The Invitation

by Vi Keeland

  “Oh yeah—I have a few questions on the purchase orders Helena asked me to approve. Do you have some time?” She thumbed over her shoulder. “I can run back to my office and get them. I came by this morning, but you weren’t in yet.”

  I looked down at my watch. “I have a call in a few minutes. It shouldn’t be long—maybe about a half hour. Why don’t I stop by your office when I’m done.”

  “That would be great. I’ll see you in a little bit then.”

  After she walked away, I stared at the empty doorway for a minute. Was it just me, or had the energy in the office changed since she started working here? I had two black eyes and more work than ever, yet I felt more balanced than usual.

  I sighed and went back to work. It was probably just the blow to the face.

  After I finished my call, I headed down to find Stella. Her office door was open, but her face was mostly hidden behind a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers on her desk. Her nose was also buried in papers, so she didn’t immediately notice me.

  “Nice flowers.” I raised a brow. “Ken?”

  “If you mean Ben, then no. The flowers are for my friend’s birthday.”

  “You had them delivered here to bring to her?”

  She shook her head. “Her is a he, and today’s his birthday. But he sent me the flowers because he doesn’t like to celebrate the day. Fisher’s mom passed away two years ago on his birthday, so it’s a hard day for him. Instead of celebrating himself, it seems he now sends me gifts.”

  That was unusual for most people, but sounded about right for Stella. “You ready to go through the reports you had questions on?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I took a seat on the other side of her desk. While she turned to rifle through some papers on the credenza behind her, my eyes snagged on a leather book sitting in an open box next to the flowers—or more specifically, the word engraved on it.

  “Writing down your fantasies about me?” I asked. “I already told you all you have to do is ask me out.”

  Stella’s forehead wrinkled, so I pointed my eyes at the book with the word Diary across the front.

  “Oh…no, that’s not mine. The messenger who delivered the flowers brought it. It’s another gift from Fisher.”

  “You keep a diary?”

  “No, it belongs to someone else. Or at least it did.” She reached across the desk and nabbed it, tucking it away in a drawer.

  As usual when it came to Stella, I was lost. “And you have someone else’s diary because…”

  She sighed. “Can we just forget you saw it?”

  I shook my head slowly. “Not a chance.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if I tell you, you can’t make fun of me.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “This is getting more intriguing by the moment. I can’t wait to hear this story.”

  “It’s not a story, really. It’s just a hobby of mine.”

  “Writing in diaries?”

  “No. I don’t write in them. I read them.”

  My brows shot up. “How exactly do you come across these diaries? Do you steal them or something?”

  “Of course not. I’m not a thief. I usually buy them on eBay.”

  “You buy other people’s diaries on eBay?”

  She nodded. “There’s a big market for them, actually. Some people are into watching reality TV. I prefer to read my drama. Reading someone’s diary isn’t all that different.”

  “Uh-huh….”

  “No, really. Millions of people watch those Real Housewives shows and Jersey Shore. It’s the same thing, if you think about it—people airing their dirty laundry and keeping secrets.”

  I scratched my chin. “How exactly does one get into this hobby?”

  She sighed. “When I was twelve, I went to a garage sale. I saw a brown leather book on a table, so I picked it up to smell it.”

  “Of course you did.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t interrupt or I’m not going to finish my story.”

  “Continue…”

  For the next five minutes she rambled on about smelling a diary at a garage sale, her crush on some kid who played football, and how she’d had no idea the diary was written in when she bought it. By the time she took a breath, I even knew how much she’d paid for the damn thing fifteen years ago.

  I just kept staring at her, trying to keep up and waiting for her to get to the point. Though Stella didn’t seem to notice. Then she looked at me like she wanted to make sure I was following her. So I nodded. “Okay…”

  “I realized I’d bought a used diary, and I wasn’t going to read it, but my curiosity got the best of me. It turned out to be a thirty-year-old diary written by a girl a year older than I was at the time. In the first few entries, she wrote about a boy she liked and her first kiss. I was hooked and couldn’t stop. I read the entire thing in one night. After that, I checked every garage sale I went to for six months, trying to find another diary. But I never did. I’d pretty much forgotten about diaries when I stumbled upon one on eBay a few years later. That’s when I learned there was an entire market for used diaries. I’ve been buying them ever since. Most people watch a show or two before they go to bed; I like to read an entry or two a night.”

  “So your friend bought you a used diary for his birthday?”

  “Actually, I bought the diary. But it’s written in Italian. Fisher had it translated for me for his birthday.”

  I processed that for a moment. “Out of curiosity, what does a diary like that set you back on eBay?”

  “It varies. If you buy a woman’s diary, it’s usually anywhere from fifty to a hundred dollars. Some people sell photocopied diaries, and those are cheaper since they can sell it to multiple people. Original diaries from the eighteen hundreds can go for a lot more, and men’s, no matter how old they are, are always a premium.”

  “Men’s? Men write in diaries?”

