I invited her to come as my plus one, especially since I know that Ethan McCoy will be here. Ethan isn’t the type of guy to resist a new, trendy nightclub opening on Sunset Boulevard, and dancing is the best excuse to hold a person close.

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “Luckily these high heels aren’t astronomically high, or I’d probably be making out with the pavement right about now.”

  I flatten my hands on the skirt of my dress – which is just a bit too tight – and suck in my stomach even more. Not that it’s going to matter, considering the dim lights inside the club. But I really don’t want to attempt to live down an unflattering paparazzi shot of me in this semi-ridiculous dress. I strive to look my absolute best at all times because whether I’m on the clock or not, I still represent Robert and the company. Even if it means looking way too formal, I now realize.

  It’s a bit difficult to maneuver through the crowd, so I take Jewel’s hand to make sure we don’t lose each other, and head to a pocket of the room where nobody is. The music is too loud, which is something I’m surprised to find myself admitting, but I’m already starting to get a headache and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. I turn so I can look through the crowd, hoping to find Ethan but I haven’t seen him yet.

  However, I do see Robert in a decidedly quieter part of the venue, and I lead Jewel over to him. If I hear that Miley Cyrus song one more time, I swear I’m going to blow a gasket. I don’t care what’s in. Why can’t they play some country in this place? The room Robert’s in is for VIPs, which is why it’s so secluded, and I see Robert and Simon, both accompanied by beautiful women who are doing their best to distract the two businessmen from each other in order to get their attention. I’m surprised their ploys have yet to work on either of them, since Simon is also a known womanizer, but Robert is much more handsome. In my very biased opinion, of course.

  When Robert sees me, I watch as he smiles – that smile that lights up his whole face and stops traffic and causes wrinkles to form around his eyes which don’t take away from just how good-looking he really is – and he actually gets up, away from Simon Rowling and away from the women in order to talk to me.

  Okay…

  “You actually came,” he says when he reaches us. “Wow, Maddy, you look –“

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s not club-appropriate or whatever. Frankly, I don’t care. My ass does not need to hang out of Daisy Dukes, thank you very much.”

  He looks at me for a moment, and I almost think he’s going to say something. But he closes his mouth and smiles, this one more demure than the first one. “Right.” He glances over to Jewel and shifts his focus to her. “Hello, Jewel. I see you’re accompanying our dear Ms. Perkins. And how are you this fine evening?”

  “Good, thank you sir,” she replies. It’s easy to see her face turn red, even in the dim lighting, and I’m surprised Robert got that many words out of her.

  This has to be Ethan’s influence. I knew that if she got enough confidence she would shine.

  “Hey, did you guys get the gift pack they have by the door?” Robert says, before handing me a small bag. “It’s some kind of digital camera, and since I have at least eight of those at home, I figured one of you might want it.”

  “I have the same eight you have, remember?” I say.

  “Yeah, I have dragged you along to too many events, haven’t I?” he asks me.

  I can see that he’s not wearing a tie. Instead, he’s wearing a simple collared shirt open to his collarbone and loosely tucked into nice, dark slacks. His hair, as always, is messy. But he looks good.

  “Hey, have you seen Ethan?” I ask. “I know he’s supposed to be here but I haven’t seen him.”

  “Why the fuck would I care where Ethan is?” he retorts, his voice taking an uncharacteristic tone – a mean one.

  I glance over my shoulder at Jewel, but luckily, she hasn’t heard him. It would seem that she, too, is looking for Ethan. And at that moment, he walks up to us, as though he’s somehow heard my question and is coming over to deliver the answer himself.

  “Hey, Madeline!” he says, swooping in – completely ignoring the fact that Robert and I are having a discussion – and pulling me into a tight hug. “Why aren’t you on the dance floor? You’re not working, are you?”

  “I’m always working,” I murmur, but I highly doubt he hears. I step out of his hug and pull Jewel so she’s standing next to me. “You remember Jewel, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he says in a deep baritone. “How can I forget? Hey, why don’t we go invade the dance floor? Perkins, I hear you have hips to die for when you’re shaking them.”

  “Why don’t you two go on, and I’ll join you in a second?” I suggest, and push Jewel towards him before either of them can protest.

  “Hips to die for?” Robert asks in a disbelieving tone once the two have disappeared. “First of all, is something like that charming to you, Maddy? Because I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the term vulgar, but let me present you with exhibit A. And secondly, how come Ethan McCoy has heard this rumor before I have? Is it true? Do you have hips to die for? Because if you move them even more than the way you walk – you know, pushing them out to the side – then I would like to familiarize myself with that so I’m not blindsided again.”

  There’s an idea ticking in my head and it has something to do with the bag in my hand. But half of me is listening to Robert.

