by Olivia Dade
They must have muted their conversation again, because she couldn’t hear anything for a few seconds. By the time they returned, she was nibbling on a thumbnail, trying not to scratch her chest.
“Apologies for calling your ex an asshole.” Irene didn’t sound especially sorry, and she didn’t wait for her apology to be accepted. “We have a few more questions.”
“Forgive us,” Cowan said, “but how do we know this man is really your boyfriend?”
The true moment of decision had arrived. If she backed out now, Irene and Cowan wouldn’t belabor the issue. They’d merely hang up and find someone else for the show.
But if she kept lying, she’d actually have to provide evidence of that lie.
She could either continue on the Dark Path of Duplicity, or she could make a sharp right onto the Rosy Roadway to Righteousness. And she had to make the choice now.
“Ummm…” She closed her eyes and grimaced. “After work tonight, I can e-mail you pictures of us together, and you can judge for yourself whether we look romantically involved. Or you can send someone to interview us, like you did with Andre.”
Trundling along the Dark Path of Duplicity it was, then.
And somehow, she was still talking. “All this might seem a bit quick—”
“You think?” Irene said.
“—but Thomas and I have worked together for months now, and there’ve always been, uh, feelings.” Irritation and impatience were feelings, right? “We just didn’t act on them before this. Until Andre and I ended things.”
Shit, shit, shit. How had the scope of this lie not occurred to her? Did she really plan to create fake pictures of them as a loving couple? Or convince Thomas to memorize and parrot a fictional story about their torrid love affair?
“We don’t have time to do another interview before the trip.” After a muffled conversation with Cowan, Irene came back on the line. “Tell us about your new boyfriend, Callie.”
He makes a tortoise seem speedy. Fails to multitask or retain basic information about checkout procedures. Bumps into the microfilm machines and various desks while deep in thought.
No. That wouldn’t do.
Instead of dwelling on her more recent frustrations, Callie conjured up her first impressions of Thomas, back when she’d found him charming. Sought out his company.
This part of the lie would be comparatively easy.
“His name is Thomas McKinney. He’s thirty-five and unfairly handsome.” Picturing him, every detail of that too-attractive face and long body, was easier than she’d like. “He has dark, curly hair with a little silver just starting at the temples. Pale skin. Eyes like…” She thought about it. “In the Caribbean, you know how the water close to shore is turquoise, but if you go out a bit further, it’s ridiculously blue? That’s his eye color.”
Cowan made a weird choking sound. “Ridiculously blue?”
Engrossed in her description of Thomas, Callie barely heard the intern. “He’s tall. Lean, but really strong. When we had to move our encyclopedia collection, he was able to carry these enormous stacks of books.” Well, until he’d tripped over a cart and dumped various volumes all over the polished wooden floor. “Plus, patrons flirt with him all the time, and he doesn’t seem to notice.”
That obliviousness always made her feel just a tiny better during their shifts together.
“Maybe you could—” Cowan started to say.
“Sometimes he wears dark-rimmed glasses, and they suit him way too well. It’s like he’s a bookish spy or a really sexy professor, which can be very distracting.” She hesitated. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Irene blew out a loud breath. “Can you tell us something else about him? Something that doesn’t involve how hot he is?”
Oh. She supposed she had kind of rambled about his looks for a bit too long. Probably because she didn’t have much practice with lying.
“He’s very intelligent.” Maybe the smartest man she’d ever met, but she would keep that little tidbit to herself. “He started at the library six months before I was hired, so he’s been here a year. He has a Ph.D. in American history and knows a ton about different time periods.”
“That’s plenty of—”
Callie barely heard Cowan. “When he gets a tricky question on the desk, he’ll do everything he can to answer it as thoroughly and accurately as possible, no matter how long it takes. He’s dogged, he’s curious, and he truly wants to help people.”
All true. Cowan and Irene simply didn’t need to know how all that endless patience and curiosity impacted Callie. How by the time she’d started working at the library, the researchers and interpreters with more interesting and complex questions had already learned to go to him for answers when he was on the desk. How she got stuck with all the basic factual and circulation questions, and her own knowledge of history and the library remained untapped. How she had to deal singlehandedly with any lines at the desk, because he would spend almost his entire shift on one or two people and fail to offer assistance when she was in the weeds. How she was continually forced to calm patrons who were frustrated at the wait for help. How she had to hurry through any interesting questions she did receive, because of that line and those pissed-off people in it.
Cowan and Irene didn’t need to know that working with Thomas all the time had stopped Callie from forming closer ties with patrons and other colleagues and left her feeling increasingly isolated.
So instead, she tried to remember more of the good stuff. The reasons she used to rush to work half an hour early so she and Thomas could hang out before her shift started.
“He’s kind. Easy to talk to.” Somehow, amidst her burgeoning anger and worry, she’d forgotten that. “Not particularly familiar with pop culture but interested in everything. And he has this wry sense of humor with absolutely no meanness to it. No mockery whatsoever.”