  “Some do. But they’re rare and can get pretty expensive.”

  I was dumbfounded. An entire world existed that I knew nothing about. I lifted my chin toward the drawer where she’d tucked the diary away. “Who does the one you have belong to?”

  “His name is Marco. He lives in Italy.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t started reading it. But I’m really excited to. I’m going to have to be strict about only reading an entry a night, or I’ll wind up finishing it in one sitting. Italian diaries are the best. The people there are so passionate about everything.”

  “If you say so. You know your hobby is a bit strange, right?”

  “I do. But so what? It makes me happy.”

  It struck a chord, the way something so simple could make her happy. There hadn’t been much that had done it for me the last few years since my divorce—not even the women I went out with. Maybe I was a little envious.

  Regardless, we had work to do. So I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you show me what you wanted to discuss when you came to my office?”

  Stella and I worked through her questions and fixed some errors the purchasing department had made while prepping product orders. I had an afternoon meeting to get to, so I told her to let me know if she needed anything else and stood to go.

  At the door, I realized I hadn’t told her the good news. “I almost forgot—I used a connection to talk about your product with the executives at a home shopping network.”

  “Really? Did they like it?”

  “A lot, actually. Both the head buyer and the host of one of the shows loved the concept. They want to see it in person. Robyn invited us to have lunch tomorrow. I hope you don’t have plans.”

  Her mouth hung open. “Robyn? As in Robyn Quinn? The queen of the Home Shopping Channel?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Oh my God! This is huge! How could you have come in here and let me babble for the last hour and not mention that sooner?”

  “I guess I forgot. Listening
to your stories makes my brain power down.”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to let that slide and not punch you again since you scored an appointment that could be life changing.”

  I smiled. “Robyn’s going to email me with the time and details. I’ll forward it along when I get it.”

  “Okay! Wow. This is turning out to be a great day. I might have to celebrate by reading two entries from Marco tonight.”

  “You’re a real wild woman.”

  She shrugged. “I might not be, but sometimes the people in my diary are.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Stella

  Seventeen months ago

  “It could be them.”

  I pointed to a couple sitting a few steps down from where we were eating our lunch on the library stairs.

  Fisher’s brows knitted. “They could be who?”

  “Alexandria and Jasper.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “The couple from that new diary you’re reading? The one your roommate gave you for your birthday?”

  I nodded. “It was really sweet of her.” I hadn’t even realized she knew it was my birthday, yet she had given me the most incredible diary as a gift. I was obsessed with it.

  Fisher unwrapped his sandwich and took a large bite. He spoke with his mouth full. “I thought you didn’t know the boyfriend’s name.”

  “I don’t. But I decided to call him Jasper since she refers to him as J. It makes him feel more real in my head when I think about them.”

  “Honey, you know I love you. But most of the shit that goes on in your head isn’t real.”

  I elbowed him playfully. Lately, I’d started coming to sit on the stairs at the library for lunch—the exact stairs where so much of the story playing out in the diary I was reading had occurred. I liked to read my daily entry allotments here and imagine that some of the people sitting nearby were the ones on the pages in my hands.

  “This diary is the best thing I’ve ever read. One day last week, Alexandria’s husband came home early from work to check on her. The night before she’d told him she hadn’t been feeling well when he’d tried to initiate having sex. But the truth was, she’d had sex with Jasper just a few hours earlier, so she wasn’t into sex with her own husband. Anyway…when he came home to check on her, she was taking a nap because that morning she’d gone yet again to meet Jasper, and she was physically wiped out. Her husband always works late, so she hadn’t thought anything about leaving her phone out on the kitchen counter charging. But when he walked in, he happened to catch a text message popping up on her screen. It was Jasper telling her when to meet him the next day. Luckily, he was only in her phone contacts as J. When her husband asked her about the text, she told him it was related to a surprise for his birthday, and he bought it. The poor guy still seems clueless about her affair. But she’s become paranoid about where she leaves her phone now.”

  Fisher shook his head. “Poor guy? You mean poor schmuck.”

  “I know. I feel bad for her husband. Their wedding was right here at the library.” I held my hands out. “And now she sometimes meets Jasper on these very steps so they can go screw in the alley around the corner behind a dumpster. I don’t get it. She seemed so in love with her husband last year before the wedding.”

  He took another bite of his sandwich. “What—did you buy multiple volumes of this person’s diary or something? One diary doesn’t span years, does it?”

  “This one does, because she doesn’t write in it too often. The time hops around—it’s months between entries at some points. She wrote in it a lot before her wedding, describing everything she was planning. But then it mostly stopped after. I guess she had nothing exciting to write for a year or two…until she started sleeping with her husband’s friend.”

  “You better take this one slow. Sounds like you’re going to have withdrawal after you finish it.”

