by T. K. Leigh
He grabs my biceps, his eyes imploring. “I know I fucked up. I knew it the second I walked into the guest room of my beach house and saw you wearing that stunning two-piece. That entire weekend, there were so many times I considered telling you the truth. Because I had started falling for you. Even in those early days. For the first time in my life, I wanted somebody to know every part of me. The good. The bad. The ugly. You know my ugly. The reason I am August Laurent is because of that ugly.”
“Tell me this, Julian…” My voice wavers as my next question remains on the tip of my tongue, my throat closing up at what his response will most likely be. “When you approached me with your proposition, did you only do so because you knew I was on the hunt for August Laurent?”
He briefly closes his eyes, hanging his head as he drops his hold on me. “I wasn’t planning on calling you as August Laurent that Monday after our first dinner. I was just going to let it go. But I found myself forming feelings for you. And I liked the idea that I could help you get promoted. So I picked up the phone and did the one thing I swore I’d never do. I called a journalist who was hoping to do a story about me.”
“Did you not even stop to think about what this would do to my career?” I shriek, pacing in front of him. “All along, I honestly thought I did something right to get the elusive August Laurent to agree to an interview when he’s refused everyone else for years. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could prove everyone wrong and show them I am good at what I do. But all along, the only reason August Laurent agreed was because Julian Gage wanted to get into my pants!”
“That’s not true. That’s not the only reason.” He advances toward me, but I step away.
“Oh really? If I weren’t the one sitting at that coffee shop trying to get a lead on August Laurent, if it were someone else, would you have reached out to them?” I lean into him, my nostrils flaring and fists clenched as I wait for his answer. “If I hadn’t shared my frustrations over the direction of the story, would you have granted me access to some of your clients?”
He averts his eyes. His silence is the only confirmation I need.
I push past him once more and hail a cab, keeping my back turned. I can’t stomach the sight of him, of the visible reminder I’m not enough, that I never would have gotten this far with this story, with this promotion, if he hadn’t made it so.
When a cab pulls up, I go to pull the passenger door open.
“I love you, Guinevere!”
I stop in my tracks, choking out a sob at his admission. I’ve waited months for him to finally say those three beautiful words. I pictured him sweeping me into his arms, showering me with kisses as he declared his love for the first time. Instead, it tastes of desperation, one final act to make me stay.
“That’s the truth. That hasn’t changed. You taught me that. You. That has to count for something.”
“Maybe. But you know what you taught me?” I look over my shoulder at him, but he doesn’t answer. “That being spontaneous comes at a cost, one I’m no longer willing to pay.” I hold his gaze for a moment, watching as the snow falls around him.
“I’m ready to give it all up for you. All of it.” His voice is strained and wrought with emotion.
I bite my bottom lip to stop my chin from quivering. “I wish I could believe you. I just don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Goodbye…whoever you are.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Are you certain this is the direction you want to take?” Viv looks at me from over her horn-rimmed glasses.
I rub my clammy hands along my pants, glancing out the window of her office. The city is dark, despite it only being three in the afternoon. A downpour soaks Manhattan, the weather matching my mood.
“Like I said, I’ve given this serious consideration over the past few weeks. I didn’t get the story because of my talent or tenacity. I got it because…” I trail off as I attempt to compose myself. The last thing I need is for Viv to see how the truth of who Julian is has affected me. “Because I had a personal relationship with my…subject, although it was unbeknownst to me at the time. That still doesn’t change anything.” I straighten my spine, rebuilding the wall around my heart. “I would have never gotten remotely close to landing that story had he not had a personal interest in me. You should choose your new assistant editor based on their talent, not luck…or the fact that the subject hoped to get something out of our agreement.”
Telling Viv I no longer want to be considered for assistant editor has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, but it’s necessary. I could never accept a promotion I didn’t earn.
When she doesn’t respond, I stand, heading toward the door.
“Do you honestly believe that?”
I turn around. “What do you mean?”
She removes her glasses, chewing on the end of the frames. “That you didn’t get the interview with Mr. Laurent based on talent.”
“Of course I do, Viv. I dated him without realizing it. He admitted he—”
“I understand that. But do you really think people agree to be the subject of a story based on the goodness of their heart?”
I step away from the door, sucking in my lower lip. “What are you saying?”
She stands from behind her desk and walks toward me, her mouth formed in a tight line. “I’ve been in this industry for more years than I care to admit. It’s one of the toughest jobs out there, especially for a woman. No matter what you do, how much you try to present yourself as serious, there are times when you’ll only get the interview if you turn on the charm, if you make them think there’s a chance of something…more.”
“I didn’t just make him think there was a chance of something more. I gave him something more. And then some.”
“No. You gave that to Julian, not August.”
“I still didn’t get the story based on my talent alone, regardless of whether the man I slept with was Julian or August. I didn’t plan for it to happen this way.”
