by Aria Ford
“Oh.” She frowned.
“What?”
She sighed. “Son, I don’t want to make you more confused. But I have to say this.”
“Say what?”
“You know…” she paused. “It’s not easy for people to, well, find people after…something like this.” She gestured in a random way at my leg.
“Yes?” I said. I instantly felt guarded. What was she saying?
“And…” she trailed off. “The thing is, well…it’s easy for you to be drawn in.”
“Drawn in!” I exploded. “Mom. I’m sorry. But what are you trying to say, exactly?” I could feel heat in my cheeks and somewhere my heart was thudding, adrenalin rushing through me. I was confused and mad and hurt.
“I’m sorry, son.” She made a vague conciliatory gesture. “It’s not my intent to upset you. But…you know…you were famous, and you’re still rich and…don’t you think that you’re vulnerable to, well, the wrong kind of person?”
I stared. My mouth was hanging open. I made an effort to shut it. “Mom,” I said, struggling to be calm. “I don’t think I’m being preyed on. Really. Who would?”
She sighed. “Son, try seeing it from my side?” She cleared her throat. “I love you and, well…I can see how easy it would be for someone to use you. You have this sense that no one would love you as you are, and it would be so easy for someone to draw you in because of that.”
I gaped. “Well, if I feel unlovable, you certainly just made me feel worse.”
She closed her eyes. “Son, I’m sorry. I’m just, well…trying to be sensible. I’ve never seen you like this before. So closed in. I’m concerned.”
I sighed. I supposed I should try and see it from her viewpoint. Maybe my behavior did look a bit weird to her. Maybe I was even being weird, how should I know? Maybe…and I didn’t want to think this, but maybe she was right.
“Maybe you’re right.”
She looked sad. “I don’t want to spoil your happiness, son.”
I laughed. “Well, you just did.”
She frowned. Reached out a hand to me. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she said. “You know, I could be wrong. I just had to say, well…something about this: in case I’m right.”
“Well, you told me now.” I laughed sadly. “I’m warned.”
“Fine,” she said. She smiled. “That’s all I wanted.”
“Good,” I said. I hadn’t meant that to sound as harsh as it turned out, but I couldn’t help it. She really had upset me. I felt, stupidly, like a kid who’s had his balloon burst by the big kids. I had been happy. A bit confused, but happy. And now I felt like maybe all my doubts were real.
I never even thought about the financial side. Margo’s well-off now, but she probably worries for her future.
As a pro football athlete—albeit an ex one—I had a very tidy amount in my bank account, and I already owned my own house. I was seriously well-provided for, and I never had to worry. Would she want to take me in because of that?
I sighed. I had no idea. But maybe Mom was right. Maybe I was being a total fool.
“I’d better go check on the cake,” Mom said, standing and heading downstairs.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, trying my best to make my voice neutral. “See you later.”
“Good.”
When she had gone I let out a long, shuddering breath. I had no idea what to think now. Mom had just thrown me a really crazy idea—one I’d never have thought of on my own. But the more I thought about it, the more it made horrible sense. What could I do about it, though?
All my mind told me I could sensibly do was wait. If that was true, it would reveal itself soon enough.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Margo
I stared at the letter.
“Am I dreaming?”
I checked the letter again, pinched myself. No, I was awake.
“I got the job!”
I jumped up and down where I stood in my hallway. It was Monday and the post had just arrived and I was amazed.
It was a letter from the Human Resources people at Realtone. I was the face of the brand.
Oh my God. I felt like a kid as I ran to the kitchen, putting on the kettle to make a celebratory coffee. I dug out the best coffee I had from the back of the cupboard. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was wearing a long bathrobe; my hair was curly and loose and my eyes shone.
“The new face of Realtone. Oh wow.”
I read the letter again as I drank my coffee. It really was happening.
“Please report to our offices as soon as you receive this to fill out the forms.”
“Oh!”
I put the letter on the tabletop and ran into my bedroom. What to wear? And I still needed to put on makeup!
“Calm, Margo,” I told myself. “Calm is of the essence.”
I grinned at myself in the mirror. In the end I settled on my black leggings, a long white shirt and a duster that matched the leggings. My makeup was just the dressy side of nude look. My hair I did in a knot on the top of my head, some strands escaping.
“There. I look the part.”
I liked the brand—it had a mix of ultrasophisticated and city grit. And my outfit kind of hit the right note. I giggled.
“I’m so happy.”
I did a little turn in front of the mirror, grinned at myself and floated downstairs.
I arrived at the offices at midday and headed up to the HR section.
“Ms. Lawrence?” an older, kind-looking woman greeted me at the desk.
“Yes. That’s me. I got the contract!”
I was grinning madly and she laughed. “You look happy.”
“I do. I am.”
I was happy.
We went over the papers together and I signed all of them. It felt like a signature practice class, and by the time we’d finished, my wrist was sore and my eyes crossed from all the fine print. It was lunchtime.
“Thanks so much, Ms. Reynolds,” I said as I left.
“No worries,” she called. “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
I was looking the other way when I walked through the door, which was why, as I entered the hallway, I walked into him.
