He told himself that he was trying to man up, nothing more, as he hurriedly got dressed and let himself out of Eric’s apartment, but the truth was, he was looking for an excuse to catch Amy on her way to work again.
Sean sent a quick text, letting Eric know he’d gone out for a walk, in case his friend woke up before he made it back, and then he retraced their steps from the previous night to get back to Manhattan from Brooklyn.
The subway took longer than he’d expected, and by the time he finally made his way to Amy’s high-rise apartment building, it was after nine. She’s probably already at work, he thought, but he rode the elevator up to her floor anyway, his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to figure out what he was going to say to her again. ‘I miss you’ sounds too desperate, he thought derisively, even as he realized it was the truth: they’d barely spent any time together, just the weekend of the wedding, but Sean was startled to realize that he did miss Amy. He’d missed her the previous night at The Haven; missed her reactions to him playing, missed the feeling of her gaze when he finished up, missed seeing her there waiting for him at the end of the set. But if he was being honest with himself, he realized he’d been missing her since they met.
When the elevator doors slid open, Sean almost didn’t get off. He was shaken by the depth of his longing for Amy, and more startled when he realized he wasn’t just thinking about the next time he’d be able to get his hands on her. I haven’t thought this much about a woman in…years, he thought as he stepped slowly into the hallway on Amy’s floor. Not since…Joy. The thought made him feel sick, and he paused outside Amy’s door. God, has it been that long since I’ve let my guard down?
Swallowing his nerves, Sean lifted his hand and knocked. The air in the hallway seemed frozen, like the building was holding its breath, but as Sean exhaled loudly, he realized that was just him.
Nobody came to the door, and he knocked again, but he realized it had been stupid to come over, unannounced, and hope he’d catch her. That time in the elevator was a fluke, he told himself as he gave up and headed back down to the street. Glancing back at Amy’s building, he forced himself not to care. She’ll either show up at The Haven or not, he reasoned. No point wondering about her all day.
But his mind didn’t agree with him, and no matter what he did, his thoughts kept returning to Amy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sharlene didn’t mention the miscarriage that night, and Amy didn’t ask about it, but she felt guilty. Her time with Sharlene felt so normal it was easy to forget what had happened, but occasionally Amy’s mind would jerk back to the reality of finding her friend crumpled up on the bathroom floor, and then their banter would turn sluggish for a bit until Sharlene cracked a joke or brought up someone they used to know in college, and then Amy would forget all over again.
She insisted that Sharlene sleep in her bed again, and early the next morning, they drove out of the city to meet Jeremiah.
“I’m sorry to spoil the rest of the visit like this,” Sharlene said once they’d been on the road for a bit.
Amy glanced at her, incredulous. “You didn’t spoil anything. I just wish—” she stopped herself.
“Wish what?”
“Wish that we were celebrating instead of…this.”
Sharlene nodded, her eyes filling up with tears. “Me, too. Hopefully, though, we’ll be able to celebrate soon.”
Amy nodded. “Is it, um, safe to try again?”
“The doctor said I might want to wait two cycles, but that it’s up to me.” Sharlene stared out the window for a moment. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready right away.”
“Yeah,” Amy said, at a loss for anything else to say. They drove on in silence for a while, but when Amy pulled off the highway to get gas, her phone buzzed insistently. Sharlene dug it out of Amy’s purse and handed it to her, but the call had just gone to voicemail.
“It’s the office,” Amy said, recognizing the phone number.
“I can get the gas if you want to call them back,” Sharlene offered, unbuckling her seat belt.
Amy shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll head straight there after I get back; anything at work can keep for now.”
They made it to Troy around ten in the morning, and when Amy pulled into the parking lot of the rest area, she spotted Jeremiah sitting on the tailgate of a green pickup truck. She pulled up alongside him and leaned over to give Sharlene a hug.
“Did you want to come say hi to Miah?” She asked.
Amy shook her head. “You guys have a lot to talk about. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“When will you believe me that you aren’t in the way? Seriously, Ames, I’d have been lost without you.”
Amy brushed off the compliment. “Just take care, okay, and call me whenever you’re up to it.”
“I will. And remember, if there’s something you want, go for it.” Sharlene winked conspiratorially. “Sean’s in town all weekend.”
Amy chuckled and shook her head as Sharlene got out of the car. Jeremiah was at her side in an instant, wrapping her into the tightest hug Amy had ever seen, and she looked down at her hands, embarrassed to be intruding on their grief.
Somebody tapped on her window, and she glanced up. Jeremiah was standing outside her door, so she got out of the car and stood there awkwardly for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she began, but he shook his head and gave her a hug.
“Thank you for keeping her safe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Amy shook her head. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested.
“You were there when I couldn’t be. That’s a whole hell of a lot.”
***
Amy was still thinking about what he’d said when, hours later, she made it back to the city and maneuvered her way into the parking garage near her office. As she checked her hair in the mirror and tried to shift into her professional mindset, she realized that she’d been so preoccupied the entire drive that she’d forgotten to be nervous once, even when traffic got thick outside of the city.
