Coming Back (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #2)

by Berry, C. J.

  He flashed a grin and spun around to the back of his cart. He threw some pork on his grill and it sizzled and crackled. He smiled at me as he tossed the pork with a spatula, browning each side to perfection.

  Before I knew it, a brown box was being thrust through the tiny window of his cart at me.

  “For the lovely lady.”

  Oh God, that accent.

  I took what he was giving me and found a place to sit in a nearby open-air park.

  I saw her before my butt even hit the chair.

  Shit.

  I looked around for somewhere to hide, but I was nearly dead center in the middle of an open area. I considered ditching my Cuban food and running into the mall across the street. I could probably lose her in there.

  I looked down at my food. The deep aroma of well cooked pork combined with the zesty tang of lime, the dull earthy tones of black beans and brown rice, and the slightly odd presence of sweet potatoes fries convinced me not to ditch the food. Instead, I closed the brown box and stood up to leave, hoping that she wouldn’t see me.

  It was too late.

  “Omigod, Sarah how are you?”

  Why do you care?

  “I’m great. How are you?”

  “Oh you know, just staying busy over there in accounts.”

  Never trust the people in accounts.

  “Cool. Well, I better get going, I was just going to eat my lunch back in my cubicle.”

  “Don’t be silly. Let’s have lunch together. It has been forever since I have seen you and you have to catch me up on all things Aiden.”

  Angela sat down at the table. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was completely shocked.

  Did she really have the audacity to pretend like nothing happened? Was she just here to rub it in as one of Peyton and Lizzy’s henchwomen? What the hell did she want from me?

  I should have just left, but I didn’t. I sat down instead.

  “So, tell me everything.”

  “About what?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was recount that weekend spent with Aiden.

  “About the hot sex you and the chef had.”

  She opened a small black plastic box that contained a very dry looking salad and shoved a fork full of the leafy green stuff into her mouth. It made an obnoxious crunching-smacking noise. She took a sip on expensive looking water.

  I opened my Cuban food. I was almost started to feel embarrassed about shoveling pork and beans into my mouth while Angela munched away on a weight-loss salad, but then I imagined the cute Cuban guy hanging out of his food truck window telling me to relax and “have a good time”.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said taking a bite of the salty pork. The hint of lime that ran through the meat was like an instant bolt of energy.

  “Why not? Too spicy?” Angela grinned and slapped my hand like she had just made a hilarious joke.

  I wasn’t laughing.

  She stopped eating and dropped her fork.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. You were being serious? Oh God I feel awful. Listen I —”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  I took a sweet potato fry and dipped it in mustard. Looking at the fries in my box, they felt out of place, but when that first bit of sweet potato hit my tongue I realized the genius behind that little Cuban man and his food truck. It was a strange combination, but it was perfect.

  Angela and I sat at that little table, eating in silence, for another ten minutes. She seemed too embarrassed to say anything more and I was fine with that. I finished my food and started to clean everything up. Angela saw that I was leaving.

  “Wait. Don’t go.”

  I stopped what I was doing.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just haven’t seen you and I had assumed that things went really well for you. I really am sorry.”

  For a moment I thought that I saw a tear building up in her eye. I had to blink twice to make sure.

  “Hasn’t Peyton already filled you in?”

  I continued clearing my things.

  Angela let out a little laugh and wiped the tear away before it fell down her face.

  “Peyton hasn’t said two words to me since that weekend. She gets that way when a new account comes in.”

  “What about Lizzy? I am sure she had plenty to say.”

  My voice came out sounding rude. I knew it, and I didn’t feel bad about it.

  Angela really let out a laugh this time.

  “Lizzy is seeing somebody. I guess she hooked up with someone from the same restaurant as your chef. Let me be the first to tell you, that girl falls hard and when she does, good luck trying to matter in her world.”

  By “someone from the same restaurant” as my chef, don’t you mean she hooked up with MY CHEF?

  Angela suddenly looked very sad, like the girl who gets picked last or doesn’t get picked at all. I tried to feel sorry for her, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t ignore the thought that it was just part of the ploy to sucker me back into some mean practical joke.

  “Well, I better get back,” I said.

  “Wait,” Angela stood and grabbed my arm, “I need to ask you to do something for me.”

  The look in her eyes told me she wasn’t joking.

  Chapter 9

  “What is it,” I asked.

  “It's about the office party,” Angela said.

  “What about it?”

  “Would you come with me? I hate going to these things by myself. Please, please, please.”

  Angela was clasping her hands together and nearly bending down on one knee.

  “No way.”

  I hated office parties. The firm that I used to work for in New York had one almost every week. I never went. They were a waste of time and the last thing I wanted to do was hang out with my coworkers in my free time.

  Especially after I had tried it with Peyton, Lizzy and Angela.

  “Why not? I don't understand.”

  “I don't expect you to. I just can't go.”

  I wanted to tell her that I couldn't go because I didn't want to see Brandon. I wanted to tell her that I couldn't go because I didn't want to see Peyton or Lizzy, but I couldn't.

