She swallowed the lump stuck in her throat. “I didn’t think you wanted the job.”
“Originally, no, but when we met Thursday morning, he made me an offer that was hard to turn down.”
Thursday. Same day he’d showed up at her office. She knew he’d had something on his mind. And she’d chased him off. This was her fault. Her doing.
“Congratulations,” she heard David say. “Working for a man like Anderson St. Pierre will open a lot of doors for you careerwise.”
“So I’m told. And since there’s nothing holding me here…”
Sophie’s stomach dropped another notch. “Are you sure there’s nothing?”
“Positive.” His gaze was harsh and pointed, challenging even. “Unless you know a reason why I should stick around?”
Yes, she wanted to say. Me. Stick around with me. But David was standing there, and besides, hadn’t she determined they were only having a fling? He was finally moving forward, making plans to do something with his life. Who was she to stop him?
“When do you leave?” It took some effort, but she managed to ask without her voice cracking.
Although the glimmer of pain she caught passing behind his eyes was almost her undoing. “Soon. Anderson wants to start the project as soon as possible.”
Meaning this might be the very last time they saw each other. The lump in Sophie’s throat spread to her chest, the ache so strong it threatened to choke her.
The trio stood in awkward silence. There were things Sophie wanted to say. Things like “Don’t go.” But, the words wouldn’t come. Let him go, Sophie. It’s over.
David cleared his throat. “We should let your neighbor get going,” he said. “We,” as if they were a united force. “I’m sure he has a busy evening.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Grant agreed. He gave her one last look before heading toward the stairs. “Goodbye, Sophie.”
“Wait!”
Grant turned around. “Yes?”
Let him go, Sophie. Let him go. “Good luck,” she finally managed to choke out. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it was the best thing to say.
He nodded. “You, too, Sophie.”
To his credit, David waited until Grant’s apartment door shut before speaking up again. “Philadelphia, huh? Thank goodness. Now maybe you can get over this construction worker fantasy of yours and things can get back to normal.”
Whipping her head around, Sophie stared at him. His blue gaze was as dispassionate as ever.
And to think, she’d thought him oblivious. In reality, he was merely indifferent. That calmness and understanding she thought so wonderful was apathy. “Actually, David, I don’t think so,” she said. “I think you should leave.”
He blinked. “But we have reservations at Troika.”
Unbelievable. Missing their reservations. That’s what finally managed to upset him.
“Sorry,” she said, no longer caring about his feelings. Hard to hurt something that barely registered. “I’m too busy nursing my ‘construction worker fantasy’ to feel like eating. You’ll just have to head to Troika by yourself.”
She left him standing in the foyer, mouth slightly ajar. It was, perhaps, the most emotional she’d seen him the entire time they’d been together.
Soon as she closed the door, however, her satisfaction drained away and her heart began to ache once more.
* * *
Thank goodness for work. It kept her mind occupied all Saturday night and all day Sunday. There was a sort of fitting irony to the situation; the very thing Grant accused her of being obsessed with keeping her from obsessing over Grant. After parting ways with David, she thought of running upstairs and banging on Grant’s door, but what purpose would that serve?
How about keeping him in your life?
No. Grant was not part of her life. He had been a momentary detour. A wonderful, unplanned weeklong fling that was now over. It was time to refocus her energies.
Monday morning she took extra care getting ready for work, applying her makeup so her sleeplessness wasn’t visible. Her lack of sleep was solely due to staying up late working, not because she was ruminating over Grant. She had a lot of ground to make up after her recent “distraction.” To sustain her efforts, she pulled out her favorite power suit, a black sheath dress and red-cropped jacket that made her look sophisticated and intimidating. She dug out her black patent leather stilettos, too. Surveying her reflection, she decided with satisfaction, the world would see a woman who had her act together. Certainly not a woman who was mourning the loss of her upstairs neighbor.
When she strode into her building, she felt a little more on course. She would be fine. Eventually her continuous thoughts about Grant would end. In the meantime, she had a job to do. Rumor had it that senior management had been sealed up in meetings over the weekend to discuss the upcoming changes in leadership. Meaning an announcement could be made any day now.
The floor was buzzing with energy when she stepped off the elevator. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d heard the rumors. About ten o’clock, she got a phone call from Allen Breckinridge asking her to join him in the conference room.
“Certainly,” she said, her stomach giving an involuntary nervous jump. Relax, Sophie. He could simply want to talk about last week’s figures. Grabbing hard copies of her reports, she headed upstairs.
She always loved meeting in the conference room. Located on the twelfth floor, the room had large windows that let you look out at the buildings across the street. One in particular had beautiful stonework surrounding the windows. Grant would appreciate the stonework, she thought without thinking. Just as quickly, she pushed it away. Grant wasn’t here.
