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

by Heather C. Myers

  He can be righteous when he wants to be, and his answer made me respect him even more. In fact, Robert’s wrinkles just add to his attractiveness; they gave his face character.

  But that is just my opinion.

  Not that I’m in love with Robert Swift or anything. While he loves women, he can’t commit to one, and I’m not any different. So his friendship, his trust, is what I would take.

  “… or was it 1936?” My ears pick up Robert’s question and my thoughts regarding him vanish so I can focus on him. “I don’t know, but FDR’s whole ‘war on crime’ regime –” And before he can expound more on what I think would be highly enlightening, especially for his companion who is probably on her third Appletini, he keels over and upchucks the minimal contents of his stomach on what look like very expensive shoes.

  The girl shrieks and people that are nearby begin whipping out their cell phones or their cameras, eager to take a picture of the sharp Robert Swift puking.

  This is my cue.

  “All right everybody!” I call, pushing my way through the crowd. Though I’m small, I have a pretty loud voice. “Time to leave!”

  That doesn’t mean they actually listen to me or anything. It’s hard to see just how cruel people can be. Though they like a good comeback story, they also don’t mind kicking that same comeback when he’s down.

  Thank God I have Sam with me.

  While I go over to Robert, Sam manages to get everybody off of Robert’s property in a manner of minutes. There would definitely be a mess to clean up, but I plan to worry about that later on. I need to take care of Robert because it’s clear he can’t take care of himself.

  “Thanks Sam,” I murmur, looking over my shoulder so I meet his eyes.

  “You got this?” he asks me. He looks tired and a bit upset that the party is cut short. Sam is a partier but, unlike someone I know, he knows how to handle it. I nod. “Okay, call me if you need me.” And with that, he leaves, probably to head to some fancy Hollywood nightclub or something.

  “Maddy?” Robert asks me, his voice slurring, breaking away my thoughts. “Where did everybody go? I think I just…” He glances at the vomit just adjacent to the barstool. Thank God he did it on the wooden floors; having a carpet cleaner in here is not desirable. “Are you going to… to yell at me?”

  “I’m not your mother, Robert,” I tell him in a soft voice, but my frustration can be clearly heard in my tone.

  “You’re too beautiful to be my mother,” he says, leaning in close to me. I wrap my arm around his waist as he stands up, hoping that his balance isn’t too thrown off by his inebriation. He lazily throws his arm around my shoulders and allows me to lead him over to his grand staircase. “You know that, Maddy? You’re beautiful. You look beautiful tonight. But you look beautiful every day. Did you know that?”

  I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that, so I keep my mouth shut, and instead, focus on getting Robert up the stairs without him falling over himself.

  “In fact,” he continues, “I think you’re the most…” He lets his voice trail off, shaking head. “You’re just it. That’s it. You’re it.” He turns his head so his nose grazes my cheekbone. “What do you think?”

  I smile, hoping the strain wasn’t too visible and that my blush can’t be seen. I just have to remind myself that he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying. He’s drunk, that’s all. “I think you’ve had too much to drink,” I say, and it is at this point that we reach the top. I thank God we got up without incident.

  “My father drank,” he says, and his voice is so incredibly sober that I have to look at him to ensure that he’s still drunk. He looks in front of him, down the hall where his master bedroom is located. “I don’t think my mom liked it too much.” He throws his head over to look at me. “You don’t like drinking do, you?”

  “If you’re up for it tomorrow, we can have this conversation then,” I tell him, making sure to inflect subtle firmness in my voice. “But right now, I think the best thing for you to do is to rest.”

  “Why do I even throw this fucking party?” he asks, and now it’s my turn to hear his own frustration in his voice. “You told me not to do it, didn’t you? I remember that. I remember that. I remember all of our fights, you know. We fight a lot. Why are you still here with me?”

  We make it to the bed by then, and I slowly sit Robert down on the edge. It takes me a moment to let everything said sink in.

