"I'm here for Tristan. My friend Carol is the PR person for his event."
Alison's eagle-like gaze studies my face, as if trying to ascertain if I'm lying. She steps toward me, closing the space between us. I'm almost certain that the coldness emitting from her could freeze hearts.
"Just remember, if I see you anywhere near my fiancé, I'll have you fired. Nicholas won't do it, but his father will." She leaves me with the nauseating feeling that I might not survive the next few months. Tonight's event is just getting started, but I find Carol in the hope that she can somehow get me home.
On our way back to the apartment, Carol doesn’t say much. She just holds me as I cry into her shoulder in frustration at the world. Several times I catch Steven tearing his gaze from the road to check on us. I feel horrible that Carol had to call him to drive us home, but there was no way that I was getting back in the car with Nicholas, and Carol refused to let me take a cab.
A steady stream of tears continue to flow for the entire length of our ride home, no doubt leaving horrific smears of mascara across my cheeks. At one point during the ride, when a fresh wave of sobs overtakes me, Steven offers to stop at a McDonald’s to get me a milkshake. It’s comforting to know that he cares and wants to help somehow, but despite my love of soft serve and candy, my appetite is nonexistent at the moment.
It’s really time to let go of Nicholas StoneHaven.
Three weeks later…
The weeks that pass seem like years, and each one drains the life from me further. I’ve been ignoring all of the calls to my cellphone, especially the ones from Tristan. After my conversation with Rebecca, I’m convinced that my feelings must be one-sided. She made it perfectly clear that what happened between us is just physical. If I could turn off the ache that I feel every time I catch a glimpse of her at the office, I would. But I’m afraid that even that wouldn’t help me forget her. If only it were that easy.
After she left the gallery opening, I couldn't muster the strength to actually enjoy the evening. Instead, I stood in the shadows, licking my wounds and keeping my distance from the general crowd of people.
“Good evening, Nick.” A voice says from the corner of my office. I look up to find Striker standing a few feet away. He walks over to my desk with an impassive look on his face.
"I didn't hear you come up."
"I took the stairs," he smirks.
He slides a blank manila envelope across my desk, tapping on it twice to grab my attention. The last time I asked him for a favor, he was following Rebecca for me as she made her way to a local bookstore in the city. I promised myself that would be the last time I asked him for anything regarding her. He had a good laugh at me when Rebecca fled from me, and now I'm sure my father has explained to him the details of our relationship, or lack thereof. I wouldn't be surprised if he has Striker watching us both.
“What is this?” I ask, irritated.
“You wanted me to inform you if there was anything new that came up with your assistant’s file.” I tear my attention from the stack of checks that I’m signing for the accounting department to peek over at the folder.
“Did something come up?” Are there skeletons in Rebecca’s closet that I don’t know about?
“It’s about her parents," he says, taking a seat in front of my desk.
“Well what about them?”
“It seems her parents are having some financial problems. The father lost his job some months back, and they might lose their house.” I shouldn't care about Rebecca's family's financial troubles, but I do. The bitterness that has been seeping its way into my heart has yet to ruin my feelings for her.
“How bad off are they?”
“According to their lender, they’re behind a few months."
“Thank you for bringing this to me, Striker.”
“Goodnight.” He nods and then turns to leave. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Your father loves you, Nick, and he just wants the best for you…"
"I know," I grumble.
"You didn't let me finish," he chuckles. "The thing is, parents don't always know what's best for their children. They think they do, but sometimes they're just stubborn assholes." Striker's words surprise me, considering it's probably the most he's said to me in one conversation since I’d first met him. He's an unusually quiet man, and I don't think I've ever heard him say much about my father, and I’ve certainly never heard him speak out in disagreement with anything ordained by the almighty Stefan StoneHaven. And while I don’t see how they can help the situation, I find his words comforting.
"Is that your way of telling me he's wrong about my impending marriage?"
Striker looks down at me with a strange smile, as if he’s remembering something funny. "Marry the redhead. She'll make you happy. Plus, any woman who has the fortitude to kick you in the balls is definitely worth fighting for."
Ass.
Whoever claims that being an event planner is fun has no idea what the hell they are talking about. It's the week of the gala, and I've spent the past several days running all over New York City like a madwoman trying to make sure everything is going right. After speaking with the event coordinator StoneHaven Publishing has contracted with, I'm convinced, despite the amazing caterer, photographer, and live performers that are booked, there's still probably a thousand ways this event could go wrong. My anxiety had gone from mild nerves to a full-blown panic mode.
I've been given strict instructions to follow up with the event coordinator nearly every day this week. I know that my general paranoia that something might go wrong isn't uncommon, so I'm glad that I'm not the only one worrying about such a large public event. Work seems to be back to the normal routine with Nicholas, if you call him avoiding me for days and only communicating with me via email normal. I hate to admit it, but I miss the days where we were so caught up with each other that everything else seemed insignificant.