  “Come on,” she said, “you have to come. This is gonna be the first office party we have had in over two years where both of the partners are gonna be gone. Think about it: Office party with no bosses!”

  “Neither of the partners are gonna be there?”

  “Well, it's not really any of my business, nor is it yours,” she shot me a glance, “but they aren’t gonna be at the party because one of their new clients is a little bit of a diva. Turns out, this particular client, who may or may not be a celebrity, only works directly with partners. I mean don't get me wrong, it's a great account to have, but I'm just glad that they didn’t assign her to me.”

  I still didn't want to go, but knowing Brandon wouldn’t be there did make it a slightly more attractive offer. I had heard that the office parties at Abraams and Snider were catered to the teeth and had open bars.

  I could have used a drink.

  “What about Peyton and Lizzy?

  Angela cocked her head to the side.

  “What do you mean?”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “Are they gonna be there too?”

  “I don't think so actually.”

  Angela shuffled around the leftover contents of her salad, stuck her tongue out, and closed the lid.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but I highly doubt they are going to be showing up. Lizzy has a new boy toy and she never really came to the office parties before anyways. I used to go with Peyton, but I think after this last week she's probably going to just spend the evening curled up in bed. Besides, I heard she wasn't feeling well, but that was just something I heard, she hasn’t talked to me in ages.”

  Now this did change things. If Brandon wasn't going be there, and the girls weren’t going be there, maybe I could go to the off
ice party. At the very least it might be a good idea to recruit some friendly faces to my side of things just in case things got worse around the office.

  “That's good,” I said.

  “What's good?”

  “That Lizzy and Peyton aren’t going to be there.”

  The second it came out of my mouth I knew I had crossed a line.

  Angela frowned.

  “Why is that a good thing?”

  Angela had spoken each word long and slow.

  There was no use in hiding it any longer.

  “Because they are bitches, and I am not totally convinced that you weren't in on it the whole time either.”

  “In on what? What are you talking about?”

  “I'm pretty sure you know exactly what I am talking about. Aiden, that weekend, the set up, the whole ‘let's get invited to the back of the restaurant so we can set up the new girl’ game. I figured it all out. Aiden accidentally texted me when he meant to be texting Lizzy. I know about him and Lizzy now.”

  Angela dropped her box salad on the ground, her mouth wide open, her eyes wide open.

  “Why? Wait — what — with who — when? What's going on here? What did I miss?”

  I wasn’t sure if she was acting, excited to have uncovered gossip, or truly confused by what had come out of my mouth.

  “You know what I am talking about; Lizzy and Aiden. You guys set me up.”

  “Well yeah, of course we did. We thought you two were a cute couple.”

  Did she really not know? Was she just some girl Lizzy and Peyton dragged around for fun?

  “No, that isn’t what I mean. I mean Lizzy is sleeping with Aiden,” I shook my head, “I mean they have always been together. Peyton and Lizzy set me up with Aiden as some sort of cruel joke. A hazing or something.”

  Angela brought both hands up, her palms facing toward me in a defensive gesture. Her skin looked more pale than before and she said nothing. I looked her over trying to find any hint that she might be acting. If she was, she should have quit her job at Abraams and Snider and headed down to Hollywood.

  “You mean, you honestly have no idea what I'm talking about?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly, a worried look on her face.

  “Honestly,” Angela said, “I have no idea what you're talking about. It was a last-minute thing for me. I wasn't even gonna go that weekend, but Peyton said I had to because you were gonna be there, and she wanted to make you feel welcome or something like that. That's all I know. Everything else is news to me. I swear.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, a pleading look in her eyes.

  I didn't know what to believe. I wanted to believe Angela, I really did. Of the three girls, she had been the most levelheaded, the most soft-spoken, and in retrospect, as I spent that week replaying all the events in my mind, she never did seem to fit into the evil plan I had conjured up in my mind.

  Maybe I was being too soft, maybe I was being too trusting, and maybe I just wanted a friend too badly, but I decided to believe her.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay what?”

  Angela looked like she was about to cry.

  “Okay, I'll go to the office party with you.”

  Chapter 10

  It felt strange to be at work in the evening, dressed in my nicest black skirt, sipping champagne and mingling with coworkers. I still wasn’t sure how Angela had convinced me to come, but I was here now and there was no turning back.

  Without the pressures of deadlines, Lizzy lurking in the background, and Peyton looming over my head, I found that I actually liked my officemates quite a bit.

  This was new for me.

  I had never really enjoyed office parties back in New York, but this one just had a different vibe. It felt more relaxed. It felt more like — family. There was no pressure to be “copywriter Sarah”; I was just myself, I was just having a good time.

  A half an hour into it, Angela arrived as promised. She was wearing a dark blue knee length that twirled around her legs with each step she took. I told her she looked great and she told me that she had sewed the dress herself. I was impressed.