  “Just because we fight doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you, Robert,” I say, heading over to one of his many dresser drawers in order to get him some pajamas. “And it’s not really fighting, we just disagree on many, many things.”

  I end up grabbing my favorite pajamas of his; they are simple flannel, a baby blue and white striped pair of pajamas that hangs loose on his frame. I know a lot about Robert’s clothing, especially his casual clothing. He doesn’t like wearing suits unless he has to or I tell him to, but he’s always walking around his house in pajama pants or sweat pants, especially when he’s inventing something or other in his basement laboratory. It’s one of the only homes in Southern California with a basement, but Robert has one because he’s not just a businessman, he invents a lot of his products. Many people underestimate him because of his playboy reputation, but the man is a genius.

  “You’re just saying that because I’m your boss,” he mumbles. His eyes are on me and though they’re a bit hazy, they are locked on me.

  I place the pajamas on his lap. “No, I’m not,” I say.

  “Promise?” he asks, perking his brow, and it breaks my heart to hear that extra desperation in his slurring voice.

  I smile, feeling my face flush for a reason I’m not exactly sure of. “I promise,” I tell him. “But you need to get dressed. Unless of course you want to pass out in the suit you’re wearing.”

  His smile is devilish and completely Robert. “Will you help me?” he asks.

  “No,” I reply. “You need to get changed, and I’m going to get you some things, okay?”

  Once he nods his assent, I head back down into the kitchen, knowing that I would be cleaning the mess up sooner or later. I grab a room-temperature glass of water, some aspirin, a damp cloth, and a bucket before heading back upstairs. Tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure to make him my hangover remedy because judging by the smell his puke is emitting, he’ll definitely need it.

  When I walk back into the room, I’m happy to see Robert completely changed into his pajamas, sitting on the bed where I left him. His drunkenness is taking a toll on him, though. His head is nodding and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. If I’m being honest, he kind of looks adorable in this moment.

  “Here,” I say, placing the bowl on the adjacent nightstand. I make sure he watches me place the glass of water and the aspirin down too, so when he needs it, he knows where it will be. “Now you need to get some rest, okay? Because tomorrow –”

  “Not pretty,” he finishes, nodding his head as he begins to lie down.

  After he gets comfortable, I take the damp towel and begin to dab his warm face, hoping the cool cloth soothes him. He closes his eyes, and for the first time that evening, I see him truly relax. And because of that, I smile. This is the Robert I like to be around.

  I start to pull my hand away from his face but he quickly reaches up and grabs my wrist, stopping me.

  “Stay,” he says, opening his eyes only a fraction.

  He doesn’t have to say it; Robert doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll stay, but only if you get to sleep. I’ve already made sure your fridge has all the necessary ingredients for my hangover concoction, and I’ll have it ready by the time you wake up.”

  By the time I finish with my sentence, he’s already asleep. I sigh. I smile. And I pick myself up, heading down the stairs. Not to leave, of course, but to start working on the mess on the main floor.

  What has started out as a long night is only going to get longer. Luckily, the
re’s extra aspirin if I need it – which I will – especially when I’ll have to deal with a very hungover Robert Swift the next morning. Well, I’ve known for a while that working for Robert Swift may require me to get dirty. I just didn’t think it would be this dirty.

  But looking back on it, I should have known better. Oh well.

  The things I do for that man.

  I suppose we’re even now, considering what he did for me on Christmas.

  But no. He still owes me. He never had to clean up my puke or anything that drastic.

  Chapter 11

  There’s a metaphorical ominous black cloud hanging over Swift Enterprises this Monday morning. I can’t explain why it’s there, but I know it is. I can feel it. I make sure to hold on extra tight to the gifts I’m carrying as I walk inside, fearful of tripping over something as simple as nothing and spilling everything everywhere, because it’s just that kind of feeling. And really, I highly doubt the recipients of these late holiday gifts would actually be appreciative of my sweet gesture if they see the glossy gifts take a tumble, especially since some of them are quite fragile.

