The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  The rest of the guys come back out onto the court, saving me from having to answer the inevitable question of what those things could possibly be.

  ***

  Terrell and I are the last ones at the table tonight. He’s never in a rush to go home, and for once, I don’t have to go to work early tomorrow morning. The bar is nearly empty and Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” is playing over the speakers, drowning out the sound of the pool balls being racked. I order us another round of beers, glad I live in a city where you don’t have to drive anywhere, then say, “Listen, about those bigger things I’ve got going on …” I’ve got to tell someone.

  I spend the entire song explaining my current employment status, divulging the secrets of the Bulgari case, and plotting how to make things right. When I finish, Terrell stares at me for a long time. “You could get disbarred.”

  “I know,” I say, before taking a long swig of my Bud.

  “I’m serious, Gabe,” he says. “I don’t think you should do anything. Just walk away from it. Go to confession or something to clear your conscience, then get your ass down to my office with your CV so I can convince my boss to hire you. Or go on a long vacation to Mexico until you get your head on straight. I’ve got a couple of weeks banked. I’ll go with you. Just do anything but what you’re thinking of doing.”

  “I think I can do it without getting caught,” I tell him.

  Shaking his head, he says, “Nope. People always get caught. They never think they will, but they do. Every damn time.”

  The beer in my stomach sours at his words. The potential repercussions of my plan hit home hard. “It’s one phone call. One sentence. That’s it.”

  “You’re crazy. You cannot do that sh—” He cuts himself off and lowers his voice, “… it on the phone. There are records of everything, man. Everything. Don’t email him. Don’t go down to the hotel or his office. Do not go to his house. You can’t call his lawyer. You can’t do anything. Nothing. Nada. No way, no how. This entire city is covered in cameras. As your friend, I am telling you, man, do not do this.”

  I don’t answer him for a long time. I just stare at my beer, letting his words rattle around in my brain. Finally, I say, “What if Bulgari was your dad and he signed something without understanding what it meant?”

  “I would never let my dad sign anything without checking it over for him.”

  “Pretend he doesn’t have a lawyer for a son,” I tell him, staring directly into his eyes. Terrell has a huge soft spot for his dad, who raised him and his sister on his own. “Would you want someone to tell him or would you be okay if he lost everything because some great white in a suit screwed him over?”

  “That’s dirty pool,” my friend says, shaking his head in disgust. “Bringing my dad into this. You really are a shark.”

  “Suddenly it’s not so simple for me to walk away, is it?” I ask. “If I do, I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing I could’ve done something but didn’t.”

  “You did something. You quit your job, for God’s sake.”

  “That does Bulgari absolutely no good.”

  Terrell shakes his head and sighs, then sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay, there’s one way you could possibly get away with it, but we never had this conversation.”

  He pauses and looks around, then leans in so his face is near enough to mine that I could count his whiskers. “Send an anonymous letter.” He sits back and looks around again, then puts a finger over his lips as if to say mum’s the word.

  “That’s it? Send a letter?” I yell back.

  “That’s it,” Terrell says defensively. “But the trick is, you type it up, don’t write it, and wear gloves when you take it out of the printer, put it in the envelope, and … well, while you’re walking it down to the mailbox, too, I suppose. Oh, and don’t mail it near your house. Best if you take it to a different neighborhood, or, you know, Jersey.”

  “So, I’m going to stroll through the streets of New York in July in gloves and no one is going to notice that?” Truthfully, they probably wouldn’t, this being New York and all. Plus, who’s even watching me? I haven’t done anything wrong, yet …

  “No, you idiot. You tuck the letter in your pocket, take the gloves off, walk to the post box, then use a tissue to take it out. Oh, and one for the handle too, when you pull the drop slot open.” He gives me a satisfied smile, before it fades into a serious stare. “But I never told you to do that. In fact, I told you not to. And if push comes to shove, I’m not even sure I know who you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jen

  I am totally depressed. I don’t want to eat, talk to Frank, or do anything other than lie in bed and sleep. How could Byrne, aka Gabe, have ever been with a woman like Alexis? She’s so, so cold. For the sake of argument, let’s just say she was once a nice person—nice like a barracuda— but she sure as heck isn’t now. And now is when he’s going to get engaged to her?

