by Becky Monson
I want to say that “disservice” is the only reason he exists right now, but decide to let him have his moment. Plus, I know what this is really about as I spy Nathan and Christine being seated not too far from us. Thomas is very good at getting people to divert their attention. Deflecting. He’s awesome at it. It’s a talent, and probably why he’s so good at the lawyer thing.
“Wow, Thomas,” Quinn says. “I’ve heard a lot of stupid things out of your mouth, and this one probably ranks at the top.”
Thomas gives her a one shoulder shrug and then gives me a wink. I smile and shake my head at him. For all the things he’s not—couth, inhibited, thoughtful—he makes up for in other ways. Maybe this whole sibling thing won’t be so bad.
We order our food after our appetizer comes out, the discussion centering around our normal topics. Relationships—which doesn’t last long since none of us are in one—and work.
“Jerry still all up in your face?” Thomas asks Quinn after taking a long sip of some fruity drink he ordered.
She sighs. “Yeah, he’s being such an A. I can’t seem to do anything right and I don’t know what else to do. That stupid video will haunt me forever.”
I pull my lips in tight to keep myself from smiling. Poor Quinn. It doesn’t help that I pulled up the video to watch today because I needed a pick-me-up at work after meeting with my team. As I see Thomas trying to keep himself from laughing as well, I wonder if he also watched it. What terrible friends we are.
“So you need to find something else that will grab his attention. Something to get his mind off it,” Thomas says after a beat.
“Well, I had the perfect idea, but Holly screwed that up,” she says.
I snort out my nose, and then add an eye roll for emphasis. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Thomas looks back and forth between us, trying to figure out what we’re talking about. “What did I miss?”
Quinn takes a big, dramatic breath. “I thought Holly here should do a search for another Nathan Jones to go on her honeymoon with her,” she says. “I could set it up with the station, make it a story. Jerry would eat that crap up.”
“What?” Thomas looks flabbergasted. “You think Holly should find another Nathan Jones—a stranger Nathan Jones—to go on what was supposed to be her honeymoon? Like that weirdo lady from New York did?”
“Right?” I say, grateful he feels the same as me.
He turns his head to me. “Hols, how could you not do this?”
Oh, right. I should have known he’d side with Quinn. Silly me.
My eyes stare briefly at the ceiling before I respond. “Because,” I finally say, “do I seem like the type of person who would do something like that?”
“That’s exactly why you should do it,” he says.
“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t do it,” I retort.
“This is a win/win for everyone, though,” Thomas says, and Quinn dips her chin, agreeing.
“It’s a win for everyone but me,” I say, feeling defensive. In what world would this ever be a win for me?
“If you do it, Quinn will get gross Jerry off her back, you will take a vacation, which will get your boss off your back. Weren’t you whining about that at Hester’s on Monday night?”
“I didn’t whine,” I scoff. I’d been trying to get my friends to help me figure out what to do with my boss now that I know Tiffany is on the prowl for Mike’s job.
“Yes, you did,” he says, giving me his best condescending stare. “But also, this will be utterly entertaining for me, and you know I like to be entertained—and you, my dear,” he slaps me lightly on the arm, “will get your revenge.” He does a quick head nod to where Nathan and Christine are sitting. “It’s actually a win-win-win-win,” he says, as he counts off on his fingers.
I grunt. “What would I need revenge for?”
“Uh, bucko over there. Duh.” He juts a thumb over his shoulder in Nathan’s direction. Quinn nods her head in approval.
I gape at them both, my face scrunched up in annoyance. “You guys, that’s . . . well, messed up. On many levels. I don’t want revenge against Nathan. There’s no revenge to be had. And besides, how would doing that even get revenge? More likely it would be more revenge against me when it all blows up in my face.”
“It wouldn’t,” Quinn says.
“Yes. It would.”
“Oh, Holly,” Thomas says, a patronizing grin on his face. “My dear, sweet, naive Holly.” He reaches over and pats me on the head.
“Stop it,” I say, pushing his hand away.
He stops the patting but keeps the grin. “No matter if it blows up in your face, it would still be revenge on Nathan.”
“How’s that?” Quinn asks, placing her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand.
“Because it would be something Holly’s never done before.”
“Why are we talking about me like I’m not here?”
Thomas turns to me. “Wasn’t that one of the things Nathan complained about?” He mimics Quinn, with his chin in his hand, elbow perched on the table. “Your lack of adventure, wasn’t it?”
I sigh. That was one of Nathan’s complaints. He was always wanting to do adventurous things with me. Like go zip lining or jump out of a plane. But there were too many variables for me. I’m not a living-on-the-edge kind of person, and I never will be. That was my mother’s mantra—you only live once. YOLO. I think she coined the phrase. At least that was her mantra when she wasn’t in bed. She spent a lot of time in that bed. Now she’s spending all her time in a jail cell. See where adventure gets you?
“Yes, that was one of our issues,” I say. Then I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not doing it. And even if I did do it—which I’m not,” I throw in, seeing Quinn’s face morph into a hopeful expression, “I can’t leave now. I have too much on the line.”
