Changing Roles

by Melanie Moreland

  My gaze landed on the large framed picture across from my desk, and I smiled as I looked at it. I had drawn it when I was a kid, and my mum had kept it, bringing it with her the last time she came for a visit. That had been the first time she’d met Shelby, and, not surprisingly, had loved her. The two of them got on so well I was almost jealous. Mum had given me the picture, which I had scoffed at, wondering why she had brought it. But Shelby had pounced on it, declaring it the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. She’d had it framed and hung it in here, saying it was something I had to keep.

  I remembered drawing it for Mum. I also remembered my dad’s hand covering mine to help me write out the words I wanted to outline and color in. It was an expression she said all the time, her Scottish accent rolling the r out almost lyrically.

  I glanced up at the picture again.

  “Home is where the heart is.”

  She’d cried when I proudly gave it to her.

  She’d cried again, years later, when she saw how Shelby had turned it into a lasting memento and hung it somewhere I would see it every day.

  I had to admit, my throat had been thick watching Mum’s reaction and thinking how amazing Shelby was to have done that for me.

  I took another deep draw of whiskey, enjoying the burn in my throat as I frowned.

  Shelby.

  She did so many thoughtful things. She took care of me. She was my friend.

  My best friend.

  I looked around the comfortable room. She had made this house into a home for me. She made my life easier. Better. I couldn’t imagine my world without her. Simply the thought of it made my chest hurt the way it did earlier in the music store.

  She was special.

  My eyes were drawn to the picture again.

  Home…heart…

  I sat up, suddenly knowing why the thought of her out on a date with Douglas was so upsetting. Why the thought of her dating anyone made me crazy.

  I knew now why I hadn’t been on a date since she had come into my life. Why I loved being with her all the time. There was a reason I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Why everything I did revolved around her, and why her opinion and thoughts meant more than anyone else’s. The reason I knew her moods by the music she played. Because I knew her—all of her. Her footsteps and the cadence of her voice. She was the reason I missed home so much while I was away. It wasn’t this place I was longing for—it was her. They were one and the same: My heart—My home.

  My Beaker.

  My best friend.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks.

  I was in love with Shelby. Completely and totally in love with her.

  I sat back, stunned, the empty glass leaving my fingers and hitting the rug with a dull thud.

  Holy shit.

  She was gonna kill me.

  Shelby

  I glowered at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I so pale? Slipping on my purple blouse, I hesitated, unsure whether to put my hair up or leave it down. Deciding it would be better up, I swept it into a chignon, leaving some of the ends loose and swirling around my shoulders. I stood back, gazing again. Something was missing. Then it dawned on me.

  I wasn’t smiling.

  I wasn’t excited.

  I was nervous and edgy.

  And not the good kind of nerves either. I was going on a date with Douglas Wright—handsome, well-known Hollywood director and producer. Women everywhere would love to be in my shoes. Yet, all I felt was this strange sensation I was making a mistake going out with him. He had shocked me so much by asking, I had said yes before I even realized what I was agreeing to do.

  Slipping my feet into a pair of simple flats, I grinned, knowing Lily would roll her eyes and hate them. But they were comfortable, and it wasn’t like I was dressing for the camera. I doubted I would even be spotted with Douglas. Not like when I was out with Liam the other night.

  Liam.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, thinking about earlier. Ever since I had agreed to go out with Douglas, things had been off between us. He was acting strange, even for Liam, and I was reacting to him by being defensive. I had every right to go on a date, just like Liam. We were both adults and could date whomever we wanted to. Oddly enough, though, the entire time I had worked for him, he never had been on a real date. His evenings, unless it was business-related, were always spent here, at home, with me. I hadn’t even realized that until this moment.

  I sighed. Maybe this was a mistake. I wasn’t ready to date anyone yet. After the disaster that was my marriage, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to date again.

  Marrying Malcolm had been a mistake. Looking back, I knew I married him for all the wrong reasons. My friends were all getting married and settling down. Everett had moved to LA, and I was lonely. I met Malcolm and I thought he needed me. Only he didn’t. I thought I loved him. I was wrong. What I thought was love was simply the need to no longer be alone, and the only real thing he needed from me was my steady source of income and access to all my finances.

  Since my parents died, leaving us with nothing, I was careful with money, saving as much as possible. I worked hard, often two or three jobs at a time, and helped put Everett through college. He worked as well and went to school; I was insistent he get his degree. When I landed a good paying job as a PA, things got easier, but we always lived a simple life. When Everett saw an opportunity in LA, he asked me to move with him, but I liked my job and stayed where I was in Sacramento. We remained close and he visited often, even after I was married. He never liked Malcolm, and, in retrospect, I should have listened to him.