  It’s looking more and more like he’s a no-good dirty dog. On second thought, maybe they deserve each other. I force myself out of bed and throw on some yoga pants and a T-shirt. I don’t brush my hair, do a Sun Salutation, or even namaste Frank. I just drag myself across the hall to Zay’s and knock on the door, then lean my head against it until he opens it. I fall forward when he does, barely catching myself before doing a nose-plant on his floor.

  “Whoa, what’s wrong?”

  “I sold another painting.” Sighing, I slink over to his kitchen and take down a mug. “Coffee?”

  “I already have a cup, but help yourself,” he says, sitting back down at his computer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the point of being an artist to sell your work?”

  “Yeah, it is. I even charged quadruple what I normally would because the buyer is so corrosive she should have been named sulfuric acid,” I say, filling the mug then digging through the fridge for some caramel creamer. I pour in enough to put myself into a diabetic coma, then join him at his table.

  “That’s an insult I haven’t heard before.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “It’s not a classic, is it?”

  “Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t catch on.”

  I take a giant gulp of coffee, then say, “How’s things?”

  “Good,” he answers, giving me a concerned look. “But obviously, you can’t say the same.”

  “Yeah, not really. Does Shelby still like you?”

  “She does. Things are going very well.”

  “She doesn’t have some secret guy she’s getting engaged to?” I ask.

  “Not that I know of. I take it your dream man turned out to be more of a nightmare?”

  I shrug. “Looks like it. He said he had broken it off with his girlfriend, but she came by on Tuesday to buy him a painting for their engagement. She was willing to pay thirty-two hundred dollars for it. Does that sound like a woman who’s just been dumped?”

  Zay sighs. “I’m sorry, Jen. You’re having the worst luck lately.”

  “I so am,” I whine. “And I really, really liked him. Oh, and you wanna know the weird part? He’s God.”

  “Wait? What?”

  “Yeah. Turns out he’s the one I was texting, so now I need to pay him back the five-hundred dollars he gave me and it’s going to be so humiliating when I tell him what I thought.” I drop my head onto the table. “He’s going to know I’m a total idiot.”

  “You’re being way too hard on yourself, my friend.” Zay pats me on the shoulder.

  I roll my head from side to side on the table in place of shaking it in disagreement. “No, I’m not.”

  “So, don’t tell him.”

  I bolt into an upright position. “I have to. Audra keeps texting me to ask if I did it yet because she needs to get a hold of him for career advice.”

  “Okay, but couldn’t you find a way to pay him back without telling him the truth?”

&nb
sp; “I guess so.”

  “Hang on.” He picks up his phone and I instantly pray it’s not Shelby so I won’t have to listen to them cutesy argue over who misses whom more. It’s enough to make me vomit. “Have you tried turning it off and back on?” Pause. “Try that, then call me back.” Does he really get paid to say that to people?

  After he hangs up, he turns to me. “You work for his parents, right? Just give him the cash when he comes to see them. Say someone dropped it off.”

  “That could work.”

  “I’m a trouble shooter. That’s what I do.”

  “Oh, grand computer wizard,” I say, “is there a way to turn my heart off and back on again? You know, like a factory reset?”

  Putting his hand on my shoulder, Zay says, “I wish.”

  I suck back the rest of my coffee, then stand up. “I should go get ready for work. Thanks for the advice.”

  “Any time. Except in the evenings because Shelby will be here.”

  I grin down at him. “Enjoy, my friend.”

  “Oh, I am. Believe me.”

