Persuaded

by Rachel Schurig

  As we drove away, I couldn’t help but turn back and stare at the group we had left behind. Lucy was tugging on Rick’s arm, telling him something, while Mary looked positively pissed at being left behind. And in the middle stood Rick, watching us drive off, a completely inscrutable look upon his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Work over the next week was hectic. So hectic, in fact, that I had little opportunity to think about Rick or the morning touring Vegas hotels. At least, I had little opportunity at work. At night, alone in my apartment, I could think of little else. As much as I told myself he wasn’t giving me half as much thought as I was giving him, I still couldn’t stop myself from going over and over it in my head. The way he had seemed almost angry at the mention of my dating Charlie all those years ago. His words to Lucy on the subject of putting love first—he was one to talk. And, more than anything else, the way he had acted to put a stop to the pain in my leg.

  It was just common courtesy, I told myself, again and again as I stared up at the ceiling. He would have done the same for anyone. He was there when I hurt my ankle, for God’s sake. Of course he noticed it bothering me when no one else did.

  But that didn’t explain what I had felt when he touched my elbow to help me into the car.

  It was stupid, thinking I could still feel the heat of his fingers on my skin. It had been days ago—it was just in my head. There was nothing special about that touch. If I had felt a sharp pulse of intensity rush through me the moment we touched… Well, that was probably just because it was so hot outside.

  I was dreaming about him almost every night.

  I woke, each morning, pissed as hell at myself for allowing it to happen. Pissed as hell at him for showing up in my life again, getting in my head. Some of the dreams were frustrating—I’d be following him somewhere and he would refuse to turn. Or I’d be trying to tell him something about the project while he steadfastly ignored me, no matter how loud I shouted. Those mornings, I woke up in a rage even a hot shower and a full pot of coffee couldn’t ease. I decided to switch to kick boxing for my Tuesday-Thursday fitness class, telling Emma I was getting bored with Pilates. She had joined me and seemed to take great pleasure in beating the hell out of the punching bags. I tried to channel every ounce of frustration from the dreams into the work out, punching and kicking until I was exhausted, and still I left with a little pit of anger in my stomach most mornings.

  As rage-inducing as they might have been, the frustrating dreams were not the worst ones. Because sometimes the dreams were more like memories—stolen moments from a lifetime ago, the two of us exploring and discovering and loving. I woke from those dreams with a great, gaping hole of loneliness in my chest, so painful that I would actually have to curl up on my side until it passed.

  I wondered if maybe I was having a breakdown. It just wasn’t normal, getting this worked up over an ex. It had been years since he left. I should have been over it. I was over it.

  Yet the dreams persisted.

  At work, I threw every bit of energy into the project, crunching numbers, researching winning bids on recent projects, talking to as many colleagues as humanly possible. It got to the point where Emma was beginning to watch me in concern any time she passed me in the office.

  “You need to get out of this office,” she said one evening when she found me still at my desk well after ten. She had taken a few members of the zoning board, old friends of her dad’s, out for drinks and returned to the office when she remembered her cell phone charger was there. I hadn’t left yet, skipping dinner in favor of a granola bar at my desk.

  I looked up at her, my eyes bleary from the incessant glow of my monitor. “Seriously, Annabelle,” she said. “You need a break. This isn’t good for you.”

  “It’s only a few weeks until the first proposal goes in,” I told her, cracking my neck. She winced. “I’ll take a break then.”

  “We’re in good shape,” she argued. “The proposal is coming along on schedule. The designs are freaking fantastic.” She frowned. “Much as I hate to admit that about Rick. You don’t need to be killing yourself over this.”

  I didn’t know how to explain to her that the office felt safer to me than home. At home, I couldn’t escape from the persistent feeling that I had wasted so much time on my own. I had never really considered myself a lonely person before—I had friends and colleagues and a good job. I was social. I had a full life. But ever since hearing Lucy describe me as sad to Rick, the thought had run over and over in my head. I was lonely.

  “Look, I wasn’t going to mention this because I didn’t know how you would feel,” Emma said, leaning her elbows onto my desk. “Jim and Rick want us to go see a hotel in Los Angeles.”

  “What? A hotel in Los Angeles?”

  She nodded. “Apparently, it was designed by a good friend of theirs. Devon Harville. He figured out some way to reduce air-conditioning costs by thirty percent. All because of the way the roof is designed.” She shrugged, as if she couldn’t possibly have found the subject more boring. Emma was definitely not a details person when it came to our developments. She liked the glitz and glamor of the finished product. The finer points of the actual construction bored the hell out of her. “Anyhow, they think if we can replicate the technique, it might give us a good advantage.”

  “Keeping operational costs down is a huge advantage,” I said, twirling a pencil as I considered. Already, I was running numbers, thinking of the best way to highlight the fact that our design would minimize cooling costs—a huge part of the operating budget of any resort here in Vegas.

  “Yeah, well, they think a trip out to California would be in our best interest.”

  The pencil froze in my fingers mid twirl. “All of us.”