After the gallery opening, I was convinced he would scream or yell when I showed up at work, but he’s been painfully quiet. It’s become quite a juggling act to accomplish all that I need to and manage to avoid crossing paths with him, especially when my job responsibilities mostly revolve around being his assistant. I guess I should be thankful that he’s not sending me on wild goose chases with a Great Dane this time, but the whole avoiding each other thing hasn't helped with the awkward situation of working with him. If anything, it's been a constant reminder of my glaring mistake the night of the gallery opening.
Carol was right when she told me the other day that I've been acting strange. I haven't been myself since that night. In fact, I've been someone entirely different. I've turned into the pathetic woman who watches romantic comedies in her pajamas all weekend, and spends the entire night eating frozen yogurt and crying for the heroine who just can't seem to find the one. I wish I could pull myself out of this funk, but I know that only time can do that for me.
"Rebecca…I mean, Ms. Gellar?" My heart squeezes at the sight of Nicholas standing outside of my cubicle. His facial hair seems longer this week, giving him the appearance of a scruffy outdoorsman in a well-tailored suit. His gaze trails over me before quickly focusing back on the paper in his hand. "I was hoping you could help me with Friday night's speech. You seem to have a better gift for flattering words. Do you think you could look over this welcome speech?"
"Of course," I say, taking the paper. My nerves have gotten the better of me and I can't stop my heart from racing as he runs his hand across the second paragraph of the speech.
"I'm having some trouble here. Feel free to make any notes."
"I will."
I smile and Nicholas flinches slightly. He steps back, letting his gaze linger over me once more before clearing his throat and excusing himself. "I should be on my way. If you need me for any reason, please call my cellphone. I'll be out of the office."
Things are definitely not okay between us. His meetings out of the office have become more and more freque
nt. Anytime I have a question, he offers to meet me somewhere public. I'm torn between thinking that he's afraid of being alone with me, or that he's avoiding me because of Alison.
"I'll email you my revisions," I offer.
"Thank you. Goodnight."
My gaze lingers over Nicholas's frame as it grows smaller and smaller as he makes his way across the building. I grip my chair, trying to hold back the startling need to run to him, and feel his arms wrapped around me.
“Hey, Becca, are you ready to party Friday?” Ken asks, as he does the beginning of the electric slide out of his office. I laugh, unable to contain my amusement at his sudden outburst of energy among the overly quiet office. I don’t normally see Ken so lively during the middle of the week. Most of the time he’s too busy fretting over deadlines and meeting with angry or overzealous authors, but after a rather depressing week, his cheesy smile is a welcome sight.
“Definitely, I’m sorry I haven’t stopped in your office to chat,” I say.
After the incident at Riptide, I left our friendship on a rather strange note, but I'm hopeful that Ken and I can still be friends.
"I hope you don't think I've been ignoring you."
“No, I figured you were busy, and the holidays are always a weird time to catch up with people," he says with a polite smile. "Are you going to bring a date to the gala?”
My heart clenches at the thought of Nicholas. “No, are you?”
“Actually, I am,” he grins, blushing slightly. “I met someone over the holiday break. I didn’t want to say anything until after a few dates."
"That's great," I say, trying my best to muster a smile.
"Single women can be so crazy here. You never know if you’re secretly dating a hoarder, or a woman who likes to rub mustard on her tits during sex.”
“What? You’re telling me yellow-stained nipples don’t turn you on?” I say, pretending to be shocked. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've heard Ken say the word tits.
“I'm guessing, probably as much as you like a man who wants you to wrap him in an adult diaper and read him a bedtime story.”
“I don’t know,” I laugh. “That sounds a lot less complicated than my love life right now.”
When I first get to my desk from lunch, I find an email in my inbox with instructions that sends my stomach turning in violent knots. I stare at the screen with watery eyes as I re-read the words in Nicholas’s email.
To: Rebecca Gellar
From: Nicholas F. StoneHaven
Subject: Pick Up Ring
Gellar,
Please head over to Tiffany & Co this afternoon. I need you to help me pick out Alison’s engagement ring. The sales associate has two rings on hold for me. I need your opinion on which one would be the better choice. I’ve told Mary to have a cab ready to pick you up when you return from lunch. Have the driver bring you home when you’re finished.
Thank you,
Nicholas
My world implodes. I should be happy, right? This is exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to stop bothering me and move on with his marriage to Alison. I guess I just wasn’t expecting to be caught in the middle of it again. I’m tempted to email Nicholas back and tell him no, and that I can’t help him pick out his fiancée’s ring, but what would that prove? Nothing. It would only tell him that I still have feelings for him. I can’t let myself get emotional about this. This is my job, and as Nicholas’s assistant, I’m supposed to be fine with this. I have to be.
It only takes me five minutes inside the cab to realize that I’m not fine. I’m on my way to pick out Alison’s engagement ring, a.k.a the catty bitch who’s marrying the gorgeous man who has occupied my thoughts for the past several months. It's hard to imagine coming into the office and seeing her here. I’m sure once they’re married she’ll be itching to have me leave. The thought of not being able to see Nicholas feels like my insides are being torn apart.
