Rebound

by Noelle August

  Adam, Philippe, and I follow him down another short hall to a kitchen area, next to which sits a polished partners desk with sleek chairs rolled up to it and another much smaller desk, with a set of cheap folding chairs, now occupied by Nancy and Simon.

  The espresso machine burbles noisily. Stacks of supplies lean against a long center island not three feet away. And we’re right out in the open, where it will be impossible to speak confidentially. Or to avoid the foot traffic of two dozen employees microwaving burritos at lunch.

  Nancy and Simon look at me expectantly, their displeasure clear. They’re used to being treated a certain way. If I don’t take care of this, they’ll report back to my father. And I’ll be subject to another discussion about whether or not I have what it takes to be part of Quick Enterprises. Whether or not I have what it takes to lead.

  Everything I do here is a test, and I have to pass. No. I have to excel.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Adam. “But this won’t work for us. Do you have a place that’s a little more private? With a lot more space?”

  I hate to come across as spoiled or particular, but I have to command authority here. Have to make Nancy and Simon see that I’m not just some daddy’s girl put in place as an indulgence.

  Adam looks at me—not into my eyes exactly, though his gaze is still intense enough to wrap around me, riveting me to the spot. “I’m sure we can accommodate you,” he says in a coolly pleasant tone. “Why don’t you all come with me, and we’ll talk to Cookie?”

  Even her name makes me cringe.

  Simon and Nancy rise and gather their things.

  “How about the conference room?” Paolo suggests.

  Adam shakes his head. “Too much going on this month. We’re putting the final touches on the team-building retreat, and I told Brooks he could set up a temporary space for the film project.”

  We stand there, at a cordial impasse. Behind me, my troops—Nancy, Simon, and Philippe, shore up my position. Though I can’t help noticing the starry-eyed gaze Nancy levels at Adam. Not that I can blame her.

  The staccato of heels clicking down the hall interrupts us, and Cookie appears.

  “What’s going on here?” she asks in a needle-sharp tone.

  She’s in a white A-line dress, with broad Tiffany-blue piped lapels. She looks like she’s still in costume, like a flight attendant from a class of futuristic airships.

  I can’t help cutting a look at Philippe, who I know is thinking what I’m thinking. Someone needs a makeover.

  “Good to see you again, Cookie.”

  She raises an eyebrow and gives me a limp handshake. “Yes. And you’re certainly . . . different from the last time we met.” Her mouth twists into a smirk, letting me know she doesn’t think much of me, and that smirk lights a fire in me.

  I want to say, Oh, I still have my whip with me, but I decide it’s better to leave that night out of the conversation.

  “Ms. Quick and her team aren’t comfortable in the space we’ve provided,” Adam says. His ramrod posture tells me he’s not thrilled, either. With her, or with me, I don’t know.

  “We just want to be comfortable and free of distraction,” I tell her. She’s tall, but with my heels, I’m taller. Up close I see that her skin is almost pore-less, like glass. She may not actually be real. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  I think of my father’s words, “Alison, when you’re in a pissing contest, you gotta pee right in the eye of the big dog. Don’t waste time on the whelps.”

  Adam breaks in, changing the energy—like puncturing the surface tension of water.

  “My office.”

  “What?” Cookie says. “That’s—”

  Exciting, I think. Terrifying. To be so close. Though I’ll have my staff there too.

  “Perfect,” Adam says. “There’s plenty of room, and I’m running around so much, we won’t be . . .” His eyes shift to me. “On top of each other.”

  “But Adam—”

  “That’s so generous,” I say. “If we won’t be a distraction.”

  “Not at all,” he says, giving me a challenging look. “I’m sure we’ll all work well together.”

  I don’t know if my brain will be worth a damn with him so nearby, but I can’t let anyone else know that. Especially not him.

  “I think so too,” I tell him, and then I meet Cookie’s icy glare with a wide smile. “Problem solved.”

