“No—I mean, yes, of course.”
“Get her the employee file,” Claire said to Bruce as she exited the conference room. Bruce shot me a look that said for me to come with. So I stumbled to my feet, grabbed my things, and followed them down the hall.
Maybe it was an honor to take Claire’s place at this meeting. Maybe she’d chosen me specifically because she knew I had what it took and I was a trustworthy face for NRG Interactive.
Claire veered to the right toward her office, and Bruce stopped in his tracks and turned around to me. “Looks like little Ray-Ray’s on babysitting duty.” He chuckled under his breath.
That sounded anything but important. “What?”
“Wait here.” He returned a few minutes later and handed me a skinny manila folder. “The appointment is on Claire’s calendar. Don’t be late.”
“Um, Bruce?” I swallowed and clutched my notebook containing the clever sketch and the perfect one-liner. “I have an idea for the project, if you want to see—”
He held up a hand. “No, no. You heard Claire. Not your concern anymore.” He quirked a smirk and strolled away.
After weeks of lying low, I finally had something cool to share, and it would never see the light of day because I’d be babysitting. What the hell? I stomped toward my cubicle and dumped everything on my desk, desperately needing a cocktail or a mainline of lavender oil or a Moron Bruce-shaped punching bag.
The Tipsy Pig was all the way across town, and I was ten minutes late to the dinner meeting. Well, if Claire couldn’t be arsed enough to show up herself, why should I break the speed limit?
As I crossed the parking lot, I spotted a girl waiting in front of the restaurant as planned.
“Ms. Reynolds?” she asked me, looking smiley and eager. Good little intern.
“No, I’m Rachel.” I extended my hand to shake. “Claire is very sorry but she was called away at the last minute.” Lie. “But I’m more than happy to meet with you tonight.” Lie.
“Hi.” She shook my hand. “Sarah. Nice to meet you. Is that your black Bug?” She nodded toward the parking lot. “What a cool car.”
“Oh, thanks. I love it.” I returned her enthusiastic smile as we entered the restaurant. “But sometimes convertibles are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Not to mention the manual transmission in a city with a bunch of hills.”
I laughed, remembering that I’d had the same conversation with my father a month ago when I’d told him I was buying a car in San Francisco. My Bug was used and a great deal, so Dad agreed with my logic in the end.
Sarah was twenty. She looked twenty, but that was only the first impression. After a few minutes of conversation, I discovered she was very together, despite the earlier conversation about my car. Her maturity was refreshing after being around Meghan, the habitual teenager.
“I’m in the art program,” she explained as we sat across from each other, eating our gourmet bread and salads. “My focus is oil painting but I throw pottery, too.”
“What made you apply for an internship at an advertising agency if you’re an artist?”
“Art is my passion, but I don’t know how sensible it is to hang my future on what paintings may or may not sell at the whim of some Upper East Side art gallery.” She took a bite of spiral noodles salad. “So I’m taking business classes, too.”
That seemed smart. And familiar. I’d pretty much done the same thing in college, though this girl was a year ahead of me. Huh. I wondered if she had a ten-year plan, too.
“Tell me some of your upcoming objectives,” I asked, trying to sound like I knew what the hell I was doing. Neither Claire nor Bruce bothered to give me any instructions, and Sarah’s employee file sat unopened on the passenger seat of my car.
“I’ve been accepted to study for a semester in Rome.” She took a drink. “USF won’t pay for it, but they’re holding my spot, so I’ve been saving.”
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
Her passion for studying art in Italy was evident, which made me wonder why she hadn’t already gone. I knew a few people who would’ve simply charged a trip like that on a credit card or two. But as I looked into her wise eyes, I reconsidered. Maybe it was a different sub-generation of shopaholic girls who did such things.
Sarah had earned her AA degree from a community college in the Midwest I’d never heard of. “I also got accepted to the Art Institute in New York. I was all set to go, but a few months ago I changed my plans.”
