by Erin McRae
“I did nothing, I’ll have you know. And she suggested I take you. So, my strange colleague in literary adventures, would you like to go? Not as a date – but as friends?”
ELIZA ONLY MANAGED the first three blocks of her walk home from the office before she texted Jonathan.
Your boss asked me to go to a charity ball with him.
Jonathan responded almost immediately. Oh God. Is that good or bad?
Yes, Eliza replied.
Okay. And at literally any other moment I would love to explore that in depth with you, but I am actually about to start a phone interview with the London branch. Can we catch up later?
London branch because Malik? Eliza asked.
Uhhuh.
Tell me more later?
Only if you’ll do the same, Jonathan replied.
All of which was utterly fair, and Eliza felt an added burst of excitement that Jonathan’s life – professional and romantic – was moving in the direction that he wanted it to. But right now, she really needed someone to talk to. Just...who? She hadn’t spoken to her sister in months. Her work friends, while lovely, were work friends, and she didn’t want to gossip to them about a mutual colleague, especially after everything that had happened.
Who else was there?
No one wise, her brain traitorously supplied. But wisdom was already so far out of the picture. And Philippe’s fiancee, Gina, had been there when Eliza had discovered Harry’s damn book, and had offered her friendship even before Eliza’s world had turned completely upside down:.
They’d exchanged a few emails, giddy and gossipy, since BEA, and Eliza scrolled through her phone to start a new text thread with her.
Hi, I know this is out of the blue, but I need someone to kickyfeet at and because our lives are odd, I suspect you’re the best choice for it.
Eliza slipped her phone into her bag, knowing it could be hours or even days before she might expect a reply, but the device chirped with an incoming message instantly.
WHAT DID HARRY DOOOOOOOOOO??? Gina had written.
Eliza couldn’t help laughing. How do you know it was him? she texted back.
Please, Gina replied. I’m not a writer, but I know how to thread a story together. Tell. Me. EVERYTHING.
Grinning to herself, her thumbs flying over the keyboard, Eliza did.
Harry
HARRY WENT TO MEET Dennis for what was supposed to be dinner and drinks late on a Thursday with the intention of demonstrating how much he had pulled his life together since they had last met. But the restaurant was crowded, Dennis greeted him with “Heyyyy, heartthrob!” and everything went rapidly downhill from there.
“Can you stop?” Harry snapped, lifting his head from his hands eight minutes into a monologue from Dennis about all the tail Harry was surely getting now that he was a famous author. He wanted to tell Dennis that Eliza had said yes to going to the ball with him. He wanted to ask Dennis what he knew of whoever Meryl was seeing. He did not want to get needled about the worst and most embarrassing choices he had made all year.
“I don’t see why I should.” Dennis said innocently.
Harry huffed. “Look, it would be nice to spend an evening as someone other than the man who wrote a book about a girl.”
“It would be,” Dennis acknowledged. “But I suspect that Eliza would like to spend an evening as someone other than the girl about whom a man wrote a book.”
“She and I are all right now. Don’t act disappointed. And don’t forget you’re the one who suggested I publish it. So taking her theoretical side against me is uncalled for.” Harry was annoyed at Dennis and wanted to dig in.
“Just about everyone is on her side. Even the people buying up your book in droves and wishing they could be in her incredibly unenviable position.”
Harry wasn’t sure if Dennis meant her position sucked because she has been the unconsenting subject of a memoir about an affair that hadn’t, at that point, happened, or because she was the object of Harry’s affections at all.
“I’m not going to deny that I deserve any number of lectures on that point.” Harry’s irritation was growing. “But since you asked me on your show and helped make my book the whatever-number bestseller it currently is, you’re not innocent in all this either.”
“Maybe,” Dennis said with a shrug. “But I don’t know this girl of yours and have no obligations to her. And you’re still the one who wrote the thing. And published the thing. And now you’re the one everyone is drooling over.”
“You think I don’t know that? I didn’t write the damn book to seduce Eliza, much less anyone else. I’ve started making amends with her, and it’s still incredibly complicated.”
“That lack of intention was a mistake,” his friend pointed out unhelpfully. Before Harry could say anything else or beg again for a topic change, Dennis posed a question. “But has it worked?”
“Has what worked?”
“The book. Seducing the fair Eliza.”
“I broke up with her because of your advice, and she threw a Kindle at my head.” She melted her key, Harry thought. “There has been no seduction since my series of bad choices. Nor should there be.” Then why did you invite her to charity ball? his mind asked traitorously. “If she wants something from me, she’ll tell me. I don’t need you lecturing me. She can yell at me all she wants, but you can go to hell.”
Harry pushed himself away from the table. He was well aware that his anger at Dennis was merely residual displaced anger towards himself, but that wasn’t enough for him to quell it or direct it appropriately. Right now he wanted some air and some distance from his friend.
Dennis, who too much loved a good adventure, followed him out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. Thankfully the bar did have Harry’s credit card for the tab; he didn’t need to add dining-and-dashing to his list of sins.
