ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “You don’t have to move out at all. It was just a screw-up.”

  “A screw-up?”

  Sylly squatted down, lifted a box. “Let’s get this all inside before it starts raining again.”

  He was right; the sky was still heavy and dark, the handle of the suitcase already damp from the misty air. “Right.” She dragged the suitcase over the threshold into the foyer, fighting the urge to unzip it right there and fondle her belongings.

  “I wouldn’t’ve put anything down on the wet driveway,” he said, dropping the box and going back out for more, “but I wanted to make a big impression.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was all she had, and when it was stacked up in the empty foyer along the blank wall she felt renewed hope. “Thank you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. It was all a mistake, he’d said, which was great, but now she knew she couldn’t live this way, at the whim of others, no future she could count on.

  “Annamarie is very sorry,” Sylly said. “She’d already noticed your things and had them separated out.”

  “I thought I’d have to wait until after Christmas.”

  “I’d be some kind of shit Santa if I let that happen.” A smug grin on his face, he nudged one of the boxes with his toe. “Now I’m wondering if I should give you your other present.”

  She straightened from where she’d been peeking into her duffel of shoes.

  He laughed. “Don’t look so worried.”

  She was afraid to guess. The relief of getting her things back began to fade, a strong memory rising up in her mind of the guys from work playing video games. “I should probably talk to you later about this, but as long as you’re here”—taking a deep breath, she turned, perched on the edge of her suitcase—“I know about Mark, about him founding the company, why you hired me—why he did—and I’ve decided that I just can’t stay. I’m a phony. The others have noticed and it’s not right.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Yes, I can.” She looked into his eyes. It was the right thing to do, it had to be. She was tired of pretending. “Sylly, I quit.”

  Chapter 24

  “HOLD ON, HOLD ON, LET’S sit down and talk this over.” He looked around. “God, they didn’t leave a damn thing, did they?”

  Rose shook her head.

  He exhaled through his nose and squatted on the floor in front of her. “All right. Let’s back up. You found out about Mark, you said, so you’re running away.” He ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair, looking amused. “Was it his vast stockpiles of wealth that turned you off? Or the annoyingly large brains?”

  “People know I was hired because Mark wanted to have sex with me. I’m not qualified.”

  “First, nobody knows shit. Second, you’re doing fine. It’s only been a couple of months.”

  “‘Fine.’ I’m a glorified secretary. I monitor the calendar and tell other people what to do. I don’t have any actual skills of my own.”

  “Welcome to management,” he said, grinning again.

  “I want more.” She stood up. “I think I should go back to school.”

  He tilted his head. “Great. Keep working at WellyNelly, do night school. The company will subsidize your classes.”

  “What?”

  “Not many deals like that will fall in your lap, will they?”

  She paused, knowing the answer, but the favors had to stop if she was going to retain her self-respect. “I can’t—just because Mark and I—”

  “It’s open to everyone after their first year.”

  “I didn’t see that anywhere in the benefits package. HR gave me a big packet.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not my idea. Gloria insisted on a new subsidized training program when I hired her to take over.” With a grin, he added, “You’ll like her. She’ll need women like you on the team to help her beat the men into submission—no, I shouldn’t say that, very sexist—into shape.”

  Rose rubbed her eyes. It was too early for all this. “Who’s Gloria?”

  “Top secret, so just between you and me,” he said, “Gloria is taking over as CEO right after the first of the year. I’m stepping aside, for the most part. I’ve got a new venture I’m going to launch. I’m really more of a startup kind of guy. Other people can keep the old ball rolling while I move on to something new.”

  “Wow.” She liked Sylly, had hoped to work with him more, but…

  If he wasn’t the landlord or the boss anymore, he wouldn’t care about what she and Mark—

  No, that was old news.

  “What were you thinking about, degree-wise?” he asked. “Decide to go for the MD?”

  “No. MBA.”

  He laughed.

  “See? You think that’s funny. This is why I need to prove myself on my own.”

  “It’s only funny because I asked Mark when we hired you if you’d be willing to get one.”

  She blinked at him. “You did?”

  “Yeah, your résumé was a bit thin. We usually only hire bachelor’s degrees when they’re in engineering. But we’re growing exponentially, Mark vouched for you, you seemed capable and eager”—he shrugged—“I only had one concern.”

  Hope we don’t get a newbie overlord each time he wants to get laid. She felt her face get hot. “I’d think you’d be glad to get me out of the company, given—what you—what happened.”

  His ducked his head, hiding a smile. After a moment he shifted his weight and stood up. He studied her, his expression growing more serious. “I told him I’d fire you both if it happened again.”

  She nodded.

  “Is that when you broke up with him?” Sylly continued. “When he told you?”

  “It’s when, but not why.”

  “Why then?”

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business, Sylly.”

  “Not as your boss. As Mark’s friend. I need to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Please. Humor me. I won’t tell a soul, not even Smartypants.”

  She had to smile. “Okay. Although I was upset when I found out you’d, you know, seen us, and I didn’t want to lose my job because of it, I wouldn’t have…”

  “Wouldn’t…?”

