Under the Table

by Stephanie Evanovich

  “Who doesn’t love a happy ending?” Zoey’s voice was half awe, half sarcasm.

  “He’s so proper. I thought he was too buttoned up. But this time?” Ruth gushed, accompanied by a long languid stretch. “A complete freak between the sheets!”

  Considering just how many freaks Ruth had kept company with over the years, that was quite an endorsement. Zoey prayed she wouldn’t offer details. She didn’t want her impression of Blake tainted with images of him wearing a leather full-head mask with a zipper for a mouth or trussing Ruth up like a turkey. But there was something else. Ruth’s voice changed when she spoke about Blake. She sounded . . . respectful. And sweet, even. When Ruth packed a small bag before leaving for work and told Zoey she was spending the night at Blake’s, Zoey knew it was serious. Blake was getting two nights in a row, during the week, no less. That was unprecedented.

  All Zoey knew was that she was going to be left alone, which she thought was a blessing. She needed time to figure out her own next move, starting with pushing her life’s reset button, even if that meant ghosting Tristan Malloy. She couldn’t bring herself to delete his phone number, but she would forget it existed. One day turned into two, then to three. Zoey’s spirits started to sag on day four and she waged an internal battle with the urge to text Tristan a quick hello. What if he had overdosed on late-night television or was shaking in a cold sweat after binge-watching The Walking Dead? But she couldn’t run that risk. If that hello led to an invitation, she would be tempted to accept. She had to stop the cycle for his sake as well as hers. She spent days four and five questioning why she would take love life advice from her freewheeling heartbreaker of a sister to begin with. Ruth, who had resurfaced while Blake went out of town for business, resumed making herself scarce after Zoey nearly bit her head off after a casual question or two.

  By day six of the cold turkey, she conceded all hope was lost. He had never gone that long without making some sort of contact. Adding insult to injury, she hadn’t received a single call for a job booking. She spent the whole day systematically eating everything she could get her hands on, emptying both the fridge and the pantry.

  On day seven, she was downright pissed off. A stupid kiss on the cheek and a hug scared him off? She hadn’t groped or propositioned him. She hadn’t thrown herself at him. Why would she want to be with someone so timid and skittish anyway? The anger lingered through the weekend despite numerous invitations from her sister to get out of the apartment. She spent that Sunday snarling on the couch, with Ruth shooting her sideways glances of genuine concern. She ordered takeout all day, at one point tipping the delivery person a handful of dimes, nickels, and pennies because she’d run out of money. Not completely out of money, but she would need her quarters if she was ever going to wash clothes again.

  Zoey started that Monday with an attitude adjustment. A new week called for a new perspective. A pity party was fine but turning it into a vacation was not. Tristan Malloy hadn’t asked for her help; she had offered it. Having an extended temper tantrum because things didn’t work out as planned was not only childish, but also plain old stupid. She was the one who deviated from her original strategy of taking this year to work on herself. It was time to get back to it. She promised herself, starting today, she was going to dig in. Her sole focus was to start drumming up some business. She would place new ads, call on previous clients to say hi and tell them all the new things she was working on. She would test new recipes. Zoey checked her bank account on her phone and sighed. She refused to dip into the nest egg she had put away. She had drawn up a budget, and she was sticking to it. How many ways could she dress up Kraft mac and cheese?

  Then a text came through. A text from Tristan Malloy.

  MORNING! CAN YOU WORK FOR ME WEDNESDAY NIGHT?

  She shook her head in disbelief. What the hell? She had just released him into the universe an hour ago. Now he was back. And worse, he reentered with the only offer she couldn’t refuse. With hands that needed steadying she texted back.

  SURE

  GREAT! I’LL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED HERE. ARRIVE AT FIVE. THINK FRENCH.

  There was no further conversation. No playful banter. No sharing any new tidbits of discovery on his part. Tristan didn’t even let her suggest the menu. Her heart wouldn’t stop fluttering, even as she reminded herself that it really was time to let him go. They could still be friends, a conclusion that left her feeling successful and at the same time forlorn. But, if nothing else, she was able to redirect her focus back on what she had set out to accomplish. The clock was nearly out of time before she was getting back her name and going out all on her own. Nothing and nobody was going to get in her way.

  Chapter 17

  When he opened the door to let her in, he still looked so good. This time, however, Tristan’s nervousness echoed the night she met him. All the gaming equipment was gone from the living room. He made no mention of the way she had stormed out the last time they were together, which was depressing in its own right. Once she followed him into the kitchen, she found out why.

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Tristan said. “A big one.”

  “Okay,” Zoey said warily as she scanned the very simple menu and the recipe for the main course he had placed on the center island. There was something foreboding; this was a dinner for two.

  “I only have one guest coming tonight.” Tristan rushed through the words as he watched her read through the directions. “A woman. A date. I have a date.”