If that’s what it takes for me to be happy driving, I hope I’m always miserable behind the wheel, she thought as she hurried into her building and up to her office.
The receptionist looked up when she walked in, and for a moment, it looked like the woman was about to say something, but then she dropped her gaze and busied herself with her computer. Odd, Amy thought as she hurried down the hall to her office.
When she opened the door, she paused for a moment, wondering if she’d gone to the wrong room. The framed diploma on the wall had been replaced with a shadowbox filled with what looked like athletic medals, and the familiar potted plant she’d inherited from the office’s previous owner had been moved from its usual corner to cozy up beside the desk instead.
Amy stepped into the hall for a moment, but she was in front of the right door. She scanned the hallway, but no one seemed to notice her. Finally, pushing her indecision aside, she went back into the office. Stepping closer to the framed awards, she realized they were race medals, but there was no name on any of them that she could see. She turned back toward the desk, a terrible feeling building in the pit of her stomach, but before she could set her bag down, someone came into the room.
“Oh!” It was Kingston, the recent transfer from their Texas office. “You’re back.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Yes.” Gesturing to the wall, she said, “I guess those are yours?”
He nodded, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just hung them up today.”
Amy bit her lip. “Did Fitz say anything about where my new office will be?”
Kingston shook his head, but he didn’t drop her gaze or act like he was holding any information back. “Maybe you got a window?” He offered hopefully.
“Maybe,” Amy muttered, heading for the door. “How’d you get an office, anyway? Promotion?”
Kingston smiled. “Yup. Account manager.”
Amy felt some of her tens
ion dissipate. Thank God he didn’t say partner! “Congratulations” she said, trying to mean it. She’d barely spoken with Kingston since he joined the team, other than offering him that warning that he would need to be focused on the work if he wanted to do well in New York, but he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Even though Amy’s intuition screamed that finding him in her office was a bad sign, she didn’t want to take her fears out on him. Whatever happens, he didn’t cause it, she reminded herself as she slipped out of the office and went to find her boss.
The door to his corner office was closed, but Amy didn’t bother knocking. She walked right in, past the concerned looking administrative assistant, and Fitz glanced up from his phone in surprise.
“I’ll call you back,” he said slowly, watching Amy as he hung up the phone.
She tightened her fists, but tried to speak calmly. “You gave Kingston my office.”
Her boss gestured to a leather chair in front of his desk. “Why don’t you sit down, Amy?”
That can’t be a good sign. In all the years she’d worked for him, Amy had only ever heard Fitz call her by her last name, or if he was in a particularly crabby mood, Ms. Savoy. She sank into a seat opposite him, trying to prepare herself for what she was afraid was coming.
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and studying her, and Amy resisted the urge to smooth her hair or fidget with her shirt. Instead, she tried to meet his gaze, hoping she looked calm and collected. In reality, her stomach was threatening to revolt, and her heart was racing.
Amy forced herself to take a deep breath and start over. “I noticed that Kingston has a new office,” she finally said, hoping her tone sounded neutral and not panicked.
Her boss nodded. “He’s earned it with his work on the new accounts.”
Amy leaned forward slightly. “And…where is my new office?”
Fitz didn’t break eye contact. “Where do you think it should be?”
Damn. It was a trick she remembered her teachers using on her back in grade school; “What do you think your grade should be?” She forced a laugh. “I don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
He sighed, but Amy thought she saw a glint of a smile in his eyes. “Amy, I don’t really feel like you’re heart’s in the company anymore.”
She shook her head automatically. “That’s not true.”
“First, your delay on those numbers that I asked for—”
“I was out of town for a wedding, you know that—”
He talked over her. “And then the past two days.”
Amy felt desperate. “I told you, there was an emergency.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You really expect me to believe that?”
She glared at him for a moment. “Yes, I do. I’ve been a loyal employee for nearly fifteen years,” she said, her voice rising. “In all that time, I’ve barely ever taken any leave, and I’m usually the first one in the office and the last one to leave at night.”
“I’m not disputing your previous performance. Lately, though, it’s been like you’re a new person. Instead of the loyalty and diligence you just cited, I’ve seen sloppy work, tardiness, and now, a blatant disregard for the schedule and policies of this office.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “I left a message yesterday explaining why I wasn’t here.”
“Yes. A ‘family emergency’, as I recall. But what I don’t recall is you ever mentioning any family who might be of concern.”
She stared at him, dumfounded. “So I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t, is that it?”
“Excuse me?”
“A few days ago, you implied that I wouldn’t be able to keep up if, God forbid, I actually thought about starting a family, but now you’re saying I’m not allowed to miss work to care for that same family.”
He smirked at her. “Did you adopt a child in the last month that I’m not aware of?”
“No,” she said, pushing back from the chair, “but that’s not the only kind of family a person can have.” The memory of Sharlene crumpled up on her bathroom floor pushed into her mind, and Amy swallowed a sob. “Believe me when I say that the situation yesterday was an emergency.”
“Be that as it may, I’m just not confident that you’re what this company needs anymore.”
