by Haley Oliver
"Watch it, klutz," she snaps. I bite down on an instinctive apology, face flaming, and snatch a dish towel from the sink.
"If things don’t work out with your secretarial career, there's always a place for you in the custodial field."
I bite the inside of my cheek and say nothing. Do not let her run over you. Do not give her the satisfaction of seeing you upset. You are not Moo-ve Over Mandy.
I wring out the dish rag, and as I bend again to clean the rest of the mess, Owen's memos spill out of my pocket and scatter everywhere. Nicole pauses and looks down at the mess. I drop the dish rag immediately and grab at them, trying to gather and hide them before she notices what's written on them.
Nicole's pointed toe comes down on the first one I reach for. She bends and picks it up. "What is this?" she demands. It's the florist's card that came with the bouquet of lilies.
My eyes fly up to her face. Her gaze isn't fixed on me. It's transfixed on the card. As I watch, Nicole's pale-blue eyes drag agonizingly downward. "Is this mine?" she asks icily. As she notices the memos scattered all around, I can see the wheels turning in her head. She licks her red stained lips and hisses, her eyes full of venom, "You little sneak. You stole my mail and pretended—" she gasps and then growls. "You wanted to be me. You thought you could score yourself a big fish like Owen Ridgemont by pretending to be me."
She rears back and straightens as I remain kneeling at her feet. I stare blankly at the memos scattered around me, a world away as the revelation of the truth finally closes in on me.
"You are finished here. I'm going to make sure of it right now." Nicole slams her cup down and storms off, heels clicking rhythmically to punctuate her strides toward the elevator. I stare at the memos scattered around me. Then, slowly, I begin to gather them.
My body moves around the break room on autopilot, giving my brain free rein to panic. She's going to tell him. Nicole. She's going to reveal everything before I even get the chance to open my mouth and try and explain my actions to Owen. She's going to take control and spin the narrative however she wants.
What am I waiting for?
I drop the shattered remains of the mug in the garbage, and then dump the dustpan in it without thinking. "Amanda, I was just coming to check on you! Are you okay?" a bewildered Val asks as I sprint past her out the door.
I get to the elevator and jam the button repeatedly. "Come on!" I mutter beneath my breath. I clench my teeth so hard they ache. My eyes must be wild because a passing intern hastens his walk upon seeing me and heads for...
The stairs!
I blow past the startled college kid, throw the door open, and race upward. I would take my heels off to ascend faster, but it would slow me down to have to stop. I have precious little time as it is.
I have to get to Owen before Nicole does.
Emerging breathless on the fifth floor, I slow to a brisk walk, trying to appear composed as I walk past the offices. Same old, same old. Brokers making calls, giving notes, no one paying any attention to me. I'm going to make it in time. I'm going to...
I stop dead in the hall outside my office. There she is. I see her through the glass. Nicole is facing the door. In front of her is Owen, his back to me. My eyes trace the dark square outline of Owen's broad shoulders. He's talking, using his hands to emphasize whatever he's saying to her. Nicole's perfectly made-up features are scowling so deeply there are lines cracking through her foundation. She doesn't look happy at all.
All of a sudden, her frosty blue eyes snap up and lock on mine through the soundproof veil of clear, fingerprint- and smudge-free glass. A change comes over her expression. The corners of her mouth curl upward. Her stance softens; her eyelids droop. Cunning. Sultry. She turns a brilliantly white smile on Owen and closes the distance between the two of them. I watch her raise herself up and lay her hand on Owen's shoulder, and then, before her face disappears behind the outline of the back of his head, I see her cherry-red mouth pucker and her arms wind around his neck.
And then, they are kissing.
That's all I can stand to see. She's won. Owen is in her arms. He no doubt knows all about my deception, and the fingers that never lifted themselves once to write a kind word to him or bothered to express any feelings for him whatsoever are threaded in his hair.