“We forgot one other variable,” Thomas says, his not-giving-up-face now on.
“And that is?”
“The whole thing might make Nathan insanely jealous and want you back.”
I shake my head. Does Thomas even hear anything I say? “Even if that did happen, I wouldn’t want him back.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Thomas says, sarcasm swimming in his tone. “He’s not attractive or wealthy or anything.”
“He’s a total jerk,” says Quinn, defending me with her tone. I know she’s saying this for my benefit because that’s not true either. No, Nathan was the whole deal. He just wasn’t the right deal for me.
“You guys, I don’t want Nathan back, or revenge, or to entertain you, Thomas. There’s no way I’m going to do it,” I say.
“Well, then, that’s your funeral,” Thomas says.
“Yes, because death is clearly the only other option,” I say.
“Well, it might be my funeral,” Quinn says.
“Sorry, Quinn,” I say, reaching over and putting my hand on top of hers. “You know I’ll help you any way I can. Just not this way.”
She looks over and gives me a sad smile. “I might hold you to that.”
Chapter 9
You know that saying “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade”? Well, right now life is giving me lemons. And I don’t want to make lemonade with them. I want to squeeze the juice into someone’s paper cut.
It’s the next day and I’ve just finished meeting with the Sarahs regarding their break time . . . again. Their breaks are too long and too often. And this is not something only I’ve observed. Avery has also voiced her annoyance about it as well. Multiple times.
It is annoying. It was my second meeting with them regarding this—but unlike last time, I couldn’t be all straightforward. I need them to like me, so this time I had to be more coddling. I don’t like to coddle, it makes me feel all itchy and dirty.
The crazy part? Sarah-with-an-h said, in a snotty tone, “Why are you being so nice about this?” And the other Sara said, “Yeah, why aren’t you, like, getting all mad?” They were actual
ly annoyed that I wasn’t getting mad, and then Sarah asked me why I was being so weird lately with all the treats I’d been bringing in and how I’ve been “like, all sweet around us and whatever.” Those were her actual words.
So apparently my trying and putting in all this effort is bothering them.
I can’t win.
The meeting ended okay, I think. I was able to bring it back around saying crap like, “We’re all in this together.” They seemed to come around and told me they would work on it. We’ll see how long that lasts.
Now, Alex and I are heading to the Lava Java. I need a pick-me-up and recruited Alex to join me.
Alex started working for CT Anderson Bank about a year ago as a junior executive in the marketing department. I took him under my wing after he inadvertently sent the word wieners instead of webinars to a large portion of the company. Try as I might, I haven’t yet been able to get some of the guys on the management team to stop referring to him as the Wiener Man. He’s been a champ about dealing with it, because at this point the only other option would be to find another job.
Not long after wienergate, I asked him to hang out at Hester’s with my friends because I had this grand notion of setting him up with Quinn. I thought Alex, with his kind heart and boy-next-door good looks, and Quinn with her striking blue eyes and quick wit, would make the most perfect babies. I apparently suck at matchmaking, because I soon found out that Alex—sweet, naive boy that he is—seemed to only have eyes for Bree, much to the disappointment of both Quinn and me. And dearest Bree—who truly has a flare for the wrong kind of guy— has never shown any interest. Not in that way, at least.
We walk across the street from the bank to the Lava Java. The air is thick with humidity and it attaches to my face, my skin, my clothes, and my hair as we walk.
“How is it so hot already?” Alex asks, his face contorted with annoyance. He bats his hands around to get a grouping of gnats out of our path as we walk. “It’s not even May yet.”
“You do know it’s summer here pretty much all year, right?”
He gives me a half smile. Of course he knows that, having grown up on the beach near Ft. Myers. His parents still live there. Although Southern Florida has the sea breeze, which we don’t get here in Central Florida.
A side benefit of having Alex with me at the Lava Java is he can be my bodyguard in case Logan is there. Well, I don’t really need a bodyguard for Logan. I just think he won’t bother to talk to me if I have Alex there.
Alex opens the door to the café, the smell of coffee wafting through, the blast of air-conditioning hitting my face as I walk inside. My eyes, without even asking me, travel to the booth where Logan usually sits, and to my surprise, he’s not there. I look a little closer to make sure there’s no computer there, or earphones. It’s empty. Also, to my surprise, I don’t get a feeling of elation like I expected. Instead, I feel like this day is topsy-turvy. My employees think I’m being too nice, and Logan isn’t at the Lava Java. What is happening with this world?
“What are you staring at?” Alex asks, his eyes moving over to Logan’s usual table.
“Nothing,” I quickly say, moving my head over to the menu hanging on the wall behind the service counter, as if that’s what I’ve been looking at all along.
Alex and I place our orders and then wait by the pickup counter, chatting about frivolous things. It feels nice to chat with Alex. No pretense. No expectations.
“Holly . . . Alex,” I hear a deep voice say from behind us.
Oh, yay.
We both turn around to find Logan standing there. Gray V-neck tee, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His lips are pulled into that same thin line.
