Bigger Rock

by Lauren Blakely

  Nick shakes his head. “Not exactly. It’s a new scientific discovery, though. Like reverse osmosis, but instead of water, it filters out your fuck-up. Got it now?”

  Harper rolls her eyes. “Guys. Focus. Now is not the time to practice one-upmanship in smartassery.”

  I drag a hand roughly through my hair. “All right. Let’s do this. What is step one?”

  Harper draws a deep breath and turns to Nick. “Should we tell him, or let him figure it out on his own?”

  Nick screws up the corner of his mouth, then pushes his glasses higher. “Not sure his brain is working at full-speed today.”

  “Tell me what? Were you two talking about this already?”

  “Yeah. Duh. When you tried to run off to find Charlotte,” she says, and I wince at the reminder of how I raced off to catch up to her after Rihanna’s song screeched to a halt. But the blond beauty was long gone, leaving me nursing this black-and-blue heart. Meanwhile, she has my phone, keys and wallet, so I’m operating blind.

  Penniless, too.

  “And what did you decide I need to do?”

  “Dude, first you need to apologize to your dad for lying. You need to explain why you did it, that it came from the right place, but that it was a mistake, and you’re sorry,” Nick says, taking on the role of straight shooter.

  I nod. “Got it. I can do that.”

  “Then you need to try to fix this mess,” Harper says, chiming in.

  “How?”

  “You should ask to talk to Mr. Offerman. See if you can smooth things over.”

  I cringe at the thought of groveling to that asshat. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with Dad anymore.”

  “That’s right now,” Nick says. “Tempers flare in the heat of the moment. See if he cools down. You’ve got to try.”

  I nod, taking this all in, knowing they’re right. “And if that doesn’t work?”

  They lock eyes again, then look back at me. “You. You’re the way to unfucking it,” Harper says.

  “Oh shit,” I say in a heavy voice as it hits me exactly how I’ll have to reverse osmosis this fuckup for my Dad.

  Harper gives me a ten-dollar bill. I feel like a grade-schooler clutching his allowance. “Now, only use it if you need to take a bus home, dear,” she says, like a parent admonishing a child.

  She gives me a shove toward the entrance of Katharine’s. “Go.”

  I head inside, sticking out like a sore thumb with my gym shorts and ball cap. I make my way to the elevator and press the button for the sixth floor. After the doors close with a whoosh, I inhale and exhale, fighting to keep my focus on my dad. Not on Charlotte. Not on the worst words I’d ever heard in my life.

  It was never real.

  I don’t know how I could have misread things between us so badly. I was so damn sure we not only had epic chemistry, but so much more. But that must just be the cocky bastard in me, making assumptions that the woman wanted me.

  When the woman doesn’t lie.

  She made that clear from the start.

  She said she’s a terrible liar, which means everything she said at the ball field was true.

  How the hell am I supposed to go back to working by her side? To running a business with her?

  When the elevator reaches my dad’s floor, the doors slide open. I step out and see a familiar face. Nina walks toward me, dressed in a crisp suit even on a Saturday. But then, Saturdays are the store’s busiest days.

  “Hey there. Are you looking for your dad?”

  I nod. “I am. Is he in his office?”

  “Yes. He’s working on some contracts.”

  A flicker of hope ignites in me. Maybe the deal is back on. Maybe the kerfuffle blew over in mere minutes. Maybe there are Walmarts on Jupiter.

  Still, I have to ask. “Is Mr. Offerman in there?”

  “No,” she says with a small smile, then drops a hand gently on my arm. “But go see him.”

  She leaves, and I draw a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk to my father’s office. Whatever is coming—whether anger or disappointment—I will take it like a man.

  I knock, and Dad says to come in.

  He’s at his desk, still wearing his softball jersey, his fingers poised over the keyboard. I can’t read the expression in his eyes. I seize the moment, the words tumbling out in a traffic jam.