I spin on my heel and run to the elevator, stabbing at the down button frantically. "Why?" I ask no one.
The elevator is taking too long. I run to the end of the hall and push at the crash bar on the door to the stairs and take the steps two at a time. I'm running and I don't stop running until I reach the subway station home.
An alarmed Lucy glances up from the couch as I shove my way into my apartment. The door hits the back wall with a sound like thunder, but nothing can deafen the roaring of blood in my ears.
This is it. I only need to formally tender my resignation to HR. Unless, of course, Owen has already notified them of my termination. I'm on autopilot when I call the firm and rattle off a straightforward verbal goodbye, followed by the temp agency. Then I crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep, still wearing the heels I borrowed from Jane.
* * *
Aside from occasional feedings (for both myself and the dog), I stay in bed all the next day. I want to turn my cell off the moment it starts ringing, but it's like I'm a ghost attending my own funeral—I can't look away for long from the sad faces coming to pay their respects.
Jane is the first to call me to check in. Hers is the hardest call to ignore, but I let it ring through to voicemail and listen minutes later. "Well, don't think I’d let you run away with my heels, Dorothy! I'm definitely coming over to get them this week. But I'll keep looking for you in the lunchroom, okay? Hope to see you back here."
Next, Owen. No message.
The temp agency calls an hour later to let me know they've already lined up another job for me. Secretaries must be in demand these days. I'm certain Owen will have no problem filling the position I left. His history of burning through assistants has been the building's worst-kept secret, but now that he has Nicole…
My phone rings again. Lucy lifts her head and cocks one floppy ear curiously. I stare at Owen's name flashing on the screen, then clutch my cell to my chest, screw my eyes tightly shut, and like a coward, turn my ringer off.
Curled on the sofa with Lucy, I scratch behind her ears. Aloud I say, "Owen and Nicole can live happily ever after together. Who knows, maybe the two will credit me in their wedding vows." Lucy responds by rolling over onto her back for a belly scratch.
"Heck," I add sarcastically, "maybe Nicole will ask me to write her vows."
Chapter Twelve
Owen
I tap the screen of my phone and the light goes dim. I don't know why I think Amanda might answer this time. She doesn't. I don't bother to leave a voicemail. I know I can't do justice to everything I want to say to her in a voicemail.
Sitting in my penthouse, alone, digesting the events of the last few days, I hear the occasional pop of the ice in my scotch. The condensation weeps between my fingers. I should be drinking it. That's why I poured it. But I set it on the table next to me untouched.
She's gone. Amanda's gone, and I have no idea how to go about getting her back. I think back to when I snapped at her outside my office and told her that I didn't have feelings for her. I'd do anything to take those words back.
When Nicole came storming into my office yesterday morning, she was ranting and raving about how she had been used by Amanda, and that I had been lied to. I had already figured out that it was Amanda who'd replied to my memos. After that disastrous date, how could I not?
I pick up the glass again and swirl the amber contents, watching my memory of that encounter play out in its depths.
"You have to fire her, Owen," Nicole had demanded.
"Have I?" I was sitting behind my desk, not at all compelled to rise from my chair, as I once would have been had Nicole blown into my office in a cloud of perfume. "I don't think it's any of your bus
iness how I decide to deal with my employees, Miss Preston."
"Oh, so I'm Miss Preston now?" Nicole had rolled her eyes elaborately and crossed her arms. "And what are you, on her side?"
"I'm on no one's side but my own." I rose to move past her. All this talk of Amanda had been making me anxious to find her. I had intended to lay all my cards on the table with her as soon as she came in.
"Aren't you angry that she stole memos meant for me?" Nicole demanded.
I paused at the door and turned back to her, scrutinizing her. Seeing her on a jealous, vindictive rampage didn’t make her any less outwardly beautiful. But I didn't recognize the woman standing in my office. Nothing about her pulled at me.