  “I know. It’s because the woman it belonged to and everyone she writes about are all right here in the City. I’ve never read a local diary before, much less one that takes place right down the block from my work. It makes it all seem so real—like it’s going on now instead of whenever she wrote it. I can’t stop thinking about the people in the story and wondering if I might be passing one of them. The other day I was at Starbucks, and the barista’s nametag said Jasper. I dropped my iced latte all over the floor because I got so excited, thinking it could be him. I sat inside the store until he finished his shift. Luckily, his boyfriend came to pick him up, so that ruled him out as the diary woman’s paramour.”

  “Was the barista cute?”

  “He was, actually. But I was stalking a man because his name was Jasper! I don’t even know the real name of the guy the woman in my diary is having an affair with.”

  “What Starbucks was it? A hot, gay barista sounds more up my alley than yours.”

  I chuckled. “Seriously, Fisher. What was I going to do after waiting two hours for that poor guy to get off of work? Follow him all the way home?”

  “You’re starting to sound a little obsessive.”

  I sighed. “That’s what Aiden said. We recently had a fight because my phone was dead. I’d forgotten to put it on the charger, and when I went to look for his cell to text you to tell you I’d be late for dinner, I realized he never leaves his phone around anymore. It made me suspicious because of how paranoid Alexandria is about getting caught, and Aiden and I wound up arguing. He’d done nothing wrong.”

  Fisher shook his head. “Maybe you should take a little break from reading.”

  I finally opened the container of salad I’d made for lunch. Stabbing a fork into it, I sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

  Fisher snort-laughed. “You’re so full of shit.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Hudson

  Our lunch meeting had turned into a party. Robyn, the host of the show, invited her co-host and a segment producer, the head buyer was bringing someone along, and Jack had also decided to grace us with his presence. With so many people, and Stella wanting to bring sample boxes for everyone, I drove to make it easier. My car was parked at a garage a few blocks away from the office, so I left early and told Stella to meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.

  She was waiting in front of the building when I pulled up to the light at the corner. It gave me a chance to watch her without her knowing. Two large flowerpots sat on either side of the main entrance to the office. They were old wine barrels, and I’d never given them much thought, though I passed them every day, other than to notice that building maintenance changed the flowers out every so often. I watched from a distance as Stella looked around, almost as if to see if anyone was paying attention, and then leaned over. I’d thought she was going to smell the flowers, but she bent lower and brought her nose to the barrel beneath. Did she just smell the pot?

  I chuckled to myself at how nutty she was. Anytime I thought I knew what she was going to say or do, I quickly found my assumption wrong. It was oddly refreshing. Within five minutes of meeting most women, I could guess the salad they were going to order, or that yoga or tennis was their hobby of choice. But not Stella—there was nothing cookie-cutter about her.

  She stepped over to the flowerpot on the other side of the doorway and again checked to see if the coast was clear before going in for a sniff. Only this time, she didn’t bend at the knees. She bent in half at the waist. Which gave me an unobstructed view of her ass—her phenomenal freaking ass.

  Great. Just great.

  I nailed the gas as soon as the light changed and pulled up in front of the building. I’d brought the boxes downstairs to the lobby before I went to the parking garage, so I got out and headed inside.

  “Why don’t you get in since I’m double parked, and I’ll grab the stuff from security?” I told her as I passed.

  “Oh…okay.”

  After I finished loading the trunk, I slammed it shut and waited for traffic to slow enough so I could open the driver’s side door and get in without being
clipped.

  “Thank you for taking care of that,” Stella said.

  “Of course.”

  I buckled. “We have an hour before we have to be at the restaurant, but it’ll probably take us almost that long with this traffic.” Looking over my shoulder, it took a while before there was a gap in the cars big enough to pull away from the curb.

  Stella sniffed a few times. “Is this brand new?”

  My car was actually three years old, but it looked new since I didn’t drive very much.

  “It’s a few years old.”

  “It still has that new-car smell.”

  “Oh yeah? Do you like that smell better than the flowerpots outside the office?”

  Stella sighed. “You caught that, huh?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “I was curious if they were actually aged barrels once used for wine.”

  “Were they?”

  “I’m not sure. All I could smell was dirt.”

  I smirked. “Large quantities of soil tend to smell that way.”

  “What kind of a car is this? The interior is so pretty.”

  “It’s a Maybach S 650.”

  “Is that an impressive car?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Are you impressed?”

  She smiled. “Not really. I don’t drive, so I don’t know too much about cars.”

  “You mean you don’t have a car because you live here in the City?”

  “No, I mean I don’t have a driver’s license. I had a permit once, and my ex tried to teach me years ago, but I hit a fire hydrant rounding a corner and, well, that was the end of that.”

  We inched our way uptown slowly. At one point, a car came out of nowhere and cut me off, so I had to slam on my brakes. Stella and I both had our seatbelts on, so we were fine, but her purse flew off the seat and dumped onto the floor. It landed upside down, and when she went to pick it up, the contents spilled all over the place.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  When she leaned forward to collect her belongings, I noticed the box with the diary from yesterday.