  Chapter 8

  Adam

  What was that about, Cookie? You put her in the kitchen?”

  “Yes! It was a good place for her.” Cookie drops into the chair opposite my desk. She crosses her legs and rolls her eyes. “You saw how she came in here this morning, Adam. She acts like she owns the goddamn place! She needs to know she can’t steamroll us just because she represents her daddy’s money.”

  I picture Alison moments ago, standing before her team like an army general. Cookie’s exaggerating, but it’s true. She showed a cool side I hadn’t seen at all on Saturday night. She was totally in control, confident and assertive about her needs.

  The office kitchen for Quick’s daughter? Christ. That could have been a disaster.

  “Cookie, listen. We have to play ball with her—and her team. If they perceive this as a hostile workplace, do you think they’re going to want to invest?”

  “We shouldn’t have to kiss her ass, Adam!”

  “Yes, we should! Professionally speaking!”

  Nice. Way to clarify that one, Blackwood.

  Cookie jumps a little, surprised by my raised voice.

  I didn’t sleep well last night, despite a long surf session yesterday with Grey. Nightmares of Chloe kept waking me. Added to this Alison Quick complication, my nerves are shredded this morning.

  “Sorry, Cookie,” I say, but she doesn’t look offended. She looks like she’s trying to diagnose me with her gaze.

  The door swings open, and my maintenance guys come in. I’m relieved by the distraction. Darryl pushes an office chair with a small printer sitting on the seat, Ralph carries a heavy box.

  “Where to, boss?” Darryl asks.

  “Right there,” I say, nodding to the small conference table in my office.

  Cookie and I fall into a tense silence as the guys move the table closer to the wall and get an impromptu workstation set up for Alison. She’ll be here with me, and her assistant, accountant, and lawyer will get cubicles outside.

  “You asked me not say anything, Adam, and I won’t,” Cookie says after Darryl and Ralph leave. “I won’t tell anyone about your romantic tryst, but I do not like that girl.”

  “What are you worried about, Cookie? That I won’t be able to stay away from her? That I’ll screw up the deal because a pretty girl talked to me? Trust me. I’ve got plenty of other options. And you saw Alison just now. She’s over what happened. It’s no big deal.”

  Actually, it surprised me how over it Alison seemed. A little too over it. Like Saturday never happened.

  “She’s not trustworthy,” Cookie says.

  Her choice of words catches my attention. “What do you know about her?”

  She opens her mouth to speak, then shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  That’s a lie.

  Interesting.

  Cookie always tells me the truth. Always.

  “I want what’s best for the company,” she says quickly. “And I just don’t like her.”

  “You’ve made that clear, Cookie.” I push out a long breath and check the time on my phone. I have lunch with Alison in five minutes, and then I’ll be taking her by the location I’ve leased for Blackwood Films. First, though, I need to get Cookie to settle the hell down.

  She wields power in my company. She’s head of marketing, but more than that, no one questions her motives. She’s like a surly guard dog: you might not love her, but you trust her. You need her. If she doesn’t like Alison, people will notice and follow her lead. I can’t have that. I can’t have Cookie slinging arrows at the people
holding the coin purse.

  “Listen, Cookie. There’s nothing between Alison and me. It was a random thing. We didn’t know and we were just having a little fun. She’s not going to be a problem—but you’ve got to find a way to get along with her for the next few weeks. We’re trying to impress the Quicks. I need them to feel great about what we’re getting into. Boomerang. The production company. Everything. You haven’t exactly gotten us off on the right foot with Alison.”

  “No, you’re right. Maybe I should have kissed her.” She looks away from me, and stares at the view of West LA through the windows. “I’m sorry,” she says, the words clipped, like they hurt her. “I just like what we do here. I like working for you. I don’t want anything to change, Adam.”

  I’ve only seen this earnest side of her a handful of times in four years. It’s the only time Cookie actually scares me, when she’s soft like this. Vulnerable. It means she’s really worried.

