She has me there. Indeed, Howard never wanted to meet my friends, insisting our relationship wasn't serious. At the time, I went along with his take on our relationship without giving it much thought. But Lincoln had gone out of his way to introduce himself to Hannah. This kind of openness makes Lincoln pretty good relationship material, doesn't it?
"You need to give the boy another chance," Hannah concludes. "Give him a chance to explain his side of the issue, and tell him exactly why doing what he did was a deal breaker for you.”
This gives me a lot to think about. We carry on chatting for another 15 minutes before we hang up with promises to get together next weekend when her children are with her ex and she is child-free.
When we end the call, I find myself at loose ends. I need to apologize, to talk to Lincoln, and say all the things that Hannah suggested.
I leave my unit for a long walk in my neighborhood. I need time to think about my situation and to figure out what I'm going to say Lincoln.
I get back around half past seven in the evening, take a quick shower, and search my fridge for food, as if I don't already know how slim the pickings really are. As I predicted, the grocery fairies didn't magically appear to stock my empty larder with foodstuffs when I was out for my walk.
I order a pizza. I turn on Netflix while eating to catch a movie I've been wanting to see when my doorbell rings. With my heart filled with hope that it might be Lincoln at my door, I rush to answer the buzzer. But it's not Lincoln I see in the view screen of the intercom. It's not Hannah, or even Howard.
To my astonishment, Alicia Mathers blinks at the screen.
Frowning, I press the talk button and speak.
"Hello… May I help you?" I ask tentatively.
She bends her head toward the intercom and speaks clearly. "It's Alicia Mathers. I believe I owe you an apology."
Chapter Twenty-Five: Samantha
I do not invite Alicia Mathers up to my apartment. She did fire me, after all, and I prefer to keep my personal life separate from my professional life. I tell her to meet me at the café downstairs in ten minutes. I'm curious as to why she wants to chat in person when she could have easily called me, or perhaps sent me an email.
I hurriedly put on minimal makeup and dress casually in my signature dark jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and sneakers. Alicia is already at the café when I arrive and has taken a seat near the coffee bar. She's a beautiful woman, well-appointed in designer jeans and a blazer. I am struck by how closely we resemble one another in our dress.
She stands as I approach her table. We shake hands and exchange awkward pleasantries.
When we are seated, Alicia gets right to the point.
"I'm here to apologize for having let you go and to offer you a job at Johnson and Mathers," she says. She pauses and eyes me curiously, no doubt to gauge my reaction. I am so shocked I do not know what to say. My mouth drops open. I go to speak, but she puts her hand up to stop me.
"Let me finish, please," she says. She looks humbled and seems to be carefully weighing her words.
"Months ago, it came to my attention that Howard Becker had been cheating on me," she says. Alicia's polished, professional demeanor cracks ever so slightly as her bottom lip trembles with emotion. "We'd only been married a short time, and I was shocked when my suspicions about Howard's behavior turned out to be true."
I'm not sure what this has to do with me, and why this might precipitate a job offer from Alicia, but I decide to listen to what she has to say.
"In preparation for the annulment I had hoped to obtain, I hired a private investigator to gather evidence of his betrayal," she says. "I found out he'd been seeing one of the junior marketing assistants at the firm. Unfortunately, that was only the tip of the iceberg. It turns out, Howard had been harassing women on staff in order to get them to sleep with him. I obtained a recording in which he confessed to another woman how he had managed to get you fired. My lawyers presented this information to Howard with the hope that he would drop any claims to my stake in the firm and our marital assets."
So, Alicia had kicked Howard Becker to the curb? No wonder he'd been blowing up my phone. Apparently, Howard thinks I'm a doormat.
She pauses and gives me a meaningful look. "As part of the separation agreement, I gave Howard a settlement in exchange for a complete recounting of every woman he had done this to."
She takes a manila folder out of her shoulder bag, places it on the coffee table, and pushes it toward me. My name is typed neatly on the tab of the folder. I open it to find a nondisclosure agreement.
My eyes meet hers. I blink at her, not understanding why she's presenting this to me now.
"I already signed a separation agreement," I say. "I don't understand why this is necessary now."
"Strictly speaking, it isn't necessary, but I hated the way you were asked to leave, and I want to try to make it right," she says. She fiddles with the rim of her coffee cup and brings it to her lips.
I settle back in my seat, flabbergasted by this turn of events.
"I was a trustworthy employee," I say. The old feelings about how I left the firm bubble to the surface. I still feel sad about how things ended, angry at Howard for his personal betrayal, and also angry that my professional reputation had been compromised. When all of this went down, I tried to reason with Alicia, but she wouldn't listen.
"I know you were, and I'm sorry that I didn't believe you when you explained what was going on," she says. "I can only say that love makes you blind, and Howard can be quite persuasive when he lies."
I take a deep breath, still reeling from the revelations. I had to agree that love does make you blind. I think about how I went against my principles to be in a relationship with Lincoln, even though I truly knew better than to go there. Being involved with Howard had been a disaster. Thank goodness, I got out of my relationship with Lincoln before I'd been irretrievably brokenhearted.
