“You don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?”
“I wasn’t aware you gave me an answer at all,” I state, not sure why I need to know about Allison the way I do, but it’s not about the necklace.
“She left for personal reasons, Ms. Wright,” he replies. “And not everyone is the open book you are about your personal affairs.”
I feel those words with a sharp pang, but I reject them as well. There was a time when he would have been right when I was indeed an open book, but I am far from that place now. But rather than say so, which would, in fact, make me an open book, I find myself challenging him instead. “Would you have hired me without knowing my motivation to take the job?”
“No,” he says, leaning closer. “I would not have hired you without knowing your motivation for taking the job. What else, Ms. Wright?”
“Do I know your motivation for hiring me for the job?”
He leans back in his seat. “I need the auction to be a success. Isn’t that obvious?”
It should be, but it’s not. “I don’t think it is,” I say.
He doesn’t deny my statement. Instead, he asks, “Does my motivation matter?”
“Maybe,” I say, “and you answered my question. I do not know your motivation. Why do I feel like I’m part of a story and I’m the only one who doesn’t know the secrets written on the pages?”
“When you look for something that isn’t there, you create something that is.”
“And yet, when you don’t look closely at what’s around you, sometimes you miss what is right in front of your face.”
“Sounds like one experience you had is dictating this experience,” he counters.
He’s probably not wrong. “Hopefully that’s true and my gut feeling doesn’t become a problem because I’ve decided I want to do this. I really want to do this job.”
He studies me a long moment, seconds ticking by, his blue eyes unreadable, before he says, “Goodnight, Allie.”
Goodnight, Allie.
He’s used my name and it feels like an answer, but it also becomes a question. I’m just not sure what the question is just yet.
Nevertheless, I’m dismissed, which is fine. I’ve gotten what I wanted and said what I had to say. I stand and walk toward the door, half expecting him to stop me, but he doesn’t. I leave the office but I don’t leave Tyler behind. I’m still thinking about him, and Allison, when I climb into my car and drive away from Hawk Legal, at least for tonight.
I think about the reasons I need to know about Allison so badly and I decide I feel a connection to her. She had a dream job at Hawk Legal and yet, she walked away. We are connected in that way, and if she doesn’t come back to her established life, I wonder if I will either. And I’m not sure if that is good or bad. And I can’t help but feel that I really am part of a story, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know where the next page leads.
Everyone except maybe Allison.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I drive to the address on the card, to the house I’ll be staying in for the next few months, to the house where Allison lived. It’s in the heart of the Belle Meade neighborhood, an area that’s a cool mix of old money and new money, but there’s also a section of more affordable, moderate homes, but I’m eager to get a clear picture. I assume I’ll be in the more moderate area, of course, but turns out, I’ve assumed wrong. The address leads me to the old money area, and soon, I’m sitting in front of a home that could be on a dream board to motivate me to keep working. It’s aglow in outdoor lighting, white with two steeped rooftops divided by a stairwell to the door. The grounds are immaculate and expansive. This house is more than a perk of the job. It’s a luxury bonus. It’s not a normal offer.
And Allison left it behind. That feels decisive. It doesn’t feel like she’s coming back.
I think of Tyler’s reaction to my questions about her and decide that this house, and his evasiveness, scream of a personal relationship. Then again, he offered me the house as well. I’m not sure why I pushed him the way I did. It’s none of my business why Allison did what she did or why he is using me to fill in for her rather than replacing her.
I draw a breath and admit what I wish was not true.
Nothing about what happened in that office, nothing about me pushing Tyler for his motivations, was about Tyler. I’ve known men who have agendas that were not what they seem. The truth is that Tyler reminds me of those men. That’s why I pushed him like I did tonight, inappropriately so, I fear. He hired me too easily. He offered me this house too easily.
He does have an agenda and it’s not what it seems.
