Lester bounced up like a spring and nearly sprinted around his desk to greet her. "Mattie, is it? I do apologize. How's the, uh, family?"
He looked at her like a lion eyeing a raw steak.
Holding her left hand mid-air, she gave the ring on her finger a twirl and replied, "I'm not here to talk about my family. I'm here to talk about a raise."
In response, Lester sat on the edge of his desk. "Sure, sure. Listen. I have a new, high profile assignment for you. Your readers are going to love it. If you pull it off, I can promise you a very nice bonus, and I'll see what I can do about syndicating that column of yours."
"What?" Caught off guard, Mattie struggled to take a breath, but was prevented from doing so by the ultra-restrictive spandex undergarments. She dropped into the chair that was closest to Lester's desk.
Settling into its warmth, she relaxed, smiled, and said, "I'm listening."
Mattie was well aware of Lester's power to persuade. As Dianne had warned her, "Think of the best chocolate mousse you've ever had. He's that smooth. No. Smoother."
Lester didn't disappoint.
He tried complimenting her. "You always had a keen eye for a great story."
If that were true, I wouldn't be here, talking to you now.
He tried commending her. "Think of the example you'll be setting for your readers."
I couldn't care less.
He tried enticing her. "Think of how victorious you'll feel once the new, fit you crosses that finish line."
Possibly.
He kept slinging his pitch until Mattie felt her resolve crumble faster than a warm chocolate chip cookie dunked in cold milk. By the time Lester had finished, she was mesmerized.
Barely aware that the words were coming from her own mouth, she heard herself say, "So all I have to do to get a raise is train for the Chicago Marathon and chronicle my experience?"
Lester nodded, smiling. "All that's standing between you and your dreams is twenty-six point two miles."
Mattie blinked. The spell was broken. "Tell me that's not the tagline for the feature." While he denied it, she could see from his expression that he was seriously considering it. He turned his back to her, looked up, and muttered to the ceiling. "Running down a dream…the long road from buxom to buff…"
Stunned, she cried, "Hey. I'm sitting right here."
Lester turned to face her, looking like a die-hard vegetarian who just got caught scarfing down a cheeseburger. "What?"
Taking a deep breath, Mattie shook her head and said, "You know what? I can see where this is going. Before and after pictures. Publicizing my weight and measurements. Let's turn the fat girl into someone more socially acceptable. I'll pass, thanks."
Standing up, she added, "I need—I deserve a raise right now. Not ten months from now."
As she turned her back on him, Lester shot out a rapid-fire reply, barely pausing to take a breath. "I don't see why you would pass on this outstanding opportunity. We'll set you up with your very own trainer, a world class running expert, who will work with you every step of the way. Quite literally. Of course, we're going to advertise it all over the city, but think of the exposure. If this takes off—which I'm sure it will—it'll run in all of our affiliates. You'll be famous. Now, I think that family of yours can do without you for a few hours a day, can't they? All you have to do is put yourself in Coach's hands, and he'll make a new woman out of you."
Mattie was flummoxed. "I think I'm fine just the way I am, thank you very much."
At that, Lester stood up and started ushering her to the door. "Think it over. I want to see your first piece by Thursday." He handed her the sheets of paper Nick had left behind and added, "In the meantime, find some place where you can get a quickie physical, and sign this waiver, all right?"
Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob Mattie stopped him and said, "Hang on. What do you mean a couple of hours a day? And who's 'Coach'?"
* * *
Nick stepped out onto the sidewalk and pulled his jacket collar up against the cold wind that was whistling down Michigan Avenue. He stalked toward the train station as fast as he could manage given the swell of commuters following suit. His mind was swimming with a future he couldn't see, a dream that eluded him, and a woman who had a long track record of driving him absolutely crazy.
He was halfway across the bridge spanning the Chicago River when he stopped cold in his tracks, causing other pedestrians to brush by on either side of him, annoyed at the obstacle he had become.
"There's no way," was all he said before turning and jogging back to the Gazette's building.
By the time he made it to the lobby, he had compiled a list of excuses to back out of the deal if it turned out his hunch was correct. Topping the list was "I can't help people who refuse to help themselves."
Next was, "I'd rather get a job bagging groceries."
Last was, "I've been in love with her since the third grade."
By the time he made it to Lester's office, Nick knew that he would talk him out of the first two. The third, he had no intention of sharing.
He lifted his hand to knock on the door, but paused when he heard Lester's voice boom from the other side, "I think that family of yours can do without you for a few hours a day, can't they?"
That family of yours?
A rush of relief washed over Nick. He let his hand fall to his side and was turning to leave when the person in there with Lester replied, "I think I'm fine just the way I am, thank you very much."
A cold chill ran down his spine. Mattie? Has a family?
Nick took a deep breath and was trying to process what he had just heard when the door yanked open from the other side, and she stood before him for the second time in an hour. But this time, she didn't look defiant and flustered. She looked confused and somewhat defeated.
He had seen that look before. If it weren't for Lester beaming behind her, he would've thought he'd walked through a portal in time that dumped him back into the bridal room at St. Matthias.
His eyes swept over her left hand to confirm what he thought he had overheard. There it was. A wedding ring.