  “I’m trying to think of a way where you wouldn’t have to come, Annabelle, but I just can’t. You’re the one who can sell this, numbers wise. You know I’m going to forget half of what this Harville guy tells us the minute we walk outside. And Charlie—”

  “Charlie won’t even understand it,” I said automatically. I sighed, pushing the pencil back into my bun. “So. California.”

  “Are you okay with it? Because I think it might be good for you. Get out of town a little bit. Maybe sit your ass on a beach for a while.”

  I nodded. Of course, she was leaving out the one little detail that was going to make the trip practically unbearable.

  “You seem to be handling him pretty well,” she said lightly, as if she had read my mind. I did my best not to snort out loud. Since Rick had arrived in town, I had nearly fallen off a mountain, lost hours and hours of sleep, and had, only yesterday, actually ripped a hole in the punching bag at the gym. Yup. I was handling it pretty well all right.

  “It will be fine,” I said, even though the very thought of traveling in the same party as Rick had my palms sweating. “I can handle anything as long as you’re there.”

  Her face dropped and I swore under my breath.

  “You aren’t coming?”

  “They want to go next week. Which is the same week as—”

  “Your dinner party at the mayor’s,” I finished for her. “Well, you can’t miss that.” Emma had managed to snag an invitation to a dinner party at the mayor’s mansion. I was pretty sure her father had called in more than a few favors, but the result was the same. She was going to get to spend an entire evening with some of the top business people in the city. There were rumors that Trump might even be there. It was the kind of networking opportunity you simply did not miss, no matter what. Certainly not for a field trip to discuss the finer points of heating and cooling.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, squirming in her seat. “I just think it’s such a good opportunity for the entire company, you know? Not just me personally—”

  I held up a hand. “You’re one hundred percent right. We all benefit from that party. You have to go.”

  “You’ll have Mary and Charlie,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. As if that was some kin
d of a prize. “And I’m sure Lucy would want to come, too.”

  Awesome. So not only would I have to deal with Mary bitching about every little thing, but I would also be graced with the sight of Lucy doing her damnedest to get Rick wrapped firmly around her little finger.

  “It will be fine,” I assured her. “Maybe you’re right—a little ocean breeze might be just what I need.”

  She watched me for a long moment. “What you really need is to spend a little time with a male who isn’t an ass.” She paused. “Did you ever hear from Steve?”

  “The date didn’t go so well, Emma. We just didn’t hit it off.”

  She looked disappointed—and slightly worried, to be honest. “You need to put some more effort in, babe.”

  I bristled. Why was there always the implication that it was my fault?

  “I’m just saying,” she went on quickly, as if to ward off my anger, “you have so much going for you. Any guy would be lucky to have you. I don’t like seeing you so tense all the time. A boyfriend—even short term—would give you more excuses to get out and have fun.”

  “And you’re just the expert in boyfriends, huh?” I snapped.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Just because I choose not to get into anything serious doesn’t mean I sit around at home nearly every night of the week.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, afraid I was going to say something really rude. Emma had never shown very much interest in having a serious boyfriend. I couldn’t really blame her. There had been lots of guys only interested in her for her money or status. But she was right about not sitting home alone—she dated like crazy, always a different hot guy on her arm. She just chose not to let it go longer than a few weeks at most.

  “Annabelle, I’m not criticizing you, okay?” She sounded tired. I wondered how much time she had put into worrying about me in the last few months. “If I thought you were happy, I would drop it in a second. But you’re not. I know you’re not.”

  I stared down at my desk, feeling like I might cry.

  “I thought so,” she whispered when I didn’t argue. “Hey, do something for me, will you?”

  I looked up at her, blinking swiftly to keep the tears at bay. “What?”

  “Have a one-night stand in California.”

  I snorted. “Okay, Emma. Sure.”

  “I mean it! You need some no-strings-attached fun, sister.”

  “I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl,” I pointed out.

  She threw up her hands, reaching the end of her patience with me. “You don’t have to sleep with someone—though God knows that would help. Just have fun with a guy. For one night. Find someone in a bar to dance with. Flirt with a stranger on the beach. Just do something.” She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at me a little bit. “Unless, of course, you don’t think you have it in you.”

  I snapped my teeth together. I knew what she was doing—appealing to my competitive nature. I didn’t like being told I couldn’t do something and she knew it. “Fine,” I snapped. “I will have some kind of encounter with a man in California. No strings attached. Promise.”

  She leaned back in her chair, grinning. “Good.”

  “Are you done manipulating me now?” I asked. “Or was there another area of my life you’d like to stick your nose in?”

  She laughed, standing. “That will do for now.”

  “How kind of you.”

  She surprised me by leaning over my desk to kiss me swiftly on the top of my head. “Have fun, Annabelle. Please.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She shook her head as she walked to my door. “You’re the only person in the world who needs to be convinced to have fun on a trip to L.A. You know that, right?”

  “I’m just special.”

  She paused in the doorway to snort. “I’ll pick you up at your apartment at eleven tomorrow.”