But then I do as well, and it’s not really what it seems, either. It’s not about my mother, not completely, not if I’m honest with myself. It’s about what happened back in New York.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
You can tell someone not to judge a book by its cover, but they do it anyway.
It’s true of humans as well. People judge us first with their eyes, then with their minds. I have no doubt that if I really do resemble Allison, people look at me and see her. Oddly, some part of me is okay with that idea, which tells me that I’m still living through an identity crisis that started some time back. Truly, I could blame that fact on my father—or my ex, Brandon—and people who knew my stories, would agree.
Or I could be brave and claim that fame myself.
I mostly choose the latter.
Eager to separate myself from a past that obviously still haunts me and stand out on my own, I arrive to work the next day quite early and do so in my favorite black Chanel skirt. The same skirt I’d worn to the party, but this time with a matching black blouse, with a red belt for a pop of color. With a piping hot thermal mug filled with Oh Fudge! coffee from my favorite brand, Bones Coffee, I waste no time getting to work. I’m deep into an inventory list, right up until the moment I hear, “Good morning, boss lady,” about a half-hour later.
I glance up to find Katie standing in the doorway, looking adorable in a pink dress and holding two cups of coffee. “I brought the coffee date to you,” she informs me.
“Morning to you, too,” I say. “And aren’t you the best? Coffee is the way to my heart.”
She crosses the room and sets a cup in front of me. “It’s a skinny cinnamon churro latte with whipped cream. One of my favorites.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I say. “Thank you. I didn’t know the coffee bar was already open.” I sip and the warm, wonderful, sweet beverage touches my tongue, my eyes lighting as I say, “I approve.”
She smiles her pleasure, and says, “Oh good. I thought you would. Anyone who doesn’t like this cup of coffee is just not right, you know?”
I laugh. “Yes,” I agree conspiratorially. “There is something not right about someone who doesn’t like coffee. Of course, the non-coffee lovers probably say that about us, too.”
She waves that off. “Oh pooh on them. They don’t know what they’re talking about,” she grins before she adds, “and the coffee bar just opened.”
“Good to know,” I say, eyeing the clock for reference and then asking, “and what’s with the boss lady? What in the world did I do to earn that nickname?”
“Debbie called me at ten last night to tell me that one of the girls from accounting is covering the front desk. I’m all yours until the auction is over.”
I’m stunned with just how quickly Tyler has worked, and how much support this shows for my efforts. It’s actually quite shocking after I’d laid in bed last night thinking that I’d pushed him too hard and too far. I’d worried I’d end up without a job today. Worry that some might say is unreasonable, considering I have a job in New York. Nevertheless, there is no denying my relief.
“That’s excellent news,” I say. “Let’s get started.” And with that, I dive into training my new employee with a zeal befitting a drowning woman, who just got thrown a life vest.
Once I’ve finished going over my plans with Katie and sent her off to
work in an office down the hall, I pause for a moment with an admission. I’m embracing this job and living the other Allison’s life as if it were my own. I’m not sure what that says about where my head is right now, but I’ll analyze myself and my reasoning a bit more later, alone in the house where she once lived and probably will again. Maybe. I don’t know much about her or even myself right now.
I dive back into my work and end up losing track of time. I blink and it’s time to go to my meeting. I grab my purse and briefcase, pull on the short, light trenchcoat I bought for the in-between seasons, and exit my office.
I round the reception desk and enter the lobby to find Tyler and Dash standing together, Tyler regal in an expensive fitted suit, and Dash oozing cool style and hotness in jeans, a blue sweater, and a matching blazer. The two men are in deep conversation, and while their body language is not tense, there’s an energy about them I wouldn’t call friendly. But then, this doesn’t really surprise me for a number of reasons, including the exchange I witnessed between them at the party. Not to mention there couldn’t be two men more alike and at the same time, so different.
And yet, here they stand, together, in my path.