She stared at him for a moment until her anger finally boiled over. “Fuck this company, and fuck this job.” She whirled away from the desk, but paused at the office door with her hand on the handle. “And fuck you, Mr. Fitz, you misogynistic asshole!”
She slammed the door behind her, and the paneling on either side of it shook angrily. Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed the scene, Amy suddenly realized she didn’t care. “For the record,” she called to the studiously silent cubicles surrounding her, “I quit.” Marching through the office, Amy kept her eyes straight ahead until she made it to the elevators, but when the doors slid shut behind her, she sagged against the rear wall and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. What the hell am I going to do now?
She had enough money in the bank that she wasn’t worried about paying her bills, at least not immediately, but the sheer weight of what she’d done threatened to crush her. “I’ll never get another job in this industry again,” she said to the empty elevator, replaying her dramatic exit in her mind. But then Amy paused. Is that even what I want? She didn’t have a quick answer to that question, and that disconcerted her more than the fact that she was suddenly unemployed; ever since Amy had landed her first job at the bank, she’d been sure that she wanted the stability it promised, but now she wondered if she’d ever wanted it, or only convinced herself to want it.
A memory of Sharlene and Jeremiah swaying around the dance floor at their wedding flashed into her mind, and as Amy walked out of the office building, she wondered if, after all this time, she wanted something as conventional as a wedding and a man to grow old with. When she got to the parking garage, she was still pondering, and as Amy sat behind the wheel of her BMW, she started to cry.
She’d spent so many years trying to hammer herself into the corporate mold; her clothes, her hair, even her demeanor had all been carefully constructed to advance her chances for success at work. What social life she’d had had consisted of vapid, empty friendships and boring happy hours, until Sharlene had gotten back in touch, and the men she’d dated had been even worse. For years, she hadn’t even touched her art supplies; she’d worried that the corporate world wouldn’t take her seriously enough if she indulged in her need to create. And then, once she’d been inevitably drawn back to jewelry making, she’d kept it a secret, pretending it was just a hobby even as she sold more and more of her pieces online.
Glancing up at the rearview mirror, Amy wiped her tears. “No more,” she told her reflection firmly. “No more hiding in that corporate tower. No more pretending not to want the things I want.” The words were insanely liberating, and as she stopped crying, Amy leaned back in the driver’s seat, thinking. What do I want? Almost as soon as she thought it, an answer drifted through her mind. A change. Amy nodded slowly, turning the key in the ignition and heading out of the parking garage. “It’s time for a change,” she said, pulling into traffic. Almost on autopilot, she headed across the city, retracing the route she’d walked with Sharlene days—a lifetime—ago.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The manager and another man in a crisp suit were waiting for Sean before he went on that night.
“Son, this is Mr. Delgado,” the manager said, indicating his companion, who held out a hand to Sean. Sean grasped it with a smile. “He owns Haven, and a couple of other clubs in the city.”
Sean tried to keep his heart from racing. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
Mr. Delgado nodded. “You, too. Ben tells me you’re a pretty fine cover artist.”
Sean nodded. “I have fun,” he said honestly. “And I liked playing here last night.”
“He’s good, Richie, just wait and see.” The manager gave Sean a meaningful look, a
nd Sean nodded slightly. So this is round two of the audition, he thought as he felt both their eyes on him as he headed to the stage.
He played better than he had in a long time, and if the reactions of the people in the bar were any indicator, Sean knew he’d nailed it. Whether he was what Mr. Delgado was looking for or not was another story, but halfway through his set, Sean stopped caring about the audition. He’d noticed a familiar face at the bar, and from the moment he locked eyes with Amy, he wasn’t playing the gig for Ben or Richie anymore; he was playing it for her.
When he finished, he barely heard what the manager said, but he nodded and smiled, agreeing to a long-term contract on the spot all while watching Amy standing near the bar. She was shifting nervously from foot to foot, and it gave Sean a jolt to think that she was just as nervous to see him as he was to see her. Finally, he and Ben shook hands, and he was free to head across the room to Amy. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but the sight of her was enough to set his pulse racing, and he crossed the club with determination, his heart in his throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The salon in Nolita was the last place Amy usually would have gone, but she took it as a good sign that she found a miraculous parking space just a block away. Trying to ignore the feeling in her stomach that screamed that she was out of place in such a funky, hip establishment, Amy gave her name to the receptionist and sat down. She perched on the edge of the pink plastic chair, too wound up to pick up a magazine, but she didn’t have to wait long.
A stylist with blue-tipped hair and more piercings than she could count beckoned to her, and she followed him to a salon chair near the back of the store.
He grinned at her in the mirror as he clipped the black cape around her neck. “I’m Carl. What are you thinking about today?”
Amy hesitated, then reached back and undid her mass of hair. Blond waves cascaded over her back, stopping just shy of her shoulder blades, and the stylist whistled.
“Dang, girl, you’ve got fairy princess locks!” Picking up a section of hair, Carl let it run through his fingers like water. “That’s got to be high-maintenance.”
Cutting Loose Page 9