  In the three years we were married, Malcolm drifted from job to job, months often slipping by before he found the next one. It was always someone else’s fault he lost his job, never his. As time went by, everything changed. Nothing was good enough. Our apartment wasn’t large enough; our car wasn’t as stylish as he wanted. I wasn’t as sexy or fun as he thought I should be. Once, at a marriage-rebuilding weekend we’d attended at my insistence, one exercise had been to describe your perfect, ideal partner. Listening to the other couples, I was amazed how often they described their spouse without even realizing it, and then watched as dawning realization hit them. I’d hoped the same would happen for us. But when Malcolm spoke up, he described his ideal as tall, blond, buxom, and a tiger in bed. I sat there beside him, dark-haired and petite, knowing he certainly didn’t think I was a tiger in bed since he complained about that a lot, too. I was nowhere close to his ideal, and I was beyond embarrassed. When Roni, his blond assistant from his last job, disappeared at the same time he left me, I realized how stupid and blind I had been.

  We argued constantly over finances, especially the money I had saved in the bank. But having experienced the panicky feeling of nothing before, I refused to touch the money. When I lost my job, I was given a severance package, for which I was grateful, hoping it would tide us over until I found another job and I wouldn’t have to touch the money I had saved.

  A short time later, Malcolm disappeared with Roni, the contents of our bank account, and thanks to his hacking skills, all the savings money I had in my name as well, leaving me nothing. I also found, to my ultimate horror, he had secretly racked up thousands of dollars of debt, had neglected to pay the rent on the apartment, and I was about to lose my home on top of everything else.

  In desperation, I put my pride aside and phoned Everett. He stepped in, paid off the debts looming over my head, and hired a lawyer to make sure I was protected against any further debts or problems. He also launched an investigation to find Malcolm, which to this point had turned up nothing; it was as if he had disappeared. We had begun the proceedings to dissolve the marriage in his absence, but as with everything in the legal world, it was taking time. I looked forward to the day it was behind me, knowing it couldn’t happen fast enough for my liking.

  The most important thing Everett had done was to bring me to LA—and to Liam.

  Liam.

  I felt terrible
about getting angry with him earlier. He was trying to be nice; I knew he was. He didn’t understand why I was feeling so sad.

  I didn’t know how to tell him when I didn’t understand it either.

  But lately, how I felt about Liam had changed.

  I’d adored him from the moment I met him. Everett had talked about him so often, I felt I already knew him, even though we had never met. And then when I did meet him, the vision I had in my head didn’t do him justice—in looks or personality. Liam’s interview—for lack of a better word—had been the most bizarre experience of my life. But there was something about him, warm, sweet, and so open and honest that drew me to him. I liked being needed, and Liam needed me. Malcolm never needed me and hated it when I would “fuss” over him. He said I threatened his masculinity, which always confused me. Everett had loved, and still did love it, when I fussed over him. He said it made him feel important.

  And Liam…Liam reveled in it. He soaked it up like a sponge. It didn’t matter if it was his favorite sandwich, a new shirt I bought him, or how much he liked to lounge on the sofa while I stroked his head and he told me about his day; Liam needed me. He was appreciative of everything I did. In his own way, he looked after me as well and was protective of me. He was a good friend.

  Except…yesterday, when he was tickling me and had kissed me. It made me feel things I shouldn’t feel for a friend. I wanted him to kiss me again. Harder. Longer. Deeper.

  Today when he offered to buy me a dress to wear on my date, I wanted to yell at him and tell him I wanted him to buy a dress I could wear for him. I wanted him to look at me and like what he saw. I wanted to sit across the table from him and spend the evening with him.

  But I couldn’t.

  I was his housekeeper. His friend. He trusted me. I couldn’t ruin that with some romanticized version of our relationship.

  I wasn’t girlfriend material.

  I was still married, but unwanted and discarded since I had outlived my usefulness. I was also older than Liam. Five years might not seem like much to some people, but in the world he lived in, it was huge. Everything in the industry he worked in was based on looks and profile. A career could be broken with bad choices. He was a Hollywood leading man who could have his pick of women. Young, beautiful women more suited to him than I was or ever could be. I was his employee. Everett’s sister.

  All of those were lines he would never cross, even if he were interested.

  Which he wasn’t.

  I straightened my shoulders. I had no idea what was wrong with me, but I needed to stop these silly thoughts.

  Liam was my friend.

  I had a date to go on with his cousin.

  I was going to enjoy myself.

  Even if it killed me.

  LIAM

  The more I drank, the clearer it all became.

  I loved Shelby.

  I loved her for the ways she looked after me, how she made everything, even the smallest of details, so much better. Her caring nature was prevalent, and I basked in it. She entered my life with no fanfare, improved every aspect, and without realizing it, also firmly entrenched herself in my heart.

  I loved how she never let me forget who I really was. Not the mythical image that had been created about me. To her, I was Liam, friend to Everett, son of Simon and Elizabeth. Someone Shelby liked simply as a person. Someone I wanted to be—for her.

  Just Liam.

  Her snarky way of putting me in my place and keeping me grounded was exactly what I needed in my life. What I wanted. Her teasing was perfect for me, and I loved how she responded to mine. I loved hearing her laughter in the home I now realized I thought of as ours, not mine.

  She was what I needed—and wanted. Always.