  “To answer your first question, I’ve heard worse things come out of your mouth in more conservative settings, so yes, I am very attuned to what vulgar is.” I reach in the bag and pull out the camera but continue to speak. “And secondly, I do not walk in the way you describe. I think your overactive imagination is playing tricks on you. That, or you’ve had one too many. And I have no idea how Ethan came to know that. I haven’t danced in public since the holiday Christmas party before I became your PA and had to sell my soul.” I throw the bag and the box away in a nearby trash can and slip the camera’s strap around my wrist. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  I think Robert calls out to me, but I can’t be sure. I can’t really hear him once I’m in the other room. But for whatever reason, I have a funny feeling that he watches me leave.

  Dancing isn’t the only excuse to get intimately close to another person; pictures do the trick as well. But both? That’s genius.

  I follow Ethan and Jewel onto the dance floor
and manage to get the two – along with some other nameless faces I don’t particularly care to get to know but Ethan says they're his friends – to dance together and to take pictures while doing so. Let me just say this right now; my dear, demure little Jewel can dance. Like, really. She gives all the other women here a run for their money because she’s not dancing in an attempt to get some guy’s attention. No. Jewel is dancing for herself and you can totally tell. Ethan is the luckiest guy in the room, to be dancing with a woman like Jewel.

  By the time Jewel decides to head out, I think he knows just how lucky he is too, because he comes up to me, and with that crooked smile, asks if I could possibly post those pictures on Facebook and to make sure to tag him in it. Since posting pictures of Swift employees in compromising situations is not the type of work I want the company to be known for, I politely decline. However, I hastily offer another suggestion, and promise to send him a few via e-mail. He agrees and we part ways.

  “Oh my goodness,” Jewel says once we step out onto the quiet street. It’s well past two o’clock in the morning, and the night is definitely cold, considering it’s entering December. But it feels nice on my skin and seems to assist in slowing my fast heart rate. “I did not know Ethan could dance like that.”

  “He danced with you practically the whole night,” I say with a mischievous grin. “Trust me, I have evidence.”

  “You do not,” Jewel says, her face going pink once again. “Oh my gosh, I probably look like a fat cow.”

  “Shut up,” I snap, probably a bit harsher than I intend to. “You look gorgeous. Hello? Do I have to remind you that Ethan McCoy was dancing with you?”

  “Why weren’t you dancing?” Jewel asks.

  I glance out at the street, wondering where Sam, Robert’s driver, is with the car. “I can’t get away with it like you can,” I tell her. “As Robert’s PA, I have to be on my best behavior, which means no dancing in public for me. Unless it’s, you know, a slow dance. A dance where gyration isn’t involved.”

  Sam finally makes his appearance in the shiny black town car. When he opens the door, I’m surprised to find Robert sitting there. By himself. Leaving the party early. By himself.

  “I’ll sit up front,” Jewel says, and quickly heads to the passenger side of the door before I can object. “I live nearby.”

  I want to interrogate Robert about why he’s leaving and why he’s alone, but I wait until Jewel’s at home before I do so. She wasn’t lying when she said she lived nearby; she has a cozy little apartment a few streets away.

  “So how was your little dating game?” Robert asks before I can question him. “Has Ethan asked her out yet, or does he need to get Daddy’s permission first?”

  “Oh ha, ha, ha,” I say and then turn on the digital camera. “Let me show you just how well it went. I know your eyes are having difficulty seeing things right in front of you and all that, but take a look. Ethan is dancing with Jewel, and he seems to be enjoying himself quite thoroughly.”

  “He was wasted,” Robert says flatly.

  “So you’re saying someone like Jewel can’t get a guy like Ethan?” I ask, switching the camera off and looking at Robert. I know I sound accusing, but I didn’t think Robert was that judgmental based on how a person looks. “Come on Robert, that’s a pretty rude thing to say.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he tells me, closing his eyes and wildly gesturing with his hands. It’s something he does when he’s exasperated. “You know that’s not what I meant. But why are you so hell-bent on setting those two up? Just because they’re opposites does not mean that they’re destined for each other. I don’t care what Paula Abdul says. Ethan McCoy is a prick, and he’s the type of guy who judges a woman solely based on her looks. I just don’t want to see Jewel upset.”

  “Yeah, all guys do the whole looks thing, okay?” I say. “But what about that girl who changes everything? That girl who sweeps in and knocks a guy’s socks off? How do you know that girl isn’t Jewel and she hasn’t knocked Ethan’s socks off, hmm?” I don’t give him a chance to answer before I continue. “You don’t. And to judge a couple based on your admitted lack of experience concerning the heart is just douchey.”