I hesitate, not certain I should dare interrupt, but also not sure how I can walk past them and not speak at all. I can’t, I decide. I just have to casually wave and say something smart and snappy.
Drawing a deep breath, and steeling my spine for an overload of testosterone and intensity, I walk toward them. Tyler is angled toward me and when his gaze lifts in my direction, the weight of his attention settling on me, the impact is forceful. But when Dash shifts his position, when Dash brings me into view, and his eyes are on me, it’s fire. I feel his assessment in a heavy, warm way that refuses to set me free. Not that I really want to be free from Dash Black one little bit, which is actually a dangerous thought. The kind that will get me tripping over reasonable thought and falling right into trouble.
I halt within a circle of the two men, and say, “Hi,” with a little, ridiculously goofy wave. Good grief, I’m really special in all the wrong ways with these two men. “I don’t want to interrupt,” I say quickly. “I’m headed to my meeting with the charity head. I’ll update you both on how it goes.”
Tyler’s attention sharpens, a hardness in his stare now, that despite his indecipherable expression, ticks like anger. “Come and see me when you get back.”
He doesn’t know I’ve been talking to Dash, I realize, and I can assume that’s a problem for him. I’m not sure why though, considering this is Dash’s charity choice, but it’s the only logical answer to his reaction.
“I will,” I promise. “I won’t be back until late, though. I have an afternoon meeting with the venue, so I’ll grab lunch and head that way.” I don’t ask if that’s okay. That’s one thing Queen Compton taught me. Never, ever, give someone high on power, more power. Claim your space, she’d instructed, and live in it.
She was good for me. And now she’s sick, too, and I haven’t seen her. I need to go see her.
“I’ll be here,” Tyler states, pulling me back into the moment. “Just make sure you are as well, Ms. Wright.”
We’re back to Ms. Wright. That doesn’t seem good. But as smart-mouthed as I was to him last night, respect matters. What is done in private shouldn’t always be done in public. Therefore, I simply say, “Absolutely,” before I shift my attention to meet Dash’s keen stare, the look in his eyes telling me he’s not pleased, and that’s not about me, but rather Tyler. But I’m also not sure if that’s about the present exchange or if I walked into something I should not have. Whatever the case, it’s time for me to leave.
“I’ll update you,” I assure Tyler again, offering a small nod and then parting the circle to rush to the elevator, willing myself not to stumble over my feet and fall down. I can see how that would go. Dash would help me. Tyler would watch in disdain.
Fortunately, I make it to the elevator without trips, twists, or falls. It even opens as I arrive, as if it were waiting on me. Luck is with me, for sure, thank goodness. I step inside and let out a breath of relief and too soon. It’s right then that the strap to my bag breaks and it crashes to the ground. I panic, no longer thinking about the two men who are now out of sight, but rather the company MacBook that has slammed to the floor.
Urgently, I squat to retrieve it, and as I do, a pair of familiar jean-clad legs step into my view. I blink and Dash Black is squatting in front of me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I’ve turned international and New York Times bestselling author Dash Black into an elevator squatter.
I’m mortified.
The doors shut and I reach for the MacBook at the same time he reaches for it. Our hands collide, the results starting a sizzling dart up my arm that expands across my chest, and through my body. “I’m embarrassed right now,” is all I manage to say.
“Don’t be,” he says. “You’re human and really quite adorable.”
“Adorable,” I repeat, mortified all over again. Adorable is cute, and cute is not what a woman wants to be to a man. Suddenly all the more awkward, I reach for my bag, shoving a folder back inside, thankful the paperwork didn’t come out of it.
Eager to regain my dignity, I pop to my feet and Dash follows, straightening to his full height, easily juggling the MacBook as he opens it and tests the keyboard. “It’s alive,” he says, turning to the screen to face me.
“Oh, thank God,” I gush. “It’s not mine. It belongs to Hawk Legal.” I hold up my bag, the strap dangling. “How is this even possible? But I’m glad it happened here, not in my meeting with Millie.”