  “Oh.” Zoey managed to get the one word past the tightening in her chest. Suddenly, trying to tell the joke about not poisoning anyone didn’t seem so funny. She managed to plaster on a smile. “That’s great. You really came out of your shell. I could’ve delivered a pep talk over the phone.”

  “That’s not the favor though. I want you to stay in here.” He began to trip over his words. “I don’t want her to know you’re here.”

  Anger began to mix in with the heartbreak. “Tristan, you know how to cook. You don’t need me.”

  “But I do. I really do.”

  “Then let me get to work and I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.”

  “This isn’t about the food, Zoey. Do you remember Kristin, from the night we met?”

  “Hard to forget the only other woman in the room.” Zoey sighed. A good veal and cream sauce was going to go to waste being fed to that little slip of a thing. She could picture the plate coming back into the kitchen with all the vegetables being picked out and the rest of it going into the trash. Tristan was too preoccupied to catch her frown.

  “I got up the nerve to call her and ask her out for dinner last week.”

  He had taken Kristin out on a date. Zoey had been eating her weight in comfort food for over a week while he was out having fun. She had done so well on her little makeover project, and the final outcome was like a sudden and unexpected punch to the gut. At least there was one saving grace: she had never made her true feelings known. She had managed to save face, even if she was going to spend the next week in bed, crying until there were no tears left.

  “It was a horror show. She’s educated and knows a lot about a lot of things. But conversation kept reverting back to politics and current events, stuff I don’t feel comfortable with.”

  “Nobody should bring up politics on a date.” Zoey’s face scrunched up in what she hoped looked like aversion, while she was secretly pleased as punch at his misstep. “Talk about a mood killer.”

  “I thought that maybe you could stay in here and if I get stumped on something, I can rush in here and ask you.”

  “I don’t know diddly about politics other than it can turn any family dinner into a brawl.”

  “You’ve got to know more than I do.”

  He did have a point there. Zoey stuck the tip of her pointer finger into her mouth and began to chew at her cuticle. She forced her hand back to her side before she drew blood.

  “This sounds like a backward Cyrano de Bergerac.”

  T
hat solicited a smile from Tristan. “It does, doesn’t it? Only there’s no love triangle going on.”

  Yes, there was. He just didn’t realize it.

  “Can’t you segue the conversation to art and literature? Things you know about?”

  “I tried. But she’s an activity person, likes the outdoors.”

  “What about golf?”

  “She plays tennis. And it looks like golf is a sticking point for her to boot. All the guys at work play and she’s never invited.”

  “Music?” The vision of him as his Aerosmith alter ego flashed before her eyes. She cursed herself.

  “That’s a good one! I’ll use it tonight.” He brightened, which hurt her case more than helped it. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You can throw me lifelines when I need them. I felt so lost on our last date, I almost had a panic attack in the middle of dinner.”

  Zoey wondered if he knew he was pulling at her heartstrings. Then she wondered if he kissed Kristin good night.

  “I can’t begin to list all the ways this is a bad idea. You should start a relationship as the real you. It’s more than enough, trust me.”

  He spoke like he hadn’t heard her. “Please, Zoey? You can name your price to stay. And if you hadn’t told me to not watch the news, I’d at least know some of the things she’s talking about.”

  She didn’t think he had it in him to play the blame card. To remind Zoey that she was partially responsible for the mess.

  “By the way, I did start watching the news this week. You’re right. It’s depressing as hell,” Tristan added. “But I don’t think it’s going to be enough. You’re my rock, Zoey. I need you here.”

  Zoey tried one last time. “Okay, that’s fine. But hiding me is dishonest.”

  “Not if she doesn’t know you’re here and I don’t bring it up.”

  Zoey shook her head at her own disgrace. She had successfully turned a wonderful upstanding spirit into every other self-serving human on the planet. If his next sentence turned out to be “You owe me” she might start to cry. There would be plenty of time for tears. But right now, she needed some income, and that meant swallowing her pride.

  “This is the first and last time I’m going to do this,” she relented.

  “I just need to get one successful date under my belt.” Tristan’s optimism returned with his relief. He was oblivious to her turmoil. “If I can get through one date without breaking out into a cold sweat or passing out, I’ll be golden. Thanks, Zoey, you’re a good friend.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Now please step away from the fridge, so I can get started.”

  He didn’t notice her curtness. She couldn’t help noticing he had already done most of the prep for the meal. She’d be spending most of her time watching pots boil and skulking behind the doors whenever they opened. She drew the line at sitting on the floor behind the island or pushing herself up against the wall. Zoey put on one of his aprons and went to work while Tristan paced the apartment. She tried to keep her head down and focus, but she would look up every time he made a lap by her, leaving the familiar trail of Old Spice in his wake. It was the only thing she recognized in the man she’d originally met.

  “Why don’t you go put on some music?” Zoey suggested, mainly to give herself something to listen to other than the voices in her head telling her all the ways she could ruin his evening. Dangerous thoughts to have when handling raw meat. Or holding a knife.