Through the interior windows, she saw Allen and two other members of the Twamley Greenwood management team seated inside. Suddenly her palms began to sweat. She normally wouldn’t meet with a group unless something important was afoot. After discreetly wiping her hands on her skirt, she knocked on the door. Allen waved her in. As she entered, the other two heads turned to greet her.
“Come in, Sophie,” Allen greeted. “Take a seat.”
Palms sweating again, she eased into an empty seat next to Raymond Twamley, the outgoing partner. The senior man nodded in greeting.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Allen said. “You’ve been a valuable member of our team for several years now, Sophie. Personally I know I’ve come to appreciate your contribution and dedication. Your hard work has helped me more than once.”
Oh, my God, this was it. She folded her hands and squeezed them tightly. “I’ve enjoyed working here, Allen,” she replied.
“It shows. Which is why we’ve asked you here this morning. As you know, Raymond is stepping down at the end of the year, leading us to make some managerial changes.”
Sophie held her breath. In the back of her mind, Grant’s memory threatened to spoil the moment. She shoved him aside.
“After careful discussion,” Allen said, “we’ve agreed you should replace Raymond as the next managing director.”
She exhaled. At last. Twenty-two years of late hours and weekends had finally paid off. The little girl from Pond Street was no more. She was now one of them. A managing director. One more box checked off on her master plan.
She always thought the moment would have more resonance.
“Thank you, Allen,” she said with a professional smile. Now was not the time to worry about why she wasn’t ex
cited. “Your confidence in me means a lot.”
Allen, now her peer, looked at her with cool regard. “Don’t let us down.”
The moment of equality faded away. “I won’t.”
“Good. Now, on to business. We need you to fly to Boston tonight…” He continued on, outlining a work schedule that made her current week look like a vacation.
So much for her moment of glory. She told herself she’d celebrate in Boston.
Later that afternoon she swung by her apartment to pack. The office had her booked on a seven o’clock shuttle to Logan Airport. As she walked through the front door, a brown cardboard tube propped by her door caught her eye. Sophie’s stomach began to twist. Delivery men didn’t just leave packages. Not in New York. Either someone who knew her signed for it or…
Or someone from the building left it for her.
She brought the tube inside and, setting it on her dining room table, reached for the attached note. Her hands shook as she saw the male scrawl on the paper.
It was a list of contractors and phone numbers. Nothing more. No goodbye. No initial. Only a list.
Her euphoria over being promoted faded away. She let the list drop from her fingers, letting it fall to the table.
Suddenly she didn’t feel like celebrating anymore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A MONTH later, Sophie found herself alighting from a taxi, home after another week of back and forth travel to Boston. As she stepped onto the pavement, she sighed and, as she did every night, looked up to Grant’s front windows. As they were every night, the windows were dark.
Far as she knew, he’d been home only a few times since leaving. On weekends. Two weeks ago, she’d heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and pretended to get her mail as an excuse to check. Unfortunately, all she got was a view of his legs turning the corner at the top of the stairs. She’d been about to call to him when she stopped herself. He saw the lights on in her apartment; if he’d wanted to say hello, he would have knocked.
Now she paid the taxi driver, collected her receipt and slowly made her way to the front steps, her overnight bag dragging behind her, dragging being the operative word. The past thirty days she had traveled from New York to their Boston office a dozen times. She was bone tired.
At least she was finally home. Leaving her bag in the living room, she padded her way past the panel doors, sorting through the mail as she did. The knowledge failed to thrill her as it normally did. Oh, she still loved her apartment, but the place felt off. Not quite as perfect as it had when she first bought the place at the beginning of the summer. Longing welled up inside of her as she ran a palm across the dining room wood work.
Perhaps if she did something about the kitchen. The designs Grant did for her lay on her dining room table, the list of contractors still where she dropped it a month earlier. She should start calling them, asking for references and quotes. No doubt any of them would do excellent work. After all, Grant had recommended them.
Maybe when she wasn’t so tired, she decided, staring at the crack made by the molding joints. Her stomach hurt right now. Nothing serious. Just a heavy, deadlike feeling that never seemed to go away. Hadn’t since…
God, she should be past this by now. She dug her fingers into her hair, pulling the strands so tight the bangs worked loose of the clip holding them. Grant, Grant, Grant. He wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Just when she thought she’d banished him from her head, something would make his memory come screeching back. A glimpse of sandy-brown hair. The contents of her coffee cup. The other day, she lost her train of thought during a presentation because one of the women in the conference room had been drinking peppermint tea.
Face it, Sophie. The guy is still under your skin. More than that. He was inside her. He had a far greater hold on her feelings than she cared to admit.
