Hooked

by Christine Manzari

  —————————————

  From: Maverick, Cate

  Sent: Monday, October 27, 2014 1:54 PM

  To: Stone, Will

  Subject: Cover Art for The Wrong Idea

  I’ll have some comps ready by the end of the business day tomorrow for the CD cover art for The Wrong Idea. I met with Neil Harper over lunch today to brainstorm and he had some great input. Just to remind you, I won’t be here on Wednesday, but I’ll have some designs for you to review while I’m gone.

  – Cate

  —————————————

  She went out to lunch with Neil Harper? The lead singer of The Wrong Idea? My head was a maelstrom of fury and jealousy. A part of me insisted that Cat knew how to keep things professional and that was all the lunch had been. But the other part of me—the part that remembered how Neil’s hands and eyes had roamed all over her on Saturday, the part that had let my own hands roam all over her on Saturday—that part wanted to destroy something. Neil Harper, for example.

  I couldn’t very well kick the ass of our client’s talent so I had to settle for talking to Cat instead.

  I flung my door wide open and stalked down the hall to her office. As I banged on the wood below her nameplate, I got a lot of curious stares. I’d been warned before. No one knocked on Cate Maverick’s door when it was closed, and it was closed most of the time. Translation: no one bothered Cate Maverick. Ever.

  I raised my hand to bang on it again and it opened inwardly with force.

  “What?” Cat snapped. She didn’t look surprised to see me. Maybe she knew I was the only one stupid enough to knock on her door. “What the hell is your problem, Stone?” she growled.

  Oh. So now I was Stone. That was a new one. I pushed past her into the office and then reached around her to slam the door shut. She glanced between me and the closed door as if she’d just been locked in a cage with a ravenous beast. That wasn’t too far off from the truth. Just seeing her for the first time since Saturday made me want to kiss her as much as I wanted to yell at her.

  She was wearing a brown pencil skirt that hugged her curves, leaving very little to my imagination. Cat’s hair was twisted up into a loose bun, and the tight black top with capped sleeves that she was wearing left her neck naked except for a red pendant that was settled at the base of her throat. It was probably a good thing Cat had been hiding out in her office all day, because if I had seen her earlier, I never would’ve gotten any work done. As it was, all I could think about was peeling that outfit off her and seeing what she looked like spread naked across the desk with just the necklace and her heels on. I was consumed with envy knowing Neil Harper had spent time alone with her.

  “You went to lunch with Neil Harper?”

  Her panic at being alone with me turned into indignation. “Is that breaking a rule I was unaware of?” she challenged.

  “He’s not the client, Legend Records is. Why did you have lunch with him?”

  “He said he had some ideas and he wanted to share them with me. I thought it’d be a good idea to hear him out, to give me some artistic insight into his music. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “What were his ideas?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I crossed the room and leaned against her desk, crossing my arms. “What were the ideas he insisted on sharing with you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “He didn’t talk about the CD cover, did he?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “But he didn’t give you any ideas.”

  Cat’s answer was to bite the inside of her lip and glare at me.

  “I’m guessing he probably talked about his music,” I said, giving air quotes to the word music, “and then he asked you on a date.”

  Silence.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “You’re acting like a ridiculous asshole,” she snapped. If glares could be lethal, hers would have left me lying on the floor eviscerated.

  “I’m acting like your art director. In the future I want to be present at any meetings you have with the client, or any of their clients.”

  “That was never necessary before,” she retorted.

  “That’s because I was on the other side of the country, and none of the clients were as important as Legend Records. Circumstances have changed and so have the rules.” I was being a jackass for flaunting my power, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Her hands clenched and unclenched menacingly, but she merely said, “Fine.”

  “In addition, I want you to block off your Monday lunch hour for me. We’ll be using that time to go over any projects we’re working on together.”

  “You can’t do that,” she shot back defiantly. “My lunch hour is my time. You can’t force me to have meetings during that time. I’m pretty sure that breaks a labor law or two.”

  She was right. Technically I couldn’t make her give up her lunch hour. But I was going to demand it anyway.

  “It’s just until the Hoffman account is under control. They’re having their Conference and Expo in a few months, and we need to be certain the project deadlines are met. With you being out one day every week, I need to be more involved in your workload to make sure everything is getting done on time.”

  In reality, I didn’t need to oversee Cat’s work. We both knew it. She was getting it done and I knew she’d continue to get it done. At the same time, however, I knew that she would continue to lock herself in her office and ignore me, and that wasn’t something I could let happen. It was shitty to micromanage her and I was being selfish by forcing her to spend time with me, but I was going to do it anyway because I wanted her in my life.

  “You know I’m getting everything done on time. I don’t need you manhandling my work.”

  “I’m not manhandling it, I’m managing it. I’m the art director, remember?” It was clear she wanted to punch me in the face just like she had the first day she saw me in the office. I was actually surprised when she didn’t.