  Wrinkling up my nose, I say, “Stop, I already have that visual seared into my brain.”

  “Not my fault,” he says, glancing down at his screen.

  “See if I ever break down your door to save you again.” With my hand on his doorknob, I say, “See you later, Zay.”

  “Later, Jen. Chin up. Men are like buses and all that.”

  “Yeah, smelly diesel ones that pretend they don’t have girlfriends,” I mutter.

  “Wow, your metaphors today are totally uninspired.”

  “Sort of like me.” That’s the note I walk out on.

  After I get ready for work, I decide to take Zay’s advice (aka the coward’s way out) and just give Byrne/Gabe a mystery envelope of cash. I write a note that says:

  Hey Gabe, Thanks so much for all of your help. I know you didn’t want me to text you anymore, but I wanted to get your money back to you. Thanks again!

  Of course, I don’t sign it. I know this is the total chicken way out, but it’s all I can bring myself to do right now. I also realize it doesn’t solve Audra’s problem but I’m starting to really get annoyed at Ben’s mom. She’s the whole reason I’m in this mess.

  I stop at the bank to get the cash on my way to the pub, then make sure I arrive early in hopes of talking to Mary about her son. I want to know if she’s aware that he’s about to get engaged to Alexis. I don’t plan on bringing it up directly, in case she’s not, but I’m sure as heck going to tap dance around the subject.

  After walking into the nearly-deserted pub, I make my way into the kitchen to find Mary. She and Joe are standing over a pot of stew having a heated conversation.

  “It tastes like chocolate!” Mary hisses.

  “It’s a mole, darlin’. Mexican chefs use it all the time. They add cocoa to their savory foods to add depth of flavor. I think it’s good,” Joe tells her.

  “We’re an Irish pub, Joe! For the love of God, man, folks don’t expect chocolate stew when they come in here.”

  “Hi,” I interject before they work themselves up into a real tizzy, which is exactly where they’re headed.

  “Jen, my love, how are you today?” Mary turns and stares with motherly concern. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night is all.”

  “You need to drink Guinness forty minutes before bed,” Joe advises. “It’s like mother’s milk and will soothe your mind for a good slumber.”

  “I’ll try to remember that, Joe. Thanks.”

  “Joe, get this girl some food. She looks like she’s wasting away,” Mary insists, then she takes hold of my arm and pulls me out into the bar. Pushing me toward a bench, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Mary …” I start to answer but she interrupts.

  “Is it Byrne? Did that boy of mine do something inappropriate?”

  “What? No? Why would you ask that?” I’m not sure I’m selling it here.

  “Because the two of you left here Friday night as cozy as two pearls in a clam. I figured the scene would be ripe for your first kiss.”

  Averting my gaze, so she doesn’t see the truth in my eyes, I ask, “Do you think Byrne is really over Alexis? I mean, do you think there’s a chance they’re going to get back together?”

  Mary makes the sign of the cross before answering, “May God strike me down dead first. I suppose all things are possible, but Lord help me, that would be the living end.”

  A customer walks in and sits at the opposite end of the bar, so Mary goes over to take care of him. Then Byrne walks in. His eyes light up when he sees me and he comes right over. “I was hoping to see you again.” He takes the stool next to me and leans in to kiss my cheek, but I stand before he can and make my way behind the bar, so I’ll be at a safe distance.

  His smile fades. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep, great.” I pull the envelope out of my pocket and hand it to him. “Some woman came in and left this for you.”

  With a confused look, he opens the envelope and pulls out the note and the cash. “This is the weirdest situation. I agreed to mentor my friend’s little sister, but she turned out to be a total fruit loop. I helped her get a job at The Asher and loaned her some money. I guess she’s paying it back.” Then he asks, “You probably worked with her, Audra O’Malley?”

  I ignore the part about Audra and demand, “Fruit loop?” I can’t mask the hurt in my voice.