“Oh!”
Mr. Burnes smiled at me.
“Hello. Congratulations!”
“Oh?” I pulled myself together fast. Why did this guy make me feel so disconcerted? Damn him. “You heard?”
He smiled. “My dear lady. I knew all along.”
“Oh.”
I felt my heart sink a bit. Was he suggesting it was his idea I got the contract right away?
“Yes.” He nodded. “And now that you’re here, I’d like to invite you to lunch. To celebrate.”
“Oh.”
I frowned. I knew he was just being nice, but something in me flared a warning.
“Well, it was me who recommended you to the manager,” he said smoothly. “So I guess it’s my pleasure to welcome you.”
I felt my heart thump. “Oh.”
“Of course, if you don’t want to be friends…” He made a little shrug.
Dammit! What was my problem. The guy did me a favor. I could just go for lunch. It was lunch, after all. I should be friendlier.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d like that.”
“See?” he smiled. “Wasn’t that easy?”
I chuckled. “Well, I’d have to be silly to say no.”
“Yes,” he said.
I smiled, though his remark was confusing.
“Well, then,” he said lightly. “At Halton’s at two?”
“Okay,” I said. It was a restaurant I didn’t know, but if he recommended it, I guess I was open to new things.
“Great,” he said. “It’s around the corner of Jefferson street. I can give you a lift?”
“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll walk.”
He shrugged. “If you like.”
I thanked him and left, heading down to the bathro
om. It was still half an hour away. I guessed I should start walking.
I managed to find the restaurant. When I went in, I blinked. All Norwegian wood and glass, the place was modern, stylish and high-end. I looked around and spotted him at the table in the corner. He stood.
“Margo! Great to see you.”
“Hi,” I said. He pulled out my chair and I sat down, wondering why he was being familiar. It wasn’t like I really knew him properly.
I chided myself. He was a polite guy—hell, why was I so unfair?
“The menu, ma’am.”
A waiter in a suit passed me two menus—one for drinks, one for lunch. I perused them and across the table, I felt his eyes on me.
“You know, I am glad you’re with the company,” he said softly.
“Thanks,” I said. I had no idea why, but his very presence made me feel awkward.
“I couldn’t think of a better face for the brand. The moment I saw you, I knew.”
“Thanks,” I said. I tried to focus on the words on the page, but my mind was unfocused. I couldn’t have said why, but something about the way he was with me, felt off.
“I think I’ll have the soup,” I said, noticing they had a wild mushroom potage with artisan loaf that sounded really good.
“Oh, come on, Margo,” he said chidingly. “You don’t want that. Have the pasta.”
I frowned. I was twenty-eight, and I was fairly sure I knew I wanted soup. But I couldn’t understand why that felt wrong to me. It would be really ungracious to say I wanted something else, wouldn’t it?
“Okay,” I said. “Why not?”
He laughed. “Exactly. Why not, indeed?”
I let him talk me into ordering the spinach and ricotta pasta, and then a glass of wine. It always made me feel weird to drink wine in the middle of the day, but if he was offering…why not?
The meal arrived speedily.
“So,” he said as the plates were put down in front of us. “I’ve told you about me. Tell me about yourself.”
I frowned. He hadn’t really told me about him—just a few scattered facts about his career. And I had a reluctance to reveal much about myself to him—there was this funny suspicion inside me that he would use it against me.
He’s not an FBI agent, for pity’s sake, I told myself harshly. And this isn’t a thriller movie.
“Well, I was born here in Milwaukee, and I’ve lived here all my life,” I began. “I guess it’s a bit boring, isn’t it? I mean, I might look all sophisticated in the shoots, but really, I’m a down-to-earth girl.”
He smiled. “Well, we all have our boring sides.”
I blinked. “Thanks, I think.”
He chuckled.
“Well, there isn’t much to tell,” I conceded, trying some of the pasta. It was delicious, I had to admit. “I went to tech and studied photography, actually. It’s a passion of mine. I sometimes wish I could be a better photographer myself…” I trailed off. Why was I telling him all this? I felt as if he was focused on me, drinking it all in. It made me feel interesting, when normally I thought of myself as just a pretty face.
“Well, that’s a great course, photography,” he said. “I belong to the Milwaukee Photography society. You should see my pictures sometime.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I was nominated for an award.”
“Oh.” I blinked. I was impressed. I’d never gotten an award for anything—not unless you counted some small ones at school.
“I’d like to share them with you,” he said. “We’re both just amateurs, I guess, but still.”
I frowned. Part of my mind felt that was off. I did have a diploma in photography. But I guess I was an amateur. And I’d never gotten an award for my pictures.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“It could be fun,” he added. “For when you get boring, my Milwaukee native.”
I laughed. I actually felt hurt, but he was just teasing. I pulled a face.
“Fine,” I said. “We have your pictures to look at when I’m boring.”
“Exactly.”
We chatted a while longer and the bill arrived.
“Let me…” I began, reaching for cash. He rolled his eyes.