  “Fine,” she said again, walking over to her desk. “Are we done? I have a lot to do since I won’t be here on Wednesday. I have to make sure all my work is completed so that my boss doesn’t get pissed.” She gave air quotes on the word boss, intentionally using her middle fingers to make the quotes. “I’m assuming I’m still allowed to keep my door shut during the day and use my lunch hour how I choose every other day aside from Mondays?”

  “Of course,” I said as I stood up from where I’d been leaning on her desk, trying not to laugh at the fact she just gave me two middle finger salutes.

  “Good. Shut the door on your way out then, Mr. Stone. I’ll see you next Monday.”

  “Monday,” I repeated, walking across the room. “And Cat?” I asked when I reached the doorway. She looked up at me. “If you told him ‘yes,’ you’ll need to call back and cancel. A date with Neil Harper would be inappropriate.”

  She took a deep breath without looking away from my face. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I told him no already. I wouldn’t want to waste any of my precious work time making phone calls to cancel dates.” When she placed her hand over the mouse to her computer and looked at the screen, she added. “Don’t forget to shut my door.”

  I grabbed the doorknob and I thought I heard her mutter “Shitstick” as I pulled it closed behind me.

  Did I really just do that? Did I really just offend her in every way possible and demand she spend her lunch with me every Monday? I was being a tyrannical dickhead of epic proportions. Shit. I’d be lucky if she didn’t go down to HR and accuse me of harassment. I didn’t think she would, even though she had every right to. Knowing Cat, or actually Cate, she’d think of a much more creative way to get back at me.

  I smiled. I was kind of looking forward to whatever punishment she might come up with.

  — CAT —

  19. THE BEGINNING

  “Mom! We’re late,” I said, shaking her awake.

  Hurrying to her closet, I star
ted pulling things off hangers for her until I realized there was no way in hell she’d let me pick out her outfit. Never mind the clothes, I had to get her up and moving. We’d be lucky if we got there on time if we left now. I abandoned the clothes and went back to her bed.

  “Mom, you have to get up.” I shook her again and her eyes briefly opened before fluttering shut again. I noticed that her cheeks looked a lot more hollow and her skin was starting to sag like an overlarge outfit. She was barely eating anymore. The cancer was slowly stealing her away from me.

  I gave her another gentle shake and she finally managed to keep her eyes open and push herself up into a sitting position.

  “How much time do I have to get ready?” She yawned, trying to focus on the clock.

  “About ten minutes. We’ll have to eat breakfast in the car.”

  My mother frowned. “But I need to shower.”

  “No time for that. You have to choose shower or treatment today. What’s it going to be?” Part of me was hoping she’d say shower. I remembered the last “good days” she had were last week after having no treatment. I wasn’t convinced that the chemo and radiation were even doing any good. She and I didn’t agree on that point of view, however.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.” She shooed me away with her hands and shakily stood up.

  With one last look at her as she shuffled toward her closet, I left her room and took the steps on the main staircase two at a time and jogged into the kitchen. I quickly toasted two bagels, slathered them with cream cheese, and packed a couple of waters for us. No time for coffee, we’d have to get that at the hospital. I set our breakfast on the table in the foyer and ran back up to my room to find my messenger bag and car keys.

  I couldn’t believe I’d slept through my alarm. I was never late anywhere. I blamed today’s anomaly on the fact that I only got three hours of sleep last night after staying up late to work on the artwork for the new cover for The Wrong Idea’s CD. So technically, it was all Will Stone’s fault. I wanted to make sure I didn’t give him any more reasons to interfere with me and my work. It’d only been two days since he burst into my office making demands like he was the freaking emperor, and I was doing everything in my power to prove to him that he’d overreacted.

  Right now, most of my life was out of my control, but at least I could control my ability to get my work done, and I was getting it done like a champ. For that reason, I had a feeling Stone’s asshole behavior was a direct result of the rejection I’d given him on Saturday night, not because my work was suffering. He knew ordering me around, more than anything, would piss me off like nothing else could. It was working.

  I wasn’t blameless, I knew that. What I did to him after the Legend Records party was brutal, but his behavior at the office was completely unprofessional. I never expected him to let his foul mood overflow into work. There was a small part of me that wanted to apologize to him, but there was a bigger part that knew that keeping him angry at me would make it easier to keep our distance from one another.

  My keys were sitting on my dresser and I grabbed them, stuffing them into my messenger bag. I came out of my room just as my mom was leaving hers. She was straightening her wig and carrying her makeup bag.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?” she responded, attempting to smile.

  Out of habit, I held on to her elbow as she carefully descended the stairs. She was leaning pretty heavily on me, and I wondered how much longer she’d be able to go up and down the stairs. We made it out to the car with two minutes to spare.

  My mom applied her makeup using the mirror in the sun visor as I navigated the nightmare that was Los Angeles traffic. We didn’t speak, and I noticed that even though she’d opened the package with the bagel, she didn’t eat it.