“True,” he says, his eyes lighting and his eyebrow wiggling as he adds, “I wouldn’t have been there to save the day. And no harm, no foul,” he adds, taking the bag from me and sliding the computer inside. “The computer isn’t broken, and more importantly, neither are you.”
It’s an innocent statement, but it hits me rather profoundly in how not true it is. I am broken. I’ve been running from that for a while and I have this sense that all that running stops here. I’m just not sure I’m ready.
“Lower level okay?” he asks, breaking me out of my little self-evaluating reverie, his fingers hovering over the elevator’s panel.
“Oh my gosh,” I say with a little laugh. “We’re not even moving. Yes, lower level, please. I’m headed to the garage.”
He punches the button and sets us in motion and then he’s facing me again. Unbidden, my eyes collide with his and the air expands between us and there is a ping in my chest, an awareness of Dash that I’ve never experienced with another man.
My lips are dry and I wet them and say, “You really do keep saving me. First in the elevator the other day, then with your jacket, and now, well, in the elevator again.”
“Always happy to help a damsel in distress. Any time, Allison.” He says my name like silk and sultry nights, and there is a zip in the air between us, or there is for me. Maybe not for him. Maybe I’m just—I don’t know what I am to him. Perhaps just a girl, just an adorable, cute girl, aka the girl a guy never wants to date, who keeps awkwardly, accidentally, stepping right smack into his path.
“Allie,” I say softly. “You can call me Allie.”
“Allie,” he repeats, and my name on this man’s tongue is an intimate suggestion. “Everything okay with you and Tyler?” he asks.
“He’s not going to drive me away mid-auction, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m committed and I want to do this. And Tyler is not my first Tyler. I work for Riptide. Mark Compton, and even his mother, are both what I would call earthquakes—scattering people into nervous frenzies—when they walk into the room. Queen Compton does this quite loudly while Mark, much like Tyler, does it quietly.”
“Tyler officially has a new nickname. Earthquake. And it’s fitting.”
The doors ding and open. Dash is quick to hold them open, motioning me forward. I exit, and just outside, I pause and wait on him. “I can take my ba
g,” I offer.
“I’m in the garage, too. I’ll ride down with you and walk you to your car.” There’s an insistence in his voice, an absoluteness.
I’m charmed, but I also remind myself that he’s just being a gentleman. “Because you’re afraid I’ll drop everything again.”
“The bag broke,” he teases, “and then jumped right out of your arms. Why would I be worried?”
I laugh. “Yes. Stupid bag, but I also love it. I hope it can be repaired.”
“Never trust what has already failed you,” he says, a shift to his mood that is far more serious now.
I’m suddenly not sure we’re talking about the bag anymore and neither of us are moving. “Sounds like experience talking again,” I comment.
“It is,” he assures me, something dark in his expression, but there’s no time to press for more.
We quickly go from the lobby to the garage elevator, and then the actual garage. We exit and he motions to the rows of cars. “Where are you parked?” he asks, and whatever I just thought I saw in him seems to be gone. Or maybe it never existed.
I indicate left, and hit the button to ping the car as we start walking in that direction.
Once we’re there, he opens my door and then sets my bag in the back for me, “I’d say good luck with your meeting,” he offers, “but you won’t need it. Millie’s excited to get the event going. And after talking to me about your background, and my first impression, she’s excited about you. You still haven’t asked me about that.”
“About what?”
“My first impression of you.” His voice is low, warm, and there seems to be a hint of flirtation to his tone.
My heart flutters and I quickly say, “I still don’t want to know. And I’m getting in the car before you tell me anyway.” And I do. I climb into the car, set the MacBook on the passenger seat, and when I would look up at Dash, he’s squatting beside me. “Let me know when you’re ready, Allie.” With no further explanation, his lips curve and he stands back up, shutting my door.
What If I Never Page 7