Well, apparently having Alex didn’t stop Logan from coming over here like I thought it would. Where did he come from, anyway? I know all his stuff wasn’t at his normal table. And now I sound like a weird stalker.
“Logan,” Alex says, holding out a hand to shake his. Logan complies. Alex is clearly a terrible bodyguard. Not that he knew he was one. “Good to see you, man. How you been?”
“Good,” Logan says, both corners of his mouth lifting briefly—like, millisecond briefly.
“How’s the app thing going?” Alex asks. Alex is one of those people who are good at making conversation. It makes me wonder if he even notices that talking to Logan is sort of like talking to a wall. A wall that only grunts out one word answers. Well, at least that’s how it was for me up until last week, before he got all talk-y.
“Good,” says The Wall.
Alex’s phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out. I catch a glimpse of the caller ID and see the name Bree Donnells before he turns the phone away from me.
“I’ve gotta take this,” he says to Logan and me. “Be right back.” He walks out of the coffee shop and stands outside the door.
I can’t believe he ditched me like that. And for Bree? When is he ever going to figure out Bree’s too blinded by her own stupidity to realize how great he is? I’ve tried to get her to see the light. We all have.
Logan gives me a small, closed-mouth smile when I turn back to him.
“I . . . uh . . . didn’t think you were here,” I say pointing over to his normal booth.
“Oh, yeah,” he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. “Someone was sitting there when I got here this morning. So I took the booth in the back.” He lifts his chin in the direction of his make-shift office. The booth is situated so you wouldn’t be able to see if someone was sitting there. “Were you looking for me?” His lips pull into a smirk.
“No,” I say a little too emphatically. “I happened to look over in that area and, you know, just noticed.”
“Right,” he says, his lips pulling up on one side. A cocky almost-smile.
“And anyway, it’s right over there, front and center. You had to actually look over this way to see me from that booth.” I gesture with my hand over in the direction of his current seating arrangement.
“I could hear you,” he says.
“What?”
“I could hear you talking,” he says.
I put my hands on my waist, one leg out in front of me. “Are you stalking me?”
Now both of his lips pull up into a smile. A broader one than I’ve ever gotten. No teeth, though.
“It’s only stalking if you’re ugly,” he quips.
I take in a quick breath, my jaw slackening. “You made a joke,” I say.
“Yeah.” He gives me a preposterous look.
“I didn’t think you were capable of making jokes.”
He scrunches up his face. “I make jokes.”
“No, you don’t,” I retort.
“Yes, I do,” he replies.
I hear my and Alex’s names called from behind the pickup counter and I pick up our coffees. I look out the door to see Alex still standing outside talking on his phone.
“How’s the vacation planning going?” Logan asks.
“Um,” I twist my lips to the side, wondering what Alex and Bree could be talking about. “I’m sorry, what?” I say, turning back to Logan.
“The vacation?”
“Oh, that.” I shrug a shoulder. “I can’t do that. Not right now.”
Not until the promotion is mine and Tiffany has to walk away with her tail between her legs. And maybe find a new place of employment. Ah, to dream.
My biggest conundrum now is how to convince Marie that I need more time—a lot more time before I can take any time off. I can’t exactly tell her what Tiffany told me. No one is supposed to know. That would open up a whole can of worms I don’t want to open. There’s got to be a way I can get her to see.
“Well, it was good seeing you, Logan,” I say holding up a coffee in his direction as a way of waving since I don’t have any hands to make the gesture.
“See you,” he says, seeming somewhat disappointed. At least, I think so. You never know with him. Probably not, because what would he have to be disappointed about? He puts his hands in
his pockets, giving me a quick lift of his chin even though he actually has two empty hands. But waving might be too intimate for Logan.
“What was that all about?” I ask Alex, who’s just hung up as I walk out. I hand him his coffee.
“Nothing,” he says, taking the coffee from me. We start walking toward the crosswalk that will take us across the street to the bank.
“I saw Bree’s name on your caller ID,” I say as we walk.
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, she just wanted to talk.”
“Do you do that often?”
“What, talk?” He looks at me, confusion on his face.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “We talk.”
“That’s good,” I say.
“It is.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Yep.” He gives me a wink. “Come on, let’s get back to the grind.”
With that, he grabs my forearm gently and guides me across the street.
~*~
I think Marie’s disappointed with me.
When I got back from the Lava Java, there was a message on my computer from her telling me she’s back from her offsite meetings and needed to meet with me right away. So I went straight to her office, and she did not seem happy to see me.
Also, the first words out of her mouth were, “I’m disappointed in you, Holly.” So there’s that.
My stomach twists and turns and I try to think of what the problem might be. Then it dawns on me. She must have found out that Tiffany knows about Mike’s job and thinks I told her. Okay, I can fix this.
“I think I know why you’re mad,” I say tentatively.
“Well,” she says, none-to-pleased, “you should know.”
“Yes,” I say, weaving my fingers together and placing my hands in my lap. “Let me first tell you I had no idea. I mean, I don’t know how she knows. I—”
“Wait,” Marie says, stopping me from continuing. Which is good. I tend to run-off when I’m nervous. “What are you talking about?”
