by Piper Rayne
The questions keep coming the entire train ride into downtown. I try not to think about him, but he’s on my mind more than the strawberry rhubarb pie I passed over at the grocery store yesterday. And just like the pie, indulging might feel good in the moment, but afterward, I’d only feel regret.
* * *
Opening the glass door to my newest place of employment, I rush over to the ringing phone, removing my jacket as I sit down and answer it at the same time.
“Good morning, thank you for calling the RISE Foundation, this is Victoria, how can I help you?”
“For starters, you can get your ass on a plane back to Los Angeles.”
Jagger Kale—my old boss.
I smile. “You got me this job,” I say, leaning back in my chair and glancing at the clock. “Honeymoon over already?”
“First off, I got you that job because I’m awesome. Second, how do you know I didn’t just nail Quinn and now she’s passed out next to me in post-cunnilingus bliss?”
I don’t encourage his crass mouth with a laugh, even if I’m smiling.
“Thank you again,” I say with genuine gratitude.
For Jagger to hook me up with Hannah when I was leaving his company in Los Angeles shows what a good guy he is. Yes, he can be arrogant and egotistical and probably too self-involved, but there’s just something about him that makes it difficult not to like him anyway.
“How’s the new assistant?” I ask.
“He sucks. He gives me attitude.”
“I gave you attitude.”
“Not the same thing.”
I miss him, too, though I’d never admit it. We had a good thing going in Los Angeles. Jagger was my first boss post-divorce and I teetered on that line where he had good reason to fire me more than once at the beginning. I was cynical and hated all men. Until he got his shit together and reunited with Quinn, he was the epitome of everything I hated. I knew he’d prove the stereotype wrong.
“I’m just staring out at the ocean from my deck. How’s Chicago? I sent you a stock of Vitamin D.” He chuckles.
There’s some noise behind him and his hand muffles the receiver. I swear there are kissing noises.
“Victoria,” he says matter of factly.
“Leave the woman alone. Hi, Victoria.” Quinn’s singsong voice tells me she’s living her real-life fairy tale.
“Hey, Quinn.”
“Hold up, I’m putting you on speaker,” Jagger says.
A second later, the sound of crashing waves is the backdrop to our conversation. I miss the ocean. The warm weather, sand between my toes and the sun made me a happier version of myself.
“How is Jade doing?” Quinn asks. “Adjusting?”
Plates and cups clatter in the background and I’m guessing they’re putting out breakfast on the deck.
“She is.” I turn on my computer because Hannah could come through the door at any moment. “So, you’re not sick of your new husband yet?” I ask in jest.
Quinn giggles and then I hear her squeal followed by kissing noises once again.
Stab me in the heart, why don’t you? Between school and work and Jade and my mom, the most tongue action I’ve gotten lately is from my mom’s cat, Moe.
“Well, I hate to interrupt, oh that’s right, you called me.”
“Sorry,” Quinn says with a soft chuckle. “We’re still in that can’t keep our hands off each other phase.”
“No apologies necessary. I’ll just go back to daydreaming about your latest hero and wishing someone like him enters my life.”
She laughs. “You liked Van, huh?”
Quinn’s a romance novelist and I’m lucky enough to get all her books pre-release.
“How could anyone not?” My stomach clenches remembering the hot moment when he cornered her against the wall, the urgent kisses and sultry lovemaking.
“Is he based on me, too?” Jagger asks.
I laugh.
“No, babe,” Quinn says.
“You’re imagining what other guys would do to you?”
Quinn laughs now. “I’m not the heroine. It’s fiction, babe. You know…not real.”
“Even so, tell me what Van does, I bet I rock your world tenfold,” Jagger says with his usual cocky arrogance.
“Good luck with that.” I type in my password on the computer and click open my email.
“Right here on this table.” Jagger’s voice is faint like he’s walked away from the phone, signaling my cue to hang up.
“Okay you two, thanks for calling to check up on me. Gotta go. Talk soon.”
I press end as Quinn tries to say goodbye and based on her giggling I’m guessing that Jagger’s probably undressing her.
The silence of the office still feels strange to me having gone from a company of hundreds to an office with three to five people in it, depending on the day.
Jagger’s friend, Hannah Crowley, a multi-millionaire in her own right, decided to start a foundation to empower young girls. Knowing I had to relocate due to my mom’s declining health, Jagger scored me an office assistant position with her charity. It is less responsibility than I’m used to having, but I work daily with two amazing women and at this point in my life I couldn’t ask for a better place to be.
I’m responding to a few emails when the glass door swings open and the louder of my two co-workers rushes over and collapses in the chair across from me.
“Holy hell, did you hear what happened last night?” Chelsea asks.
Chapter Three
Chelsea is gorgeous. A few years younger than me with shoulder-length blonde hair that’s straight as pin one day, curly the next and who has the fashion sense of a New York City high end designer. Her nails are always painted, her makeup flawless, and her clothes wrinkle-free.
Kind of like me pre-Jade.
I’m not complaining. I’ll take my stained Target clothes, smeared makeup self any day as long as Jade’s there when I get home.