“You changed your mind to not go to New York?” I asked, picking the currants out of my chicken salad. “I thought that was the mecca to study art, all the galleries and museums.”
“San Francisco has amazing museums.” She sounded a little defensive, like she’d had this same argument with someone before. “One semester in Rome is more important to me than four years in New York.”
I saw her point, and was even more impressed. I was starting to look forward to reporting my assessment tomorrow.
Sarah pushed her dark brown hair behind one shoulder. “I love living here so far, but it’s been kind of hard to meet people I really connect with. The kids in my dorm are pretty immature.”
To be labeled immature by a twenty-year-old? Had things changed that much since I was in college? As I took a bite of salad, I felt a bit sorry for her. San Fran was a big city, and being all alone in a new place could be terrifying, despite how grown-up you may appear. Maybe she didn’t make friends easily. Maybe she was intimidating.
Ahh! A kindred spirit.
“You can hang out with me,” I blurted. “A bunch of us are headed to a party next weekend, not too far from campus. I can pick you up or we can go together from the office.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open, and for the first time all evening, she looked young and impressionable. “Seriously?” Her eyes lit up as she smiled. “That’s extremely cool of you.”
I sat a little taller. It felt nice to be considered cool. “Here’s my number.” I passed her a business card. “It has my cell and you’ll memorize my office number in day or two. Call anytime, seriously. I know what it’s like to not, ya know, fit in all the time.”
“Thanks.” She was kind of beaming now. “Just this morning I set a goal to make friends outside of school.”
“You made a goal to make friends?”
Her cheeks turned red at my question and she glanced down, stirring her straw around in her drink. “I know. My whole family’s kind of embarrassing that way. We’re a bunch of nerdy goal-setters.”
“Oh, yeah? What kinds of goals?”
“I don’t know, we read a lot.” She took a sip of water. “It started the summer I was fourteen. Mom wanted to read the complete works of Shakespeare and Dad read something like ten books on finance and took a bunch of online courses. A year later, he started his own business. It’s always been his dream.”
She paused to lick mayo off the back of her fork, casually, like this kind of information was commonplace.
“I decided to read the Little House on the Prairie series, then I moved on to Jane Austen.” She set down her fork. “My brothers and I had these major debates about it, but I preferred Austen to the Brontes, didn’t you?”
“When you were fourteen?”
She nodded, wide-eyed.
I slouched in my seat, feeling about as intimidating as a de-winged butterfly. “Wow, your family sounds amazing.” Oh, please don’t ask me if I’ve read the complete works of anyone besides Dr. Seuss. “You said you have brothers. Are they as ambitious as you?”
Her whole face brightened, but a second later she chuckled under her breath and bowed her head. “Sorry. I can’t help being braggy sometimes. I hear myself, but I can’t stop.”
“You don’t sound braggy.” I leaned my elbows on the table. “It’s interesting. Go on.”
She bit her lip. “My oldest brother kind of started it all—the family goal thing—that summer before I started high school. I’m n
ot sure why my parents encouraged it at first, but it completely changed our family. He went to Creighton for his MBA, finished in a year and a half.” She was absolutely beaming now. “It was awesome having him close to home. He was our inspiration.”
For a moment, I thought about Roger, Krikit, and my parents. We were close-knit but I wouldn’t have called any one of them my inspiration. Maybe we should work on that.
“He writes software now, like these amazing graphic artistry programs, and he travels all over the world to train…” She broke off. “Shoot. I’m doing it again. Sorry.”
“Sarah, it doesn’t bother me in the least. I have an older brother, too. I can tell you’re a very proud sister—there’s nothing wrong with that.” I felt another wave of simpatico toward her: a big part of me understood this girl.
“Anyway, thanks for letting me gush.”
“Anytime.” I reached for my purse, pulled out my iPad, and opened the NRG Interactive calendar. “Okay, I suppose we should talk about work for a bit, so I can claim this dinner as a business expense. When is your first day? You’ll have a phone and computer, but I don’t know if IT has set up your…” I trailed off when I looked up to find Sarah staring across the table at me. “Something wrong?”