  I step into one of the elevators and ride up to the second floor, where Harold’s office is. I have a gift for him and Melinda from both Robert and I – since Robert seems to have a knack for forgetting to give people gifts, save for me, of course – and then I see it: the black cloud wasn’t hanging over the building, she is inside the building, sitting down at her desk, typing something with her perfectly manicured fingers.

  Kim Harden, Dodgers fan and mega-female dog.

  Not that I will ever say that aloud, of course. I do make sure to maintain some professionalism, unlike certain black clouds in a skirt a tad too short for work.

  But whatever. I don’t want to be one of those girls. You know, the ones who are jealous of other women because they’re gorgeous with legs up to their necks and a flawless, natural tan, and lips any guy would probably die to kiss, not to mention the rockin’ bikini bod – as Kathy Griffin would say – hidden underneath name brand work attire that only flatter her figure, so why shouldn’t she wear a too-short dress when she has those killer legs?

  Okay, I need to calm down.

  “Madeline,” she says in a slow drawl.

  See, Kim is from Georgia and came to LA to find her dream of becoming a country superstar. Why she didn’t just go to Nashville like every other country singer, I can’t tell you, but I guess she gave that up in order to become a secretary to Harold Morris at Swift Enterprises. When she talks, she has that stupid twang that is totally annoying.

  “Kim,” I say in the same phony-sweet tone she used. “How was New York?”

  “Fabulous,” she replies. “You really should go Madeline. The city at night – it just lights up – really romantic. You know, if you have someone to see it with.” She smiles, and I know that she wants me to ask just who she spent the time with. As if. Like I care.

  “Oh, I’ve been to New York,” I tell her. “Robert has to go there every year for some technology convention. I know exactly what you mean.” Minus the whole seeing the city at night with the person you love part. Can someone like Kim even fall in love? Probably not. “Did it snow while you were there?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says, nodding her head. She takes a break from typing in order to grab some lotion that happens to be sitting on her desk and rubbing it on her hands. “But there’s so much to do there that it really doesn’t matter. I know you’re supposed to walk there to really experience what it’s like being a New Yorker, but I feel in that weather, they’ll forgive me for taking taxis everywhere.”

  “Right.” I suddenly remember what Robert told me on Christmas, and my annoyance with her temporarily vanishes. “Hey, so I heard you met James Morris, Harold’s son.”

  For whatever reason, she looks uneasy. Well, he probably found her as annoying as I do, but doesn’t have to put up with her every day and probably went off on her. If I could, I would probably do the same thing. She probably deserved it anyway.

  “So?” I prod. “How is he?”

  She’s chewing on her bottom lip now, looking away. Then, her whole face changes and she looks back into my eyes, smiling, as she responds with, “Fine.”

  Um, okay…

  “Well, is he nice? Writers seem to be very reclusive.”

  “He is nice.”

  “Is he, I don’t know, good-looking?”

  “He is good-looking.”

  Oh goodness, I do not have time for this. Is there a reason why she won’t go into details about James Morris? I wouldn’t be asking her these questions if I knew a little more about him, like what he looks like, and how he is as a person. Harold doesn’t even have a picture of him on his desk. And the only person who has met him won’t give me anything. She’s just mad because the Angels had a better year last year than the Dodgers did, and now she’s making me pay. Like it’s my fault her team sucks.

  See, this is why Kim and I just don’t mesh. I know we’re not BFFs or anything, but can’t she, for once in her life, throw some gossip my way?

  “Is Harold in?” I ask, deciding to give up trying to reason with her. Talking to Kim when she has no interest in talking to me is like nails on a chalkboard: painful and excruciating. And I seriously have no time for her bipolar attitude towards me. “I have gifts for him and Melinda from Robert and me.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get them to him,” Kim says. Apparently she remembers her vocabulary because she’s utilizing it now. Now, when I really don’t need anything more than a yes or a no.

