“No,” Aimee said, blowing her nose into the phone.
As enthusiastically as I could, I said, “I get to direct the show. Which means, I decide what songs to sing and who sings them. And I come up with dance routines and everything. It’s really hard.” It wasn’t a lie. I did miss performing, but producing the concert was equally fun in a different way.
“You’re good at it.”
Her compliment tickled my heart, but it wasn’t about me. “Thank you. It’s not an easy task to do all by myself, and I could really use help. Do you think you’d want to be my assistant?” I crossed my fingers.
I heard her gasp. “For real?”
The knots in my belly unraveled marginally at the hint of cheer in her voice. “Yes. I can’t swear you won’t miss singing, but I do promise you’ll have fun. Assuming your mom, dad, and Principal Hogan are on board, what do you say?” I’d known Aimee’s parents for several years now and was positive they’d agree, and Principal Hogan always said yes as long as you showed him respect by asking first.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now please try not to let this ruin your Christmas, okay? You have my word I will talk to your parents after the holiday and get this all sorted out.”
“Thank you, Miss Lane. I’m glad I didn’t listen to my mom.”
“Me too,” I said with a laugh. “Merry Christmas, Aimee.”
“You too. Bye.”
After we hung up, I let my head fall backward and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Nice job.”
I faced Will and smiled timidly.
“I only heard your side of the conversation, but whatever you said to your student seemed to have worked,” Will said, beaming at me.
I tossed the photo frame for James in my basket, and as we continued walking up and down the aisles, I summed up the phone call for Will. When we reached the café, we sat down at an empty table. I finished my story over the Snapple iced teas Will bought us.
He shook his head in awe. “Talking down a hysterical child—not a job for the weary. Did you always want to be a teacher?”
I shrugged. “You know what they say: ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.’”
Will’s eyes darkened. “No offense, but I wanted to pummel your boyfriend when he said that.”
Tapping my hand on Will’s across the table, I said, “Perry was only teasing. You don’t know him like I do.”
“If you say so,” Will said unconvincingly. “For what it’s worth, I thought you had an incredible voice in high school. And based on last night’s performance, you still do.” The night before, I’d sung “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid for the sixties, the theme from Mahogany by Diana Ross for the seventies, and “Fame” from Fame for the eighties.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to ignore the flip of my belly. As a teenager, I used to daydream about Will watching me perform or even walking past the auditorium while I rehearsed and being so mesmerized by my singing voice that he fell in love with me on the spot.
“And for the record, I didn’t think you were weird.”
I squirmed, remembering asking him the question before Aimee called. “It’s okay. I was.”
Will shook his head. “You were quirky.”
Cocking my head to the side, I said, “Isn’t ‘quirky’ a nice way of saying ‘weird’?”
“Not when I say it. You were adorable.” Locking his eyes on mine, he said, “You still are, Snow,” before looking away as if regretting his words.
My lips parted, but I was at a loss for a response. If it were ten years ago, I’d be crossing my fingers Will’s next words would be “Will you be my girlfriend?” But he already had one of those, and I had someone too. And besides, calling me “adorable” didn’t mean he was attracted to me. It could mean he wanted to adopt me like a rescue dog. Clearing my throat, I said, “What about you? Do you like being a lawyer?”
Will nodded. “So many aspects of law fit my personality. I’ve always been very analytical, I love solving puzzles, and writing is a strength too.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “And despite popular opinion, not all attorneys are boring, rigid workaholics.”
It was never my intention to insult Will, and as I sunk lower into my chair in shame, I stammered, “I didn’t mean—”
Smiling wryly, Will raised a hand to stop me. “As you know, I also have a thick skin. Quite useful since everyone hates lawyers. And bad singers.”
I giggled.
“But honestly, my firm strikes a good balance between work and home. I don’t always leave the office at five, but it’s not unheard of either. I make it to my seven o’clock cycling class every Wednesday night like clockwork. And I rarely work weekends or miss out on vacation time. I might not make as much money as I would at other firms, like Sidney’s, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. You’re not the only one who likes to do things.” He grinned again to show me he was playing.
I leaned forward, wanting to learn more about the real Will as opposed to the boy I’d placed on a pedestal all through my childhood. “For instance?”
“Besides the usual—spending time with friends, movies, sporting events, concerts—I went skydiving last year, hiked Mt. Kilimanjaro the year before, and went on safari in Africa the year before that. Here’s one that might surprise you—I took an improv class two years ago.”
My chin almost hit the floor. “No way.”
He smirked. “Yes way. At the PIT Comedy School.”
Logic suggested I shouldn’t be stunned by Will’s proclamation considering what a ham he was on the dance floor, but I was reeling anyway. “Any particular reason you took the course?”
Will shrugged. “I wanted to try something outside of the box. I was also considering a writing class at Gotham Writer’s Workshop, but I was lost for what to write about. At least in improv, someone else assigns you the topic.”
“True. Were you any good?” I guessed he was—as long as there was no singing involved.
