"Hi, Dad!"
There was a faint pause on the other end of the line. “Hi, Ada. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just wanted to catch up. How’s the Hamptons?”
“It’s good. The trees are starting to spawn leaves. I think it might be possible to put the boat back in the water soon. It’s high time, too. She’s been missing the ocean.”
“I’m sure she has,” I said sympathetically, thinking that the sailing boat Marie likely wasn’t having any kind of sentient thoughts. “And you’re eating well? Taking care of yourself and everything?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Faint pause again. “Are you?”
“I am.”
“The internship still working out?”
“It is. I’ll admit that I’m really enjoying it here, more than I thought I would.”
"I can't tell you how much that pleases me to hear. Only a little while longer now. Do you know what you want to do afterward?"
“I have some plans,” I said evasively. “But Dad, can you tell me where Grant came from when he first started working for you?”
“Where he came from?”
“Yes. Was he working somewhere before?”
“Oh, no. Not that I know off, though I’m sure he was.” He gave a fond laugh. “He showed up at my office, knowing everything about the company. Ideas right off the bat for improvements, suggestions, all kinds of things. What else could I do but hire him?”
“No resume or anything?”
“I didn’t even ask for one. You don’t get too many people like that.”
“Hmm. Thanks.”
“Why do you ask?” Amusement suddenly colored his voice. “Don’t tell me you two are actually getting along?”
“Grant is a good boss,” I said. “I was just curious, seeing that no one knows anything about his past.”
“Oh, well he doesn’t talk about that.”
“No,” I ground out. “Clearly.”
“Thanks for the call, Ada.”
“Yeah. Hey, are you coming down to Harry’s retirement party tomorrow?”
“Yes. I couldn’t very well miss it - I once hired him!”
“See you tomorrow then.”
“Will do, Addie.”
He hung up. I looked out at the skyline and considered his words. Grant was secretive with everyone then. Even with my father, who he had followed around for years before he was given the reins to the company. He’d just have to share that part of him with me whenever he was ready.
I hoped I’d be ready to hear it when he did.
18
Grant
Work was good. It was safe.
Because when I was in my office I couldn't see a blonde bouncy ponytail or a curve-hugging dress - the only focus was sales numbers, emails, phone calls, and clients.
The magazine in my hand was glossy with embossed letters on the front. Ben Harris’ charming, clean-cut, smug face smiled up at me from the cover. He was leaning against a desk, legs crossed, a vintage-looking globe next to him. It was turned to show Europe and Africa. I leaned in closer, using the set of spyglasses kept on my desk to see. Yep. It was small, but East and West Germany were clearly marked on the map.
So it wasn’t even an antique, then. Only a cheap knock-off from the late 1900s, fabricated with the aim to make it look old. No self-respecting auctioneer would pose with such an item.
I tossed the magazine aside. Art Weekly was the premier magazine amongst the Manhattan elites interested in both purchasing and selling antiques, not to mention people across the Eastern seaboard. And he’d landed a cover and a two-page spread inside, chronicling the life and rise of Jack and Thorn’s new CEO.
I’d turned them down twice, because I had self-respect.
So I put the magazine in the trash and returned to my computer. And then I opened my email and wrote one to Jenna Marlon, the chief editor of Art Weekly, saying that I now found it an appropriate time in my career to appear in the magazine, should they still want me. And that she was welcome to get in contact with our head of marketing for the issue.
I would make sure Marc insisted on a four-page spread including Hathaway’s illustrious history as well.
There were very few things I wouldn’t do for this company - I’d be damned if I let Ben Harris beat us.
An email dropped into my inbox that afternoon from Ada. I seldom emailed with her; most of her assignments came from Linda, Sarah or Adam. So it was with a smile that I opened it.
She’d sent me a screenshot of her office calendar, perfectly organized in the same system that Linda used for mine.
FROM: Ada Hathaway
TO: Grant Wood
SUBJECT: Progress report
Dear Grant,
I thought I’d share just how much headway I’m making on my time-management skills, courtesy of my fortune cookie. Can you imagine that I’ve already finished the book you lent me?
That’s how bored I am these days, having nothing and no one to spend time with after work… I don’t think that’s right. Well-arranged time is the surest sign of a well-arranged mind, after all. And my schedule looks depressingly empty this evening.
Help please?
/Ada
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at that. She was unstoppable. My hands already ached to hold her again, my body not nearly satisfied despite the two nights we'd spent together.
I'd suggest her place this time. Having her at my apartment had been… too intoxicating. Seeing her in my sheets, wandering my bedroom in my t-shirt as she brushed her teeth. There was an intimacy in that, one I hadn't had in a long time. She'd curled up beside me, not content in staying to her side. And when I'd pulled her close, she had sighed happily in her sleep, the sound replaying in my head for a long while afterward.
And she'd asked about the orphanage. I knew she was far cleverer than the world had given her credit for, had often been delighted by her quick mouth. Naturally, she would put two and two together. It had been foolish of me to think she wouldn't.
