by Lorenzo, DD
Marisol was another story altogether. She acted kind and considerate when she visited him, but flashes of memory instinctively told him not to trust appearances. She told him that they had been dating; however, she also told him that she forgave him for his little dalliance with Aria.
While he was in the hospital, Marisol said that she did still care for him and that she’d help him through his recovery; that they understood each other and the world they worked in. She said that in the modeling industry, men and women would stray from time to time, and she understood he had needs. She was willing to take him back. He only remembered bits and pieces, but she had evidence to prove it in the photos. He had resigned himself to believing that he didn’t deserve anything better than that—or her. A two-dimensional relationship—as superficial as they come. Marisol and he were good at that.
Stubbing out the cigarette, he contemplated what his next move would be. He had to prepare himself for eventually being in the company of Aria. As he returned more and more to his normal activities, he wanted to be able to socialize with the people who were his friends. Unless he found a way to reconcile his behavior toward her in an acceptable fashion, that would be impossible. As he was recovering, he expected that Aria would somehow re-enter his social circle. What he didn’t expect was for his heart to burst with this unexpected longing and desire for her. He had pushed her out of his physical reality, but after today, he knew it would now be an ultimate battle to restrain himself if he allowed her back into his world…
“Hi there, boss. I have a few messages for you. How was your meeting?”
His nonresponse indicated to Katherine that her friend, and superior, was having another of his dark days. She walked a very fine line. Aria was her friend, as was Declan, yet she retained professionalism at work and gave him the respect that he was due. She had come to recognize his moods when he had returned to work.
At times, the moods were due to physical pain, but more often than not, they seemed to be due to a persona he adopted since he and Aria were no longer together. He no longer had cheerful moods, and those he displayed were false and for the benefit of clients. Katherine knew the difference and knew when he was being disingenuous. It appeared that more often than not, when Declan was with clients, he was playing a role, putting on a façade. He wasn’t the same person he used to be, and it saddened her, but the business didn’t suffer for it at all.
The company was flourishing. Declan had thrown himself into his work. He was a driven man, arriving early and staying late. His personality was turned on and off like a light switch. The difference was frightening to Katherine. She was the one who truly saw him—well, her and his brother. Declan spoke mostly in grunts and barks to her, but when he picked up the phone or went into a meeting, he turned on the charm and behaved as he used to, when he was happy—when he was with Aria…
He didn’t respond to her question when he walked through the door, so she attempted to get his attention once more.
“Hey Declan…didn’t you hear me?”
“What?!” he answered sharply, catching her completely off-guard. Declan realized how harshly his response was by her shocked look.
Bewilderment showing in her face, she raised her hand with the paper messages and answered, “Calls…for you…while you were out.” She then handed the messages to him.
Taking them from her, he mumbled, “Thank you.” He then retreated to his office.
Katherine stared at the door once it was closed. Her intuition was telling her that something was off. This wasn’t the normal bad mood. He seemed somehow darker, edgier, and angrier. She couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong at the meeting.
Looking back at the appointment book to confirm the content, she was even more perplexed. The man he was meeting with was always pleasant, and it was only a meeting with regard to advertising space.
What could possibly have gone wrong to make him so angry?
Throwing his overcoat off, he walked to the credenza and placed both hands on the rich wood to brace himself. His head hung down, and with his eyes closed, he shook it back and forth as if he could shake the image of her from his mind, but it was indelibly etched.
As he raised his aching head, his eyes took in the beautiful view of the bay, and he was reminded that it was she that chose this space for him specifically for this particular pleasure. He couldn’t escape her, but as his eyes lowered, they focused on the bottle near his hand, sitting next to the crystal glasses. He snickered as he was reminded that they had also been a gift from her when The Studio had its grand opening.
Turning the top of the bottle, he poured himself a liberal portion of his good friend, Jameson, and as he took the liquid in his mouth, he allowed the mixture of its many flavors to mull there, drowning out, if even momentarily, the memories that plagued him of the sweetness of her kiss. As it made its way down, it wasn’t having the desired effect of distracting his thoughts from her, but rather made him think more of her.
Determined to ease some pain, he knocked back the remains of the glass with the thought that the alcohol would work more quickly to dull the memories once in his system. That, however, wasn’t to be, and after several glasses, the only purpose the whiskey had served was to dull his senses, allowing him to more fully embrace the bountiful recollections of the woman he knew could never be exorcised from his soul…
The telephone intercom interrupted his thoughts as Katherine announced the next meeting.
“Blake Matthews and Marisol Franzi are here for your 3:00,” she said cheerfully.
“Shit!”
Straightening in his chair, Declan came to the realization that though his eyes had closed for a few moments, his senses were still buzzing from the alcohol.
“I’ll be with them in a minute,” he told her. “See if they want something to drink.”
