She would be cut off from the family card if she failed to meet your approval.
The words refused to disappear, even as my lungs screamed and my legs ached from the grueling pace I set. I had run for so long, but it seemed I couldn’t outrun Ada fucking Hathaway.
* * *
She’d texted me the night before.
Ada: Hey, where did you go so fast last night?
Ada: I think perhaps it’s time for your third lesson tonight. My place? I’m home around seven.
There was no rational thought in my mind apart from the very simple one: I needed to talk to her. To set things straight and clear whatever misunderstanding there seemed to be between us. To call the bluff, so to speak. So I responded.
Grant: I’ll be there.
I pigeonholed myself in my office the entire day, brushing past the executive team when I inevitably had to go to meetings or lunch with a client.
Had everything been a play? Some form of bluff - a hustle? And I'd fallen for it, of course - plied with practiced smiles and beautiful secrets and I need you, Grant.
Yeah, she had needed something from me alright, but it surely hadn’t been me.
The walk to her apartment felt too short and also a million miles long. The doorman gave me a friendly smile and a wave as I entered.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Wood. I’ll send you straight up.”
“Thank you,” I replied. There was no need for him to look so chipper.
She opened on the first knock, breathless and rosy. “Hey,” she smiled. “Come in, come in.”
I followed her into the entry, not bothering to take off my coat.
"I've tried cooking this time, though I'm not sure if it will actually turn out edible. We might just have to order in again! But hopefully not." Her voice trailed off into the kitchen and I heard the opening and subsequent closing of the oven. "It smells good at least. I'm making roasted chicken with baked potatoes. Why are you still standing there? Grant?"
“Ada. We need to talk.”
One of the oven mitts fell out of her hand. “Oh. Yes, sure. Should we sit down on the sofa?”
“Arthur told me something interesting the other night. That he forced you into this internship with the threat of losing your trust fund, that he would cut you off.”
“Yes,” she nodded slowly. “That was what he said. The original deal.”
“And that the determiner of whether or not you had succeeded was my approval. He seemed relieved when I gave it.”
She didn’t look relieved at the information - only worried, a furrow in her brow. “He didn’t say exactly what metric he was going to use, but I think your good opinion was probably one of them. I’m sure he might also ask Linda.”
“So you’re not going to deny it?”
“Deny it… Grant?” She swallowed audibly. “I know that the mode of me beginning to intern at the company wasn’t exactly honorable. I know that. But I have loved it.”
“Setting an evaluations meeting yourself, suggesting things to the marketing team, coming with me to visit Charles Burch…” I shook my head and forced out the words. “Taking me to the storage room during an event. All of it wasn’t some form of elaborate plan to get me to change my opinion of you?”
She sat down on the armrest, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “You’re implying that I slept with you to gain access to my trust fund.” Anger of her own laced her words. “That’s actually what you’re doing. I can’t believe this.”
Put that way, it sounded positively lurid. “I’m asking you if that was what you’re doing,” I said, voice stone. She wasn’t denying any of it.
Color rose on her cheeks. “No, you’re not. You’re accusing. And I think I know you well enough by now to know that you’re not going to change your mind because of my words.”
I gave an incredulous laugh. “You kept it from me - the real reason you did this internship. And now you’re offended that I’m angry? That I am capable of drawing the obvious conclusion?”
“I have never in my life slept with anyone in search of benefits. What we did was one hundred percent real, Grant, at least from my point of view. I told you things I’ve never told anyone.” Anger and something that sounded dangerously like tears made her voice waver. “But thank you for calling me a whore. You’re an asshole, Grant. Please leave.”
“Gladly,” I said. “And I still expect you in the office on Monday morning.”
“Of course!” She called behind me. “Because I take pride in my job!”
The door slammed between us, and the silence spoke only of injured pride, regret and the bitter taste of anger.
20
Ada
I wasn’t proud of it, but I spent the evening crying.
It had been months since that had last happened, when I’d had to walk to the corner shop in my great wool coat and ask for a 24-pack of Kleenex. When my eyes had been so red that I knew people would turn and look.
The entire argument replayed over and over in my head, every ugly word examined and repeated. How could he think such a thing? And why hadn’t I told him before about Dad’s condition? It had been out of my mind so completely once I’d begun falling for Grant.
The bed felt big without him, despite the fact that he’d only slept in it twice. Abruptly, I wanted nothing more than to change the sheets. I'd already stripped off both pillowcases when I changed my mind and shoved the pillows roughly back inside, slipping into bed instead. The room was dark as I lay staring up at the ceiling. My phone said that it was a bit past one in the morning.
There was so much I should have said.
It was with shaking hands that I dialed Grant’s number. It rang for many signals, until I was certain he wouldn’t pick up. Why would he, if he thought that all I’d been doing was using him?
“Ada,” he finally said. His voice sounded clear, as if he’d been awake too.
“Can I add something?”
He was silent for a long time. “Yes.”
