“I one-upped Kim,” I say, needing to stop him before he gets too carried away, something he has a tendency to do. “And she totally deserved it too. Remember when you said that Kim met up with James Morris in New York? Well, she did, but when I asked her about him – like is he a nice guy, is he good-looking – she wouldn’t go into any details. They were legitimate questions, and she barely gave me a nibble! Can you believe how completely unreasonable she was being?”
“Gossiping?” Robert says, pushing up his brow. “At the office? Ms. Perkins, I am shocked, to say the least.”
Oh my goodness, he’s right. He’s right. If Kim had indulged my curiosities, we would have been gossiping. That’s probably why she got all quiet and unresponsive – she thought I was being completely unprofessional. Not only that, but she had something I wanted – knowledge of James Morris – and she got to withhold that using unprofessionalism as an excuse.
She got me. That witch got me. And she probably knows it too.
“Hey.” Before I realize it, he places his hands on my shoulders so I look him in the eyes. “I’m kidding, Maddy. If you want to gossip, gossip. You know, I’ve read studies that show gossip raises company morale. Here’s what we’ll do; our new company server homepage will be Perez Hilton. What do you say?”
I look at him in complete disbelief. “What?”
“And why do you want to know so much about James Morris? He’s a writer, he’s Morris’s son. There you go. That’s all you need to know, really. Is he nice? Is he attractive? Who cares? Except you, obviously, but why do you care?” And then he stops and looks at me.
He is so abrupt with his talking that I blink once and realize he actually expects me to answer.
And his hands are still on my shoulders.
I feel myself blush as he looks at me, so intently. Jeez, why does he care about my curiosity about James Morris? It’s not like it’s any of his business or anything.
“I don’t know,” I say. I’m upset that my mind isn’t quick enough to come up with something more logical, something that would explain my reaction to Kim’s avoidance answering my questions. But as I think about it, I realize that my interest doesn’t really have any substance. “I mean, Harold talks about him rarely and I know Melinda wants to know more about him. I just wanted to know who he is, is all. But you’re right. I shouldn’t ask during company time.”
“Maddy…” Robert sounds almost frustrated with me and his hands ungracefully drop to his side. This is another new characteristic for him in relation to me; I don’t remember when he’s been frustrated with me. Yeah, he’s been frustrated with someone or something else and then taken that frustration out on me, but he’s never been directly frustrated with me. I don’t like this either. “Don’t do this. Don’t turn this into some little thing where you’re trying to be perfect, okay? It’s okay to want to know about someone – even James Morris, who doesn’t seem interesting at all, by the way – and you shouldn’t worry about anything.”
I don’t know what to say so I say nothing. All I know is that he’s standing too close for me to think rationally.
He must have realized I want the subject to change because he takes a step back, looks to the side, and says, “So. How’s Jewel? Is she still sick?”
“I think so,” I murmur. I wish my voice is louder, firmer, but I can’t muster it up. My mind seems heavy, but I can’t sift through the thoughts. “I talked to her last night and I know she isn’t coming in today. Maybe tomorrow, but for sure by Wednesday.”
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you…” He lets his voice trail off and I look at him, knowing by the tone of his voice that I won’t be happy with what he has to say. “Yeah, well, you know me and you know that in my position of power, I’m apt to hear certain things, certain rumors, which may or may not be true. Right. So over the holidays, I’ve been hearing from more than a few people that sometime between Christmas Eve, after the party, and now, Ethan McCoy has found some woman – most probably a hussy – that he’s more or less shacked up with. Like a sugar mama kind of thing, minus the ever-prevalent cougar factor.”
“Shit.”
The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. Luckily it’s so soft that even I barely hear it, but Robert seems attuned to me so his ears pick it up. Instead of teasing me about my curse word, he takes a step forward – back to where he was originally – and captures my eyes without even trying, really.
“It’ll be okay, Madeline.”
“Are you kidding me? I messed everything up. And before you say it, I know, okay? You told me this would just blow up in my face and it did.”