"I've realized something," I said as I drew my hand back from the door handle. "The truth? None of those memos were meant for you. Maybe the first one," I amended as Nicole's expression darkened even more. "Which you, what? Laughed at and threw in the trash? Just a guess. Tell me, Miss Preston, did you go fishing for it the moment you realized how rich I am?"
Nicole glared at me, too furious to hit back with a denial. I'd struck the nail on the head.
"No matter, none of the other memos were for you." Before I could turn to go, she took me by surprise by leaning in close, plastering herself against me, and planting a sloppy kiss on me. I was stunned stupid for a moment before I managed to gather my wits and pull away.
"Nicole, what are you doing? Did you not just hear what I said?" It was then that I knew; I saw the triumph shining in her eyes as she left.
Amanda must have returned while I was confronting Nicole. By the time I had extricated myself from Nicole and told her to leave, the damage had been done. Amanda saw everything. It’s not surprising Nicole pulled such a last-ditch dramatic move when I made it clear that my attraction to her was nonexistent.
I never thought I'd find myself embroiled in something like this. And the worst part is, I can't even get a hold of Amanda to explain to her the truth about what she must think she saw—or have the chance to tell her how I really feel about her.
She must think I was going to fire her after finding out. That's the only motive that makes sense. I set my drink aside and pick up my cellphone from the glass coffee table in front of me. No matter how many times I call her, I can't bring myself to leave a voicemail. How do I know she won't just delete it? I'd feel frustrated by this point if I wasn't so lost and confused.
I need her. I had no idea how much my life had come to depend on her, and not just with work. Her presence, her smile, her quick sense of humor and easy company...her willingness to challenge me...all of it feels beyond my reach now, and I didn't have the good sense to appreciate what I had until it was gone.
I want to fling my unanswered cell phone across the room, but I hold myself back. I try to call her again.
Nothing.
"I'm not angry at you, Amanda," I whisper as I hang up on the third ring. In reality, I'm surprised and flattered. I'm used to living in the cutthroat corporate business world and dating women who smile like they're clenching invisible knives between their teeth. Everyone's out for themselves. Someone like Amanda has been a complete enigma to me from the beginning. That first day she showed up at my office, I had no idea what to do with her. The fact that she did what she did, not because she had anything to personally gain, but because she was acting out of the kindness of her heart, makes her amazingly special to me.
Special. I chuckle bleakly to myself, pick up my scotch, and resume not drinking. My thoughts on the subject are as poorly worded as some of my earlier memos to her. Amanda is more than that. In my world, I rarely come into contact with anyone like her. I don't think I've ever met someone whose heart bleeds for others like hers. Who helps people, even though they have nothing to gain by doing so.
And I'm starting to think I have everything to lose by losing her.
The next morning, I head into work, fully expecting Amanda to still be absent, but unable to keep myself from hoping that I will find her. When I arrive, I find her desk empty. I haven't taken the firm up on their offer of a replacement secretary, even one who is ostensibly only temporary.
I sit in my office, and I get no work done. Zero. I've never had an unproductive day in my life until today. I sit back in my chair and spend most of my time gazing out the fifth-story window, letting the coffee grow cold and turn to sludge in its stained ivory mug. The sky is overcast today, and the cityscape muted and dismal. I hear the phone outside my office ringing constantly. Eventually, I get up to go unplug it. I have no idea how to operate it or to forward those calls to my inbox.
I'm sure none of them are from Amanda.
"Jane?" I arrest the redhead in the lobby when I see her. She turns, blinking her large, pale-green eyes in surprise at being addressed. I don't blame her. To my knowledge, I've never held a true conversation with the woman.
"Mr. Ridgemont? What can I do for you?" She seems wary but in no rush to leave our conversation. I wonder if she can guess already what it's about...or rather, who.
"Jane, I'm curious if you've heard from Amanda this week. She's not returning my calls."
"Not returning mine, either." She crosses her arms over the file she's holding and shifts her weight to her left hip. "In fact, I was thinking about going by her place tonight after I get off work."