At first, she’d chatted with him all the time, and he’d always listen intently to whatever she wanted to say. Then he’d ask her questions or offer up his own well-considered opinions with that quiet confidence she so envied, and they’d talk for hours in the parking lot after work. Those chats hadn’t been mere water cooler talks or gossip sessions, but the sorts of conversations she’d always hoped to have with her boyf—
Nope. Not ambling down that particular mental road.
It didn’t matter how good a conversationalist he was. As her aggravation with him had grown, she’d stopped talking to him unless work required it. Because having all his careful attention, all his decency and kindness, directed her way somehow felt even worse than if he’d been a dick.
If he’d been a dick, her anger wouldn’t feel so petty. If he’d been a dick, she might have mustered the courage to complain, either to him or to a supervisor. But he was a good man. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, she didn’t want to get him in trouble, and she didn’t want to borrow conflict or seem high-maintenance at a place where she’d only worked for six months.
Just the thought of confronting him made her itch.
So she was stuck. Frustrated and lonely and sad, but silent.
Irene interrupted her thoughts. “I think we’re good here.”
“What…” Callie swallowed, too nervous to hope. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve convinced me. You’re into this dude, no question about it. We can make this work.”
Wow. She was an excellent liar. Who knew?
“Have him fill out the online application tonight. We’ll do the interview and take some pictures when you arrive at the first island.” Cowan sounded distracted, and Callie could hear a tapping sound, as if he were taking notes. “I’ll update the tickets and reservations and send you all the confirmation messages as soon as I can.”
Her eyes were swimming again, and she wiped them against the sleeve of her blouse.
She’d done it. Oh, God, she’d done it.
Next week, she’d be digging her toes into white sand and splashing in the
surf, allowing the water to erode all her worries as she luxuriated in the best trip of her life.
That is, if she could convince Thomas to abandon his previous vacation plans, lie on cable television, and spend an entire week in close proximity with a coworker who hadn’t talked to him for several months.
Oh, God, she hadn’t done it. Not really. Not yet.
She didn’t need to blink back happy tears anymore. Her eyes were as dry and gritty as that imaginary white sand. “Got it. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“One last thing.” Cowan was silent for a moment. “I’m choosing to believe that you and Thomas McKinney are a couple, because I like you. And, to be frank, because cancelling your trip would mess up the entire Island Match schedule for the rest of the season. But there will be cameras on you almost constantly for days. If you’re lying…”
When he paused again, she squeezed her eyes shut, shame suffusing her cheeks with heat.
Finally, he sighed. “If you’re lying, Callie, do it well.”
Two
“So I told them you were my boyfriend.” Callie fiddled with a strand of her dark hair, her face twisted into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my issues.”
Thomas blinked at her, startled and somewhat confused, but not unhappy.
Nope. Not at all.
Callie and Andre had broken up. Finally. She’d said the split was a long time coming, and Thomas had to concur. To him, it had felt like centuries. Millennia.
Apparently, Thomas and Callie were also going to spend a week together in various tropical paradises. While being filmed, from what he understood. And while those weren’t necessarily optimal circumstances for wooing such a mercurial woman, they were certainly better than reading in his condo while she cavorted on the beach with her ex.
As far as he knew, he hadn’t tossed a coin into an enchanted well, procured a potion from a witch, or fondled a lamp of mysterious provenance. But he could think of no other plausible explanation for these miraculous turns of events, so maybe he’d missed something.
Most importantly, Callie had stopped crying, and that was enough to set his world aright once more. He could wait for clarity on everything else.
That said, he should probably determine a few key facts before they proceeded.
“Let me make sure I understand the situation.” He leaned against his hybrid’s sun-heated hood in the stifling humidity of the library lot. “Next week, we’re flying to three islands for one night each. And then we’ll choose one of those islands for the last three nights of our trip.”
She nodded. “Whichever one is our favorite.”
“And HATV will film us in the belief that we’re a couple.”
Her nod was a bit more tentative that time. “Yes.”
“Did we…” He hated to ask. It made him sound like a dunce, and he didn’t think even he could have missed such a crucial development. But he needed to know for sure. “Did we agree to date at some point?”
If so, he had no memory of it happening. And when Callie spoke to him, looked at him, or hell, just breathed in his general direction, she captured his full and utterly devoted attention in a way no other woman ever had.
So he’d probably remember if they’d talked about dating.
Callie was shaking her head so hard, she had to be giving herself a headache. “No. No. God, no. You were just nearby, single, and on vacation next week, so I thought you’d be a good candidate for the job.”
Too bad. Learning that he’d won her affections while in a fugue state of some sort would have been convenient. But no matter. He had a week to do the job while completely conscious.
“Thomas…” She was nibbling on that plump lower lip, a signature gesture that had caused him to fumble various writing implements over the past six months. “I should’ve asked you before saying anything to them. But I just”—her inhalation turned shaky, her eyes shiny, and he would have torn apart the concrete parking lot with his bare hands to assuage her distress—“I just need this vacation. So badly. Can you possibly play along with me? Or did you already have plans? I know this was meant to be your summer break.”