  I want to keep talking to her. I want to find out what’s got her so shaken up about the Quicks, and I want to assure her everything’s going to be fine, but it’s time for my lunch with Alison.

  I stand, taking my jacket from the back of my chair. “We’re only going to change for the better. I promise you that. This money is going to bring us some amazing opportunities. Stay with me on this, Cookie. Okay?”

  Her eyes don’t budge from the view as she says, “Okay.”

  I swing by the cubicles outside to pick up Alison, who I find perched on the edge of the desk, looking more like a movie version of an executive, with her long legs and her stylish clothes. She stops talking to the accountant and lawyer on her team when I walk up.

  “Adam,” she says, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she starts to blush.

  “Hey,” I say. “You’re all set up in my office.”

  “Our office,” she says, smiling, and I can’t tell if she says it jokingly or not.

  “You two okay if I steal Alison for lunch?” I ask Nancy and Simon.

  Nancy giggles. “Oh, definitely! Steal away!” she squeals, but her smile drops when Simon glares at her.

  My assistant, Jamie, made reservations at a restaurant in the mall across the street, so Alison and I head there on foot. Ali’s already met briefly with Rhett on some HR matters, and as we walk, she tells me she’s impressed with our benefits package, health insurance options, and our pledge to support the continuing education of our employees.

  It’s obvious she’s studied up, and the girl is smart; her intelligence shines through when she speaks. Maybe she’s Quick’s daughter, but as far as I can tell she’s not here just because of her DNA. It’s a relief. I need this deal to go right. I couldn’t have worked with someone incompetent. No matter how hot she is. Hot and off limits, I remind myself.

  We reach Houston’s, and the hostess takes us to a booth toward the back. Surrounded by dark cherry wood and black leather, and away from the windows up front, it almost feels like night back here. Which reminds me of being in the Murano with her. How her blue eyes had almost fluttered closed when I’d pulled her against me.

  We’re quiet for a little while after we place our orders. Me, because I’m replaying that moment over and over again. Alison, I imagine, because I’m acting like she’s not right across the table from me. Because the version of her in my mind is impossible to ignore.

  We both order the sea bass special and make a successful transition to business talk. I play the part of the interested company president, ready with an answer to her every question.

  Last year’s numbers? Stellar.

  This year’s projections? Even better. Our trade show in Vegas gave us a good spike in Boomerang memberships, and even with the investment we made in the new office space, it will be a banner year.

  As the food arrives, I make a watertight case for Boomerang’s continued success. I find that as I talk, I can’t look at Alison directly for long periods. It’s a shitty consequence of Saturday night.

  The stupid hang-up I have—thanks, Chloe—of letting girls look into my eyes hasn’t been a problem. Nothing’s personal at work, so there’s no danger there. Cookie’s not exactly going to gaze deeply into my eyes during our weekly marketing meetings. And when it comes to the girls I date, some notice it and don’t comment. Others comment on it, and I don’t answer. I’ve gotten by.

  But Alison is different. Tougher. I told her things I’ve never told any girl. When she’s looking at me, I can’t place what it is I see in her eyes. Interest? Gentleness? Compassion? Some combination of the three that makes me want to get up and leave. Luckily, a solution presents itself before I suffer too long.

  Alison wears earrings. Diamonds in the shape of the letter “A.” With her hair swept up, I can see them perfectly. If I focus on those, it doesn’t feel as much like she’s trying to pop my soul open with a crowbar.

  When we’re finished with our food, we both order coffees. Double espresso for me, cappuccino dusted with cinnamon for her.

  This is going to work just fine, I tell myself. With the exception of the minutes I spent fantasizing about her when we sat down, and while we ate, and the fact that I can’t look into her eyes for long, we’re both being perfectly businesslike.

  Which is good news. And also damn disappointing.

  Where’s the girl who straddled me in the back of a car two nights ago?

  Suddenly I feel the need to goad her. I want to know if Catwoman’s in there, beneath the pale pink blouse and the professional attitude.