He surmised Katherine would buy him a few minutes to become presentable, and he pushed himself away from the desk. Returning the Jameson to the credenza, he made his way to the bathroom. Staring back at him in the mirror, Declan didn’t like what he saw. A hardened man with features that were no longer synonymous with youth and marketability, yet still bearing some semblance of the world’s definition of handsome.
Quickly throwing water on his face, he ran a brush through his hair and slapped cologne across his neck. A quick swish of mouthwash would hopefully suffice to eradicate the whiskey’s telltale aroma.
As he made his way to the office door, his body reminded him that the injury didn’t take kindly to falling asleep, half drunk in an office chair, and his leg muscles screamed silently at him in rebellion.
“Blake, Marisol, come on in,” he said as he held the door open.
Blake was taken off-guard a bit at the appearance of his friend, but Marisol appeared to notice nothing out of the ordinary and sauntered in as if this were normal, and she were at ease here.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Declan said, forcing a smile.
Blake sat his large frame in one of the chairs across from Declan’s desk, while Marisol spread herself and her belongings out on the lush leather sofa.
Declan made his way back to his large office chair, but as he sat, pain registered on his face though he tried to hide it.
Not missing the unease register on his friend’s face, Blake addressed it, “How are you doing, Dec? I know summer at the beach is great, but how are you holding up in the winter?”
Declan almost let his guard down to exchange casual conversation, but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget his promise to himself that all relationships were now for gain, and he didn’t want anyone to see his true feelings.
“It’s fine, Blake. Winter’s as good as summer at the beach. How are you?” he answered.
Something wasn’t right. There was a disconnection in Declan that Blake detected. It was as if he were conducting a conversation with a complete stranger.
“I’m fine. Business is good,” Blake answered. We’ve gotten some great accounts, and the
people you’ve sent are working out okay.”
“Good. So what brings you to the beach?” The discomfort was forcing Declan to get straight to the point to expedite the meeting. He wanted to conclude it ASAP.
This wasn’t the man Blake had gotten to know over the past ten years, but he’d go with the flow and this tone he was setting.
“I wanted to discuss the possibility of using part of your building as a satellite agency. Actually, it would be for me,” Blake revealed.
Declan wasn’t so buzzed that he didn’t understand the public relation and financial implications that a venture like this could mean for The Studio.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked.
Blake was taken off guard by the directness of his friend. No easy banter, no relaxed conversation—just to the point and direct.
“Well, a percentage or rent. We could discuss it,” Blake proposed.
Declan sat back in his chair and waited for him to continue.
Blake was suspicious of the change in him, but he continued.
“Right now, you’re scouting, and time’s passing between when you see potential talent, I decide if I can use them, and what campaigns I can use them on. My proposal is that I divide some of my time between New York and here so that it would cut down the time, and after all, time is money.”
Blake could see that he piqued Declan’s interest and pushed the right button when he started to smile.
“What would you need? In other words, what do I need to do for you to make it happen?”
“An office, use of Katherine to schedule appointments, and I’ll talk to Aimee about assisting me with scouting the talent.”
With that, Marisol’s head perked up. “What? Why Aimee? I’m here. I can pick who will be a good model and who won’t. I have much better taste than she does!”
Blake turned to address her and saw that she had made herself even more comfortable on the sofa, putting her legs up and leaning on the arm.
“Aimee would be assisting me with paperwork; photocopying, contact information, that sort of thing. If you want to do that for me, Marisol, then I’ll have you both.”
Marisol’s face took on a distasteful flavor. “As if I were your secretary? That’s what you meant? Absolutely not! You may have Aimee do that for you. She would be well suited for that type of work!”
Sliding her long legs down into her shoes, she stood and walked over to the beautiful windows. The sun was shining at just enough of an angle that she could see her reflection in them so she positioned herself accordingly. She dabbed her middle finger at the corner of her eye. Without blinking, she smiled at herself in the glass, always pleased with what she saw.
Feeling the warmth of the sunshine, she turned toward the two men.
“Declan, have that girl out there bring me a tea,” she said as she moved to the private restroom at the back of the office. She needed a mirror to inspect her reflection further…
She had seen the look before, but this was how she most preferred him—cold and empty. As she looked out over the bay, she egotistically smiled inside at the good fortune that seemed to be hand-delivered at her feet. Declan was no longer with Aria; he was solely engaged in business these days and absorbed in making money. He had become absent and soulless enough to be malleable. If she played her cards right, she could sufficiently distract him enough to mold him into the perfect companion for her personal use and make him believe that she was his caring savior. The idea was too intriguing for words, and the potential so wickedly delightful to her that she tipped her chin up and embraced the warmth that was shining through the window in his office.
She’d had Declan order a tea from that girl at his outside desk.
What an incompetent little thing, she thought.
When Marisol took over, that girl would be the first to go. Now wasn’t the time to suggest those changes, however. Now was the time to make mental notes. She settled in to observe him and plan her changes. She loved overhearing his new, detached conversations…
“I can have the details drawn up, and you can look over them, Declan. If the idea appeals to you and the legalities are agreeable, it would be a mutually beneficial business, both personally and professionally.”