  She took me by the arm, asked how I was doing, and escorted me to some of her workmates in the accounts department. We said the usual cordial hellos, and I struck up casual conversation.

  I never let my gaze wander far from Angela, I watched her every move that night, still unsure where her loyalty laid. Watching her interact with her fellow coworkers allowed me to see her in her natural habitat, unfettered by Lizzy or Peyton’s influence.

  At some point during the evening I heard a drunken shout from the crowd of people for karaoke to begin. A few short minutes later, someone, probably drunk, began belting out 80s tunes in a disturbingly off key tone of voice. To be completely honest, had I not looked for myself, I wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was a man or woman.

  Now it felt like a real office party.

  “I am going to get in line,” Angela said and took off running to make a fool of herself on stage.

  I waved her on and made my way to the refreshments table. A comfortable spot to hide.

  For the first time since I had started at Abraams and Snider I felt like I belonged, even if it was as the wallflower. I felt tension leave my shoulders and realized that I was beginning to relax, to settle in, to find my place.

  Call it a moment of mindfulness, call it a moment of introspection, call it whatever you want, but standing there, sipping champagne at a company party that I actually enjoyed filled me with a deep sense of gratitude for the things that I did have.

  I did have a good job. I did have a great house in a dream neighborhood. I did have at least a few people that I knew I could talk to, even if it was on a superficial level.

  I wasn’t completely alone.

  Sure, Aiden had been a terrible mistake, Peyton and Lizzy were probably going to pop out of the rafters and dowse me in putrid slime before the night was through, but none of this was any different than what I went through in high school, not really, and I had survived that just fine.

  I was going to be OK.

  Just as I was considering picking up the mic and singing a half drunk tune of my own, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I turned around.

  My face dropped, my elbows nearly fell to the floor and the tension returned to my shoulders.

  "Hi Sarah."

  Angela had promised that he wasn't going to be here. I didn't say anything, I didn’t move, I didn’t think.

  "I hope you're enjoying the little party."

  Brandon pulled a glass of champagne off the drink table next to me and took a sip. He swirled his glass around, looked at it as if he was studying its contents, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “We probably could have done better."

  I hoped that he was referring to the drink and not to that giant disaster of a night we had shared. I didn’t want to talk about it and that was no way to begin the conversation anyways. I desperately looked around for Angela. I needed her to come save me, she was the one who had assured me that Brandon wasn’t going to be there.

  "You look very nice," he said looking down at my legs.

  The short skirt had been a mistake.

  “I didn't realize you were gonna be here," I said.

  "Yeah, clients love canceling last minute on me. I just got back from Chicago and since I had the free time I thought I would stop by and see how everyone is doing."

  For having just come from Chicago he looked awfully fresh. His navy blue suit was neatly pressed, his hair slicked back and his Rolex as glistening as ever. As awkward and uncomfortable as our mini-make-out session had been, I had to admit he knew how to dress for a party.

  He touched my shoulder lightly. A chill passed over me like he had just touched me with ice.

  For a moment I thought that the party had stopped. I could no longer hear the music. There was only a muffled ringing in my ears and dryness in my mouth.

&n
bsp; I pulled my arm back. Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. I didn't want to make a scene. Whatever I had been branded since my falling out with Peyton and Lizzy by my coworkers, a confrontation with the Snider of Abraams and Snider at my very first office party would have been headline gossip. I would have quickly become known as “that crazy lady”, and nobody wants to be "that crazy lady".

  It would have ruined my career.

  I knew he didn't want confrontation either. Partners have a certain reputation to uphold and having the new copywriter flipping out on you in front of all your employees was trouble he didn’t want. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, scanned the room, found someone he could talk to and left as suddenly as he had appeared. I rubbed my hand over the spot where he had touched my arm. It still felt cold.

  Standing alone by the drinks I was reminded of the first time I had been stood up by a boy. It was my second middle school dance and he had promised to kiss me.

  He never came.

  I found myself reliving that moment, those same feelings of wanting to run away, wanting to stick it out for the entire night — just in case. Tears began to well up in my eyes but I fought them back, just like I did at that middle school dance so many years ago, casting fake smiles to whoever might catch me in their gaze.

  I felt ridiculous, I probably looked ridiculous, and I was ready to go home.

  I spent a moment conjuring up an excuse to tell Angela as to why I had to leave.

  I never did get the chance to tell her my made up excuse that night. Whatever creative lie I had come up with to get me out that front door was going to have to stay locked away in my brain because the karaoke had started again.

  This time, instead of an 80s rock song, it was a cheesy 90s love ballad that floated through the air. Instead of the drunken moans of a coworker, a deep, rich baritone sang on through the mic. A voice that was clear. A voice that was confident.

  A voice that I recognized.

  Chapter 11

  I recognized that voice in a way that one recognizes gradeschool bullies fifteen years after the fact.

  I almost dropped my champagne glass but had the composure to set it down gently on the table. It was the same voice that had reverberated throughout my house just days prior as I was alone, watching Netflix movies, trying to forget the man to whom that voice belonged.