As I digest this information, Alicia goes on. "There have been some changes at the firm. The partners have retired and allowed me to buy them out. I am here to offer you a new position as Vice President of Client Relations. You'd be working with a nice cross-section of clients, and you would have a lot of visibility. Of course, you'd have your own team."
This floors me. My mind lands on this tidbit with gusto. I imagine getting my old office back, as well as all the trappings of my old job. The rushing through airports to catch flights to client meetings. The brainstorming sessions with my team. The expense accounts, the business lunches, the professional accolades...
"I'm not sure how to answer you," I say, turning the idea around in my mind. "This is so out of the blue that I honestly don't know how to react."
She manages a small smile, and gives me a curt nod. "That's fine. Take a few days to think it over."
Alicia then goes into a pitch about all she plans to do with the business now that she's taking over. It all sounds very good, but she's not offering me a piece of the business, so I'd be back to working on someone else's dreams.
Had this offer been made a year ago, I would have undoubtedly taken it without a second thought. But it isn't a year ago. I had been devastated at the loss of my career, but now, I'm happy being an entrepreneur. Every day is a little bit different, and I enjoy the fact that GoForYou is my baby. Still, it behooves me to consider this offer. And it feels great to have my professional reputation rehabilitated.
When our meeting is over, we leave the coffee shop together, stepping into the cool evening air blanketed by a clear, dark sky I feel a lift in my mood. Before walking away, Alicia stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. "You know, I wasn't going to mention this, but I saw you and Lincoln Cooper on the Botanical Society website," she says. "You were at a benefit? My mother has been involved with them for years." Her expression is tentative, like maybe she's cautious about asking about my relationship with Lincoln.
I wasn't expecting her to mention anything about him, so her question gives me a jolt. "He's one
of my best clients," I say. "He's great to work with."
"Just to work with?" she says, cocking an eyebrow at me. Her question hints at a personal relationship between me and Lincoln. I do not feel as if I need to give her any further details about us.
"Absolutely," I say. "He's one of my best clients."
"That's too bad, because he's quite handsome, isn't he? And judging by the way he looked at you, I get the sense that he'd be up for more than just a professional relationship."
"I'm sure that's not the case," I say, flashing a polite smile. Surely, she knows how the last relationship I had at work turned out. "I have a policy of not dating where I work."
She nods in understanding. "Because of Howard?" A twinge of pain crosses her face, and sympathy wells in my heart. Alicia had been a good manager to work for. Under other circumstances, where both of us aren’t dating the same man at the same time, we might even have been friends.
I give her a rueful smile, but I do not respond. "Thanks for stopping by to chat with me," I say, dodging the observation. "I'll take the weekend to think your offer over."
"I don't think it was a problem of dating where you work," she says, continuing with her previous train of thought. "More like a problem of dating a jerk. I don't regret falling in love, I just regret doing it with Howard. Life is short. Don't let yourself live with regrets."
I don't directly respond to her. Instead, I promise to let her know of my decision regarding the job offer on Monday, even though I know I'm going to turn her down. I suspect she knows as well. Maybe we both needed to have some closure about how things at Johnson and Mathers ended.
I go back to my condo and flop on the couch in front of the flatscreen. I pick up the remote and start flipping through channels, but nothing piques my interest.
Vice President of Client Relations, I think to myself. It is truly a flattering offer; one Alicia didn't have to give me. She also had no reason to apologize to me. I'd already signed a separation agreement waiving the right to sue for wrongful termination. But I knew before we parted that I would not be taking her up on her offer.
I pick up my phone and start the browser. On the events page of the Botanical Society, I find photos from the benefit. There is Lincoln giving his speech, quite a few photos of the other attendees chatting with each other, dancing, and sitting at their tables during the dinner. I'm surprised to find a photo of me in the gorgeous dress I got from Neiman Marcus. I'm making small talk with one of the other attendees, and Lincoln stands off to one side, watching me. He has a soft, slightly sappy expression on his face as he looks at me. It is plain to see that he's making goo-goo eyes at me.
I'm floored. Of all the times we've interacted, I've never noticed him looking at me like that. Lusty, yes. Impatient, yes, as well as teasing. But never emotional.
There's also a photo of us dancing, Lincoln's hand resting at the small of my back. My mind goes back to that night. The sensual way he moved against me. The weight of his jacket on my shoulders; the way his masculine scent wrapped around me.
Sighing, one by one, I trace the images of Lincoln and me with the tip of my finger, then press the screen until I get the option to save the photos. I look great in that dress, I tell myself. That's why I'm saving the photo. I'm vain, not pining for this man.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Lincoln
Dear Ida,
I met an amazing woman through work. I'll call her Samantha, because that is her name.
Anyway, this woman kind of works for me. More precisely, I am her client.
From the beginning, this woman and I have had a strong, mutual, attraction to each other. She was reluctant to get involved, but we work closely together and our chemistry was undeniable. Though she refused me getting closer, I (carefully, and in a non-sexual harassment way) eventually wore her down, and we consummated our relationship. Being with her has been even better than I ever dreamed.