Well, I'll be damned…
Taking a step back to let her pass, he heard Lester exclaim, "Nick. Perfect timing. I just found your victim."
Well over a minute went by before anyone spoke. All they could do was stare. Mattie and Nick at each other and Lester at the two of them. Each bore different expressions that somehow managed to convey the same unspoken thought: This just keeps getting better.
Lester was the first to break the silence when he burst forth with, "Don't tell me you two know each other."
With no small amount of effort, Mattie pulled her gaze from the same long-lashed hazel eyes that had reeled her in so many times before. Only this time, they were in someone else's body. Someone who didn't think she was good enough to marry his brother.
Why, just the other day, she told the new cashier at the little bakery down the street. The sturdy elderly woman with an eastern European accent sympathized completely.
"He actually zed that to your fiancé? What a yerk. And on the eve of your vedding? You poor ting." Handing Mattie a freshly-baked Napoleon, she added, "Dis one's on da house, OK?"
It wasn't the first time Mattie had played the jilted bride card to her benefit. Had she known it would be the last time, she likely would've opted for something bigger. Like a whole cheesecake.
Giving her head a quick shake, she glanced at Lester and tilted her face towards Nick before responding. "Don't tell me this is 'Coach.'"
When he grinned and nodded in response, Mattie thought she could actually hear the sound of the cash register that was Lester's brain make a "cha-ching" sound.
"Oh, please. How does he qualify as 'world class'?" She made quotation marks with her fingers as she said it.
Lester passed the buck to Nick. "Sorry to put you on the spot, Coach, but do you mind filling Mattie in on your credentials?"
Nick looked at her, eyes
narrowed, with an expression that read, "You know damn well what my credentials are," but he listed them anyway.
"In high school, I broke every record on the books. As team captain, I led my team to the state championships three years in a row. After that, I got a full ride to Oregon State, where I was captain of the men's cross-country and track teams and broke a bunch more records. Before graduating, I tried out for, and got a spot on, the Olympic track and field team—"
Unimpressed, Mattie interrupted, "As an alternate. That hardly counts."
Nick chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "I've been trained by some of the best coaches in the world. You don't think I can coach a—"
He held his hand out, as he searched for the words to describe her.
Somehow, Mattie knew those words wouldn't be "successful female journalist."
Before he could deliver his description, she arched an eyebrow and whispered, "My fan base is over a half a million strong. Screw with me and you're toast."
Smirking down at her, he replied, "Better start you on a low-carb diet then."
Mattie sneered, "Thanksgiving is next week."
"Is that an invitation?"
Undeterred, Mattie addressed Lester and delivered the best punch to Nick she could without actually making any physical contact. "Since when does the Gazette hire ex-cons? Or is this part of some twisted work-release program?"
Except for a flicker of disappointment that extinguished the glint in his eyes, Nick didn't flinch.
He gave a quick nod to Lester and said, "Catch you tomorrow."
Mattie glanced at the all-powerful publisher. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving, which only meant one thing—he was seeing headlines, flicking them across the blank front page that was his brain.
She heard him mumble, "From Sedentary to Sensational…"
"Lester!"
He looked at her over his reading glasses and then waved her away, saying, "You kids work this out. I have a newspaper to run."
Before she could get away, Nick wrapped his fingers around Mattie's upper arm. Like a blood pressure cuff, he slowly strengthened his squeeze as he closed Lester's door behind them. Just as he was about to cut off the circulation in her arm, he pulled her close and spoke into her ear. "We gotta talk. Now."
Mattie surveyed their surroundings. In front of them was a bright, wide-open office space with lots of prying eyes and cell phone cameras at the ready.
Her eyes fell on the stairwell door through which she planned to escape, alone, when Nick whispered, "Any place we can find some privacy around here?"
Mattie yanked her arm from his firm grasp and turned on him, ready to issue a condemnation so scathing, he'd leave the building and never look back. Damn the assignment, damn the raise, damn her career.
But then she noticed his face.
No longer a mirror image of Eddie, Nick's countenance had become leaner and harder since the wedding-that-wasn't, reflecting a wound she couldn't see and a scar for which she could not take credit. Not entirely.
Suspecting that the arrogant, smug, carefree Olympian she mistook for her fiancé the day before her ill-fated wedding was long gone, she stashed her verbal daggers and softened her tone, just a touch.
"Come with me."
The two walked to the elevators with all of the solemnity of school children facing a detention after a visit to the principal's office. They descended in brooding silence as they made their way to the lifestyle section floor that held a steadily shrinking staff and one reluctant advice columnist—all of whom were under Dianne's domain.
When they reached Mattie's desk, she pointed to an extra chair.
"Have a seat."
Within the confines of her cubicle walls, she watched as he studied the pre-school artwork pinned to them. He seemed to fixate on the drawing of a Thanksgiving turkey with blue and orange feathers glued to it that her nephew had made for her.
After a very long minute, his gaze drifted to the framed photographs of her faux family.
Emitting a short laugh, Nick bit his lip, shook his head, and said, "I can't believe you're married."