“Evie…” She runs her hands down my arms. “Life sometimes doesn’t go as planned. It’s how we handle the unexpected that determines our strength. Do you go on to fight another day? Or do you give up because it’s too hard?”
“I’m not giving up,” I mumble.
“No?” She spreads her arms. “Then what do you call this? So you were lied to. It doesn’t lessen your ability to do your job and do it well.”
“But I’d know the truth.” I point to myself, my jaw tensing. “If I continued on and, by some miracle, you gave me the promotion, every time I walked into that office and saw my name on the nameplate, assistant editor below it, I’d question whether I earned it. I need to know I earned it. I’d never…” I stop short. I can’t tell her the other reason. That every time I walked into that office, I’d be reminded of Julian. Ever since I learned the truth over two weeks ago, I vowed to erase him from every aspect of my life. That includes my work life, too.
“I’ve always known you were stubborn,” she says when I don’t finish my thought. “I just didn’t realize you were stupid, too.” She spins and grabs a large envelope off her desk, shoving it at me.
“What’s this?”
“An early proof of the February issue. It’s not final yet, but it has the feature story and the layout you designed. Figured you’d want to see the fruits of all your hard work.”
“Oh.”
She crosses her arms. “Yeah. Oh.”
After several long moments pass and she doesn’t say anything further, I take it as my cue to leave.
“You’re damn good at what you do, Evie,” she offers as I reach the doorway. “You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished, regardless of how you did so.”
I glance over my shoulder and smile, wishing I could be as proud of myself as it appears Viv is. I walk out of her office, returning to my cubicle and the only thing that makes me feel grounded in a world that seems to have fallen to pieces around me. I pull my new planner out of my de
sk drawer and make new plans…better plans. Happier plans.
But it still doesn’t heal the gaping hole in my heart. I wonder if anything will.
“Coming to Nora’s to help her decide on centerpieces?”
When I hear Chloe’s voice, I pull my attention away from my planner, which is now covered with decorative stickers and color-coded based on my itinerary for the day. I’ve even started making daily, weekly, and monthly goals for the next three months. It makes me feel like I’m slowly regaining control of my life, like I will move on from this little hiccup.
“The hotel…” She focuses on my desk, then snatches the planner off the surface. “What in the holy hell is this?”
“You know what it is.” I tear it away from her, hugging it to my chest like a baby would a security blanket. “It’s my planner. A new planner. For new plans.”
“Oh, I know that. But what is it doing out here?”
“Nothing.” I hold my head high. “I just like being organized. I dropped the ball the past few months and am now suffering the consequences. Life is better when it’s planned. No surprises. So that’s what I’m doing. Making a new plan for the new year.”
“Does this new plan include finally growing a pair and talking to Julian? I’m not sure how many more bouquets of roses we can fit into the apartment before the city zoning committee tries to evict us for running a floral shop out of a residence. Or are you planning on ignoring him forever?”
“I’m not ignoring him,” I answer calmly. “I just have absolutely nothing to say to him. Eventually, he’ll move on. He’ll go back to being August Laurent, screwing whatever rich socialite calls him that month, and forget I even exist.”
She considers my words for a moment, then sits on the spare chair. “But will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Move on? Forget about him?”
“Yes. I have a plan.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. And what does that entail?”
Flipping my new and improved planner open to the correct page, I push it toward her, keeping a protective stare on her the entire time to ensure she doesn’t do something crazy.
“What is this?”
“New requirements for a potential partner.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. Goals are important. Of course, I set the bar a little lower than I did when I first did this in high school. I’m thirty. Most women are twenty-seven when they marry, and the men are twenty-nine. So I can’t be as selective as I was twelve years ago. Ideally attractive, a decent job—”
“I can read,” she shoots back. “It’s all here on your list.”
“And not a secret escort.”
“Well…” She closes my planner and pushes it toward me. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I didn’t take that into consideration last time and look where it got me.”
Chloe glares, her lips pinched together as she leans toward me. “Did you ever stop to put yourself in his shoes? Try to figure out why he did what he did?”
I open my mouth, shaking my head. “What are you—”
“Julian!” She slams her hands on the desk, her eyes fierce. “Have you considered what he’s gone through during this pity party you’ve thrown for yourself these past few weeks?”
“I know why he did it. So he could have his cake and eat it, too.” I look away from her heated stare, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You know that’s not the case. You said yourself he claimed to have stopped taking clients the beginning of June. When you met. The first time. Before you ever agreed to be his fake girlfriend.”
“Who knows how true that is?” I mutter under my breath.
She brushes off my comment. “If he told you who he was back then, would you have given him a shot?”
“No.” I chew on my fingernails when I notice a word spelled wrong on my itinerary for January second. My hands itch to reach out and grab my planner to fix it, but I have a feeling Chloe would toss it into the incinerator if I did that.