This woman is beautiful, smart, and ambitious, and for these reasons and more, I soon began to fall for her. Hard.
I can see a future with her-the house in the suburbs, the 2.5 kids, the white picket fence, anniversaries, grandchildren, etc., etc. I thought things were going well with her until just recently.
For the entire length of our relationship, she's been receiving texts that have upset her but often ignored, but not before she glared at the screen. She never wanted to discuss who it was, and told me it was "no one," so I left it at that. When I peeked at her phone, it always said "unknown number." She never told me who it was, even after we got together. The mystery deepened when I had a meeting in my offices with an old business school associate, and Samantha showed up for work. Turns out, she knew this person. He was her ex-boyfriend, and when I asked whether he was the one calling her constantly, she refused to answer. This spurred an argument between us and to keep the peace, I dropped the subject.
Earlier this week, we had an overnight at my place, and when I got up to make breakfast, I noticed her phone again blowing up with missed phone calls and messages. The display read from an "unknown number," just like the other, mysterious messages but the content of the messages indicated that they were from her ex-boyfriend. Apparently, they had arranged to meet the night before—when she was with me—and she hadn't shown up for their rendezvous. When I confronted her about it, she got angry and broke up with me.
Now she won't return my calls.
Please help.
Signed,
Cooped Up in Dallas
I finish typing my question into the response box on Dear Ida's website, read it over again, and hit "submit." I'd been reading the advice column daily since I saw the page pulled on Samantha's browser. As a result, I know about Samantha's misgivings as it related to our relationship.
It has been two weeks since the day Samantha walked out of my apartment. To say that I miss her is an understatement, and what's worse, I'm still not exactly sure I understand why she was so angry. These days, I tend to spend a lot of fruitless hours when I should be working simply staring at my computer screen as if it has the answers to all of life's important questions. Oddly enough, simply gazing at my screen does not cause tasks to be completed, and serves mainly to provide additional opportunities to ponder all the "what if's" that litter your mind in the wake of a breakup.
This level of distraction affects multiple areas of my life. I'm not sleeping. I have no appetite. And I have no interests, save for binge watching that awful dating show we watched together several times, as if watching the unfolding relationship disasters might provide clues as to how to manage my own field relationship. Nothing about watching other couples act stupidly offers me any insight into how I can win my woman back.
The one bright spot of the past two weeks is the way Samantha's business school friend has come through with financing for my restaurant expansion. Tamara Knowles and her husband have ponied much of the capital needed to fund the expansion of Linc's. They've even helped me find resources to help with the employee stock option plans that we discussed. Essentially, everything I wanted since I took over the company has begun to come to pass. Of course, I have Samantha to thank for it. I wish I hadn't screwed things up to the point where it's no longer possible to share this with the woman I love.
It's Wednesday, and time for my weekly basketball game with Brad, but that won't happen until later. Since I don't seem to be getting anything done in the office, I decide to head to the health club early. I feel antsy and wound tight, and I'm thinking it wouldn't be a bad idea to go in early and get in some other cardio before I meet with Brad. To be honest, I'm a little annoyed with Brad. After all, it was Brad's idea to have her looked intoin the first place. I had agreed to do it,
but it would've been the furthest thing from my mind if Brad hadn't suggested it.
At the health club, I decide to do 100 laps. It's a nice, round number, and I complete the workout in a bit over an hour. When I emerge from the locker room after my swim, I see Brad has already reserved a half-court for the
two of us.
My play is aggressive, and I approach the game with a killer instinct I don’t usually display. After about 15 minutes, Brad cries uncle. He leans against the wall and has his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. In between all the wheezing and harsh breathing, Brad shoots me an accusatory look.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Brad wheezes, his face flushed red with exertion. "Aren't we friends?"
"We were friends, up until you started giving me shitty advice about my love life," I say, no longer willing to pretend Brad doesn’t suck at love, in addition to giving advice about love. For the life of me, I cannot remember the last time he was in a lasting relationship.
"Don't put that on me," Brad says. "I didn't force you to have her investigated."
I narrow my eyes at Brad, because he had suggested I have her investigated, and he knew how that investigation made things go upside down for me and Samantha.
We end our game early. When we are both showered and ready to leave the health club, Brad makes me an offer.
"You need to grovel to get back in Samantha’s good graces," he says as we step into the bright afternoon sunshine. "I volunteer myself as tribute."
"What do you mean?" I ask. We head for the parking lot. I feel better for having worked out some of my frustration. I’m tired, but also refreshed in the way a good workout can sometimes make you feel. As a consequence, I feel hungry for the first time in days, and more receptive to Brad's suggestions. He was right—I didn't have to follow his advice.
"I'll help you get Samantha back," he says with a smile. Having reached my Audi, I lean against the car.
"How would you do this?" While Brad's heart might be in the right place, I'm not so sure his intervention would be useful.
Tough Customer: A Hero Club Novel Page 19