“You know,” Dennis said, folding his arms and looking up at the sky as if he were commenting on the weather. “You can storm off in a huff all you want, but nothing’s going to change the fact that this predicament is entirely your fault.”
“I am more than aware of that,” Harry said as a woman with a white poodle scurried by. “Meanwhile, haven’t you been helpful enough?”
“You didn’t ask me to be helpful. You asked to go to dinner so you could whine about the mess you’d made of things with this woman. Now you’re back for another round and so am I. I’m a willing audience to the theater of human folly, to be sure, but this is getting ridiculous.”
“I have no idea why I listen to you. You’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months in your life.”
“And you have?” Dennis sounded delighted, the way he had on his show a few short weeks ago. “You had a beautiful young woman ready to eat out of the palm of your hand. And instead of treating her like a queen, which any sane man would have done, you wrote a book about your intimate fantasies about her. Emotional and physical. And then you moaned and moaned about how it was the best thing you’d ever written, so I told you to put your career first and somehow you were surprised when she was furious. Let me tell you, that makes exactly one of us.”
“Good of you to say something, before you invited me on your talk show.”
“I didn’t know how much of a jerk you’d been until you confessed it yourself on camera. Besides. I was desperate.”
Harry had never hated him more. “Would you stop?”
“Why?” Dennis asked. “You’ve been terrible about this from start to finish. And I don’t just mean an emotionally stunted failure the way you so often are. I mean you had something perfect going and you managed to screw it up. And instead of trying to fix it you moped around feeling sorry for yourself and made it all worse. You’ve shown up to tell me everything’s just fine, but none of your choices make sense and I don’t know why I don’t get to have an opinion. I know Steven dying fucked you up,” Dennis said. “It fucked all of us up. But you’re the only one who has systematically and deliberate
ly made a mess of his own life and other people’s because of it.”
The swing Harry took at Dennis was halfway decent. He was proud of both the satisfying thud that resonated up his arm when he hit Dennis’s jaw and the wide-eyed look of surprise on Dennis’s face when he did.
Dennis’s return punch, however, landed squarely on his nose, and any righteous anger Harry felt was submerged in a flare of pain and blood. He doubled over, eyes screwed shut while he cursed.
“Holy shit,” Dennis said. Instantly he was at Harry’s side. He pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and pressed it into Harry’s palm with one hand and with the other, pushed gently down on the back of Harry’s neck.
“The hell,” Harry spluttered, trying instinctively to shake him off.
“Keep your head down. Shit.” Dennis swore again and steered Harry to a crouch by the door to the restaurant, out of the way of foot traffic. “That’s...a lot of blood.”
Harry grunted, but kept his head between his knees. “I’m fine,” he said stuffily.
“Do you want me to get you home? Or to a doctor? I didn’t break it did I? I mean I can’t put you in a cab like that. You look like hell.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Hence my concern.”
“I’m fine,” Harry repeated. “It’s not broken.” At least, I hope. “But I need to get mopped up before I horrify any more passersby.”
There wasn’t much he could do other than wait it out and complete the ruination of Dennis’s handkerchief. Once the blood stopped flowing, Dennis helped pull him to his feet and steadied him with a hand on each shoulder when he staggered slightly.
“I’m not going back in there looking like this,” Harry said firmly.
“You’re going to walk all the way home looking like that?” Dennis stared at him.
“I go back in there, and if someone recognizes me because they saw me on TV, my life and Eliza’s both get so much worse than they already are. She’s speaking to me again. I want that to continue. And I want to be able to show my face again in public, ever. The office is two blocks away, I can make it that far.”
“Let me walk with you, at least.”
Harry considered the offer. It was sincere. And kind. And he’d probably attract less attention with a companion, but he really, truly just needed some damn space. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather lick my wounds in private.”
“All right,” Dennis said doubtfully. “But call me if you need anything.” He looked worried when Harry turned and, still holding Dennis’s handkerchief over his nose and mouth, headed up the street towards his office building.
It was late and nearly the weekend, so Harry didn’t expect to run into anyone when the elevator clanged open on his floor and he made his pathetic way toward the bathroom. Which was a mistake of the deepest kind, because he was only halfway down the hall when an office door creaked open and Eliza poked her head out.
Her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Oh my God, Harry.”
He grunted something incoherent and wished for the floor to swallow him whole. It did not oblige.
Eliza emerged into the hallway and grabbed Harry’s upper arms. “Are you okay? What happened to you?” She squinted to take in the damage.
“I’m fine,” Harry said, for what felt like the millionth time. “I got into a fight with my best friend.”
“Oh my God.”
“Dennis. You remember? Of course you do.” Harry tried to cover his bloody nose from view, well aware it wasn’t working and was vastly too late. “We’re fine, now. Just...this.”
“I’m cleaning you up.”
Before Harry could protest further, Eliza dragged him off toward the bathroom. She pulled him through the door of the women’s restroom and pushed him down on one of the over-upholstered settees in the outer powder room.
“Stay there,” she ordered before banging out of the bathroom again, returning a moment later with the first aid kit from the reception desk. She pulled a wad of paper towels out of the dispenser, turned on the hot water, and crouched down in front of him.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked while she sponged blood off Harry’s upper lip.