  Sooner than I expected, we were pulling into the parking garage and making our way to the cancer center. Nearly an hour later, after her vitals were taken and the usual blood tests were done in one of the small exam rooms, we took the elevator to the chemo ward. My mom had a strange expression on her face that implied she was seriously uncomfortable. I knew she’d been having a lot of discomfort lately thanks to the insane amount of medicine she took. One of them caused constipation and another caused nausea. She took other pills for those issues, but honestly, she was never feeling a hundred percent no matter how many pills she took.

  We signed in at the desk and our favorite nurse, Sally, led us to a curtained area. She inserted my mom’s IV in record time before leaving to prepare the chemo treatment. After Sally left, I started to set up our little seating area, getting out some snacks, books, and my computer. I draped a blanket over my mom’s legs because she was always cold. When she was settled into her recliner, I finally remembered that our morning was still missing something very important. Coffee.

  “I’m going to get a cup of coffee, you want one?” I asked as I tucked the rest of our belongings safely out of the way.

  When my mom didn’t answer, I turned to see that she was hunched over, her arm clutching her stomach. Her face was squeezed in concentration as she took quick, short breaths.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, dropping to my knees so I could see her face better.

  “I think I forgot to take my pain meds this morning,” she managed to say.

  “Did you bring them with you?” I started to reach for her purse.

  She shook her head, refusing to open her eyes as she continued to pant. This was bad. Very bad. My mom took some seriously strong medication to control her pain. We needed to get some more immediately before it was completely out of control.

  “I’ll go find a nurse,” I said, pushing my way through the curtain. I glanced around the room and saw several nurses going about their various tasks, but Sally was near the nurse’s station and I hurried to her.

  “Sally, I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, placing a calming hand on my arm.

  “My mom forgot to take her pain medication this morning. We were running late and . . . and she seems like she’s in a lot of discomfort.”

  “Oh dear.” Sally set down the chart she was looking at. “I’ll need to call down to the pharmacy and have them send something up. Do you know what she takes and the dosage?”

  I shook my head. I should know that. Why didn’t I know that?

  “No matter, I can look it up in her chart. Do you know what time she was supposed to take her pain medication?”

  I shook my head again, realizing that I was a terrible caretaker. I couldn’t even remember what kind of medication she was taking, let alone what time she was supposed to take it. I’d never asked and my mother never offered the information. I mentally slapped myself. My mom was sick, she shouldn’t have to worry about her medication. That was my job.

  I must have looked like I was going to have a panic attack because Sally put her hand on my arm again. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. Just go try to calm her down and make her as comfortable as possible.”

  When I got back to my mom, she was still hunched over in pain. She’d started to cry. I drew the curtain closed around us and rushed to her side. “What can I do?”

  My mother just shook her head as her tears came in great, gulping sobs. I rubbed her back, feeling completely helpless. “It hurts,” she managed to say between sobs. She sounded like a frightened child instead of the headstrong, confident woman she was only three months ago.

  “They’re bringing something up from the pharmacy,” I promised. “It’ll be here soon. Just try not to think about it.”

  A minute stretched into five minutes which then became ten minutes, and there was still no sign of Sally. I continued to rub my mother’s back as her sobs turned into tortured moans. Each moan was like a kick to my heart. I wasn’t the one going through the pain, but watching someone I loved suffer and knowing I could do nothing to help was an entirely different level of hurt. It was like I could feel her pain
deep in my soul and it was slowly shredding me more deeply with each tear that fell from her lashes.

  “I want to die,” she whispered. “I want to die,” she repeated over and over.

  Those four small words made me feel like a part of my heart had died instead. Her body shivered uncontrollably as she clenched tighter into a ball. The makeup she had worked so hard on in the car was now dark streaks under her eyes and across her cheeks. Her lipstick was smeared from biting on the blanket I’d draped across her lap.

  “I want . . . to die,” she whispered again. “It hurts . . . too much.” The words were gravelly as she forced them out in short breaths.

  “Mom,” I pleaded, struggling to keep from crying. It was hard to hear her say such things, but it was even more awful to see how much pain she was in.

  She looked up at me, her eyes red and her lids wet with tears. “Why am I doing this? This isn’t living.” She grimaced as her body tensed again.

  It was the first time I’d ever heard her unsure about the treatment option she’d decided to follow. I’d seen her throwing up from the chemo and in discomfort from the radiation burns. She’d complained a bit about some of the side effects of all of the pills she was taking, but I’d never seen her in so much debilitating pain. She’d never voiced the thought that what she was doing wasn’t living.

  I had no argument for her because she was right. She wasn’t living anymore, she was just surviving the cancer. Her life was a daily battle to endure the crap she was doing to herself to try to live. That’s all life had become—daily survival.

  My mom continued to moan and rock, and I heard her mumbling, “want to die” and “give up” over and over again.

  It was a chant I knew I’d never get out of my head. All those years I’d seen my mom as a vibrant, strong woman were now overshadowed by this moment—the exact moment the cancer had finally broken her. I knew no matter what happened in the next five minutes, or day, or week—this moment would be a scar on my memory. Forever.

  Just then, Sally came in carrying a syringe.