"It's true that the only reason I accepted the internship was because of the ultimatum with my trust fund. I did it because I had to. But that very quickly stopped being the reason. Since then, I have enjoyed every day at Hathaway's. Not a day has gone by where I've regretted the decision. I wanted to earn my place there, both in the eyes of the employees and in yours. And not once, Grant, did I pretend in order to make you like me." I felt the tears hovering in my throat and my voice wobbled precipitously, both with anger and tears. "Your opinion mattered to me. And if you can't see that, then I'm sorry I ever thought so."
There was complete and utter silence on the other line.
“Good night,” I said, and hung up.
* * *
Minna had diagnosed my strong reaction already, of course. Abandonment issues, she’d said in a clear, proud voice. You lost your mother, your brother, and now Grant. Why would you ever want to open yourself up to love if they all leave?
I hadn’t even bothered to contradict her or argue, because I was pretty sure that she was right. But that’s the thing: being diagnosed doesn’t mean you’re any closer to the cure.
Symptoms?
Re-runs of Sex and the City and an entire batch of Pillsbury chocolate-chip cookies. Even my sad, miserable existence found the energy to put them in the oven and wait twelve minutes for chocolaty heaven.
Somewhere during the past weeks, Hathaway’s had crept under my skin and into my blood. The pace and the people, the ever-changing art pieces and the energy of the auction; it all mattered to me now. And I knew I’d miss it when I left.
But what I’d miss the most was Grant. Grant, who held me like I was precious, who raised an eyebrow and challenged me, who had accused me of sleeping with him for my trust fund. I’d never been so offended and angry in my life, even if it was clear how it looked. I supposed I’d thought that Dad had explained it all to Grant when he convinced him I should be allowed on as an intern. And then I hadn’t given the whole thing another thought, r
eally.
I took a sip of my tea and sighed. My mug hit the table far harder than I’d anticipated, the loud noise startling Minna from her book. “Whoah there, angry pants.”
“Sorry.”
“He still hasn’t called, huh?”
“No.” It was Sunday, nearly two days after our fight, and there had been no contact between us. No more late-night phone calls, no texts, no surprise knocks on my door. And no letters hand delivered to my doorman either - because to my chagrin and infinite shame, I’d phoned down three separate times to ask. When Diane in reception kindly informed me the third time that there was no postal service on Sundays as was common practice, I knew it was time to stop.
I didn’t do moping, and I thought I’d known anger before. But that was nothing compared with how I felt after he’d accused me of such manipulative behavior. As if all the touches, the words, had all been an elaborate lie.
“Do you know what I think?” Minna asked.
“What?”
“That you’re a little bit in love with him.”
I didn’t protest - which made it all the more difficult. She might have a point. There was so much Grant in my head that I scarcely had time to think about anything else. “No of course not. But… do you know what?” I said, covering my head in my hands. “I think I might be heading that way. And he is clearly not with me!”
“Do you think he would have accused you so harshly if he hadn’t been hurt by the thought?”
“Yes,” I objected, stubborn. “It hurts his principles. I don’t even know if he has emotions.”
“Come, have a seat here,” Minna said and patted the sofa next to her. “I think what you need is something good to look forward to. You finish the internship when? The end of March?”
"Yes. And I don't really know what to do after that." I sighed, putting my head in my hands. Something to fill my days with. Once upon a time, I had had so many plans. Perhaps I should try to get back to that, but where do you start trying to piece your life back together? How do you solve a puzzle without knowing what the final image is meant to look like?
“About that,” Minna began in a soft voice. “I’ve been doing some research, Ada, and I have a suggestion - if that’s something you’d feel ready to hear.”
I slowly lowered my hands and looked at her slightly sheepish expression. “What exactly are you saying?”
She shrugged innocently. “There’s this place that my professor spoke about in class. I think it might be great for you.”
“In psychology class, you mean.”
“Yes. But before you say anything - don’t look at me like that Ada - let me show you a website. Promise me you’ll actually read it all and think about it for a minute. After that we can never speak about it again, should you want to.”
I sighed, grabbed my laptop from the side table and sat down next to her on the couch. The computer balanced on both of our knees. Grabbing the bag of chips from the table, I put my hand to my forehead as if I was a long-suffering martyr.
“If you must,” I heaved, “then I agree.”
* * *
Another week passed. He was so cordial it hurt - the glimpse in his eye or the sly, curved smile of his lips was nowhere in sight. I missed it with an ache that was painful. We hadn’t reverted to what we were before - because that had been enemies, people hovering on the border of civility and nastiness and flirting, I saw now. No, now we were something far, far worse.
Strangers.
I think even the others saw it.
Minna had no further advice to give, and I didn't ask any, either. But that didn't stop her from coming over nearly every night.
Minna: Let’s watch How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days today.
Minna: No, Notting Hill.
Minna: NO I KNOW! Four Weddings and a Funeral!
Ada: Are you trying to make me feel worse?
Minna: I think we need to purge it out of your system.
Ada: You’re a weird friend. Also, let’s do Notting Hill.