“I would never tell you that.” He seems so serious that I flinch. Slightly. “Hey.” He reaches out and cups my cheek in his hand – it’s callused and warm and I hope he doesn’t realize that I’m leaning into it just a little bit. “Jewel will realize what a douchebag Ethan McCoy is. Don’t look at it as a failure, Maddy, think of it as a learned lesson. And this way, Jewel can find who it is she’s really supposed to be with.”
I blink and then I blink again. Did that just come out of Robert Swift’s mouth? Robert, the self-proclaimed bachelor for life who has no interest in falling in love and doesn’t believe in the concept of soul mates?
“Robert –” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Actually Maddy, I have to talk to you about something.” He pauses and lets his hand fall from my face back down to my side. My cheek is suddenly cold. “About what happened between us on New Year’s. The conversation we had. What we talked about. What I said.”
“Robert, really,” I say. “Really. We don’t have to talk about that. What happened, happened, and that’s it. There’s nothing else. Nothing changed between us –”
“See, that’s just it, because I think that maybe –”
“– and we can just, you know, continue on. Colleagues and friends.”
I really don’t want to talk about New Year’s. I don’t want him to apologize for saying those ridiculous things, that he was drunk, that everything he said might not have been true. Because I know they’re not. But that doesn’t mean I want him to say it. I just want to remember them, savor them, think about them when I have a particularly bad day. Not that I would ever let myself get carried away with them, but it’s nice to hear that someone thinks you’re beautiful. Especially if that someone is Robert Swift.
I just don’t want Robert to ruin this for me. I already have enough on my plate, what with having to tell Jewel about how Ethan drooled on my face and now he has some chick – and I have to tell her before she finds out from someone else – and the fact that a couple of tabloids got some pictures from that New Year’s party and ran them without permission, that I need those simple statements Robert uttered in a drunken stupor in order to hang onto my already thin sanity.
“Colleagues and friends,” he says, emotionless, almost skeptical.
“Colleagues and friends,” I assure him. “Now, is there anything you want to add to the card for Harry and Emma? I’m planning on giving them their gifts this afternoon. Megan’s is on the bottom, so make sure you check them out, okay? I have to schedule a couple of things, and have a chat with a couple paparazzi. If you need me, call.”
I leave because I’m a selfish coward. But I feel Robert watching me the entire way out.
Chapter 12
This is it.
Currently, I am sitting across from a newly-healthy Jewel at Johnny Rockets, a delicious fifties-themed restaurant that has the best egg salad sandwich, the best French fries, and the best shakes ever. I figure if Jewel can get a good chocolate shake fix, maybe breaking the news about Ethan won’t be as bad as I think. You never know.
We, of course, make the cute little chit chat that close friends do when they haven’t seen each other for a while. How is she? She’s fine, thanks for asking. I’m fine as well. It probably should be noted that I have yet to mention my encounters with Robert on Christmas Day and New Year’s in detail – I don
’t want anyone speculating what it may or may not mean, especially since I refuse to do so. And really, this lunch isn’t about me and this new, mysterious dimension in my relationship with Robert; it’s about Jewel and what a douche Ethan McCoy is. Plus, she already mentioned how cute my necklace is and I mentioned that Robert made it for me. So really, I’ve pretty much informed her without really informing her.
That’s right. I said douche. Because that’s what he is. And it’s not an opinion anymore. It’s a fact. So it’s really not a bad word when it’s the truth. Like calling a female dog a bitch – a female dog is a bitch. Although, even I have to admit the word seems kind of harsh.
“I need to tell you something,” I say as Jewel takes another sip of her shake from the red and white striped straw.
Jewel perks her brow but can’t really say anything since the cool drink is melting in her mouth.
Okay, I can do this. I have to do this.
I take a deep breath. “You’re not going to like it, Jewel,” I murmur. I really am trying to look her in the eyes at a constant rate in order to show that what I’m saying is true and therefore sincere. But it’s hard when she’s looking back at me with those big, soulful eyes, completely clueless about her impending heartbreak.
“Am I fired?” she asks me.
Apparently I’ve let many moments pass, which of course has just increased her worry.