“I wasn’t doing anything important.” He shrugged. “I’d planned to read about the influenza pandemic during World War I, but that can wait.”
Her eyes grew bright in a different, better way. “Last year, I read The Great Influenza, and I really appreciated Barry’s discussion of—” She stopped herself. “Never mind. That’s not the point right now. Are you really agreeing to go along with my stupid plan?”
“Not stupid.” Reaching out, he touched her elbow. Just for a moment, through the silky barrier of her blouse, but the contact still dizzied him. “Ingenious, given the urgency of the situation. And yes, I’m agreeing to your plan.”
Her lips parted, and she stared up at him for a moment. “I can’t believe you said yes.”
Any opportunity he could find to spend time with her, he’d take. Even if it meant relinquishing his favorite morning shifts to work in the afternoons and evenings. Even if it meant attending work gatherings at noisy, overcrowded bars. Even if it meant spending a week on camera and possibly making a fool of himself in front of a cable-television-viewing audience.
When Callie Adesso began working at the CMRL, the axis of his life shifted. From what he could tell, that shift appeared absolute and irrevocable.
And she’d been dating another man the entire time they’d known one another, until now.
If that relationship had been going awry for quite some time, as she’d said, maybe that would explain her seeming unhappiness the last few months. Because she didn’t smile at him the same way she once did, and they didn’t laugh and talk before or after their shifts anymore.
He hadn’t understood it. But maybe this unexpected trip would explain everything.
Even better: Maybe this unexpected trip would change everything.
“Believe it,” he told her.
“I first met Callie when she began her training at the library,” he told the camerawoman-cum-interviewer. “Next Thursday, we will have known each other for precisely seven months.”
Callie’s gaze whipped to his. “That’s…” She paused, and her lips moved as she did some mental math. “That’s right.”
For some reason, she sounded befuddled. Which befuddled him in turn, because how could he forget the day of her arrival at CMRL? How could anyone?
Maybe the preparations for the trip to Parrot Cay had tired her. He could understand that. His past several days had been a whirlwind of filling out applications and releases and waivers, followed by haphazard packing and emergency purchases of sunscreen and swim trunks. And despite all the hubbub, he’d still spent each night awake and wondering. Hoping.
Planning.
So he could empathize with any exhaustion she was experiencing. Although, to be fair, he’d never taken such a comfortable trip before, and he likely never would again. First-class tickets didn’t come cheaply enough for a man still paying off his student loans.
The seats had been wide and well-cushioned, the leg room generous, the movie choices endless. But the best part of the whole experience, by far: seeing Callie’s face illuminate when the flight attendant had handed them menus, and she’d realized their tickets had bought them a three-course meal. A delicious one, at that.
“I love red snapper and plantains,” she’d whispered to him, those coffee-brown eyes wide. “And I’m going to dive headfirst into the key lime mousse.”
Scratch that. The best part of the journey was watching her take her first bite of that tart-sweet mousse, her eyes scrunched closed and her lips curved in pleasure.
Or possibly when she’d finished her second glass of champagne and giggled at him for the first time in months when he’d noted the inadvisability of reading a book about pandemics on an airplane.
Or maybe when, as they’d skipped over waves on the ferry ride to Parrot Cay, she’d managed to stop him from
falling overboard by hauling his body against hers.
He’d been watching her, as usual, admiring how the sun limned strands of her wind-whipped hair with fire. In the midst of such intense concentration, though, he hadn’t noticed the rather large swell approaching the small vessel or braced himself for the impact.
So she’d saved him. And for several glorious moments, he’d been pressed against her, face to face, her warmth to his heat. The softness of her breasts and belly fit into the contours of his body like connecting puzzle pieces. That glorious brown hair lashed against his face in the ocean breeze, the sting more than welcome. Her strong arms held him in a steady, firm grip. And her flowery fragrance surrounded him. Intoxicated him.
Then she’d let him go in a hurry, and he’d chosen to sit on the deck for the rest of the ferry ride instead of testing his overwhelmed senses further.
Upon their arrival at Parrot Cay, they’d been greeted at the dock by HATV crew members—including Gladys, their episode’s producer—and ushered into a generic meeting room inside the private island’s enormous, pristine hotel. The small crew had already prepared the room for the interview, setting two chairs cozily next to one another in front of the cameras and beneath the boom mic.
Callie was sitting mere centimeters away from him, her thigh warm beneath her gauzy skirt. And he knew the heat of that thigh intimately, since it was touching his. The scent of flowers had faded at some point. She now smelled like sunscreen and sweat, his new favorite fragrance.
All in all, this trip was already one of the highlights of his life, and they hadn’t even posed for pictures as a couple yet. He had high hopes for the afternoon.
The camerawoman checked the next question on her list. “Tell us what first attracted you to Callie.”
This interview was only supposed to take a few minutes, since they needed to check into their rooms and take a guided tour of the island before sunset. That question alone could occupy the rest of their time on Parrot Cay, however.