"I'll go." I almost want to laugh at myself for the obvious eagerness with which I hear myself volunteering. Jane lifts an eyebrow, and her eyes glow a little brighter as she beholds me. I wonder suddenly if I'm telling her anything she wasn't expecting to hear already. Did I just get Jane Fox'd? Amanda had introduced me to the term before, back when she was still speaking to me.
"That sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Ridgemont."
* * *
I tell the driver to wait outside for me. I turn and climb the steps to Amanda's apartment building.
I don't have a key but, luckily, a tenant enters carrying a bag of groceries. I offer to hold the door and after they've unlocked it, and slip inside and up the stairs. I stop outside Amanda's apartment, 4A.
"Amanda?" I rap the door cautiously. I hear an excited yip from inside, and the fury and scrabble of dog claws as it runs across the wooden floor to greet me at the door. I've never met Amanda's dog. I'm hoping today will be the day. "Amanda, are you in there?"
No answer. I knock again, then step back to try sending her a text. Lucy barks excitedly on the other side of the door.
Now I'm getting worried. No answer, not even now when I'm on her doorstep. I ease back in and lean my ear against the door in an effort to detect movement. Hard to hear anything over the excited scrambling of her dog.
"Amanda? It's me, Owen." The unfamiliar rumble of my voice sets her dog off again. "Please open the door. I want to talk to you."
"She doesn't want to talk to you."
I turn in surprise to find that the apartment across the hall and two doors down has opened. A little old woman has poked her head out. She scowls deeply at me. She reminds me of a disapproving owl I once saw at the San Diego Zoo as a kid.
"How do you know that?" I'm not feeling at my politest, especially when it comes to dealing with nosy neighbors. I'm exhausted from lack of sleep, and my mind won't stop turning with images of Amanda.
The woman snorts her beaky nose at me. "Isn't it obvious? She's not answering."
"So she's in there?"
"Of course, she's in there. I'd be babysitting her sweet Lucy if she wasn't, who, by the way, you are driving bananas, so just back off, bub."
Lucy gives another joyful bark and scratches frantically at the door. I turn and look back at Amanda's apartment. She must be only feet from me. I feel the agony of the separation in my bones. I haven't realized until now just how badly I needed to see her.
I haven't realized a lot of things until it’s too late.
"Well, if you see her, tell her..." I trail off, at a loss for words as the woman glares at me. "If you see her, tell her Owen stopped by. Please."
I stroke an anxious hand through my hair, resettle my shoulders, and try again. "Please just tell her I'm looking forward to speaking to her. She knows where to find me."
"I suppose," the woman sniffs as I turn to go. "Who knew Amanda had a secret boyfriend she was keeping from me? Handsome one, too. Ah, well." The nosy neighbor closes herself back inside her apartment as I descend the stairs in defeat.
Boyfriend. Why didn't I bother to correct her?
And why does the sudden appearance of this word sound so completely inadequate?
"Amanda," I whisper her name to myself. "I'm waiting for you. And I'll make sure you know where to find me."
Chapter Thirteen
Amanda
I take Lucy for her walk early the next morning and try to sleep until noon, but Owen comes by. When I don’t answer the door, his knocking turns to pounding. I suppose that's what I get for turning my phone off. Like a wimp, I refuse to answer the door. Not my finest moment, but I'm just not prepared to face him.
I know I can't hide out from the real world forever. It's past three when I switch my cell on and flip open a book of my favorite baking recipes. The local news station drones in the next room as I twitch pages, looking for the recipe with the most sugar. I avoid looking at my phone screen as the messages load and flash their banners across it.
But I know I can't avoid facing them. The whole reason I finally drag my sorry self out of bed is to own up to the mess I caused, not distract myself by causing another mess while baking in the kitchen. I sigh, pluck up my phone, and lean back against the counter. I open my voicemail and raise it to my ear.