  “I think you’re going to enjoy the initiation dates,” I say.

  Alison pauses, the coffee hovering at her lips.

  “It’s something most of my team does to learn the business,” I explain. “Creating a profile and trying the service is a great way to learn the service we provide our clients first hand. It’s become a sort of rite of passage for new hires. You’re obviously not in that category, and there’s no obligation, but I thought they might be of benefit to the due diligence. And, who knows. You might end up meeting a good guy.”

  As she looks at me, I can practically see her thoughts rewinding back to Saturday night. If her costume hadn’t stopped me, I would have taken her in the back of a car after knowing her for less than an hour. Not exactly a good guy.

  Alison takes a sip and sets her cappuccino down. “Okay.” Her eyes sweep over me, probing me for something, though I’m not sure what. “Well, I’m one step ahead of you. I know about the dates. In fact, I’ve already gone on one of them.”

  “Have you?” I’m relieved that I only sound mildly surprised. “How was it?”

  “He was a nice guy, but . . . we weren’t a good match.”

  There are half a dozen different emotions in her voice, and I can’t put my finger on a single one. I’m intrigued. More than intrigued. I want information—and I know where I can get it. If she went on a date, then she’s in our database.

  “What about you, Adam?” Alison says. “Have you done the dates?”

  Amazing. Four years of owning a business and this is the first time anyone’s asked me that. “No. Actually, I haven’t.”

  She waits for me to explain. I can’t avoid it. It’s my business and I am trying to convince her of its appeal. Explaining why I don’t use it myself only seems fair.

  “I don’t have any trouble getting dates.”

  “Neither do I.” Alison’s gaze on me holds steady, a silent challenge.

  “Are you saying I should do the three dates?” I ask.

  “From what I’ve heard, they’re not mandatory. But they seem like a good way to learn, first hand, the service you provide your clients.”

  I have to smile at that. “You raise a good point, Quick. All right. I started a profile years ago. I’ll fill out the rest this week.”

  It’s the last thing I want to do. Our profile can get pretty personal, and I don’t want anyone nosing around into my past. Or my present. But I can handle adding a few superficial details about myself if it scores me points
with the moneyman’s daughter.

  “How about we take care of it right now?” Alison reaches into her purse and produces her iPad. “I’ll help.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Great.”

  Shit.

  Chapter 9

  Alison

  Ladies first,” Adam says. “Let’s see your profile.”

  My throat tightens. I could kick myself for goading him to do this now, but I couldn’t resist throwing his challenge back at him. More than that, I can’t resist finding out his answers to the Boomerang questions. Even though I can’t have him, I want to know him.

  Still, if I let him poke around in my account, he’ll come across Ethan. I can’t have that conversation, not on my first day at Boomerang. And not after the night Adam and I shared.

  “Hold on,” I tell him, stalling. “Let me pull it up for you.”

  He holds out a hand, grinning. “I’m pretty sure I can navigate the site myself.”

  “I’m sure you can . . .” I pull up my account, scroll over to Matches, and with a quick swipe, delete all traces of Ethan. I feel a pang, like I’m deleting the actual person, even though I know that’s silly. “Here you go.”

  Handing over the iPad, I feel unaccountably nervous and exposed. Right away, I want to snatch back the tablet and make sure I like the photos I used, that my answers to the hundred or so questions are good ones.

  As he scans the page, his lips quirk into an amused curve. “Great Kierkegaard quote.”

  I groan. “That was Philippe’s way of making me look deep.”

  Adam glances up, his keen gray eyes locking onto me for just a second and then darting away. “I think you’re plenty deep,” he says. “So you don’t think there are two ways to be fooled?”

  I read upside down: “There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.”

  The quote started out as space filler, nothing more. But now it seems loaded with a meaning that eludes me.

  Shrugging, I say, “I imagine there are more than two ways to be fooled, but it’s a great quote.”