“Let’s say I’m better at improvisation than I am at singing and worse than I am at dancing. I’d rate myself a solid six. But it was fun, and now I’m a champ at getting uptight judges to crack a grin every once in a while.”
“You’re full of surprises, Will Brady.”
“I aim to keep you on your toes, Snow White. And by the way, I think I was Austin Powers the year you were Cheri Oteri, so I can be retro too.” In a British accent, he asked, “Do I make you horny?” while waggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah, baby, yeah,” I replied with a chuckle. Afraid Will could read my mind and know I was only half-joking, I stood up and tossed his empty iced tea bottle in the trash can. Perry’s face flashed before my eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over me.
When I sat back down, Will leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes sparkling with interest. “You never did tell me how you came to be a teacher. I would have guessed you’d have gone into show business like Perry.”
“Honestly, it never even occurred to me to perform professionally. Maybe it was because my parents openly discouraged it, but I always did it for fun. I had the time of my life with James performing in high school.” My heart soared in remembrance of the many late nights after school with the other theater kids singing and dancing over delivery pizza. “And I was in an a cappella group in college too. I think if singing was what paid my bills, it would lose something. But by teaching music and directing the entertainment for the school, I get to share my passion with a whole new generation.” My stomach dropped as fear of the school shutting down the music program overcame me once again.
Wrinkling his brow, Will asked, “What’s wrong?”
I told him about the rumors and sighed dejectedly. “For all I know, it’s baseless prattle, but after getting Lance’s email, I can’t help being concerned.”
W
ill wrinkled his nose. “How much do you think the music program costs?”
“According to my research, it’s only about two hundred dollars per student annually, but I don’t know how much of the total school’s budget it accounts for. Did you know there’s a direct correlation between exposure to music and language development in children under ten?”
Shaking his head, Will said, “I did not.”
I nodded eagerly. “It’s true. An article I read also claims music education decreases students’ involvement in delinquent behavior and improves their self-image. Some students even score better on their SATs.” I stopped talking as I caught Will’s amused grin. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“No apologies necessary. You’re passionate about it.”
“Anyway, I vowed not to worry about it until January.” I glanced inside Will’s basket. “What do you have in there?” I could tell it was a DVD but not what the title was.
Kicking the basket behind him and out of my sight, Will said, “Nosy much?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to know anyway. Just making polite conversation.” I pretended I didn’t notice the upturn of Will’s lips as he stared me down.
“I’ll show you if you want.”
“Never mind. I’ve lost interest.” My lips twitched and I changed my answer. “Okay.”
Will grinned wide. “You’re so easy,” he said before his cheeks turned pink. Then he reached down and placed the DVD on the table in front of us.
I narrowed my eyes. “The complete series of How I Met Your Mother. Why the secrecy?”
“No reason except I like teasing you.”
“Nice.” I smirked. “We should probably get back to shopping, huh?” I motioned toward my basket, empty aside from the picture frame for James.
Will nodded. “I’ll pay for mine now since I actually need to check out a few more stores. How about we meet in front of Toys ‘R’ Us in…” He glanced at his watch. “Is an hour enough time?”
Since he hadn’t mentioned needing to buy anything before, I had my suspicions he was itching for alone time—possibly to call Sidney—and I swallowed back my disappointment. Then again, I wanted to buy him a gift and didn’t know how I’d manage to keep it a surprise if he was glued to my side. This break would give me the opportunity I needed. I’d call Perry too. I feared I was enjoying my time with Will entirely too much. I was counting on the sound of Perry’s voice and a few sweet nothings exchanged between us to remind me of what was real and what was pretend. “Perfect. Just text me if you need more time.”
Chapter 10
Sidney
By the time the sun set on Christmas Eve, the temperature had dropped into the twenties, but my mother was too proud of her outdoor living room to let frigid weather deter her from showing it off. Instead, heating lamps surrounded the closed-off area and papier-mache lighting fixtures hung from the wrought aluminum ceiling. Feeling victorious to the bone, I waved a lazy hand at Perry across the space and gave him a smug grin. I was certain no one else on the patio could read into my smile as anything more than a woman beaming happiness in her boyfriend’s direction. But we both knew the truth—I had won the evening’s battle. Actually, “won” lacked the oomph required to describe what I’d accomplished. I had killed it.
After Perry stormed out of Starbucks, I spent the next hour conducting research and devising a plan to obtain the upper hand for our client, an agent attempting to keep an A-list actor locked into a contract. The agreement was not set to expire for another two years, but the actor was trying to get out prematurely. After I shared my notes with my father, he was way too busy to focus on Perry. And my mom was so occupied with the caterers, she didn’t have time to drool over him either.
From where he sat on a white wicker sofa, my dad said, “We are golden.” He continued to flip through the black binder of articles I had pulled for him from various gossip magazines regarding the actor’s extracurricular activities, which could potentially support a claim of breach of contract. He placed the binder on one of the many crafted wood coffee tables decorating the room. “Your research and strategic points are the perfect ammunition. You’re a genius, JB.”