But she hadn’t shied away or pried. There had almost been some curious release in talking to her. In hearing her opinions on things, even those that I didn’t think about too often. Ada had a strange perspective on the worlds, twisting and turning things in ways I hadn’t considered before.
Was her email a playful way of asking me for my own progress report? My fortune cookie had been about love.
No. Ada wouldn’t, and she couldn’t expect me to respond to that anyway. That was insane.
Or would she?
Whatever we had was quickly moving out of the casual territory I’d been trying to keep it in.
I shook away the thought and typed a quick response.
FROM: Grant Wood
TO: Ada Hathaway
SUBJECT: RE: Progress report
Happy to hear that. It’s clear that being in my company has improved you greatly.
And you’re correct - empty space in a planner is unacceptable. I have ten minutes free between meetings next Thursday and I’m already stressed by the thought. Of course I’ll help you out this evening.
It’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it.
/Grant
* * *
I checked my watch. Nearly seven.
I'd made reservations at the small Italian place between our two apartments, a restaurant I'd only ever walked past. Ada had once remarked that it looked like what a cartoon artist might draw if asked to describe Italy - a large replica of the tower of Pisa stood by the entrance, and the tablecloths were all red and white checkered.
Naturally, we had to check it out. If the waiters were all named Giovanni and Paolo she'd likely have a laughing fit. I smiled at the thought - Ada was silly, and kind, and far better than I could possibly deserve. There was no way she'd stick around.
The sound of my cellphone cut through my thoughts.
“Grant Wood.”
“Hi, Mr. Wood. It’s Thomas.”
My p
rivate investigator. I sank back down in my office chair. There could only be one reason he was calling this late. “You’ve found something.”
“Your birth mother. The adoption agency didn’t have any records, but I managed to talk to the woman on duty the night you were left there. She’d retired since.”
“And?” My stomach curled in on itself, despite my earlier decision that whatever he found didn’t matter, not really. I just wanted to know why a mother would choose to hand over her five-year-old son and drive away. There'd never been any explanation.
“She said the woman spoke in a southern accent. She looked exhausted, like she’d driven many hours and across states. When the nurse on duty pointed out you can’t give grown children up for adoption, ‘you can’t just leave him,’ she had said, the woman had shrugged.”
“What did she say?”
“‘I just can’t.’ That was all she’d said.”
And then she’d pushed me forward to the nurse and turned without another word, hurrying out to the still idling car. Yeah, I knew the rest of the story.
“But no follow-up with the lawyers?”
“New York state didn’t do a very thorough job,” he sighed. “They could eliminate pretty quickly that she wasn’t from the state, but other than that, there was no further examination. I’ll continue going through birth records across the country and cross-reference that with missing children’s reports.”
“The odds that anyone reported me would be slim,” I pointed out.
“Yes. But it’s the best bet we have right now.”
“Alright. Thank you for calling me with the info.”
“I’m sorry, Grant,” the voice said on the other end. “I know this might not have been the result you were looking for when we decided I’d follow the adoption agency lead.”
“Not to worry. Thank you for tracking this down. Great work. I’ll wire you the next check on Monday.”
"Take care, Mr. Wood."
“You too, Thomas.”
Well then. I guess I had my answer. All she’d said was ‘I just can’t’. No big reason, no confirmation - another dead end. It wasn’t much of a surprise, as I’d never really believed she’d had a good reason, and having it confirmed should be good. Nice. Only it didn’t feel that way.
Against my better nature, I wanted to share the news with Ada. What would her take be? But I bit down the urge before it even blossomed. Talking about this to someone… impossible. Particularly when I didn't even know what to think about it. And she had more than enough of her own sorrow without needing to hear a word of mine.
I had fought tooth and nail to get out of that world, and I would be damned if I let myself get put back in it - even if only in someone else’s eyes.
A soft knock sounded on the door. Ada smiled at me, her coat already on. “Grant? Are you ready?”
“Yes. Let’s go,” I said and flicked off the light on my desk.
* * *
I woke early, like always. Ada was asleep against me, impossibly warm and close. Her hair was tousled gold across the pillowcase.
Last night had been a dream. If she wasn’t naked against me, I might have trouble remembering it had ever happened.
Falling asleep again was hopeless, especially with us both nude. I would never be able to calm down enough to relax. And she needed to sleep.
So I pulled on my suit pants from the night before and gently shut the door to her bedroom, making my way to the kitchen. There had to be breakfast somewhere.
Her place was roomy and comfortable, decorated with the kind of messy - but slightly sophisticated - creativeness one might expect from Ada. I smiled at the compilation of art on the far wall. An abstract art piece hung next to a classical portrait of a woman clad in renaissance clothes. Likely from the 17th century, if the frame was anything to go by.
A bookshelf stood close by. There was no system of organization and no rhyme or reason to their placement. Everything from old art history books to the latest thriller.