“Margo, do try and be sophisticated?” he said in a loud whisper. “It’s my job to pay. Sorry,” he added to the waiter. “We often have these moments.”
I looked at my hands, whole body burning with shame. How had I done something so basic, such a stupid gaffe? I was sure that everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. I just wanted to run.
“There,” he said, handing the waiter a generous tip. “Thanks a lot.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He headed off. I felt as if I didn’t want to look up. But Durrell Burnes spoke gently.
“Come on, my Milwaukee rose,” he said gently. “Let’s go home. Don’t worry about them,” he said, flipping a hand at the rest of the restaurant goers.
I sighed and smiled at him. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry I can be so…awkward.”
“You are awkward,” he conceded generously. “But in a nice way.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling genuinely grateful.
We stood and walked out together.
At the car—his car, he hesitated.
“You’re so beautiful.” he breathed. “I’m sorry, but…forgive me?”
He leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was gentle on mine, his tongue slow and exploring. I didn’t know what to do. He was so nice—he’d taken me out to lunch and I’d been so awkward. I owed him my contract. I couldn’t dream of embarrassing myself in front of him, or him in front of the people going past.
I let him kiss me.
“Margo,” he sighed. “Wow.”
I felt my cheeks flame. I was desperately uncomfortable. His hand was on my arm, and he looked into my eyes. He narrowed his gaze, and I felt my pulse jump.
“I should…I should go,” I said quickly. “Th…thanks for lunch.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said.
I turned on my heel and walked quickly away. My head was spinning and I was confused. I felt as if I had been violated, but I couldn’t have said exactly why.
It’s just a kiss, Margo. So, the guy was a bit friendly after the wine. Anyone could have been Get over yourself.
I sighed. Who was I to object, anyway. He had given me this contract. As he said, I was a plain, unsophisticated and direct Milwaukee girl with very little to recommend me. He was my hope for a secure future.
How could I even think of denying him a silly kiss?
I headed back to the offices, feeling a bit unsteady. Then I drove home. When I reached my apartment, I headed upstairs and had a shower.
Then, abruptly, I lay on my bed and cried.
I looked at the clock. It was five pm. I didn’t want to do anything. Just sleep. If I slept, I would forget. If I forgot, I wouldn’t have to think. I was so confused, I would do almost anything to avoid having to make any kind of choice.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jay
I stumbled into work at nine on Tuesday morning, my head still a bit stuffy after the long time on the plane.
“Jay! Hey there!”
My colleague, Nilsson, yelled cheerily, making my head hurt. I was pleased to be back. I just missed Margo I had kind of hoped she’d get hold of me before now, but she hadn’t and I was hesitant to push myself on her. All my worries slid to the back of my mind now. I was here, in my office, and here at least I could absolutely trust these guys.
“Hey, Nilsson,” I said with a smile. “Good to see you.” No point in not being friendly.
“Well, it’s great to have you back. How was the trip?”
“Tiring,” I said. I grinned and flopped into the chair beside him. “It’s weird—it’s not a long way, but it feels like it.”
He chuckled. “I understand.”
“Well, I guess there’s a lot to catch up on,” I said. Nilsson and I were the only two in the offi
ce at this time—our colleagues Jacks and Birnam were notoriously late. And the guy who owned the place, Maxwell, was only there once every two weeks.
“Well, you’ve got a few consulting jobs on hold,” he said, indicating a sheet of printouts. I sighed.
“Nothing for today, though,” I noted. There were a few appointments about consulting, but nothing that needed immediate attention. A swimmer, a runner I’d worked with before, and then a team of five who were working for a relay. I would be seeing them next week.
“Well, that’s good,” my comrade said contentedly. “I’ve got to go out later. Oh, look. Here they are!”
I smiled as Birnam came in. He gave me a friendly grin.
“Hey, man.”
Tall, built and an ex-baseball player, Birnam had that presence that a lot of big, tough guys have: a strangely gentle, grounding air. He always cooled things down in the office.
“Hey,” I smiled. “Good to be back.”
“Yeah. Lots to do?”
“Not so much,” I admitted. “I did work while I was away. Not too much, mind.”
“Smart guy.”
I pulled a face. “Maybe not.”
He chuckled. “Good that you are here.”
I sat down to work.
Most of the morning was taken up with reading the stuff I’d need to know for consulting. I had to check through what they wanted to achieve, their history, and their needs. And then I needed to read. I was scrupulous about not just telling people the nonsense advertisers told them. I knew how important it was to think cautiously about supplements and stuff. My own injuries had led me down a path of self-care that had been closed to me before they happened and my eyes were now open.
“And they should go easy with the creatine…this guy has a history of liver issues…”
I was talking to myself, lost in my work.
“Hey, Jay!” Nilsson broke in on my thoughts. “Hard work! Lunchtime?”
I sighed. “I’m okay, thanks. Brought sandwiches.” I had too. Planning ahead for a hard day’s work.
He grinned. “Dedicated. Wow. See you.”
I heard them all troop out.
While they were at lunch I finished some of what I had to read and I decided I could safely spend some time doing nonwork things.