Mattie started twirling her ring with her left thumb. She arched her eyebrow so high it nearly touched her hairline. "Why? Because you can't imagine anyone ever falling in love with someone like me?"
Nick stared at her and pursed his lips. Pointing to a picture on her desk, he asked, "Is that the lucky guy?"
Mattie frowned at the picture of her brother-in-law, Tom, grinning like he was indeed the luckiest guy on the planet. She had taken the shot in the bleachers at Wrigley Field on opening day twelve years before, just seconds after Claudia had agreed to marry him.
When she didn't respond, Nick prodded, "Does he have a name?"
Cool as a cucumber, Mattie suggested, "How 'bout we keep this strictly business. You coach. I write. Nothing more. Okay?"
Narrowing his eyes, Nick thought for a moment and then said, "Sure."
Eager to change the subject, she asked, "What did you want to talk about?"
Something in the pit of her stomach told her it wouldn't be complimentary.
Nick clenched his jaw and scooted his chair closer to hers. "Listen, I can't change what happened, you know, before."
He spoke in a voice so low, Mattie found herself leaning closer just so she could hear him, oblivious to the fact that it afforded him a generous view of her newly-exposed cleavage.
Pointing to Tom's beaming smile, Nick continued, "You've clearly moved on with your life, and I'd like to do the same. I'm willing to keep the past in the past if you are."
When he locked his eyes on hers, she felt as if he were trying to erase every memory she ever had of him always getting in the way of her quest to win Eddie's heart, all the way back to the third grade.
But there was one memory that even his smoldering gaze couldn't melt away.
As if it had just happened yesterday, she could picture herself searching the playground for Eddie, hoping for a response to a homemade Valentine's Day card she had snuck in his desk, but Nick spotted her first. Dressed as usual in a blue shirt as opposed to the red shirts Eddie always wore, Nick approached and handed her a note.
"It's from Eddie. I didn't read it. I swear."
When she tore it from his hand and unfolded it, she saw the words, "There once was a girl named Mattie who looked like a great big fatty" scrawled in pencil across the page.
Luckily for Nick, he was the only boy who could outrun her; otherwise, she would've socked him. As fate would have it, she finally got her chance twenty years later.
While Mattie was reliving the past, Nick had moved onto a different subject.
"I didn't realize you worked here. In fact, I haven't seen your byline anywhere since, well, you know."
That he had actually looked for her byline caught her quite by surprise. Just as she made up her mind to take it as a compliment, he added, "I assumed you went into hiding or something. For a while there, I assumed the worst. I mean, why else wouldn't you have returned my calls? Especially when you knew you were the only thing standing between me and a stint in jail."
He stared hard at her, but still Mattie didn't react.
So much for keeping the past in the past.
Nick leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and continued, "Now I don't know what you're getting out of this little arrangement, but whatever it is, neither one of us is gonna get what we want if we don't play nice."
With his face dangerously close to hers, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Got it?"
Mattie raised her own eyebrow. "That depends. Define 'play nice.'"
"It means you gotta trust me. Completely."
His breath smelled of cinnamon and felt warm against her parted lips.
Like hell I do.
She met his gaze. "Don't hold your breath."
At that, Nick leaned back in the chair and shrugged. "Suit yourself. We can do this the hard way."
Standi
ng up, he continued, "Meet me at our old field house at six tomorrow morning. We have a lot to go over, and," his gaze dropped to the hole in her dress, "I'm gonna have to assess you, so don't be late."
With a quick wink, he turned and left Mattie alone in her cubicle, pondering the directive.
Whatever you say, Coach.
CHAPTER THREE
"Ice cream is exquisite. What a pity it isn't illegal."
– Voltaire
Later that evening, Mattie rushed to an urgent care facility located just off of Chicago's Magnificent Mile for a fast physical. The doctor's parting words rang in her ears all the way home.
The funny little man with a curious, indiscernible accent looked at her over his reading glasses when he told her, "Your BMI should not exceed your age. I can recommend a good nutritionist."
"Just sign the form," she retorted.
He begrudgingly pulled a pen from the pocket in his white lab coat and made an undecipherable scribble. "Take better care of yourself, Mathilde, and you'll live a nice long life."
As soon as his pen left the paper, she grabbed the form from him and headed for the door. At Dianne's urging, she stepped into an upscale sporting goods store down the block. Her eyes widened as she stepped through the doors. Bright lights, lots of chrome, and every color of the rainbow on the racks of clothes and shoes.
She stood agape, wondering where to start when a middle-aged man, looking like he could bench press a semitrailer truck, approached her.
"Can I help you?"
Mattie stared at him, waiting for the words to form in her brain. "Running clothes."
The man looked amused. "Yeah?"
Her eyes scanned his nametag. "Tell me, Roy. Do you work on commission at this store?"
A cautious grin spread across his pockmarked face. "You betcha."
"Oh good. I'll be sure to find someone else to help me then." She slipped away, leaving the clueless Roy in her wake.
Unable to tell the men's section from the women's, she instead went in search of hot pink pieces of clothing and found a rack of long-sleeved shirts. After an exhaustive search for an extra large, she realized she was in over her head and decided, against her better judgment, to call Claudia.
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