The drive through downtown traffic takes a lot longer than expected, and by the time we reach Tiffany’s, I’ve called and convinced Carol to postpone a lunch engagement to meet me.
Carol eyes nearly pop out of her head as she stares in shock at the two giant rocks that sit displayed in front of us. I couldn’t fight the temptation to try one on, but I immediately regret doing so. While it’s nice to live in the moment and imagine what it would feel like to be engaged to Nicholas, it’s also extremely painful. Geez. Both of these rings cost more than my college education.
“Holy balls, they’re huge,” Carol says with wide eyes. I’m tempted to crack my usual that’s what she said joke, but the sight of the two emerald-cut diamonds has me teetering into a jealous guilt. Having Carol here with me has helped ease some of the pain, but nowhere near the amount I wish it did.
“Both are really breathtaking,” I admit. Carol’s critical gaze washes over me with annoyance. She’s still irked at me that I told Nicholas that what happened was just fucking. For the first time since I’ve known her, she’s genuinely disappointed in me. It only makes me feel that much worse.
“Which one would you choose?” she asks.
“I don’t know…” Panic starts to set in. “I can’t do this,” I say, backing up from the display of sparkling diamond rings. “I need to get out of here.”
“Becca breathe, you’re okay.”
Carol wraps her arms around my shoulders, trying her best to reassure me, but the world around me feels everything but okay. Any moment, I’m going to break into a thousand little fragmented pieces and I will never be able to recover from it. I’ll never feel complete because there will always be a piece of me missing that has been carelessly swept under the rug, never to see the light of day again.
“You did what?” Tristan asks, staring at me in astonishment as he practically throws his hot cup of saké at me. The sound of his booming voice nearly stops the whole traffic of the restaurant as everyone turns to watch the spectacle before them. A couple nearby whispers in hushed voices as they turn and stare at us, waiting to see what happens.
“You sent Rebecca to pick out Alison’s ring?" he repeats.
"I have my reasons."
"Which are what? Being a prickly asshole? I can't believe you're marrying her."
I smirk at the underlying anger in his words. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Tristan cares about Rebecca a little too much for my liking. After leaving the office to get some air, or rather to distance myself from her, I decided to take a stroll through Central Park. It was on my way back that I got a call from a frantic sales associate from Tiffany's. After dealing with several minutes of the woman apologizing, she informed me that Rebecca had left without choosing a ring.
“The ring is for Rebecca, not Alison,” I say, with an exasperated expression as I push away the Hibachi steak on my plate. Tristan taps his fingers on the table as he impatiently waits for me to explain.
“So you tricked her into thinking it is?”
“I wanted to know if she still cares about me. If what’s happening between us is just fucking, as she says, then she wouldn’t have freaked out and fled the store."
I watch as Tristan sits back, rubbing the side of his face in contemplation. “If you weren’t my best friend, I would take you outside and kick the shit out of you.” He pops a single shrimp into his mouth and continues to stare with an irritated, but amused look on his face.
“Any day, buddy,” I challenge with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I still owe you for the black eye.” His lips twitch into a half smile.
“So did you pick a ring? When are you going to ask her?”
“I did on my way over here," I say, pulling out the emerald-cut diamond. "I was thinking of taking her with me to France, and asking her there.”
"Alex would've been proud of you."
My heart throbs at the mention of my brother's name. If there is anything I'm certain of, it's that Alex would've been happy knowing that I married someone like Rebecca. I'm positive that, wherev
er he is, he's smiling down at me and shaking his head at the beautiful mess I've gotten myself into. I'm keeping my promise, Alex.
Tristan holds up his saké cup like he's about to give a toast. "To your upcoming marriage."
"You're rather optimistic," I grumble.
“Don't forget, I better be the best man at your wedding,” he says.
“You will be, but first she has to say yes."
“Just make sure you don't tell her about tricking her with the ring before she agrees,” he says, laughing at me. "She might end up kneeing you in the balls."
"Well, we all know it wouldn't be the first time," I laugh. "Thank you for the lovely reminder."
"Anytime." Tristan grins.
I'm almost ready to leave for another day of work when my cellphone emits a shrill ring through the apartment, commanding my immediate attention. I scurry over to my purse just in time to catch the call before it goes to voicemail. I smile at seeing my mother’s name flashing across the screen. I haven’t talked with her for weeks, and I can only assume that she probably isn't very happy that I didn't come see them over Christmas. Despite my dad's protests that I don't send them money for their house payment, I've sent them a check with a note to my mother that specifically says not to tell my father. I don't care what kind of lie she comes up with; I'm not letting my parents lose their house.
“Hello?”
“Rebecca? Are you there?” I can hardly make out her words but I know it’s my mother. In the background, I hear someone telling her to shut off her phone. Where the hell is she?
“Sweetie, I have a surprise to tell you.” I can hardly make out her words, but the excitement in her voice surprises me. The last time I heard her this excited is when she found out that Miles had proposed to me. I bet she's going to be surprised to hear that he got arrested for harassing me. He's damned lucky I didn't tell the officer just how much he was manhandling me.
Bound to You: Volume 3 Page 11