  “Excellent idea.” He bolted out of the kitchen. A minute later, chamber music started playing through the speakers above her. Classy. She sliced an onion she didn’t need in half and began to chop it, looking forward to the watery eyes it might produce.

  “How do I look?” he asked when he came back into the kitchen, checking the clock again.

  Gorgeous, she thought, checking out the new power suit he was wearing. Something he had bought himself. He had also gotten a haircut, shorter on the sides and longer on top with a healthy waving that flipped to the side. It looked smashing. He no longer needed her, which she should be viewing as a blessing. After this was over, he was on his own. She meant it this time. She had to stop being a glutton for punishment. It only added to the heartbreak.

  “Perfect,” she said. It was gruffer than she intended.

  “Any last-minute advice?” Tristan asked.

  There were so many things she wanted to tell him. At the top of that list was screaming “Pick me! Can’t you see how I feel about you?” The next would be to tell him that this whole affair was doomed to fail, which should’ve brought her more joy. Guilt always made for a good motivator. She stopped working and studied him.

  “People’s favorite topic is usually themselves. If you feel yourself slipping, just encourage her to talk about what interests her. It’ll keep the conversation flowing. And don’t worry about not knowing what she’s talking about, just ask her to explain, only look fascinated when you do it. I’ve been with people who I didn’t get a word in edgewise with all night. If you’re a good listener, it has the added bonus of learning a lot about a person.”

  “Keep her talking about herself,” Tristan repeated. “Got it.”

  All conversation stopped when the doorbell rang.

  “It’s showtime.” He stole her phrase while pulling at his jacket and double-checking his tie.

  “Good luck,” she told him. After he left she added, “I think you’re going to need it.”

  Zoey moved about the kitchen as quietly as she could and decided that no matter how this scheme played out, this was the last time she was going to see Tristan Malloy. She had the best of intentions and made her mistakes, but she no longer had the strength or desire to watch him find his happily ever after. Even sadder, if the evening played out the way he wanted it to, he wouldn’t miss her. He’d be on his way to new adventures.

  As soon as she was done putting the finishing touches on the salads, he came through the door adjacent to the dining room to retrieve them.

  “Things are going great,” he whispered, way too close to her ear, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “Your advice was stellar.”

  He grabbed the salad plates and left before she could respond, careful to not let the door swing open too wide.

  He didn’t want soup, and she knew why. It’s a course that could get sloppy. Zoey sulked. There would be no napkin bibs making an appearance this evening. It was becoming more and more apparent that he wanted her there only for moral support. An interesting turn of phrase, since morals obviously weren’t on tonight’s menu.

  Tristan snuck back through the door with the empty salad plates a half hour later.

  “We have a few seconds.” He still was whispering. “She went to the ladies’ room.”

  Zoey hastily started to plate the main course. “Then here, let’s get this on the table and you can meet her in the living room when she comes out.”

  “It’s going so well.” Tristan beamed while reaching into his pocket and pulling out several one-hundred-dollar bills. “I can’t thank you enough. Being in my own space makes it so much easier.”

  “Home field advantage, right?” she muttered, reaching for the money he held out to her.

  “Listen, I think I can handle dessert on my own,” he said, and Zoey felt like she had fallen on her own knife.

  “As soon as you two are back in the dining room, I’ll just slip out the door.” All pretense of them being in some grand conspiracy together had vanished. She had been paid for services she hadn’t rendered and that was fine by Zoey. He could clean up his kitchen on his own. She just had to hold it together for a few more minutes and she would be free of this whole surreptitious affair. And him.

  She garnished the plates with parsley and he dashed out to the dining room.

  “Just wanted to see if I could lend a hand.”

  Zoey whirled around and was face-to-face with Kristin, who had decided to take a detour back from the bathroom through the
kitchen. Kristin’s expression was one of mild surprise. When Tristan burst through the door to the kitchen, his was more akin to horror. Zoey, in the middle, looked from one to the other, feeling the heat rush of embarrassment.

  “Kristin!” Tristan exclaimed, cemented where he stood. “I’d like to introduce you to Zoey.”

  Zoey turned back to Kristin with a feeble “Hi.”

  Kristin approached Zoey, extending a delicate hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Zoey. I can see you have everything under control in here.”

  “I was just finishing up. And getting ready to leave.” Zoey tried to sound light and breezy as she shook Kristin’s hand with her now-clammy one. “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Well then, don’t let me get in your way. Dinner smells delicious. Tristan, I’ll wait for you in the dining room.” Kristin passed by both of them, and through the dining room door.

  Zoey took a quick look at Tristan, and they exchanged panic-stricken wordless shrugs before he took off after Kristin.

  The proper thing for Zoey to do would be to leave. This was not her problem. Her prediction had come to fruition. It served Tristan right to have this thing explode on its own accord.