“Happened last night to whom?” I remove my hands from the keyboard and give her my full attention.
She throws her bag on the other chair and crosses her legs. “Hannah. And her son of a bitch ex.”
“What?” I lean closer, my elbows propped up, a pen between my hands.
“That slimy fucker slid in under Hannah’s nose at the venue we were going to have the gala at and stole our spot for some hospital fundraiser. She called me last night and said we have to start our search all over.”
“Now we have nowhere to hold the gala?” I shake my head.
“I looked up a bunch of places and I’m thinking we head north of the city.” Chelsea’s leg bounces up and down while she speaks.
“Will people travel that far?”
I’m not sure if it’s Hannah’s own money that’s keeping RISE afloat right now, but she’s putting together a huge black-tie event with a silent auction to be held at the end of summer to raise money for the various smaller charities that our foundation supports. We had the venue secured, or so we thought.
“I think so. Half of them live on the north shore anyway. That’s where the money’s at.”
I nod, she’s right. Chelsea and I both come from the city, but Hannah, she grew up in the north burbs until she relocated downtown.
“It’s a little farther north, but it’s right on the lake and there’s a hotel. I called this morning and we may have to change the date, but they have some availability.” Chelsea stands and grabs her bag.
“Where do you find the time?” I follow her, turning on the copier and heading to our small kitchen area to start the coffee. We all seem to support the economy and grab our own cups on the way in, but we have guests in the office on occasion.
“Let’s see. I’m not going to school, I don’t have a seven-year-old or a mother who needs help.” She raises her eyebrows and I laugh.
“Be jealous.” I spin the opposite way into the kitchen as Chelsea goes to her office. “Be very jealous,” I call out.
“I did have a
date though,” she announces, and I leave the coffee for later, exiting the kitchen and making my way over to Chelsea’s office. Hannah didn’t mention anyone coming in first thing today anyway.
“A date?”
Chelsea’s dating is much like someone put her in a reality show with the most unwanted men in America and made it her quest to find something good about them. Spoiler alert—she never does.
“He took me to a poetry reading.”
I rest my shoulder on the doorframe. She moves around through her office, a woman on a mission, plugging her laptop in, setting out her notepads. The woman is meticulous.
“Sounds romantic.”
“It was open mic night.” Her tone is dry as she boots up her computer.
“Fun.”
I’m guessing from her unenthused blank stare it wasn’t.
“He recited a poem.”
“About you?” I smile.
“Yeah, Vic, in the hour he knew me he wrote me a poem.” She rolls her eyes.
“It could happen and that would mean something.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in signs?” She takes a seat at her desk. “I thought we were in this whole ‘single forever’ thing together?”
Chelsea’s divorced, too. I don’t know much as far as who, what, when or why, but divorce is divorce. The stigma hasn’t faded. People still give you that look like your dog got run over when you tell them you’ve been divorced. The assumptions of cheating spouses, addiction problems, money problems, secrets and lies. It’s like someone opened the door to your soul and peers in to see all the ugliness you tried to hide. Her one saving grace is that she never had kids with the bastard.
“You’re telling me he wouldn’t have wooed you if he’d written a poem about how beautiful you were on a whim?” I cross my arms in front of me and give her a disbelieving look.
“No. However, I probably would’ve nailed him in the taxi on the ride home, but we wouldn’t be picking out china patterns.” She shakes her head.
I thought I was cynical until I met Chelsea. But she seems to work at it like it’s part of her job description.
“Still, he’s creative. That’s a good sign. Most bad boys aren’t creative.”
“He cried on stage.” She looks at me over drawn brows. “He read a poem he wrote about his breakup with another girl.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I try to stop myself, but I laugh anyway. This is Chelsea’s life. Someone could write a book about it, I swear. Maybe I should introduce her to Quinn.
“Wish I was. Another dud and I couldn’t even kiss him goodnight. I mean...rule number one is don’t talk about your ex on a first date and this guy goes and cries over her while reading a poem he wrote for her.”
“Ouch.” I cringe.
“Yeah, smack me with a Band-Aid on my bruised ego. I’m taking a break from men.” She throws both of her hands up in front of her.
I roll my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Watch me. Bye, bye. It was a shame though, he had that cool hipster vibe going on.”
Her attention shifts to her computer as she types in her password.
“Hipster?”
She laughs and points at me. “Don’t even say it. I told myself I’d try all flavors of men.”
I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m not laughing. I can’t even remember the last time I had any flavor at all.”
Then we both laugh. Tears leak from the side of my eyes and Chelsea sounds like she’s hyperventilating she’s laughing so hard. “He had dark-rimmed glasses and a beanie and dressed like he grabbed his clothes off his bedroom floor.”
The door opens, and Hannah stops in her tracks, staring over at me bent over and clutching my stomach.
“You started the Monday morning divorcee dating recap without me?” she whines, tossing her bag on the chair in front of my desk, her hands cupping her coffee as she hurries over to Chelsea’s office.
I grin inside. She’s so different than Jagger. He’d be barking orders at me before he even finished passing by my desk.