  “Dad, first of all, I owe you a huge apology. I lied to you and tricked you. And I’m sorry. You raised me better than that. I should never have pretended I was engaged, but in my defense, I thought—stupidly—that it would be the thing you needed for the deal. When I met Mr. Offerman, he so clearly didn’t like my past or my ‘reputation,’”—I sketch air quotes—“so I thought I could simply be engaged for a week as you finished the deal. It wasn’t Charlotte’s idea. It was mine. I thought I was doing the right thing and making sure that my past wouldn’t be the reason your deal went sour. But instead it went sour anyway, because of me.”

  “Spencer,” he begins, his lips twitching.

  I hold up a hand and shake my head. “I should have been honest with Mr. Offerman at breakfast the next day, and I should have been honest with you. But I wasn’t. You said all those nice things about Charlotte before Fiddler, too, and I felt like a schmuck for lying to you. You taught me to be better than that.” I sigh and say the hardest part. “But at some point, it stopped being a lie, because even though it started as a fake engagement, it became real for me, and I fell in love with her.”

  The corners of his mouth curve up. “Spencer,” he tries again, but I keep going, standing on the other side of his desk, my mea culpa pouring out of me.

  “But that doesn’t matter, because you heard what she said.” My voice chokes with sadness as I recall her awful words. “She doesn’t feel the same, and that’s that. I’m sorry that I took advantage of you with the entire charade. And I know I can’t make it up to you, but I want to try.”

  Then I dive into what I’ve realized I must do to make this right. “I know what you want most in the world—to retire and spend more time with Mom. I know that’s why you wanted to sell Katharine’s. I’m not asking you to hand it over to me. I’m not asking you to give me your business. But I’m volunteering my time. I’m offering to run the business for you. At no charge, of course,” I say with a small laugh, because even in these moments, you need to keep your sense of humor. My dad’s eyes sparkle as he listens. “I’m good at business. I might be terrible at relationships, and I clearly have no clue what women really want, and I have an ego that’s far too big to fit on any city bus, but I’m a rock star at running all sorts of businesses. I’d love to make this up to you and be your substitute teacher while you take your time off and we find you another buyer.”

  I take a breath, and even though I never wanted to run the store, and even though he never intended for me to do so, it feels good to man up and make the offer. To let him know that I’m willing to fix my mistakes.

  Dad rises, walks around his desk, and crosses his arms. He stands with his heels digging into the carpet of his office, his dark eyes taking me in.

  The weird thing is, he doesn’t look pissed.

  27

  “You’re right, Son. I’m not happy you lied. I’m not happy you made up a whole pretend engagement. And I’m not happy you felt you had to be anything other than yourself in order for me to have what I want.” He stops to squeeze my shoulder. “But I did raise you right, because to do what you just did is all I could ask for.”

  “I’m glad to do it, Dad,” I say, and soon it will start to feel true. I’ll pour my heart into it, because God knows, I need to get my mind off Charlotte. Maybe I’ll even let her buy me out of the bar so I won’t have to see her anymore. Seeing the woman who broke my heart every day will sting like a yellow jacket with rabies.

  Dad claps my back, then tugs me in for a hug. “You’re a good guy. I’m proud of you for owning up to this, and for trying to fix it.” He lets go, parks his hands on my shoulders
, and sighs happily. “But I’m not going to let you.”

  I knit my brow. “Why not?”

  He laughs. His eyes twinkle. “Because you saved me. Because I was racking my brains when it was my turn at bat, trying to figure out how to get out of this deal gracefully. I was having second thoughts about selling to that pompous, chauvinistic pig in the first place, and you gave me the perfect out.” He points to his paper shredder on the floor, and brushes one palm against the other. “Good thing the papers weren’t filed.”

  A smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt since Charlotte chopped up my heart, julienned it, and ate it for a snack.

  Fine, maybe that’s dramatic. But the organ in my chest is pulverized. My dad’s grin, however, doesn’t hurt. “He really was a pig,” I say, with a quirk in my lips.