“Then maybe that’s why he did what he did. Because he knew lying to you was the only chance he had to get to know you. Trust me, as much as I was initially skeptical of the whole arrangement, that man has always had eyes for only you. I saw it that first weekend when the photos of Julian Gage’s mystery woman started appearing online. The way he looked at you… Well, it’s a way all women yearn to be admired, revered, worshiped. There’s no question in my mind he worships the ground you walk on. That he would do anything for you.” A smile lights up her face. “I’ve never seen you as happy as I have when you were with Julian. Trevor certainly never made you that happy.”
“At least Trevor never lied to me. He didn’t have a secret escort business he never told me about. Remember this…”
I open one of my desk drawers, shifting through the contents until I find the list I’d scratched out after Julian called to take me to dinner all those months ago. On one side are Trevor’s pros and cons. On the other are Julian’s. I haven’t updated this list since that day. I could probably add many more cons to Trevor’s side and dozens of pros in Julian’s. But there’s one con that outweighs everything else. The con he played on me.
I shove the list at Chloe. “Trevor’s a much better choice than some man I’m not sure I ever knew.”
“On paper, maybe, but I recently read this dating advice column where the author said that love is fickle and makes no sense. That just because someone has all the traits you deem important, it doesn’t mean you love them. That only the heart decides that. Sound familiar?”
I lower my eyes, pulling my lips between my teeth. “Maybe.”
“So tell me…” Chloe places her hand on my arm. I lift my head. “What does your heart say about Julian?”
“That none of it was real,” I answer in a quiet voice, my throat pained.
“I think it was as real for him as it was for you.”
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. “This entire thing taught me that life is better when you stick to your plan. Trevor was my plan. I should never have let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a smooth-talking mouth stray me from that. Not only do I have to live with the knowledge I messed up, but I also destroyed any chance I had at making Trevor realize he made a mistake.”
Chloe glares at me before sighing and standing. “He came to see me.”
“Who? Trevor?”
“No. Julian.” She pulls on her jacket, securing it with a belt. “When you refused to talk to him, he reached out to me. You know what he told me?”
I remain silent.
“That even if you never speak to him again, he doesn’t regret what he did, not when you gave him the greatest gift imaginable.”
“Guaranteed sex?” I quip back sarcastically, but it’s missing my usual bite.
“No. He said you taught him how to love.” She pauses, allowing her words to linger. “But I think he gave you an even greater gift.”
“And what’s that?” I ask hesitantly.
“He taught you how to live. If he had to lie to get you to stray from this picture-perfect life you imagined for yourself, from constantly making lists of pros and cons of every decision, from micromanaging everything, I’m grateful he did so. And I think if you looked hard enough, you’ll realize you feel the same way.”
Chapter Forty
I lounge on the couch in Chloe’s living room, glaring at the envelope Viv gave me earlier while It’s a Wonderful Life plays on the television in the background. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best movie choice, considering I’m currently going through my own internal crisis. I wish I had a guardian angel who could come down and show me what my life would look like had I never met Julian Gage. Would it help matters any?
Always a glutton for punishment, I grab the envelope off the coffee table and lift the flap. I’m most likely going to regret looking at this. Then again, I did just wish for a guardian a
ngel. Maybe that’s Viv. Unexpected and impractical, but so was Buster Poindexter as the Ghost of Christmas Past in Scrooged.
My stomach tenses as I pull out the magazine and flip it over. When I stare into a pair of familiar blue eyes, my throat tightens. I haven’t seen Julian since Sonia’s funeral, and even then, I kept my distance, disappearing before the end of the service so he couldn’t approach me. At one point, whenever I peered into these eyes, I saw a man willing to take a risk and love me. Now all I see are his lies.
As Jimmy Stewart begs Clarence to take him back to the life he’d wanted to end, I thumb to the page Viv marked with a sticky note, landing on the featured article — August Laurent: Unrobed. The initial two-page spread is a combination of photos of him along with the text of the article I’d poured everything into the past several months.
I peel the note off and read it.
E,
I made a few adjustments to the final draft you submitted. Mr. Laurent requested additional information be included to give the reader greater insight into why he does what he does. This piece will still run, regardless of what decision you make, but I hope I won’t have to change the byline. The ball’s in your court.
- Viv
I shift my eyes to the caption beneath the title, running my fingers over the glossy page.
By: Guinevere Fitzgerald, Assistant Editor
Contributor: Chloe Davenport, Columnist
It’s strange to see my full name in print. I’ve always gone by Evie Fitzgerald. In a way, it’s satisfying, like I’m turning over a new leaf, starting a new life. No longer writing about the best condoms for maximum pleasure, but about subjects of value.
Encouraged by George Bailey shouting about wanting to live again, I turn my attention to the opening paragraph of the story I pitched on a whim, thinking nothing would come of it. I can’t help but smile at how wrong I was. In more ways than I care to admit.