  “What’s at eleven tomorrow?”

  “I’m taking you to buy new bikinis for your trip.”

  I had been planning to work on Saturday, at least for a few hours. “Emma,” I called as she breezed into the hallway.

  “You promised, remember?” she called over her shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

  I knew there was no use arguing with her. When Emma decided on something, you could either go along with her or get the hell out of her way. My thoughts drifted briefly to an image of Lucy traipsing around the beach in some teeny tiny bikini, and I gritted my teeth. Maybe bikini shopping was exactly what I needed.

  Chapter Twelve

  We flew into L.A. after work on Tuesday. I had spent a long day trying to wrap up a week’s worth of loose ends, which wouldn’t have been so bad if my nerves hadn’t kept me up most of the night before. If I had any thoughts of sleeping on the plane, they were dashed when I ended up sitting next to Charlie, because both he and Mary insisted they needed an aisle seat.

  “You won’t even sit next to me?” Charlie had asked her, crossing his arms. “Are you kidding?”

  “I would if you’d take the window seat,” she spat back, oblivious to the line of people waiting to make their way down the aisle.

  “My legs are longer than yours!”

  “I’ll sit by the window,” I had finally interjected. “Just sit down so people can get past.”

  “Some wife I have,” Charlie muttered. “Won’t even sit next to her own husband. Sends her friend to do it. Real nice.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she shot back. “Besides, Annabelle doesn’t mind.”

  If I had thought that would be the end of the bickering, I was mistaken. Charlie spent a good portion of the flight fuming that the company had to pay for five first-class tickets. “We should have flown coach,” he kept mumbling. “It’s like Annabelle and I are the only ones who realize the company is broke. But far be it from anyone to take my advice. I’m only the bloody CFO.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m going to fly coach?” Mary cried, turning around in her seat to glare at him. “I’ve never flown coach!”

  “Then we should have bought our own tickets.”

  “And leave everyone else back there in the cattle car? Are you insane? We cannot fly Rick and Jim coach,” Mary hissed. “We’re supposed to be showing them how successful and profitable our company is. God, Charlie, how clueless can you be? Even Emma said we should book them in first.” She paused. “Though it wouldn’t have killed her to offer up her father’s jet. That would have impressed them a hell of a lot more.”

  At that moment, I happened to glance up and notice Rick, seated two rows up on the other side, watching us. I immediately colored, hating that I was lumped in with Mary’s spoiled ridiculousness. But he quickly averted his attention, turning back to Lucy who, surprise, surprise, was sitting next to him. I watched as she spoke to him and reached out to lightly touch him arm, trying to decide whether or not I should be impressed by her scheming.

  When Etta found out Lucy would be joining us, she had lobbied hard to be included in the trip, telling Emma she could be her eyes and ears on the ground. Emma had agreed, probably to avoid having to deal with a sullen assistant for half the week, and we booked the girls in coach. Somehow, Lucy had managed to make her way to first class—I heard her say something about cashing in her personal miles—and I could practically feel the anger emanating from Etta all the way up here.

  Charlie and Mary argued for most of the flight. I did my best to read the magazine in my hands, even reverting to sticking my headphones in, but Mary continued to demonstrate her complete lack of social skills by reaching between the seats to nudge my knee until I took them out to answer her.

  By the time we landed at L.A.X., my nerves were completely shot. All I wanted was to get to the hotel and find some peace and quiet. We weren’t set to tour Devon Harville’s hotel until the following morning, and though I had heard Mary, Etta and Lucy discussing what restaurant to choose for dinner, I was determined to ditch the group.

  Until we piled into the limo at the arrivals gate and Jim ann
ounced that Harville had invited us all to his home that evening to share dinner with him and his family.

  “That’s nice,” Mary said, clearly disappointed. She had been looking forward to finding some exclusive restaurant where she wouldn’t actually have to interact with anyone that might be beneath her social standing.

  “You’ll love Harville,” Rick told Lucy and Etta. “He’s great, really. Very generous, very welcoming. I’m sure they’ll show us a great time.”

  “I would much rather have a comfortable dinner at home with good friends,” Lucy said resolutely. “The restaurant scene gets so overplayed.”

  He beamed down at her, and I rolled my eyes, looking out the window. I’d only been to L.A. a handful of times, and it always surprised me when I saw the huge expanses of freeway and never-ending sprawl of the city.

  “What about you, Annabelle?” Jim asked. He sounded slightly less than his usual cheerful self. “Do you prefer dinner parties or restaurants?”

  “I guess it depends on the company.”

  He nodded, glancing out at the passing traffic. “True enough, true enough.”

  On closer inspection, he looked downright morose. “Are you okay, Jim?”

  He turned back to me, offering me a weak smile. “Oh, sure. I’m just… thinking about the Harvilles.”

  “Are you… Are they old friends of yours, as well?”

  That weak smile again. “Oh yeah, I’ve known Devon longer than Rick has. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

  His expression certainly didn’t indicate old friendships. I wondered if they’d had a falling out. And whether it was any of my business.