by Clover Hart
Right?
He turns to me, his gaze darker than I’ve ever seen it. Anger — it’s got to be anger after all the time and energy he put into training me. FCT could’ve gone with another HR person and they’d have been much better off.
I hold up a hand before he can lay into me. For some reason, the words start to burn their way out of my throat, as if they’re being squeezed. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m going to take off and leave you in the lurch. I wouldn’t leave until I finished my business degree. I’m just planning ahead like you taught me.”
He lifts his chin as if I’ve slapped him, not playfully like I’ve done in private, but for real. Then his gaze cools, as if something has turned over in him. “You’re right. I agree with everything you said.”
Of course he does.
I swallow. “So we’re square then.” Why does my voice have to break like that? My life is about to get so much easier now that we’ve clarified everything.
“We’re square.”
I need some lightheartedness. “So the next time we see each other in Hana Sushi, we’ll sit at separate tables?”
He nods, and a lightning strike of pain splits me. He was supposed to say that we’ll be fine, that we can still go to actual business lunches and talk to each other like normal people.
For a second, it seems like he’s got something else to say. His gaze is still dark as he looks at me, and I’m the one who glances away this time. I feel empty, and I don’t know why, because this couldn’t have ended more smoothly.
As he turns and walks away without another word, I’m more determined than ever to get out of this town — and to get away from Barry Aaronson most of all.
Chapter 23
Barry
I shut myself into my McModern for the rest of the day, not wanting to talk to anyone. When my dad calls to give me his monthly lecture about how I’m wasting my time with such a fuckdoodle job, I ignore the voicemail and sit in front of the TV in my huge, IKEA-decorated living room, hearing the cheers from a basketball game bounce throughout the many rooms.
Soon, I start getting resentful about just sitting here. Why should I let Penny shut me in when she shut me out? I can’t stand being alone with my thoughts, so I grab my phone and start walking, and I don’t stop. Not until I find someplace that can serve me a bracing drink. Then maybe I’ll think about what happened with the girl who has so thoroughly bent my life out of the great shape it used to be in.
I walk so far that I finally arrive at Rainier Street. The Acentric Alchemist is across from Hana Sushi, and as customers flow through the restaurant’s doors, I give the place a cold glance and enter the reopened craft cocktail lounge. Spanish tiles and iron are all over the place, including the off-centered chandelier that looms over everything. I take a seat at the empty bar. It’s dead except for some moody music that makes me even more cantankerous.
I take out my phone and idly yet aggressively spin it on the tiled counter as someone stands across from me. If they tell me it’s too early for a drink, I’m going to nail them to the wall with just a look.
“It seems you could use something contento,” says a smoky voice.
I glance up to find a tall, slim brunette behind the bar. She’s no big shakes except for a few things: her hair is long and layered with soft curls. Her eyes are liquid dark and her red lips look like they could suck a square peg through a round hole. She’s also wearing a tight sleeveless vest, even though the nearby mountains outside are still tipped with snow.
My libido doesn’t even flicker at the sight of her. Thanks for that, Penny. “Do you have some kind of magic potion that’ll make your customers happy?”
“This is what I do,” she says, lifting her hands. “Trust Valeria.” Valeria narrows her gaze at me with an inviting smile. “The bartender is late today, but I’m the mixologist here. I’ll take care of that scowl in no time.”
In the fine establishments I used to visit before I ended up in Cherry fuckin’ Valley, there was a difference between the employees who served drinks and those who whipped up the potions for the cocktails. There was a social order, or even any order to things. Thank God the Alchemist is back.
As Valeria goes about gathering ingredients, I suddenly recall that Penny once mentioned that there’s a Spanish mixologist at the Alchemist who sleeps with all of Penny’s guys. A cruel smile starts to take me over, but then it disappears. I don’t want to be one of Penny’s creeps. Then again, I’m definitely not dating Penny, so would it matter if I added my name to Valeria’s list?
Yeah, it’d matter to me. Man, Penny has messed me up.
“You’re not from around here,” I say, just to cover the near silence.
“I’m fairly new in town, and I didn’t even mind staying here, helping to repair the water damage to this place. I was attending school in Marloe before I was hired, and I decided to settle here afterward. I like Cherry Valley.”
You allegedly like the boyfriends here a whole lot more, I think. “What’re you making me?”
“It’s called You’re So Money. Because aren’t you?”
I’m about to be rich because of FCT. And I’m damned sure worth something. I’m also a swinger. I shrug.
Valeria cocks an eyebrow at me, as if she could get annoyed with my what-the-fuck-ever mood really quickly. “It’s a simple drink, but it should cheer you with some Sazerac Rye Whiskey, fresh muddled ginger, simple syrup, and lime.”
“I must really look like I need cheering.”
She nods, but she keeps her distance. Maybe she only poaches men who don’t give a damn about feelings and shit.
“Usually when I’m irritated,” I say, “I don’t head straight for a bar.” I used to tell Zach all about my issues, and he would just remind me to shake them off, because I’m good at doing that. The fact that I can’t say a word to him about Penny alienates me even more.