“Dennis said some things that were true, and I was an ass.”
“Do I want to know who took the first swing?”
Harry sighed. “It doesn’t matter to Dennis and I.”
“All right, then I won’t ask.” Eliza used Harry’s knee to lever herself up to stand and threw away the pink-stained paper towels.
“If it matters to you – it was me,” he confessed.
“Did he deserve it?”
“No.”
“You are an absolute disaster of a human being.” Eliza ran a fresh paper towel under the water.
“I know.”
“And I’m dangerously close to changing my mind about this charity ball nonsense,” she added.
“I know that too.”
As she turned away from the sink and toward Harry the light caught on something at her throat. He squinted and then had to work very hard not to smile too broadly. Among other things, it made his face hurt.
“You’re wearing the necklace,” he said.
Eliza’s expression was, in a word, smug. “I know.”
“You like it then?”
“Shut up, Harry.” She knelt in front of him again to wipe away the last smears of blood.
Chapter 17
Through the Stones and Behind the Gate
Eliza
DESPITE THE FIGHT HARRY had gotten into with his friend, Eliza spent the day of the charity ball in slightly giddy anticipation. Perhaps she was a fool for being willing to patch things up with him when that damn book of his was still making headlines...and best sellers’ lists. But they were who they were to each other, and now, strangely, the world.
Including their officemates. Jonathan knocked on the frame of her open door shortly before noon.
“Hey, do you want to grab lunch later – Oh. Is that for the ball tonight?” he asked, pointing at the garment bag hanging from the coat hook beside the door.
“Yes,” Eliza answered, unable to keep a rather self-satisfied smile off her face.
“So you’re going straight there after work?”
“Yes.”
“Together?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Harry brought his stuff, too. Can we get pictures of you two together before you leave?”
“Who’s we?” Eliza asked, trying to bite down a laugh. Her cheeks were growing warm, but she had to admit Jonathan’s interest was gratifying.
“Me and everybody else who was to deal with you two crazy kids getting their shit together.”
“Our shit is not together and it’s not prom,” Eliza noted, even if she was, possibly, lying. “Now out!” she waved a hand at the door.
“Seriously, let me know before you leave,” Jonathan said. “It would be such a great piece for the company newsletter.”
“We don’t do a company newsletter.”
“But we should!”
“Out!” Eliza was laughing now.
“Lunch, though?” Jonathan asked, backing out of her office with a grin.
“Grab me when you’re on your way.”
With that kind of a lead-up, Eliza really expected to spend the lunch hour getting questioned and teased about her not-date with Harry that night. Not just by Jonathan, but by the women she’d been making friends with. But to her surprise, no one else joined them at their usual lunch place.
“I have something I want to tell you,” Jonathan said, knitting his fingers together as they sat down on a bench to eat. “And you can’t tell Harry. Or anyone. But, fair is fair, and you ran away from everything you were supposed to do.”
“I had to,” Eliza said. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. I mean, unless you have to too. What’s going on?” she asked, not without trepidation. Jonathan always seemed extraordinarily level-headed, but there was a gleam of exc
itement in his eyes that potentially suggested something very ill-advised.
Or something wonderful.
Jonathan took a deep breath. “Malik and I are talking about me moving. To London. Or, rather, I’m trying to make that happen. Even though we’ve never lived in the same place and even though my whole life, no matter how tiny, is here.”
“Oh my God, Jonathan.” Eliza clasped her hands together. “This is wonderful! I’m so happy for you.” And it really was. Jonathan was so brilliant and such a kind friend – he deserved every shot at happiness.
Jonathan, though, was shaking his head. “Don’t be too happy for me yet. There’s job stuff and immigration stuff to deal with, and I don’t want Harry to know. Not yet. He’ll be happy for me but –”
“He’ll be devastated and intolerable, you mean,” Eliza said.
“Yes, that too. And, I can’t doubt myself right now. He makes it so easy sometimes, in the most nonsensical ways, to just want to stay here forever.”
“Because he needs you,” Eliza supplied.
“Yes, and I like to be needed. But my life is changing. Because I say so. If I need a reference for anything, can I list you?”
“Of course you can!” Eliza said, in lieu of adding her own commentary about the ways Harry complicated people’s lives. “I promise I’ll say good things that don’t have anything to do with the absurdity we’ve been through together. And you have to promise that you’ll invite me to any wedding.”
Jonathan’s cheeks colored, but he looked pleased. Eliza didn’t know how she felt about weddings anymore, not after cancelling her own, not after seeing happiness – with or without someone else – in freedom. But she knew, no matter what, she wanted to see the next part of Jonathan’s story, no matter how far it might turn out to be from her own.
AS SHE GOT DRESSED and touched up her makeup in her office that evening, Eliza was glad that no one in publishing – other than her and Harry it seemed – made a habit of working late. Her chances of being able to get from her office to the elevator and outside without getting waylaid by Jonathan or teased by anyone else were decent.