Blake tried to express his enthusiasm for the opportunity he was presenting. He had, however, noticed the marked difference in Declan when they entered the room, especially the fact that he had been drinking and that he smelled like smoke. Hearing a rustling on the sofa, he also noted how Marisol was making herself even more relaxed to enjoy the show.
When had she become so cozy here, at The Studio and in Declan’s personal office?
Declan didn’t seemed to notice her ease, as if this were the norm. It seemed unnatural to Blake, as in the past his friend barely tolerated her. She seemed to have her radar tuned for Blake to see just how Declan would respond to him. Although she wasn’t directly looking at them, she was smirking as she looked at her hands, smoothed her skirt, picked at something invisible on her sleeve, etc. She was specifically trying to appear uninterested, while making note of every word. Having represented her for many years, he knew her well, and with Marisol, appearance was everything…
When the hell are they leaving? Declan thought.
His eyes burned thoroughly from behind their sockets, and he lay the blame on the alcohol producing the incessant images of Aria. Although he tried to focus, he only wanted Blake and Marisol to leave him to his concentrated misery and exclusive pity party, to which neither had an invitation.
Attempting to bring this meeting to a hasty conclusion, he spoke deliberately to get to the point of the meeting.
“If the money is right, I’m certain that we’ll come to an agreement. Is that all for today?” he said, boring a hole into Blake with his stare…
Blake was shocked at the comment.
Was that a blatant attempt to dismiss him?
It was certain that alcohol was at play here—he’d have to be an absolute fool not to notice—but Declan’s deficient attitude was entirely hollow. This wasn’t the same man who had been his friend these many years, and the change was challenging at the moment—as well as distressing. His anger rising, he would have called him on it and brought his attention to the changed behavior. Now, however, wasn’t the time—not with alcohol at play, and not in front of Marisol. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, and the friendship would certainly suffer.
Standing to leave, Blake waited for Declan to do the same in standard courtesy of their completed meeting. Instead, he continued in the role of arrogant ass, looking up from his desk. He leaned back in his chair and pushed back with his stronger leg.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” he said in feigned self-pity and sarcasm, waving his hand in the direction of his leg.
Again, shocked, Blake held his emotion. He had also been a model at one time and could turn his expressions on and off for the benefit of others. Graciously, he came around to the side of the desk to offer his hand again. It was a subtle reminder to Declan that he was, still, a friend and gave him a silent offer of support should he need to talk. His hope was to also leave some room for embarrassment when he looked back on his behavior today…
Declan looked at his friend, knowing that he had been rude. Presently, he felt awful and didn’t care, but he’d offer his hand to the man who didn’t deserve his unprovoked anger or sarcasm.
“Thanks for coming down, Blake. Everything sounds good. I’m sure we can work something out,” he said, letting his guard down for just a moment to reconnect with a man who had just offered him a generous proposal.
“Take care of yourself, Dec. I’ll be in touch,” Blake said, noting a brief fragment of shame in his words. At least he knew that his true friend was somewhere inside this unknown personality that he’d met today.
He addressed Marisol who was still perched on the sofa.
“Are you ready?”
Gracing Blake for just a moment with her condescendence, she turned t
o give him her attention.
“No,” she informed him. “I have just a few things to talk to Declan about and then I will leave myself. Thank you. You may go without me.”
She looked away from him and turned her attention back to a trade publication that had been in the office.
Blake, irritated, went for the door. He was irritated. Being dismissed twice in fifteen minutes had been a little more than irritating.
Once the office door had opened, Katherine entered.
“Here’s the iced tea you requested,” she said, delivering the drink to Declan.
“That was for me. You may bring it here,” Marisol directed.
Katherine played deaf and ignored her, causing her boss to snigger. Continuing to give her boss her attention, and not Marisol, she straightened from the desk.
“Is there anything else you need?” She said, smiling at him.
Noting Katherine’s scornful dismissal of Marisol, he enjoyed watching the power play.
“No, you can go back to your desk. I have a few things to discuss with Marisol and then I’ll be going home. Thanks, Katherine.” Lifting playful eyes to her, he winked.
With that, Katherine completely ignored Marisol and exited the room, closing the door on her way out.
“She’s incompetent,” Marisol said, making her way to retrieve her iced tea.
“She’s a good assistant,” Declan defended.
“She would never work for me.”
“She doesn’t. She works for me.”
The challenge had been issued, but Marisol didn’t want to argue with him. Quite the contrary, she had something else in mind. She concentrated her efforts on flipping his mood.
“You’re a good man,” she said in a sweet voice.
An image of Aria saying those words to him instantly engulfed his mind.
“Someone else once told me that,” he replied.
Knowing who that someone probably was, Marisol quickly jumped in to do damage control. The last thing she wanted was for him to be thinking of Aria.