I paused at the top shelf and the framed photos that occupied it. A woman with a blonde bob sat behind two smiling children, an arm around each of them. Child Ada had lost both front teeth; Max sported a shirt with superheroes on it.
The photo next to it showed the four of them in front of the Eiffel Tower, Ada and Max both wearing braces. Arthur is smiling at the camera, his arm around his wife. I never met her.
The final photo is from their high school graduation. Only Max and Ada are pictured in their robes; Arthur must have been the photographer. Their mother is nowhere to be seen. Marie, I remembered.
She had had a family. Trips, holidays, gatherings and laughter. It pained me that it was taken away from her.
I sank down in the ludicrous velvet couch. Central Park was hazy with fog in the early morning hours, the sun only barely awake. I didn’t blame it. I should be asleep too, a beautiful woman in my arms.
She would want that again. Stability, family. A relationship. More than that - she deserved it. A woman like Ada should be adored for life by a man worthy of her smiles.
And I would only dim her shine.
There were plenty of things about my own heart that was a mystery to me. But I knew it couldn't take any more rejection, and especially not from her. And Ada's would be inevitable.
Because she would realize it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day she’d see just how far below her standards she had reached, when she reached for me.
19
Grant
Harry’s retirement party was a small, intimate event, made all the more fun because of the person honored. Harry from Books and Manuscripts had been working for the company for more than forty years, and I’d commissioned both a placard and an engraved gold watch to see him off as a thank you for long and committed service.
Nearly the entire company had turned out for the free food and a glass of wine, but mostly, I suspected, for Harry.
“The event team has thrown together a great mixer,” Arthur said by my side. “This should become the new standard for retirement parties.”
I nodded. "It's truly excellent."
Hathaway's lobby had been converted into a large open dance floor and mingling space, tables laden with hors-d'oeuvres. The staff could stop by after work on their way out and spend an hour or two toasting Harry.
“I’m glad you could make it,” I said. “I know that Harry appreciated it.”
“It seemed so, yes, although he’s now bombarded with hordes of loyal followers,” Arthur smiled and nodded towards a far corner. “Plus, it gave me a good excuse to come see Ada.”
“I don’t necessarily think you need an excuse to see her, sir.”
He turned to me with raised eyebrows. “No? Perhaps you’re right.”
Both of our eyes trailed her where she laughed on the dance floor with Sarah. Her hair was gleaming and unbound, an apparition in the otherwise grey environment.
“I’m really glad, seeing her like this. That the internship is working out.”
I nodded. “She’s been a real asset. I hate to say it, but you proved me wrong.”
Arthur exhaled. “I’m not sure you understand just how glad I am to hear you say it. She’s lived up to your expectations, then?”
"Surpassed them, I'd say," I responded honestly. "She's shown both initiative and hard work.”
“Gosh. I hoped, but… I didn’t admit it to you, but I was worried in the beginning, that she’d manage it.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I said dryly, “the way you sang her praises.”
He shook his head with a small laugh. “And had it not been for the threat, I’m not sure she ever would have agreed. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Sorry?”
Arthur turned to me, a relieved expression on his face. “I couldn’t see her going down that path, Grant. You know. It wasn’t… I couldn’t. So it was either this internship, or I would cut her off. She needed to impress you and make this work to stay on the family card
. I knew how hard you are to impress, so if she managed to get your approval, I knew she’d earned it fair and square.”
I nodded stiffly. My eyes followed her on the far-off dance floor where she twirled along with Sarah, shimmying in time with the beat.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Arthur continued, seemingly unaware that I had become iron next to him. “You not only took my family legacy and made it your own, but you seem to have set my daughter straight. The Hathaway’s will never stop being in your debt.”
“Don’t mention it.” I drained the glass of champagne I’d been holding. So that’s why she’d been working so hard, then. Staying late and buying takeout and midnight phone calls and making out with the CEO at parties.
Everyone wanted something from me, it was just never me.
I’d been a fool to expect Ada to ever want something else. Her words came back to me, whispered to her brother all those years ago. He’s a nobody.
I’d made my peace with them and with her. I’d reconciled myself with the fact that she’d been sixteen and eager to impress her brother and they were caught up in their own cleverness and immortality.
To find out that all this had just been for continued access to her nepotistic, elitist trust fund felt like a cosmic joke.
I slipped out of the retirement party early, saying goodbye to no-one. The walk to my apartment was quick and I briskly changed into my workout gear. Anger drummed in me, hiding just under the surface, an electric current I couldn’t seem to unleash. I didn’t know what I’d do if I did.
New York was cold and distant as I pounded across the sidewalk and into Central Park. The only sound was that of my feet against the ground, the trees twisted and foreign around me. In the dark, the park transformed away from something I knew like the back of my hand and into a distant wilderness. I could be back in the deep thickets of the forests upstate again, for all I knew.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 14