  “Yeah, she’s just kind of out there. Weird, you know? I honestly don’t know how she’s going to make it as a lawyer. I don’t think all her wires are connected.” He taps his head to help make his point.

  Oh yeah, buddy, tap that head because I’m probably too stupid to understand your cryptic message otherwise. “Weird, you say?” I practically bark. “What makes you say that?”

  Byrne (or Gabe, I guess) stares at me for a second, then says, “Are you upset about something?”

  “Nope, I’m fine.” I grab a cloth and start wiping the bar top extra hard. “Totally fine. Just wondering what constitutes weird behavior in your book.”

  I can tell he knows I’m not fine, but he answers anyway. “Well, she sent me some odd messages about stealing some scones at the hotel and first she said she gave them to a homeless guy, then she said she lied about it and took them all home. I have no idea why she thought I’d want to know that. It’s not like I signed on to be her priest.”

  My cheeks heat up at the memory and I suddenly realize how strange so many of the things I wrote would seem from his side of the conversation. “Right, that does sound … odd. But maybe she just really needed someone to talk to, you know?”

  “I guess. Don’t get me wrong, she was perfectly nice,” he says. “Just a bit … needy. I don’t really have time for all that right now.”

  Mary comes back and says, “Byrne, love, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work? Don’t tell me you’re still havin’ a breakdown. I thought that’d be over by now.”

  He closes his eyes for a second, then says, “Yeah, it wasn’t … Actually, Mom, I do have something to tell you. I, umm … quit my job.”

  She gasps, then does the sign of the cross and holds her hands in prayer position. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph! So this is a full-on breakdown then?”

  “It’s not,” Gabe says patiently. “I just realized I wanted to help people—real people who need it. Not giant corporations without a soul. I wasn’t going to be able to do that and stay at my firm.”

  “Oh,” she says, shutting her mouth for a second while she considers his words. “Right then, well done, you. The good Lord will be smiling down on you today.”

  “I hope so,” he answers. “Speaking of helping people, I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “You know the rule—anything, any hour, day or night.”

  “I need you to mail an envelope for me.”

  She raises
one eyebrow. “You came all this way, probably passing by a couple dozen mailboxes, and now you want me to step out into that blistering sun and post a letter for you? You really have lost it.”

  “What happened to anything, any time?”

  “That’s only for things you can’t do yourself.”

  He hands her the envelope and says, “This falls into that category, I promise. And I can’t tell you what it’s about.”

  She plants her hands on her hips and glares until he says, “Please? It’s important.”

  “Oh, for the love of … fine.” She grabs the envelope and walks out the front door with it. There’s a mailbox on the corner which makes me wonder why he didn’t mail it himself, but I won’t ask him. It’s really none of my business—especially since he may be getting engaged in a couple of days. Oh, and he thinks I’m a total nut.

  As soon as Mary is gone, Byrne leans in again. “Guess what’s in that envelope?”

  “No idea,” I say with a shrug.

  “Remember that man I wanted to help?” he asks, his eyes shining with pride.

  I nod. “So that’ll save his life?”

  “Yup. It’s everything he needs to know to win.”

  A couple of women come in and I grab two menus and rush off to greet them, glad to be able to get away from Gabe. I need time to figure out what my feelings are. My sense of logic and my hurt feelings are teaming up in a war with my heart. My heart wants me to forget about his girlfriend and the fact that he basically just suggested I’m insane, oh, and that I’m not that bright either. But brain and hurt feelings know better.

  After I seat the ladies, I busy myself bringing them water and taking their drink order. I make another trip back to the bar, managing to ignore what’s-his-face while I uncork a bottle of white and take it, along with two glasses, back to their table. I linger there longer than I should, chatting with them until they both start wearing matching frozen smiles that say “Okay, you can go now.”

  Finally, I slink back behind the bar. I can feel Byrne’s eyes on me while I wipe down the counter again, even though I just did it. Yup, it’s still clean.