So lost in her rambling thoughts was she, she didn’t think about grabbing her cell phone until the black square was in her palm. You don’t even know his cell phone number. Talk about irony. The man owned her thoughts and she hadn’t known him long enough to add him to her contacts. But then she hadn’t had to. He was always right upstairs.
Not anymore, though.
Giving another long sigh, she carried her cell phone into the bedroom. If she could call him, what would she say? Miss you? Can’t stop thinking about you? Please come back? The guy was finally moving forward, away from the guilt that had been holding him back. She should be focusing on her new job and her own future plans.
Besides, she thought, looking at her tired reflection, as if she had any business being involved with a man like Grant anyway. She was no glamorous cougar. She was still Sophie Messina from Pond Street. Turns out the promotion hadn’t chased those demons away after all.
The lines around her mouth deepened as she frowned. Her fingers brushed along their groove, pulling the skin taut and letting it go. No, she repeated. She was no cougar. Just a tired financial executive who’d taken a brief detour from life’s well-laid-out road and got momentarily distracted by the view. And right now what this tired financial executive needed was a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep so she had the strength to get up and do it all again early tomorrow morning.
You only have to keep up this pace for a few years, she reminded herself when she groaned. Then you can get that summer house like you wanted and rest there.
For the first time, focusing on the next goal didn’t help. Chasing the next rung didn’t seem all that desirable anymore. She’d much rather smell the peppermint.
* * *
Next morning she got up, cleaned, paid her bills and found herself with an excess of energy. Without the continual banging from upstairs, her apartment was way too quiet. Too quiet to concentrate. Her knee kept bouncing up and down, and she had trouble focusing on the numbers. Figuring a run might help, she dug out her running shoes. They were in the back of her closet. She hadn’t gone running since…
Don’t go there. She was going to try and spend one day not dwelling on Grant.
Turned out, endorphins were the perfect tonic. After four weeks of road travel, her body loved being outside, and the late summer day made the run that much more pleasant. She took the path in the park and just kept going.
Before she realized, she’d reached the flea market. The sign on the front gate caused her to draw up short. Last Weekend, it read. A sense of sadness settled on her shoulders, the way it did when a season was ending. Without thinking, she retrieved the emergency money she kept in her shorts pocket, and paid the entrance fee.
The market was as crowded today as it had been her first visit, and if possible, the rows more overwhelming and hard to navigate. Then again, her other visit had been with Grant. If she remembered correctly, she’d been too dazed by him to worry about the crowd. What she wouldn’t give to be wandering the booths with him now.
He’d looked so commanding that afternoon. Every inch the capable, confident man he was. She knew men twice his age that would kill for an ounce of Grant’s natural abilities. No wonder she’d fallen for him, despite his age. He was a man well beyond his years.
After several meandering turns, she wound her way to the back row where Grant purchased his lighting fixtures. The old man who they visited wasn’t there today. In his place was a pair of young men in their twenties selling what looked like auto parts.
The vintage clothing booth was still in the same place, though. Sophie saw the vendor chatting up a customer
near a display of jewelry.
She poked her way through a vintage hat display and looked at a couple of 1980s handbags, then turned right. The rack of coats was in the same place as before, still filled with brightly colored fashions. A big sign read Last Chance, Thirty Percent Off. Curious, Sophie picked through the garments, noting the large number of floral dresses and old fur coats. One garment, however, looked to be missing.
“Can I help you?” The vendor appeared at her shoulder.
“I was here about a month ago with a friend,” Sophie said. “He was doing business with an older gentleman in the booth next door.”
“Oh, yes, the tall, sandy-haired man.” Of course, she’d remember Grant. “He comes here often.”
The woman leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “Very nice.”
Sophie resisted saying thank you since Grant wasn’t hers anymore. “You had a coat I tried on that day. Blue with fur cuffs.”
“Blue with fur cuffs. Sounds familiar.” The woman thought for a moment. “Brocade right? Fur collar and matching cloth buttons.”
“Exactly.”
The woman waved her rings in the air. “I sold that piece weeks ago.”
“Oh,” Sophie replied, disappointed.
“If you’d liked it, though, I’ve got a cape with a fur collar. Bright red.”
“No, thank you. I was only interested in the blue one.”
“Sorry. Place like this, when you see something special, you gotta grab it. Otherwise you’ll miss out.”
Apparently so. Disappointed, Sophie thanked her and headed on her way. It was only a coat, she told herself. No big deal. And yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the thought she was missing out. It was the same unnerving feeling she’d had the first time. She really wished she knew why an old coat was causing her so much bother.
Mr. Right, Next Door! Page 15
