by Aria Ford
I checked my mail, caught up with friends. Read the paper. I still got a subscription to the Wisconsin News. As I scrolled through it, I found myself hopping aimlessly to a gossip page.
I stared.
No.
“Boss welcomes new face for top brand.”
I stared at the picture. It was someone kissing. The guy in the picture was turned away and I couldn’t see his face. But the girl was unmistakable.
I read the words. “Amidst the announcements of a rebrand, chief executive Durrell Burne of the breakaway brand Realtone was seen cozying up to new model. Singleton Margo Lawrence is now the subject of new rumors. Is she dating the high-profile exec?”
I felt sick. Margo was seeing someone else?
I read the rest of the article. They had been photographed at a classic restaurant together and had apparently been seen since then, leaving another restaurant, the Guilford. They were dating.
“You fool.”
I was so mad at myself. Why would Margo choose me? This guy was offering her the chance she needed. And, it seemed, he fit better in her world. He was sophisticated, well-groomed, and I had to admit even I could see he was handsome.
And rich. And influential. Just the way she needed.
“Fine,” I said tightly. “So that’s that.”
I couldn’t do anything about it.
In a way, I could understand it from her viewpoint. She was young and she needed this break. This guy was good for her. I was no good for her.
I remembered the words from Saturday. She is drawing you in.
This seemed more believable now. Maybe she was worried the whole contract wasn’t going to come off? She needed to secure her future. I was someone who was established, well-off, sound. She could reel me in easily, just by showing me some love. I had been fooling myself if I thought she actually had feelings for me.
“Fine,” I said, choked.
I wanted to close the tabloid, but somehow my mind was obsessed about it. I couldn’t take my eyes of the photo. There was an inset of the guy too. He was suave and what I could only call a gentleman.
Some hope of her really liking me.
Margo was the kind of person, it seemed, who would use whatever she could get a hold of to make herself secure. I hadn’t noticed it about her, but I guess it was true. In my own way, I couldn’t blame her. She had an uncertain future as a model—a dazzling but uncertain one.
Maybe she never liked me.
I had to own up to that. When we first met, all those years ago, maybe she’d seen a chance of securing her future then too. Or whatever the case, I was pretty sure that was what she was doing now.
I sighed. My whole throat was tight. I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt. I was mad. I was upset. I felt as if someone had made me trust them, and then taken it away.
I should have believed mom.
Well, I did now. No one could really love me. Margo was after what she needed to make herself safe. I could forgive her.
I just couldn’t forgive myself.
I was the one who was hopeful, and trusting. And stupid.
There was still a lot of work to be done—I had to finish Deon, the runner’s, nutrition plan. I was due to see him on tomorrow afternoon.
I was reading over the notes from his case, working on a table of ideas and suggestions, when the door opened.
“Hey! Jay!”
Jacks yelled flamboyantly as he came into the office. Loud and rugged, Jacks always wore on my nerves—and today they were paper-thin.
“Jacks, keep it down, please?” I said. “I’m working.”
He whistled. “Hell, guys. That’s harsh.”
“Yeah,” Nilsson said, hurt. “Hell, Jay. What’s it?”
“Nothing,” I said savagely. “I’m just not feeling great. Is that okay with you people?”
Nilsson made wide eyes. “Hell. Sure. If you insist.”
I felt bad as they all sat down at their desks to work. The phone rang and someone else answered it. The mood in the place was cool and crisp. I wished I hadn’t snapped at my friends. But what could I do?
I felt as if my heart was breaking. The worst thing was that it was my fault. I would just have to do what I should have done earlier, and that was close my eyes, close this door and move on.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Margo
I woke up on Tuesday at around five pm. I had woken in the morning, I seemed to remember, but then gone back to sleep again. I had met Durrell at the office and we’d had coffee. I remembered coming home and changing, taking another sleeping pill.
“Damn sleeping tablets.”
I knew it was irresponsible of me—I was determined to blot all of this out of my mind. I sighed and got to my feet. I felt sick and sore and horrible. I hated myself for having done this to myself. I had a rule not to do this.
I went through to the shower.
The hot water woke me up a bit and I felt better when I sat down to lunch. I couldn’t bear the thought of coffee—just thinking of drinking it made my heart ache. I knew putting any more strain on it was a bad plan.
I cooked rice and sat down to eat it. My body felt worn out.
While I ate I tried to forget about Durrell. He made me feel awful. When we went for coffee he’d kissed me again, and touched me in a way that made me feel dirty. I knew he wanted something from me and I wasn’t prepared to give it. But it frightened me.
I owe him so much. What will happen if I say no? I can’t.
I was scared.
I knew that was why I was using the sleeping pills. It was a way of bypassing thought. I knew there was a train heading down the track at me, and I couldn’t jump. I just didn’t want to see it.
“Margo, you have to do something.”
I knew I had to. I did have people I could talk to. I could talk to my brother.
I marched through to the bedroom to find my phone.
While I was trying to think of what to say to my bro, I had another idea. Maybe I could talk to Lance?