I chose to ignore his use of the grating nickname. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” I said, while glancing over at Perry, who was holding court with my father’s sister and sisters-in-law. For a moment, I wondered what Perry had said to make my aunts laugh so robustly, but I quickly lost interest. As long as they weren’t laughing at my expense, who cared? I turned back to my dad, who was now typing furiously into his phone.
Sensing me watching him, he said, “I’m emailing opposing counsel now—the schmucky one.”
I scrunched my face. “The schmucky one?” As far as I was concerned, they were all schmucks. Mid-yawn, I looked over at Perry again. The ladies were now following him into the house—probably back to the damn piano. Even though I’d been in and out of my father’s home office most of the night aside from when we were eating dinner, Perry’s singing had traveled throughout the house. I’d heard him belting out “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with my Great Aunt Ruth and “Do They Know It’s Christmas” with my Aunt Eileen and Uncle Gil, who were probably regaling him with stories of attending the Live Aid concert in 1985. My extended family’s endearment to him was annoying, but at least they wouldn’t have as frequent access to me later to harp on our “split.”
As my father continued to jabber on about how our adversaries wouldn’t know what hit them, my phone rang—Will. “Hi,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral so my father wouldn’t think I was flirting with another man while my boyfriend was organizing a sing-a-long with my kin less than a hundred feet away. “Hold on a second,” I said into the phone. To my father, I said, “I’m going to take this call.”
My dad whispered, “Is it work-related?”
“No.” I snapped my mouth shut. “I mean, yes.” Not knowing which answer was more likely to sidestep more questions from my father, I continued to stutter, “No, well, kind of.”
“Which is it?” My dad blinked at me in confusion before waving his hand in dismissal. “Never mind. Tell whoever it is you’ll call him back. Unless it’s a client.”
Turning my back on my father, I mumbled into the phone, “Can I call you back, Will?” Or maybe I’d initiate sexting instead. Our communication so far on this trip had been entirely too tame.
After he said “Yes,” I faced my father again.
“Who’s Will?” he asked.
From behind me, Perry asked, “Yeah, who’s Will?” before snaking an arm around my waist.
Even though my first instinct was to pull away, I knew leaning into his embrace made for a better show. In his current state, my father was blinded by work, but someone else might have been watching, and I didn’t want to raise suspicion. “I thought you were keeping my aunts busy,” I said with a high inflection to suggest I was happy to see him.
“I missed my girlfriend,” Perry responded, a little grin starting to curl its way around his mouth. “I thought we could do a duet. Maybe ‘Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth’ as a tribute to the late David Bowie. I know your voice isn’t great, but you can sing backup.”
“Who said my voice wasn’t great?” I asked.
Not looking up from his phone, my dad said, “I did.”
Perry laughed. “Well?”
Only to prove them both wrong, I said, “Fine. Let’s go.” I was getting tired of working. It was a holiday, after all.
Before I could take a step, my dad put out his arm to trap me in place. “Can you do it later or tomorrow, Sidney? We should finish this.”
“No rest for the weary, eh, Mr. Bellows? Why don’t you take a break and join us?” Perry asked.
With barely a glance at Perry, my dad said, “I’m afraid not.” Of course, the glee with which he expressed the words suggested he could
n’t be happier.
Darting my eyes between an eager Perry and my singularly focused father, I unmasked the true reason Perry had joined us outside. It had nothing to do with a desire to sing with me and everything to do with winning back my dad’s attention. “You heard the man. Work beckons. But you have fun without us,” I said.
“If you say so.” Perry shrugged and walked away.
I smiled at his back. Like I said, I killed it.
“Sidney,” my dad barked. “Focus.”
After all our local relatives went home and the visiting ones retired to their guest rooms, I was finally able to make my exit as well. At my mother’s insistence, my parents and I were always the last ones standing at all events hosted in our residence. If it were up to my father, he’d force me to work through the night, but my mother insisted Santa Claus wouldn’t come in if we were awake, and my dad humored her grudgingly. Anxious to confront Perry in private, I faked patience while he thanked Barbara again for the wonderful gluten-free dishes she’d added to the menu and kissed both of her cheeks goodnight. I didn’t even complain when he grabbed ahold of my elbow and didn’t let go until we reached his room.
Standing in the hallway with his body relaxed against his bedroom door, Perry batted his long eyelashes at me. “Thank you for a wonderful night, Cherry Bomb. I had a great time.” He leaned in and closed his eyes.
I slapped his cheek with enough force to show I wasn’t playing his game, but not hard enough to hurt or be construed as physical abuse toward a fake boyfriend. “Get over yourself.”
Perry opened his eyes. “One of those chicks who doesn’t kiss on a first date. I should have known.” He frowned playfully.
I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
Entering the room, Perry said, “I did. After a few martinis, your snobby relatives are a fun bunch. Did you have a nice time?” He sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shiny black leather shoes.
The Boyfriend Swap Page 13