“No, no, no, no,” I say, shaking my head. “No, of course not. You’re a godsend, Jewel. I’m not planning on firing you. Heck no.” I inhale sharply but force the words out. “It’s about Ethan. You remember Ethan McCoy? Well, I was totally wrong about him, Jewel. The guy is major entitled scum. He thinks he’s better than everybody else and that he deserves the moon when, really, he should probably fall into a black hole. Because that’s what he has for a heart, Jewel. A black hole.”
“What’s happened?” she asks in a soft voice, and I can see her face pale right before my eyes.
I stuff a French fry into my mouth for courage and wash it down with my own glass of water before I feel capable of continuing. Goodness, I hate confrontation, especially when the reason for it is all my fault.
“Ethan McCoy…” Come on, Perkins. You’ve got to do this. For Jewel. “Ethan McCoy… At the Christmas Eve party, the one you were sick for, Ethan tried to kiss me. I slapped him, of course, because I’m totally not even remotely interested in him. Hello. He knows you’re my close friend. And he was upset by that. Now, Robert heard that he got together with some woman who’s way rich and probably has, like, no personality.
“Oh, Jewel. I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I didn’t want to tell you until you were feeling better, but I’m afraid I’ve made everything worse. Can I do anything?”
I’ve left out the part that really portrays Ethan as the douchebag he is – the part where he says he’s better than Jewel and therefore can’t even fathom being with her. I think what I’ve said is enough, especially considering the look on her face is already heartbreaking. I don’t want to go into any more detail that will serve no purpose other than to insult her. There’s no need for that. But surprisingly, Jewel hasn’t started crying like I planned. I suppose the box of tissues I brought with me is unnecessary. Unless she’s holding the tears in, which can do so much damage internally, to her psyche.
“Madeline, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” she says, her voice obviously in pain. “This isn’t your fault. I suppose Ethan just wasn’t as interested as we believed him to be.”
“Are you all right?” I ask slowly. I know it’s probably the dumbest question on the face of the planet, but right now, my mind is too jumbled to help me come up with something better to ask.
“No,” she tells me, and even though I’ve been expecting the answer, even though it’s an honest answer, I still feel this desire to make her feel better, to take all the pain away, to crush Ethan McCoy in some way. Maybe I could talk to Robert.
“But I will be,” she continues on and then she forces a smile.
I didn’t realize just how strong and how classy Jewel Baker is. Here she is, a victim of a heartless crime against her very soul, and she’s already looking for the positive. I mean, even she admits that she still hurts, but maybe her recovery from this speed bump will be faster than even I have anticipated.
I can learn something from Jewel, I realize.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggest, and before she can argue – though I highly doubt she will – I ask, “How was your time off? I know you were sick, but did you catch up on Drop Dead Diva?”
We both share a love for Brooke Elliot as the sassy lawyer on the show. She reminds me of a curvier Elle Woods, who, by the way, is one of my heroes.
“Almost,” she tells me. “Actually, I did have an interesting encounter with Henry Samson. You remember him, the guy from IT? Well, I went to get some soup because my throat was scratchier than I can stand, and you’ve noticed that there’s been quite a few storms right? Well, when I left, I decided to walk since Bernie’s is two blocks away and I didn’t want to waste the gas. Then the sky decided to rain while I was inside so when I came out, it was pouring and I’m already sick. So there I am, standing in the doorway of Bernie’s, holding the bag with my soup, wondering if maybe I should call a cab or make a run for it. I don’t want to waste any money, but then again, I don’t want to get sicker than I already am. I mean, I’ve missed out on so much work.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “You’re good,” I reassure her. “It’s like you arranged to be sick during the holidays. Very clever, Jewel Baker.”
With both share a laugh, but the light hasn’t come back in those blue eyes.
Darn Ethan McCoy.