Valeria pours the drink over crushed ice and slides the glass toward me on a napkin. Then she leans on the bar, flashing some cleavage, just in case I might change my mind and pep up, I suppose. I toss down some liquor and wallow in the burn. She backs away and busies herself by arranging bottles.
“Feeling better?” she asks.
“The drink’s great. Life? Not so much.”
“It’s a woman. It always is.”
I officially become a downer. “I finally get up the nerve this morning to tell her how I feel, and then she tells me that everything meant nothing and that she wants to move away.” I shake my head. “Fuck, it hit me like one of those thunderclaps this town is famous for, the kind that pierces you.”
“You don’t have the first broken heart around here, and you won’t have the last.”
“I’ve got a broken heart?”
She lifts an eyebrow at my idiocy, then looks kind of bored by everything else. She definitely isn’t into mopes.
“A broken heart.” I turn that over in my mind. “You know, I wouldn’t have one if I wasn’t such a moron for getting caught up in her when she doesn’t even feel the same way and when she wants to leave town.” I take another drink, then gesture toward Valeria with the glass. “But who wouldn’t want to leave Cherry Valley? I encouraged her to do that.” And I was a boob for forgetting that and thinking I might be able to change Penny’s mind because Zach and I gave her a job and I liked her.
Shit, I really liked her.
I drain the rest of my drink, and I realize Valeria has already started to make me another one.
“I can’t blame her in the end,” I say. “Why would she even go for a sarcastic asshole like me when she could find some gentile with blond hair who could give her a great life in an actual city?”
Valeria gives me the next drink. “Sometimes the city isn’t all it’s meant to be. Believe me.”
Before she can give me her story, a guy in a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt shows up behind the bar, sending her a wary smile. This must be the bartender I was supposed to be harassing with my broken heart
instead of the mixologist. When Valeria starts walking past him and crooks her finger for him to follow her into the backroom, I’ll bet it’s so she can read him the riot act for being late and sticking her with the sob story of the year who’s sitting at the bar.
I don’t give a flying fuck about that, though. Penny might’ve thoroughly zoned me this morning, but I’m not going to be a sob story for long. I ice over my poor, fragile little feelings and grab my phone, bringing up a dating app.
After all, I’ve got a reputation to maintain.
Chapter 24
Penny
Monday was bound to come, and even if I was hoping for a miracle that would cancel Monday forever, it’s here.
I’m at my desk early, holding my breath and waiting for Barry to arrive. He’s late, and we’ve just gotten word that one of FCT’s big investors is dropping by unexpectedly, so everyone is in a dither. When Barry gets here, he passes by my office so fast that all I see is a flash of messy dark hair, a black designer sport coat, jeans, and sneakers. He’s already busting orders down the hallway.
“Zach! This place looks like the Iron Giant took a dump on it!”
Everything goes a little quieter out there, as if the employees just started tiptoeing. If I needed evidence that Barry is and always will be difficult, here it is. Maybe, deep down, he is a decent guy, but Nice Barry seems to have been swallowed by Crabby Barry once again. Maybe his family made him angry this morning. It could be that he doesn’t react well to surprise investors popping into town, although I don’t think that’s the case, because Barry handles business like a total boss. Either way, we’re doomed.
I ease out from behind my desk and silently begin to clean up my office, just so he doesn’t get on my case. We’ve got a night staff who tidies up, and to my eye things are fine, but Barry is clearly nitpicking.
When I’m done, I sneak into the hallway to see if anything needs straightening out there. Unfortunately, Barry has just come out of his office, too.
His expression doesn’t change. His tee only boasts a harsh, unreadable swipe of blue over it. I tense up in front of him.
“Penny,” he says without any inflection, “if you’re not busy, we need someone to run down to Screaming Beans and grab some pies. We want something for Cameron Brady when she gets here.”
“Sure.” I test him with a professional smile. “Might as well impress her with the best Cherry Valley has to offer.” Word has it that Barry loves the cherry pie at Screaming Beans, if nothing else.
Without further comment, he hands me a slick, black credit card, then walks away.
So this is how it’s going to be, with us really keeping our distance. But I get it. Barry’s all business, and that comes first. Yet even as I rationalize, I feel empty.
I put on my coat and trudge down the street to the coffeehouse. When I return with two bags of pies, the stress meter in the office has gone up about ten notches. Kayla, who looks so polished behind the reception desk, blinks at me.
“I hate today,” she loud-whispers. “Barry and Zach are spitting at each other like alley cats. I guess this visitor is really something.”
“Cameron Brady is a whiz kid.” But from what I’ve previously read about her online, she’s not all that scary. She seems fairly down-to-earth, and she’s around the same late-twenties age as Barry and Zach. But those boys don’t like to be caught off guard, so that’s why we’re at Level Orange.
“I only wish I had enough Motrin to give everyone in there,” Kayla says as I grab my sacks and venture in.
Everyone I encounter in the hallway gives me the same look — I can’t wait until this is over. But are they thinking about this visit or Barry’s ultra-intense frame of mind?