  “Douchey?” Robert asks me, and I can tell by the wrinkles around his eyes that he’s trying not to laugh. “Did you just call your boss douchey? Is that even a word?”

  “We’re not working, okay?” I say, hoping he can’t tell I’m blushing. “And it is a word. It’s an adjective.”

  “You know That Girl doesn’t exist, right?” Robert says, draping his arm against the window and looking at me with his dark eyes. “She’s made up, created by Hollywood in order to trap hopeless women such as yourself into believing in something that will never happen. It’s like Valentine’s Day. Why does there have to be a holiday to prove you’re in love with someone? Shouldn’t every day be Valentine’s Day? I’ll tell you why: it’s to spend ridiculous amounts of money on jewelry, flowers, chocolates, and the like. Sorry to break it to you, but That Girl isn’t real.”

  “Maybe not for you,” I say. “But to guys who believe in That Girl, I bet she’s as real as you or me. Melinda seems to be Harold’s Girl. Nobody ever expected him to get married at all, even after he got that woman pregnant. Or did you forget that?”

  “The exception that proves the rule.”

  “Right, Scrooge of the Heart. You know, I should probably point out that your cranky mood might have something to do with the fact that you’re leaving a nightclub filled with barely legal, scantily-clad women alone. Or am I wrong?”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to be on top every night, can you Maddy?” Without warning, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him so a fraction of me is leaning against him. “Although, if that’s what you wanted, Maddy, consider yourself topped.”

  I want to be mad at him, but his words are ridiculous so I really can’t help my chuckles as I squirm away from him.

  “And I’m not going home alone,” he points out, looking at me. Am I seeing things or have his eyes gone just a tad darker? “I’m going home with you.”

  “You’re taking me home,” I correct. “Taking me home. It’s actually very different from going home with me. But since your usual women can’t distinguish between you’re and your, I can understand how your reasoning could be a little fuzzy.”

  He gives me a smile – a smile I can’t exactly read but causes my stomach to drop the same way it does when I’m on a rollercoaster – and looks away, out the window.

  At that moment, Sam pulls in front of my quiet apartment complex. It’s only when I step outside and bid Sam goodnight that I realize how still the air was between Robert and me, and how much I really want to be alone.

  But Robert doesn’t seem to care because he insists on walking me to my door the same way he did for Jewel.

  “Jesus Christ, Mad, do you really think I’d let you walk to your place by yourself?” he tells me. “Cut that feminist crap; I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  His voice is serious, not teasing like it normally is when he jokes about me quitting or leaving or something. It’s the sort of voice that could be easy to fall in love with and get used to. It’s probably the same voice Robert uses to tell his conquests sweet nothings before making love to them long into the night. It’s probably even the same voice he says goodbye – if he does say goodbye – to them with.

  It’s a voice that I don’t want to get to know, and I’m glad we’re at my door. He waits while I fumble with the keys, but once I have the door open, I thank him and step inside. I know I should have invited him in, to be polite and all, but for whatever reason, at this very moment, I don’t trust myself to be alone with him.

  Chapter 5

  Living in a place like Southern California, there are some days that require you to go outside. The sun is shining brightly, happy to grace a beautiful area, and the ocean breeze keeps things cool and refreshing. In a way, the breeze k
eeps a tab on the sun to ensure the sun doesn’t get too carried away in its delight. The sky is a clear blue, the ocean is sparkling, and the clouds look as soft and as fluffy as angel’s wings. As cliché as it sounds, my apt description of my hometown is true. There’s a reason why everyone wants to be here, after all.

  On such days, I throw on a tank top and shorts, pull my hair up into a loose ponytail, and head out jogging. Normally I would go alone, but days like this, I feel, should be shared, and as a result, I pick up my cell and dial Jewel’s number.

  It’s been a week since Simon Rowling’s club opened. In fact, I’m lucky to even have the time to jog at all. But in that week, Jewel and I have compressed everything that needed to be done, and now, there are only a few meetings that need to be rescheduled and we’ll be all caught up. Just in time for the upcoming break too.

  Jewel agrees to meet me at the beach in twenty minutes. Cher’s father in Clueless wasn’t lying when he said that everywhere in LA takes twenty minutes. I think that’s why I love this city; there’s really no rush to get anywhere, or to catch a cab. We can stop and smell the roses so to speak, or at least the subtle salty air. And the view is always beautiful, wherever you go, whether it’s the Hollywood Hills or the sparkling beach. But then again, I am particularly and proudly biased since I was born and raised here.

  When I spot Jewel, I take a quick sip of water from my reusable bottle, and we proceed to head along the coast. Occasionally, the waves will lap at our feet, teasing our ankles with their cool foam, but it doesn’t throw us off. In fact, I love jogging along the beach; the scenery changes every day.