“Right,” she says once we’ve finished. “Well at that moment, Henry Samson walks up with quite a big umbrella. When he sees me, he asks where I’m going, and I tell him. He asks me how I’ve been, since he heard I was sick. And then he offered to walk me home when he noticed I didn’t have an umbrella with me. Of course I told him that that was unnecessary, but he insisted that Bernie’s would have soup now or an hour so it didn’t really make a difference when he got some. And then he walked me home, making sure I was all the way under his umbrella even though he got wet in some places. And he was wearing such a nice suit.”
She smiles again, and this time, there is a light that flickers only momentarily. But it’s there.
“Can you believe that?” she asks, fixing her eyes on me. “Henry Samson was so nice – a real gentleman – even after I turned him down. Seeing him there with an umbrella no less, that has to mean something, doesn’t it? Cosmically, I mean?”
And now she’s looking at me with those big doe eyes, waiting for me to say something. But how am I supposed to know the answer to that question?
“Well, yes, I guess you could look at it that way,” I say, my mind racing. “Henry Samson comes to your rescue in the rain. But you could also think that maybe this act – serendipitous, for sure – was just meant to restore your faith in men. Even though you didn’t know about Ethan McCoy until this moment when I told you, you can look back on your moment with Henry Samson and realize that not all men are dogs, you know? Did he ever see Inception?”
“He did,” Jewel says, smiling more. “We had a very lengthy discussion about it while he was walking me home.” She stops herself and tilts her head to the side. “So you just think that my meeting Henry at that moment was just to restore my faith in men and not something more…?”
“I can’t speak for the universe, Jewel,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure jumping into a new relationship with someone so soon after learning that the guy you were into has hurt you the way Ethan has is the smartest thing. I think that maybe you should give it a few weeks and see how you are then. Because, you know, if you aren’t over Ethan, you could accidentally hurt Henry, and I know you wouldn’t want to do that.”
“No,” Jewel says. She shakes her head, appearing to be deep in thought
. “You’re right, Madeline. Goodness, you’re so smart when it concerns matters of the heart. Thank you.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling myself blush. “Don’t thank me for anything.” Especially where it concerns Ethan McCoy. “So how are your fries? Aren’t they the best ever?”
It’s raining and I’m late. Robert decided to wait until eight thirty this morning to ask me to get him some coffee from the Starbucks across the street from Swift Enterprises. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from inquiring why he can’t just do it himself because it’s kind of my job to do things like this for him, but I do tell him it’s raining and as such, I’ll probably be a little late.
So here I am, standing in line at Starbucks, soaked because Robert’s phone call threw me for such a loop that I forgot to bring my umbrella with me. And I’m wearing a white collared shirt. It’s like I’m entering a corporate wet t-shirt contest or something, which is not what I want to be known for.
Robert has his quirks, but for the most part, he’s a typical guy and likes his coffee black. Obviously though, he’s pretty picky about where that black coffee is from. I never thought there was any difference – it’s just black coffee – but apparently, or at least in Robert’s mind, the difference is astronomical.
I get myself a hot chocolate because I’m cold and – oh my goodness, I pray that my nipples aren’t center stage, but I don’t think so because I’m wearing my Fredrick’s of Hollywood bra, but that means the royal blue is definitely showing through the white and I am so screwed – once both drinks are ready, I hightail it out of there. Except I’m going so fast that I slip on my way outside. Instead of face-planting the concrete, I crash into somebody, spilling coffee and hot chocolate everywhere, which means all over myself.
Shoot.
“Are you all right?” someone asks me and I realize that it’s the poor man I’ve crashed into.
He’s actually good-looking, I realize. He’s tall, maybe six feet tall, with really pretty blue eyes and a narrow face. His hair color is dirty blond and has a rosy complexion, his fair skin complementing his eyes quite well, if I do say so myself. His body is lean and tight, with broad shoulders and nice arms. He isn’t as muscular as Robert is, but he is taller, so I suppose that that equalizes everything. Or at least in my mind it does. He’s dressed nicely, in a white collared shirt and black slacks, and he has an umbrella so up until the point where I bumped into him, he was dry.
Four Sides of a Triangle: An Austen & Cufflinks Novel (The Austen & Cufflinks Series Book 1) Page 11