  “He was completely disrespectful to women, to his wife, to his daughters—I can’t have the Katharine’s legacy carried on by someone like that.”

  “No, you can’t. Leave it to us for a little bit longer as we find a better man, or woman, to sell it to,” I say, and a burst of pride courses through me. I’m proud of my dad for making this choice.

  He clucks his tongue. “Here’s the thing. I already found someone.”

  My eyes widen. “You did?”

  “Yes. Not to sell it to.” He stops to roam his eyes over the office and then to the door, as if he’s reflecting on all that’s beyond. “But to run this place while I kick back. I’m not ready to let Katharine’s go, even if I am completely ready to work less.”

  “Okay.” I ask tentatively, “Who is it?”

  But the instant the words make landfall, I know who it is. Something in my head clicks, like a lock sliding into place. I snap my fingers. “Nina! You asked Nina to take over day-to-day operations?”

  He nods and beams. “And she said yes.” He taps his finger against the papers on his desk. “That’s what I was working on when you came in. Her new contract. She’ll be CEO of Katharine’s, and I’ll remain as founder and owner while I sail across the seven seas with your mother.”

  “You are such a romantic,” I say, shaking my head in admiration. “She’s perfect for it. She’s been with you from the start, and no one knows the business better.”

  “Exactly,” he says, then strides over to his couch by the window overlooking midtown Manhattan. “But since I am a hopeless romantic, and since I have been happily married for thirty-five years, and since I know a little something about what women want, let’s talk about how you’re going to win back Charlotte. I saw the way the two of you look at each other.”

  He pats the couch. I sink down next to him, my limbs heavy. “Love the thought. But she made it clear she’s not into me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  “Did she, though?” he asks quizzically.

  “I believe her exact words were, ‘It was never real.’”

  “Those were her words. And generally speaking, I believe a man should pay keen attention to a woman’s words. But sometimes actions speak louder, and what did Charlotte’s actions tell you?”

  An image of her yanking off her ring mocks me.

  “That she doesn’t feel the same,” I say bluntly. No point mincing words. He saw the same thing.

  Or maybe not. He tilts his head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “I saw a woman who put her heart on the line for you.”

  I stare at him. His words don’t compute.

  “I saw a woman who took the fall for you,” he continues, gesturing from him to me. “You and I both know that Charlotte didn’t ask you to be her fiancé. You asked her. She said yes to you. She wanted to help you. And today, she wanted to help you, too. It might not have worked the way she intended, but she was trying to save this deal because she cares about you. She was trying to help you stay out of trouble by throwing herself under the bus.”

  Something comes alive inside me again.

  Not an alien, or anything weird like that, but a racing heart, a spiking pulse, a thrilling possibility.

  “Holy shit,” I say under my breath, cycling back through the day, the morning, last night. The sandwiches, the noodles, the whiskey. The broken rules, the jealousy, the pure, private moments of bliss and connection. Last night, and the way she said she was falling. How she looked when she was naked on top of me.

  I grab the collar of my T-shirt and tug. Whoa. It’s hot in here. Not my brightest move to linger on a sex memory.

  I shove it aside.

  Most of all, I rewind to how she was always saving me from me. From the very start of this affair, right through to the end, she saved the day when I needed her most.

  “I need to find her,” I say, patting my pockets. They’re empty. “Oh, shit. She has my phone. And my wallet. And my keys.”

  “Good. Because we’re not moving that fast.”

  “Why not? Shouldn’t I just go to her place and tell her how I feel or something?”

  “Or something?” He arches a brow as he mimics me. “You might know a thing or two about how to land the ladies for a night. But I know how to win one woman for a lifetime,” he says, tapping his heart. “Your dad happens to be a hopeless romantic. So let the master give the apprentice some lessons in winning back a woman.”

  I stand and hand over the reins. “I always did kick ass in school. Teach me your secrets.”

  He surveys my attire. “First, we need to get you into some decent clothes.”