  I wanted her beside me on the sofa at night, her feet in my lap.

  I wanted her hands stroking my head at the end of a long day, while I complained about what happened on set, as her fingers worked their soothing magic to relax me.

  I wanted her across the table, telling me to stop eating so many cookies as she shoved some god-awful bird food at me, which I would eat because she made it for me.

  I flashed to the memory of tucking her in last night, the image filling my head.

  I wanted her in my bed, her hair spread out on my pillow as I loved her. I wanted to fall asleep beside her and wake with her the next day. I wanted her on my arm every time I had to make an appearance, knowing her presence would keep me calm.

  I was so fucked.

  I peered at the whiskey bottle, trying to remember how full it had been when I started. As Shelby liked to remind me, unless it was beer, I wasn’t much of a drinker. Two or three, and I was usually quite inebriated; it just hit me. I frowned as I looked at the mostly empty bottle. I was sure I’d had more than three. Or four.

  I looked around. I wasn’t even sure where my glass was anymore. I had been drinking right from the bottle, which wasn’t a good thing.

  I sighed. I couldn’t feel my legs. That was definitely not a good sign.

  I sat back in my chair, folding my arms across the bottle resting on my chest.

  I knew what I wanted.

  Now I needed to figure out how to make Shelby want the same things.

  How to make her want me.

  My eyes slowly drifted shut, the darkness welcome and quiet.

  Maybe a ten-minute nap. That would clear my head.

  Then I could figure it all out. When she got home, I’d know what to do and how to handle the whole situation.

  I sighed, the sound sad in the room.

  “Shelby.”

  SHELBY

  I tried not to grin at the phone screen after reading Liam’s text about his lunch. I could feel Liam’s boasting, and I knew he was proud of himself for his restraint over his idea of a limited lunch. So proud he couldn’t wait to tell me once he remembered. Quickly, I typed a reply and put down my phone.

  “Sorry.” I smiled at Douglas, who was watching me closely. “Liam wanted to remind me of something he needed doing tomorrow.”

  “Do you ever get time off?” he asked dryly.

  The need to defend Liam was strong and came fast. “I have as much time off as I want. Liam is a generous employer.” I didn’t tell him I had never taken a “day off” the entire time I worked for Liam. Mostly because it didn’t feel like work—it felt like I was home. “I didn’t work at all this afternoon. I was busy getting ready for tonight.”

  He eyed me with appreciation. “Worth the effort. You’re beautiful, Shelby.”

  “Um, thank you.” Unsure of what to do next, I grabbed my menu. “Everything looks good,” I mused, keeping my eyes on the menu. Liam had called me “lovely” earlier, and it had made me blush. Although I appreciated Douglas telling me how nice I looked, it didn’t seem to matter as much as what Liam thought. Strangely enough, when Douglas greeted me with a kiss on my cheek, I had the same feeling as when Everett kissed me, an abiding fondness. Nothing else.

  Lately, every time Liam kissed my cheek or grazed my forehead with his lips, I felt like I was being scorched with a hot branding iron. One with the initials LW stamped on it.

  I shook my head, closed my eyes for a moment, and sighed. I needed to stop this train of thought. I was being ridiculous.

  An hour later, I shoved my phone into my purse. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I thought it was an emergency.”

  “Did he really call you to ask where the pickles were?”

  I nodded, my eyes unconsciously going back to my purse.

  Hadn’t I left them on the shelf beside his supper?

  I was sure I had. I didn’t want to put them on the plate in case they made the sandwiches soggy. I knew how much he loved pickles with his sandwiches. Did he not look in the refrigerator?

  “Shelby?”

  My eyes snapped to Douglas’s, embarrassment warming my face.

  “Did you want to call him back and tell him where they are?”

  “No.”

  My phone buzzed
with a text, which I ignored.

  “You better look at that,” he stated with a sarcastic edge to his voice. “After pickle-gate, the mayonnaise may have disappeared as well.”

  “Liam doesn’t like mayo on his sandwiches. He likes Miracle Whip.”

  Douglas’s eyebrows rose, and I flushed even more. I grabbed my phone and read his text about driving me home. Huffing in frustration, I typed a reply and, finally using my brain, turned off the phone.

  “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” I questioned with a bright smile.

  A short while later, Douglas laid down his fork, wiped his mouth, and took a long sip of his wine. His eyes were kind as he gazed at me. “It’s okay, Shelby. You don’t have to try so hard.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He shook his head. “My inane cousin, in his own unique way, has managed to be with us all evening.” He grimaced. “Do you know you’ve talked about him in every conversation we’ve had tonight?”

  “I—”

  “Even without his calls and texts, he was here. I think we both know why.” He paused. “‘You care about him. A lot.”

  “Of course I do. He’s a good friend.”

  “You both use that phrase so easily.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Is that all he is to you?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Shelby,” he prompted gently. I looked up, and he smiled at me. “It’s okay. It really is.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready to date yet,” I admitted. “I’m sorry, Douglas.”