How am I going to get by with him, though? I formulate a plan. I’ll move like a black ops sniper to the conference room where I will quickly unload the pies. Then I’ll rendezvous in the kitchen to pick up the plates, napkins, and plastic utensils that I know are stored in the cupboards. I’ll make sure the pie is sliced and the coffee is brewing, then stand by in my office for Cameron Brady’s grand entrance.
I don’t know where Barry is, so I creep into the conference room and set the bags on the long table. His framed pictures of the Bay Area stare back at me, and all I want to do is get out of their sight. I very quietly unpack the pies. An eerie silence has fallen outside. Either everything is now in tip-top shape and Barry approves or …
When he bursts into the room with incredible purpose, I flinch. Then I try to relax and continue unpacking.
He’s staring at the bag I’m unloading. “What is this?”
“The pies you told me to get?”
“No, I’m actually asking if I’m seeing into a parallel dimension where only you exist, and every hour there equals a second here.”
I … don’t know what to say. As something in my chest curls up, I finally think of a response. “Are you saying that I’m moving much too slowly for your tastes?”
“That was the intended message.”
Uh, who’s got their cactus fully on? I nominate the dick who’s standing there with such a needled frown. “Excuse me. I didn’t realize my HR duties included waitressing. If that was the case, maybe I should be compensated for that, too. And maybe you should’ve made certain that I could serve up pie at warp speed.”
“This is the farthest from warp speed imaginable. Cameron Brady will be here in five minutes, and you’re moving like a glacier with no global warming in sight.”
I shove a pie box aside. “Then I guess that’d make me the tortoise to your hare.”
His frown only deepens.
“Remember that kids’ story?” My temper is simmering and only getting hotter. Screw Crabby Barry. “You know, the one where the tortoise and the hare have a race, and the hare is so cocky that he keeps messing around while the tortoise keeps moving toward the finish line? If you’ll recall, the hare lost, basically because he didn’t know that slow gets the job done.”
Barry has his arms crossed over his chest.
And … I’m still going. “Also, you might’ve heard that the hare is a total asshole.”
If the air was thick with bad feelings before, it’s now a stew. Barry is glaring at me, and I’m thinking that I went too far, even if he deserved it. But did he deserve it enough for me to put my job at risk?
I glance out at the hallway and no one is there, thank God, so I straighten up and take out another pie box from the bag. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to put it so strongly.”
When he runs his fingers through his hair this time, it’s with such agitation that I want to forgive him for being this way. A cactus is a cactus, and this one has extra sharp spines.
He starts to leave, then stops himself. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Then he leaves.
Wow. I think that was an apology, and I suppose it’s the best that a hard case like Barry can manage.
Chapter 25
Barry
Today was a real bitch, and I have to admit that I was one, too. That’s why it’s such a relief to leave everything back in Cherry Valley after work and drive all the way to the bright lights of Marloe.
As far as cities go, it’s not San Francisco or New York. It’s more like a fledgling attempt at a city with a cluster of generic skyscrapers and mounds of decent restaurants strung along the new sidewalks. Everything looks very McModern, so I can live with Marloe, but I’m not here to stroll around and breathe in the exhaust from the cars on the nighttime street. I’m in a cocktail lounge that looks like it should’ve been on the set of a James Bond film, with sophisticated blue-tinged lighting, white furniture, and expensive martinis.
I’m waiting at the bar with my phone out, looking at a picture of tonight’s distraction on my dating app — a blonde city girl with a master’s degree who’s wearing a tight black dress and heels. You heard me right. Heels. Turns out I don’t want to leave them behind after all. What a woman wears is important, so fuck feelings and
the country girl who made me feel them. I’m all about the wardrobe from now on.
Even so, as my martini arrives and I take a sip of the damned fine premium liquor, I can’t stop picturing Penny in those red high heels from our first night. I can’t stop thinking about those boots she wears or the Puritan’s Special office dresses or the long bob cut that made her beautiful red hair even more beautiful.
Hell, no, not thinking of Penny. Not going to waste my time when she’s not even interested. In fact, she’s beyond not interested. We’ll be lucky if we don’t tear each other’s heads off by the end of the week, and that’s why I’m here: to let off some steam. I’m going to make these balls of mine a little less blue and get back to being the opposite of the guy who showed up to work today. That guy sucked — he was ornery and bummed out — and even though I got everything whipped into shape for Cameron Brady’s successful short-notice visit, my employees deserve better from me.
“Barry?”
I hear a woman’s voice over the softly playing jazz music, and I look up from my phone to see a carbon copy of the dating profile. Blonde, brown-eyed, and a body that’s been doing some Prana Power Yoga. Her dress is as white as her smile, and her heels are just what the love doctor ordered.
I greet her, then get out of my seat and help her onto a barstool. She’s just as attractive as she is in her picture, and I should be stoked. But so far, nothing’s happening to the old beef whistle in my pants. She smells like expensive perfume — flowers, citrus, smooth, Chanel No. 5 — but it’s not coconut. And her hair’s not red.
“Martini?” I ask after I’ve sat down again.
“Cosmopolitan, please.”
I should’ve known she’d like cosmos. They aren’t cherry ciders, but they’re just as girly. And I like girls, dammit. I love them. Any and all of them, and thoughts of Penny won’t ruin this date for me.