She squeezes by me, plopping down, well, Hannah doesn’t plop anywhere. She slides into the chair with elegance and grace. Her tight dress and contrasting high heels will probably be the biggest trend next month. She’s one of those women who oozes class and is always a step ahead on fashion.
“Give it to me. I need a laugh,” she says and takes a sip.
“Chels went on a date this weekend,” I say, and Hannah’s smile tips up from ear to ear.
I told you, Chelsea’s dates are like finding little chunks of gold in a sea of crap.
“YAY!” she raises one arm in a little cheer. “How bad was it?”
“Not too bad,” I remark and the phone rings, so I run over to my desk, letting Chelsea fill Hannah in on the details.
“Good morning, thank you for calling the RISE Foundation, Victoria speaking, how can I help you?”
“Is Hannah in?” the man on the line asks.
“Can I ask who’s speaking?”
“Mr. Bennett. She’s expecting my call.”
“Sure thing. Hold please.” I place him on hold and head to Chelsea’s office where Hannah is laughing, slapping the edge of Chelsea’s desk.
“I’ll pay you to go on another date with him. Maybe he’ll write a poem about you.”
Chelsea flips Hannah off.
“Hey, I’m your boss.” Hannah can barely spit out the words without laughing.
“Then go and keep this place afloat. I’m obviously never going to meet a man who can handle me and take care of me.” Chelsea types something on her keyboard.
“Hannah, there’s a Mr. Bennett on hold for you,” I say.
Her eyes light up and her head tips back. “Yes, I need to talk to him. Forward him to my desk.” She stands and rounds the doorway of Chelsea’s office.
“Hey, Vic,” Chelsea stops me before I follow Hannah. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her face suddenly pale and her features drawn. “Who’s Mr. Bennett?”
I shrug.
“Tax attorney,” Hannah hollers from down the hall.
“Oh, okay.” Relief streaks across her face. “Never in a million years,” she mumbles more to herself than me I think.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Peachy,” she says, but I’m not sure I totally believe her.
“Maybe you need a guy like a tax attorney,” I joke hoping to lighten her mood again.
“No, you need a man like that. Boring and responsible. I need a bad boy with a heart of gold.”
“Pretty sure those two things are mutually exclusive, Chels.”
“They’re like unicorns. Rare.”
“But magical.” I smile brightly.
She crumples up a piece of paper and throws it at me. “Go.”
I run the small distance to my desk and pick up my phone.
“I’m transferring you now, Mr. Bennett.”
“Thank you.”
I press the button and after I hear Hannah pick up, I stand and go over to shut her door.
“He had a sexy voice,” I singsong, passing by Chelsea’s office on the way to take another stab at making the coffee.
“A sexy tax attorney would be like discovering a real-life unicorn.” She follows me into the kitchen.
Monday mornings are laxer around here than I’m used to, but we all work hard and get done what needs doing.
I move about preparing the coffee pot and turning it on. “What happened to you experiencing all the flavors?”
She shrugs. “Let’s talk about you. Maybe someone like this Mr. Bennett is the one for you. You said he had a nice voice.” She crosses her arms, bringing her Starbucks cup to her lips.
“I’m anti-men, and honestly, who’s going to sign up for this train ride?”
“I would,” she says, her perfectly straight white teeth sparkling. “Seriously, though, you’re hot and gorgeous. A total MILF. Jade is easy-peasy. Your ex is thousands
of miles away.”
“Sometimes there’s more baggage hidden than exposed.” I lean against the counter.
“I get wanting to take time to get settled, but don’t underestimate yourself. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
Chelsea is rarely serious, so I smile and accept her compliment.
“I saw the best man from my wedding this morning.”
Her eyes widen. “Details.” She pulls out a chair, sets her cup on the small table, and props her chin in her hands.
“At first I didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him was so long ago. He’s grown up a lot.”
She purses her lips. “Grown up how?”
“Chelsea,” I sigh.
She giggles. “What are you hiding? A hidden affair? A secret kiss?”
“No.”
“Come on. You’re blushing, and you keep fidgeting. What am I missing?” She narrows her eyes. “Was he an a-hole? My ex’s best man was a piece of shit.”
I shrug. “No, Reed was always respectful and nice.”
“Oh, gotcha. Booorrriinnnggg,” she draws it out and I can’t help but laugh.
“No, I mean he would joke around, was friendly, but I didn’t know him that well. Him and Pete had been good friends since they were younger. Went to college and then to law school together. When Pete and I were with him, it was like Pete only wanted to talk to him. Reed was always the one asking me questions trying to include me while I was trying to grab a little bit of Pete’s attention.”
“Is Pete gay? Is that why you divorced?” she deadpans.
“No,” I answer. “He’s heterosexual, just not monogamous.”
She nods. “Gotcha.”
I turn around to toss out the coffee filter now that it’s done brewing, busying myself to try not to think about my old life and all the feelings that get churned up when I do.
After a moment I still and release a loud sigh. “I thought I was over it,” I admit.
A chair slides along the floor behind me and I turn to face her. “You are.”
“Then why do I want to hammer Reed with a million questions and ask if he ever saw Pete cheat on me? What did Pete say about it? About Jade?”