Minna: A fine choice. See you at mine at eight sharp.
Ada: Why sharp? Are we waiting for someone else?
Minna: Hugh Grant’s jawline waits for no one.
So I buried myself in friends and 90s movies and work, trying to act normal. But there was no stopping the way my heart sped up by his presence. It was impossible not to, the way he filled a room. Sarah asked me twice if something was wrong, and I saw that Linda spoke to her once in the break room but fell abruptly silent when I entered.
So I put a pep in my step and smiled broadly at them all every day. I’d be damned if I let him see me upset about the accusations he’d thrown my way. It made it all the more clear - to open yourself up was to allow for people to disappoint you. To leave.
And there was no way I was making that mistake again.
21
Ada
When Vivienne called, I didn’t feel the slightest hesitation in saying yes for the first time in months. “Of course I want to go out!”
It should have been fun. It had always been fun before. Or rather, it had always been necessary before. Numbing, a kind of escape, where I could be no one and someone at the same time. Where I was looked at without being seen.
“Can you believe that Tim would do that? What an ass,” Vivienne snorted. “It’s not like he’s even that handsome.”
I nodded and took another sip of the martini I’d ordered. Vivienne was probably on her third already - she hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t keeping up with her, and I was glad for that.
“Anyway, I’m happy you’re soon free of that internship Addie! I’m so excited we can start hanging out again. It’s like you basically fell off of the earth.”
“Yeah, it was kinda demanding.” And all-engrossing. And great.
“Where do you want to go tonight, after this? Benny’s is open again, I think, though it’s quite far. How about Bumble and Berry? Their new bouncer is delicious. He always lets us skip the line.”
“Anywhere is fine with me,” I said. “What have you been doing these months?”
“Oh, this and that.” She flicked dark hair back. “I was in Tulum for a bit in January. Spent some time up in Maine recently.” Her phone buzzed and she looked down immediately. I spun my glass around, awkwardly looking at the people around us. The bar was mostly empty - it was only a hotel bar, after all. Classy jazz played in the background. “Oh, and I’m sort of dating a new guy at the moment,” Vivienne added, still looking down at her phone.
“That’s great! Who?”
"His name is Ty. He and his friends will join us, and then we all roll out to Bumble and Berry. Oh, Addie, you need another drink!"
She laughed and waved the waiter over. I smiled obligingly and ordered another martini. Why couldn’t I get back into the easygoing person I had been?
We made pleasant small talk and I let her dictate the conversation, smiling and laughing at the appropriate times. What had we ever really had in common? I suddenly couldn’t remember.
“Here’s the man of the hour, finally!” Vivienne gave a squeal and bounced out of her seat, hugging each of the boys in turn.
The first turned to me with a glazed look. "Hello, blondie."
“Hi. I’m Ada. Are you Ty?”
“That’s right.” He took a seat opposite me, in the seat Viv had just vacated. In one sweep he finished her drink. “So this place seems like kind of a drag.”
One after another, the others filed in next to us until I was at the back of the table, people on each side. “It’s alright,” I said. “Quiet.”
“Too quiet. Look at the people here. They all look like they want to shoot themselves,” one of the guys said, his hair artfully slicked back, and everyone laughed - Vivienne hardest of all. I looked around. People looked fine, just minding their own business.
“Let’s do a round of shots before we head out.”
“I don’t think this is a shots kind of place…” I began, but Ty had already waved the wa
itress over. The following exchange was excruciatingly painful to listen to - he was rude in the extreme. She sent me a final, desperate glance.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Of course we understand.”
Two of the guys let out rude snorts and shared looks with one another across the table. The waitress hurried away. I spun my martini around. Months ago, I would probably have found them hilarious. Or I’d be drunk enough that I’d think that I did.
Vivienne slid over to me, moving over Ty’s lap to do so. He eyed her appreciatively before reaching across her to me. “Are you going to finish that?”
“No,” I said, and slid my drink over to him.
“Hey. Don’t look now,” Vivienne’s breathy voice was in my ear. “But a hot guy at the bar is totally checking you out. Like, in an angry, sexy way.”
I took another sip of my martini and glanced up slyly at the bar. My heart stopped. Sitting on one of the tall chairs, his long legs stretched out before him and clad in an expensive tailored suit, was Grant.
And he was indeed staring at me.
And he wasn’t alone.
Our eyes collided with a force I felt must have been audible - as if we were glued together, as if he was sitting beside me instead of forty feet away. His gaze was heavy with meaning as it broke from mine and flicked over the company around me. It returned to me with a disappointed weight.
How dare he judge me?
Opposite him sat a perky red-head with a notepad and a glass of red wine in front of her. She was glancing down at her phone, but she was very clearly facing him and very clearly primped for a date at a hotel bar. Pumps, a little black dress capped off with three-quarter sleeves. Sensibly dressed. Professional-looking. Probably the type of woman Grant might actually see himself with. It felt absurdly as if I was watching him interview a woman for the position of my replacement.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 15