  “Wouldn’t have let some power-tripping boss guy tell me who I could sleep with in my own home,” she finished. “Even if it happened to belong to him.”

  He nodded, apparently pleased with something. “So why’d you dump him, then? No good in the sack?”

  Rose stared at him. Why the hell did he want to know?

  “Only good on the desk?” he continued.

  Enough. She turned, grabbed a mug out of the kitchen box, strode to the kitchen.

  “There’s something I want to tell you but I need to be sure of how you feel about him,” Sylly said, right behind her. “Otherwise I’d be an asshole to say anything.”

  She turned. “Just tell me.”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s about Mark?” she asked.

  He nodded. Waited, eyebrows up.

  “Fine,” she said, putting the empty mug down on the marble countertop. She might as well tell him. As his business partner and friend, he’d probably sympathize. “He didn’t want anyone to know about me. Not even his family.”

  “That was a big problem for you?”

  She lifted her chin. “I can’t be with a man who’s ashamed to be seen with me.”

  “Ah. And you thought he was?”

  Her head hurt. She rubbed her temples, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought she had a long, awkward weekend to endure and too little sleep to get her through it.

  At least she had her clothes, underwear, shoes. It would be a lot easier face Mark, and his family that didn’t know she’d ever been anything to him, if she looked like hot shit.

  Memories of his mother, brother, sister rose up in her mind. How Trixie had called her at work, not knowing her last name, just to invite her. How she’d always been warm and welcoming, never got too personal or made her uncomfortab
le in any way.

  There was also that time she didn’t tell Mark not to come over, and the way she got Rose into the house to help with the dogs on the slightest pretense.

  And how she’d always disappeared so quickly whenever Rose was with Mark.

  Not sure of anything anymore, Rose picked up her mug, filled it with water from the fridge dispenser, stared outside the kitchen window at the rain. “I felt that way. Combined with your threat, it seemed best to cool it.”

  “And you’re happy with how things turned out?” He walked around to face her. “Or are you all torn up with regret now that you know he’s secretly rich and powerful?”

  She looked down into her mug. “I don’t care about that.”

  “Too bad for him.” With a sigh, Sylly turned away. “I wish I knew what to do here. He’d probably kill me if he knew I was talking to you like this.”

  She’d never seen Sylly flustered, emotional. As uncomfortable as she was with his questions, she was touched by his concern. “Your friendship means a lot to him,” she said, “not that he’s probably ever told you that.”

  “Scarcity drives value,” Sylly said, the corner of his mouth curling up. Then he touched her shoulder, smiled more broadly. “What the hell. Here goes.”

  “Look, if you’re breaking a confidence—”

  “No, we need to talk about MaJo. His social nerditude, is, I’m sure, many offenses to your pride,” he began. “Do you think he’s ashamed of the fact he became a millionaire before he graduated from college?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Take it from me, he’s not. He’s damn proud of himself.”

  “He should be.”

  “I agree,” Sylly said. “So. Why do you think he keeps it a secret? Even with the woman he’s desperately eager to…to…”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Get laid with?”

  “Aha!” He pointed his finger at her. “If that’s what he wanted, why not tell you right away? Why do all the elaborate, unreliable shenanigans with the job instead of flashing around a little of that precocious financial success?”

  “Because he doesn’t think I’m a prostitute?” she asked sweetly.

  “Yes, yes, but more than that. He didn’t tell you because he likes his privacy. He’s just a private guy. And, this is important, so pay attention—he wanted more than just sex.” He saw her expression, continued more enthusiastically. “More than wanting to impress you, he wanted you to like him. For himself. Because he liked you.”

  Her heart went thump, squeeze, thump. It was hard talking about Mark, not being with him. “What’s your point?”

  “You’re hearing it. You just don’t want to admit it.” He jumped up onto the counter, swung up his legs, and, bracing his wet Keens on the marble, stood up to retrieve something from the space above the cabinets.

  “You’re getting mud on the counter.”

  “Got it.” He leapt down, chestnut brown bottle in hand. “It’s a little early, but what the hell. I put this up there when I bought the place. Little tradition of mine.” He reached for her mug.

  “It’s nine in the morning.”

  “So?” he asked. “Fine. I’ll drink alone.”

  With a shrug, she poured the water in the sink, let him have the mug.

  He poured an inch and knocked it back. “Yep,” he said tightly. “Good shit.”

  Frowning, she watched him pour a second shot, tilt his head back and drink it with his eyes closed. “Mark never mentioned this side of you,” she said.

  Licking his lips, he splashed out another and held it towards her. “You sure?”

  “Very,” she said. “Why are you doing that?”

  After a salute, he downed it. Coughing but smiling, he gasped out, “I’m celebrating.”

  The booze had been hidden in the house he had on the market. His little tradition. “You did sell the house.”

  Smiling, mug at his lips, he nodded.

  Exasperated, she pulled the mug out of his hands, put it in the sink. “Whatever. I’m moving out either way.”

  His posture less regal than it had been, he leaned back against the counter. “Today?” he asked, then burped, laughed into his hand. “Sorry.”

  “How long until the new owners take over?”