“No, I was thinking that…you two would hit it off.”
“Who?”
“My brother. My friends say he’s a hottie and you’re completely gorgeous.”
I snorted. “Oh. Well, thanks, but I don’t do blind dates anymore. Never, ever again.”
A flash of light from the window just past Sarah’s shoulder pulled my attention. I caught a glimpse of another bolt of lightning over the marina. My heart leapt with excitement. Autumn rain storms: another thing I loved about living close to the bay.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “But after I describe you to him, you’ll probably be getting a phone call from a stranger.” She flashed my business card then tucked it into her purse.
“Very funny.” I chuckled, still gazing out the window at the incoming storm. “What’s his name?”
“Oliver Wentworth.”
A loud clap of thunder shook the ground, rattling the windows. Sarah squealed in alarm, but I’m sure my shriek drowned hers out.
Chapter Twelve
On the way home from the Tipsy Pig, I had to pull over twice. It wasn’t crying or screaming or throwing myself off the Presidio wall that I needed to do, nor was it projectile vomiting the chicken salad from dinner.
Like the over-analyzer I was, I had to process.
The only thing that got me and the Beetle back to my neighborhood in one piece was knowing the Bay Area is massive, millions of people. Five million, maybe. Six? Twenty? Meaning, there was a more than massive chance I would never run into Oliver.
Run. Into. Oliver.
Yes, the Bay Area was huge, so it wasn’t like I’d bump into him on the street. And yeah, Sarah was an intern, but she’d be gone soon, so there’d be no chance of her brother coming to visit the office.
Oliver. At. My. Office.
And sure, I’d invited Sarah to Tim Olson’s stupid-ass party next weekend, but she’d probably make friends her own age by then and forget about it and we’d never run in the same circles. So yeah, it was totally fine. The whole thing was just a crazy coincidence.
The more I processed, the better I felt. It was stupid to get all freaked over nothing.
My cell had been on silent since dinner, and when I grabbed it and my bag off the passenger seat, ready to go inside, I noticed it flashing with an incoming call.
Number unknown.
It might’ve been someone from work, so I was forced to answer. “Hello?”
“Rachel? Hi, it’s Sarah Wentworth.”
My tongue, mouth, and throat went dry, and I stared through the windshield. “Oh. Um, hey, Sarah. H-hi.”
“I wanted to thank you again for dinner. It was amazingly cool to meet you and I’m even more psyched to start work Monday.”
Huh? I narrowed my eyes and waited. But that was it.
“Um, great,” I finally said, unable to form anything above monosyllabic words. “I’m sure you’ll learn a lot. It’s a…a fun office.” If you like torturechambers.
“Well, if you’re there, I’m sure it’ll be awesome-sauce.”
I couldn’t help smiling. The girl was laying it on thick, though she didn’t seem like a suck-up. Maybe she was one of those genuine people.
“Anyway, I guess I’ll see you—sorry, hold on.” There was a rustling like she was covering her phone. “Ollie, I heard you the first three times. Stop being bossy. Sorry, Rachel. My brother was telling me something.”
Sand filled my mouth, coated my tongue so I couldn’t speak at all now. Desert air dried out my eyes as I stared unblinkingly up the street for about a thousand years.
Oliver was with her, probably standing beside her.
“Rachel?
“Yeah.” I coughed inside my throat and swallowed, tucking some hair behind my ears, trying to, I don’t know, look presentable? “I’m right here.”
“Sorry, I stopped at my brother’s on the way home. He wanted to hear every detail about our meeting so I gave him a full four-one-one, right down to what we both had to eat.”
Sweat pooled on my upper lip and my head felt too light. “Ha ha, brothers are like that.”
She laughed. “Right? He asked me a million questions, but I think he’s finally satisfied now. Are you satisfied, Ollie?” I heard a low voice say something I couldn’t understand. Whatever it was made her laugh.
This was eerie.