  “I don’t have my wallet.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I bought your first onesie. I think I can spring for a nice pair of slacks now.”

  “Dad, that’s fine and all, but can you swear to never say that word again in relation to me?” I say, as we leave his office.

  “Onesie, you mean?”

  I nod.

  He shrugs. “I’ll do my best to never discuss how adorable you looked in a little baby blue onesie.”

  “Dad.”

  “Right. You weren’t adorable in it. You were manly and rugged.”

  Have I mentioned I have the coolest dad in the universe?

  28

  I look sharp. I’m rocking a pair of charcoal gray pants, a navy blue button-down, and new shoes. And…wait for it…I’m freshly showered, too. Yup. Dad took me shopping and let me use the guest shower at his home. And damn, do I clean up well.

  He wouldn’t let me call Charlotte though.

  And yes, I do know her number. It’s one of maybe two I have committed to memory. Hers and the Chinese food delivery joint. Instead, he called her, and inquired politely if she was still available to see me tonight. Evidently, she said yes, so he told her I would be arriving at six.

  As the town car I hired pulls up to her building, I feel a bit like a teenager arriving for prom. Except I don’t have a corsage, or teenage stamina. Grown past that one, thank you very much.

  But the nerves are the same, and mine are sky-high. I step out of the car and head to the doorman. He buzzes her, and I wait, pacing in the entryway, checking my watch, counting the number of tiles on the floor. Three interminable minutes later, Charlotte crosses the lobby.

  She wears a cranberry skirt and a black top. It’s the outfit I took her ring shopping in. The fact that she’s wearing it knocks the breath from my lungs. It feels like a sign. As she nears me, I take in every detail. Her hair hangs loose and beautiful down her shoulders. Her lips are red and glossy. Her legs are bare, and she wears black high heels. I’m not sure I’ve ever told her that those shoes are my favorite, and somehow it turns me on even more that the ones she likes wearing are the ones I like seeing her in.

  I can’t believe it’s been only eight hours since I’ve seen her.

  She stops in front of me. Narrows her eyes. Points. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or punch you. Because I’ve been sending text messages all day. To my purse,” she says, dropping her hand into her purse and hunting around.

  She grabs my phone and thrusts it at me, and the f
irst text I see makes me grin.

  * * *

  THAT WAS THE BIGGEST LIE I EVER TOLD. CALL ME.

  * * *

  Her jaw is set hard, and she glares at me. “Oh, and I called you several times, too, before I remembered I had your phone. I was basically messaging myself all day. You had the ringer on silent, you idiot.”

  “Idiot seems to be the theme of the day when it comes to me,” I say, but I’m smiling because this is another reason why I love her madly. The fact that she marched up to me and called me out.

  She parks her hands on her hips. “Do you even want to know what my messages said?”

  “I do,” I say, taking her hand and lacing my fingers through hers. God, it feels good to touch her again. It feels out-of-this-world amazing when she squeezes back, her hand fitting mine so perfectly. “But right now, I want to take you out.”

  “To the restaurant in Chelsea?” she asks, as we reach the door of the gleaming black town car.

  “Yes, but not yet. First, I’m taking you on a themed tour of New York.” I gesture to her building. “This is stop one on the Lessons I Learned in the Last Week Tour.”

  She arches an eyebrow, inviting me to say more.

  “Right here is where I was really dense,” I say.

  “How were you really dense?”

  “Because the day I asked you to be my fake fiancée, I actually believed I could pull it off and it wouldn’t change a thing,” I say, as I lift the handle of the car and hold the door for her. I watch her slide into the cool, air-conditioned backseat. She looks edible.

  “Did it change things?” she asks, her voice rising on the question.

  I nod as I get into the car next to her and pull the door shut. “It did.”

  She swallows. “What’s stop two then?”

  I gesture north. “A restaurant called McCoy’s. Heard of it?” I ask, as the car zips uptown, weaving through Saturday evening traffic.