  “If everything goes well, we close in mid-January.” He lifted the bottle, sighed, smiled at it. “I’ve waited a long time to drink this. Didn’t expect the damn economy to collapse.”

  She could find an apartment by then if she was willing to commute, give up the perks, share a place. If she stuck it out with the assholes at work—and why should she let them drive her away?—she could afford a decent place of her own, even while she was going to school. “Why did you say I didn’t have to move out?”

  He opened his eyes wide. “Weren’t you listening to me?” Hugging the bottle to his chest with one hand, he patted her shoulder with the other. “Because your new landlord’s in love with you, that’s why.”

  Her heart began to pound. “What?” she whispered.

  But Sylly was already striding out of the kitchen, cell in his hand. “I better call a cab. Don’t worry about the car, I’ll get it later. I’m sure Mark won’t mind.”

  “Mark?” Her voice was almost inaudible.

  “So nice to do business with a friend,” he said. “Don’t you think? Especially one who pays in cash.”

  * * *

  “Easy, little guys,” Mark said to the dogs in the backseat of his VW. “We’re just stopping for a minute. Calm down.”

  Good advice for himself. He hadn’t slept well, fearing this was his last chance with Rose. Nothing solid was keeping her in California; even WellyNelly was just a job, and everything there would be changing very soon. For her benefit, and hopefully his own, but it was too early to say.

  And she’d had the scare about the house. Hopefully he—Sylly—could explain the new owner was in no hurry to move in and liked having somebody there.

  That had been Phase One.

  If only he’d had more time for Phase Two. But he couldn’t risk another day, especially when that day was a holiday famous for making people homesick and the object of his affections had her own form of impulsive transportation.

  And so, ready or not, Phase Two was underway.

  At precisely 11:59 a.m., he parked his car in Rose’s driveway, waiting for the dash clock to hit noon before he got out and rang the doorbell.

  His driveway, his door, his bell.

  Trapped inside the car, the three dogs yapped and danced on the seats, pawed at the windows. Zeus was especially animated, probably because he sensed Rose was near.

  I know how you feel. When Rose opened the door, Mark felt his heart expand under his ribs like a balloon in an undersized box.

  Beautiful, yes. Wavy, golden hair, shining in the daylight. The lush, rosebud mouth. Her dramatically shapely figure, all curves, breasts, hips, so feminine, alluringly displayed under a snug, royal-blue sweater, long black leggings tucked into knee-high black boots.

  But it was how her brilliant blue eyes studied him as if maybe, just maybe, she was glad to see him again, that made his pulse leap like the dogs in the car.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking past him into the driveway. “I thought Bev and Liam were going to pick me up in their truck.”

  He cleared his throat. That was a lucky development. The storm had hit the Sierra and was dumping the first big snow of the year, multiple powdery feet of it, making her old sedan with the bald tires an unsuitable mode of transportation. “Change of plans,” he said. “My mom doesn’t like to drive in snow so we rearranged everyone a little bit.”

  “But your car—it’s no bigger than mine.”

  “I’ve got chains,” he said. “And I’ve driven up there dozens of times, in all kinds of weather.”

  Her expression shuttered, she took a step back into the house, pushed the door shut.

  Mark’s nervous system went into high alert. He tapped on the do
or, raised his voice. “And I need help with the dogs. Please, Rose, don’t make me drive up there alone with them.”

  She reappeared, backpack slung over her shoulder. “I was just getting my stuff.”

  He stepped back, commanded his heart to shift into a lower gear. “Sorry. I thought you were still too angry to be with me.”

  She gave him the funniest look—curious, worried, something else. Then she dropped her gaze to the ground and strode past him to the car.

  “Don’t you want to lock up?” he asked.

  “Can’t you do that?” she asked, then busied herself greeting the dogs. “Hello, little ones. Especially you, Zeus. Oh, I missed you.”

  Couldn’t he do it? Surely she didn’t know—

  He looked at the door, back at her. “I’ll need the key.”

  Holding Zeus in one hand while the dog licked her face, she leaned back against the door, eyes on Mark. “Oh, right.” She lifted her hand, wiggled a set of keys, lobbed them at him. “You haven’t closed yet.”

  He caught the keys, barely, and squeezed them between his fingers.

  She knew.

  Chapter 25

  HE HADN’T PLANNED ON TELLING her, not for a while. He’d had a plan, a cover story. One that he couldn’t use now.

  While his mind raced, she turned and got into the passenger seat.

  She knew, but she was putting on her seat belt.

  She was going to come anyway.

  After a deep breath, he used her keys to lock the front door—his door—and made his way back to the car somewhat unsteady on his feet.

  Not helpfully, he asked himself what his father would do. Lie? Bluster and evade? Charm and distract her sexually?

  He opened the car door, as disappointed as always in his father’s example. Nudging Europa out of the driver’s seat, he got in, handed Rose the house keys, and backed out into the road without a word.

  “Don’t you want to close the gate?” she asked as he started to drive away. “All that lovely furniture in there, the ceramic elephant, all those beautiful, beautiful pillows. We wouldn’t want anything to disappear while I’m gone.”

  He looked at her. So, she wanted him to say it; she wanted him to confess.