I tried to text him. I should have texted him yesterday just to wish him safe travels. I had been so confused I’d forgotten.
“Huh?”
My messages were blocked. My heart thumped.
“Jay! No. Dammit!”
I was confused. Maybe it was a mistake, some kind of accident.
I tried again. No. He’d definitely blocked me.
I leaned back and sighed. My poor heart—it was already aching from the sleeping pills—I really didn’t need this. What was going on?
I tried to phone his number. That still worked. I rang and rang. He didn’t answer.
“Jay…please…”
I left a voice message.
“Jay, I don’t know what’s going on. But can you call me? Please—we need to chat?”
I hung up and leaned back, closing my eyes. It wasn’t possible, was it? He couldn’t know about Durrell and me…
It was a kiss, for pity’s sake!
I was frantic. I knew I was being ridiculous. How would he know? He was a whole state away by now. How would he have seen those two indiscreet, public displays of apparent affection?
I reached for my phone to call Alexandra. I checked the time. No. I couldn’t call—she was working evenings on Tuesdays. My poor head. It was so sore…
I put my phone aside. Stood. Walked to the window.
It was stupid, but I felt as if the view was gray. No more color, no more happiness. I had no idea what Jay meant to me, not really. I had no idea until now.
“Dammit.”
I picked up the phone again, considered calling him. No. Better not. Not until I understood more.
I dressed and headed out into the street. My plan was to go to work and find someone to talk to. My brother would be in traffic right now—it was five thirty, and I knew he was coming back from work, unable to talk. My friend was doing therapy and I couldn’t disturb her. Next best hope was Sheri, my old agent’s secretary—she had become a fr
iend during the last four years of work and I thought, if anyone understood me, she at least had a better chance than most of getting me.
I reached the office and headed uncertainly upstairs. Walking was hard. I hung to the rail, feeling sick.
“Margo!” a voice greeted me as I reached the glass-walled office at the very top of the third flight of stairs. “Hi! It’s great to see you.”
I hadn’t been here at this place—the offices of Petals—for a while now. I nodded.
“Sheri. It’s great to see you.”
“What’s up?” she asked. She was closer to my mom than me, age-wise, with soft graying hair and big glasses. She had a kind smile.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I tried not to cry but she stood and reached across to me.
“It’s okay, honey. Come in, sit down. Talk.”
Sheri was a Southern belle, and she had the sweet, gentle twang in her voice. It made me feel safe.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, reaching for a cup of coffee. “What’s the matter now?”
I sighed. “I’m okay,” I managed. My eyes were wet and I wordlessly accepted something to dry them, noting absently that it was an embossed serviette from a coffee place. I smiled a wry grin.
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to see you.”
“It’s great to see you, sweetie,” she said. “Talk.”
I sighed. “It’s complicated. You see…”
I told her everything. About Jay in the past, Jay when he left, Jay now.
When I’d finished, she’d blinked.
“Well, honey, this is all news,” she said. She sounded odd.
“Why?”
“Well,” she smiled. “I saw your picture in the paper today. I sure was glad. We knew about the move, but…” she trailed off uncertainly.
“But what?” I frowned. What picture? “What…”
“You didn’t know?” she asked gently.
“No!” I knew I sounded mad at her and I tried to tone it down. “Sorry, Sheri. Please?”
She sighed. “It’s in the papers. So, when you told me about this guy…”
“What’s in the papers?” I asked.
“Here,” she said. She looked hurt and I regretted shouting at her. I wasn’t mad at her. I was afraid.
“Sorry, Sheri. I…Oh.”
I stared. It was bad. It was worse.
The paper carried a picture of a slender dark-haired girl photographed full-face, kissing a tall, thin guy. The guy was wearing a wool suit, turned away from the camera. The girl was obvious. It was me.
“Oh my.”
“Honey, what’s up?” Sheri asked kindly. “When I saw it, I sure was pleased for you. A new job, great guy, good future…” she trailed off.
“Sheri,” I said. “It’s not true.”
She frowned. “What isn’t.”
“This.” I made a gesture at the paper. It was ridiculous! It was a kiss. But, reading the news, I had the impression I’d been with Durrell for ages. And then there was another article, in a magazine, where there was a second photo. Me and Durrell at coffee.
It was true. But it wasn’t.
I tried to find the words to explain to Sheri, but where could I even try? The pictures were there, real evidence. I couldn’t deny it.
What was I going to do?
I left the office, feeling miserable. I got home and called my friend.
“Alle?”
“Hey!” she sounded pleased. “How’s life?”
“I don’t think I can answer that question.”
“Why not?”
I burst into tears.
We spent an hour or two talking. She told me about forgiving myself, about Jay and why it would affect him so badly, about how it was terrible someone was using me. At the end of the conversation, I still had a question.
What to do?
“Give him time,” Alle suggested. “It might work. You told him this isn’t true?”
“I tried, Alle,” I said through clenched teeth. “How can I?”