Did he know it was me? Did he know his sister had met Rachel Daughtry tonight? She said she’d given him a full report, but it didn’t seem like Oliver had disclosed anything to her about our history, because Sarah hadn’t said, “Oh, by the way, he mentioned you were desperately in love six years ago, almost moved in together, until you dumped him flat.”
“Anyway, Rachel, I’ll let you go.”
“Okay.” My voice sounded way too high. “Thanks for, um, calling and—”
“Oh!” She cut me off. “I almost forgot the entire reason I called. You said we’re going to a party on Friday at some guy’s house named Tim. It’s Tim Olson, right?”
I blinked. “How did you…?”
“I swear this is such a small world. Ollie totally knows him. He’ll be there, too.”
It took all of two seconds for my cell to slip from my hand, hit the steering wheel, ricochet off my leg, and fly to the passenger side floor, yet I saw the whole thing in slow motion.
“Rachel? Are you okay?”
Sarah was on speaker now. It must’ve activated as it fell. A tiny, primal whimper started quivering in my throat. I sucked in a breath and slapped a hand over my mouth, flinching back from the phone.
“Rachel? I don’t know, I think I heard a crash.”
I didn’t want her to think I’d had an accident on the road and call the cops, but how could I speak when I was in the middle of hyperventilating?
“D-dropped my cell in the car,” I croaked through my fingers, staring down at my phone, trying to blink away the black spots.
“Oh, sorry,” Sarah said, “I didn’t know you were driving. I’ll let you go. Thanks again, Rachel. See you Monday morning!”
“Yeah.” I swallowed, my heartbeats pounding behind my ears. Unthinkable. Unbelievable. No, unreal. “B-bright and early.”
A hard knocking rattled my bedroom door. I hoped it was the grim reaper with his long, gnarly death staff coming to take me away. My room echoed with the sound. I couldn’t tell how long it’d been going on, because my head had been making the same noise all night. It must’ve been past eight, which meant I needed to either haul myself out of bed and haul ass to work, or call in sick.
Of course I’m sick… This whole thing is sick.
“Rachel? Something wrong? Rach?”
I rolled over and groaned, not having the strength to even laugh at the irony of the question.
<
br /> Roger tapped at my door again and I pulled the duvet over my head. “Are you going to work?”
I moaned something about taking the day off. While ensconced under the covers, I heard my door creak open. I peeked out to see my brother’s face. “I’m all right,” I said, rolling over again to bury my face in the pillows. “Couldn’t sleep last night.”
Even with two sisters, Roger never knew how to deal with crying or moodiness or any other unmentionable female problems. “You’re okay, though? I mean, do you want me to call someone or…do you need castor oil?”
I pulled back the covers and glared at him. “Castor oil? What do you think is wrong with me?”
He held up both hands. “I have no clue.”
My head pounded when I laughed. “I’m taking a personal day.”
“Okay. Well, call if you need anything, or if you want me to pick up some…some chocolate syrup or whatever, I don’t know.”
When I didn’t comment, he shut the door and left the apartment a few minutes later.
“Sarah Wentworth.” I said the name aloud, staring up at the ceiling. “Oliver Wentworth.” I listened to how the name came out of my mouth. It sounded like a language I used to know.
Why hadn’t I taken two seconds to read her file yesterday? I would’ve seen her last name: Wentworth. I would’ve looked to see where she was from: Nebraska. I would’ve put two and two together and then I would’ve moved to the Yap Islands.
Rach pick up—Rach pick up—Rach pick up…
Unable to ignore the annoying outgoing ringtone Meghan had recorded for her incoming calls to me, I glanced at my cell way over there on the floor. If I didn’t answer now, she’d keep calling until I did. So I leaned over the edge of my bed, stretching until I could reach my phone.
“You’re not checking your email.”
I flopped back on the bed and threw an arm over my eyes. I should’ve buried my phone and gone back to bed, or caught the cable car to one of those all-you-can-eat sushi places, or had a lovely sob day in front of the Lifetime Movie Network.
Someday Maybe Page 7