  Carefully, I take the top two boxes and set them on Kim’s desk. I’m not worried she won’t do what she says she will. Kim may be a female dog, but she actually does care about her job and won’t try to screw that up by trying to aggravate me. I think she already knows she has.

  “So,” she says, once she sticks a post-it on the gifts with a note to Harold and Melinda. “I haven’t seen Robert in a few weeks. How is he?” And then she smiles, her rich, brown eyes sparkling almost suggestively.

  Yeah, like Robert would ever go for her.

  Well, okay, maybe he would, but still.

  I give her my own smile, pulling the rest of the gifts closer against my chest. My arms already feel the difference.

  “Oh, Robert?” I ask, tilting my head to the side for good measure. “He’s fine.”

  And with that, I walk back to the elevators. My exit is almost perfect; what prevents it from being so is the fact that I have to wait fifteen seconds for an elevator, but still. It’s practically perfect and I totally got her.

  I walk into Robert’s office, located on the seventh floor, with a smug smile on my face.

  “Someone looks like she just ate a canary,” Robert comments as I set the three remaining gifts on his desk. He looks quite handsome sitting in his chair in one of his expensive suits – this one grey and white – with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite it being just after nine o’clock in the morning.

  My smile only deepens because something like this rarely, if ever, happens to me. I never have a quick retort when I need one; they always come to me after the situation is done and over with.

  I level my gaze at him. I can’t help but wonder if he remembers anything he said on New Year’s. I mean, I’m hoping he doesn’t because I feel there are those moments where Robert and I are straddling that thin line of professionalism, even friendship, into…

  Well, into I don’t know what. Into I don’t want to think what.

  In a way, I’m kind of glad Robert puked that night. It gave me something to concentrate on after putting Robert to bed. Because if I didn’t have that, I would be thinking about what he said, overanalyzing every word, turning over every phrase, trying to read between the lines, looking for any hidden meanings. But luckily I was too focused on my task to even bother with ridiculous notions and wasteful ponderings over something, you know, I don’t want to think about.

  “So?” he asks. “Why do you look so… like me,
after I just – Oh my God, Maddy, did you get laid? I thought you didn’t like sex, that you weren‘t the type of girl who goes off and sleeps with whomever. Unless you have a secret boyfriend I don’t know about, which is impossible since I know everything about you.”

  There are so many things to respond to – though they really don’t deserve any sort of acknowledgment – that it takes me a moment before I say something.

  “First of all, Robert, not that it’s any of your business, but I actually happen to like sex,” I say, making sure I’m looking him in his eyes, despite the fact that I really don’t want to have this conversation with my boss. “But you’re right – I’m not the kind of girl that just sleeps around with any guy, but if I did, you couldn’t stop me because it’s my prerogative, and again, none of your business. I don’t have a secret boyfriend, and I highly doubt you know more about me than I know about me. And trust me, there are many things you don’t – and won’t – know about. So no, my smile has nothing to do with sex.”

  Robert gives me a long, lasting look, his eyes searching for something but I don’t know what. Then his lips quirk up and he gives me his patented grin. “You’d be surprised what I know about you,” he says and before I can say anything, he continues on. “So then what’s it for? Picturing me naked again?”

  I refrain from mentioning that I’ve seen him naked enough times that I don’t have to actually picture it. It’s kind of seared into my skull now. “You know,” I tell him. “My happiness doesn’t revolve around you. In fact – well, in a way, very directly – you are the cause of it, but I don’t care because –” Suddenly I stop myself and look around. “Well, I shouldn’t say anything. I mean, we are at work.”

  “Really?” he asks me in a flat tone. He stands up, sliding his hands in his pockets. “Maddy, do I have to recite my heartfelt you-can-tell-me-anything speech? Everything you tell me stays between you and me, okay? Whether we’re here at work, your house, my house, in the town car, on PCH, in the bedroom –”