“You have his mail?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Well, it’s worth a go,” she said. “It’s better there. You can say what you really feel—it gives you time to express yourself. Think about your words. Give it a go.”
I sighed. “Okay,” I agreed “I’ll do that.”
“Mm,” she agreed softly. “You do that. You’ll be fine.”
I drew in a long, wobbly breath. “I dunno, Alle.”
“Trust me. Trust yourself. Trust love.”
I decided to try.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jay
There was mail in my inbox, but I didn’t want to read it.
It was Wednesday afternoon and the office was still. I had just met with Deon and the guys were in the coffee room. I could hear them chuckling even from this distance. I hadn’t quite managed to restore the mood to equilibrium between us.
Just as well. I guess they’ll think I was dumb too. And maybe I’m just not good company.
I sighed. I wanted to move on, but I couldn’t.
My whole world had gone cold.
“Jay, read it,” I told myself.
I should just be brave and read Margo’s mail. I knew she’s called me, but I hadn’t replied to it. I felt hurt. I felt betrayed. I knew that if I said something I’d be angry. And I didn’t want to shout at her—I forgave her. I was mad at myself.
I sighed. Closed Gmail and opened a browser. I still needed to figure out the optimal nutrition for an experienced polar swimmer.
I need a challenge right now, so I might as well. Anything to take my mind off misery.
“Jay?”
I looked up to see Birnam. He looked at me with a soft smile on his coal-dark face.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” I nodded. “What?”
It wasn’t like him to just stand there, like a peaceable granite outcrop. I sighed.
“Man, I’m concerned,” he said.
I sighed. “About what?”
“We miss you. You’re not yourself.”
I snorted. “Maybe you do. I doubt the other guys notice.” I felt savage—I wanted to share the hurt and pass it on.
“No, they do,” he insisted gently. “We all notice how sad you are. Can I help?”
I sighed. I was touched. “I don’t think anyone can.”
He huffed a sigh. “Pity, that,”
“Mm,” I said, noncommittal. I reached for my coffee. I took a swig, knowing I was using it to try and evade my thoughts. If I was alert and working all the time, Margo slipped to the back of my mind. With any luck, I could go a couple hours.
“Well, if you wanna talk,” he said, shrugging. “Talk, man.”
I sighed. “I don’t know where to start. I feel…I’m ashamed of myself.” I looked around. If I started talking and the others arrived I’d feel exposed. I trusted this guy, but the others weren’t so attuned. I shrugged.
“Well, it’s not very productive. Shame, I mean,” Birnam said. “Useless thing.”
I chuckled. “I guess. But anyhow. It’s what I feel—ashamed and stupid.”
“Well, you’re not stupid,” he said. “And no one’s shameful. So you can forget that stuff now.”
I pulled a face, amused. “That’s my telling off for the day.”
He chuckled. “You need one.”
“I suppose so.”
We were quiet for a while. Birnam sighed.
“I know girls can make a person sad,” he said. “In my experience, it’s all that can be freaking you out this bad.”
I laughed. “You’re right, man.”
He smiled. “Well, you know what usually works?”
“What?” I asked.
“Listening to them. Let them talk. I know what they do can confuse you—but if you just listen, you’ll understand. And chances are once you’ve understood, it’ll clear up.”
I blinked. As a mountainous, muscled baseball
player, Birnam sure was wise. I nodded.
“You know, that might work.”
He chuckled. “You bet it does. What do you think I’ve been doing with Aliyah for years?”
I chuckled. “Well, you should know better than all of us.”
“I got scars, man,” he said with a grin. “That lady don’t take nonsense from no one. Not real scars—scars in here,” he said, tapping his head. “But listening’s all you need to do—if you listen you’ll understand.”
I sighed. That was exactly what I wanted right now. To understand.
“Thanks,” I said, “I’ll try it.”
“Don’t try it—do it.”
I chuckled. “Yes, chef.”
He pulled a face. “Fine. Do that.”
I laughed. I felt better after chatting with him. He was not the oldest of us, but in many ways he was the wisest. Polite and peaceful. And he was the only one of us who had a stable girlfriend—Aliyah had been in his life since way before he started working here two years ago. They went back to his college football days.
“I will.”
“Good.”
I considered reading her mail. I was about to. But the boss arrived.
“Hey, Jay.” He looked tense.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Well, we just got a big order. Really big. How d’ you feel about teams.”
I stared. “You want me to do the nutrition thing for a team?”
“Yeah. A college sports group.”
I whistled. “Wow. That’s a big deal.”
“It could be.” He nodded. A well-built wiry guy, he was a free climber and a bit of an addict for extreme sports. The drive and enthusiasm carried over to his career. “If we can get this, we’re good for the next ten years.”
“Wow.” I nodded. “That’s big.”
“Well, yeah! And breaking the college ground…if we can get more contracts like this, we’ll establish ourselves as a top consulting group. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“Very.”
We chatted for a while and then he left. When he’d gone, I stared at the mail a while longer. The office was full of excitement and I knew the guys were just itching to ask me about the boss and what he’d discussed.
