by Wolf, Alex
Rick half-smiles. “Yeah, we should.” He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating with himself, then says, “Okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow.”
What?
Before I can do anything else, he spins on a heel and walks away.
I would be lying if I said I’m mildly embarrassed. No, as I watch him turn the corner, it seriously feels as if my life just ended, and I shouldn’t feel this way. My heart sinks into my stomach, and I just stand there, staring. How did I go from in the clouds to splat on my face so fast?
What did I do wrong? We were having such a great time. Is it my fault? I don’t know how to describe myself other than humiliated. All my fears rush back into my brain. Was it all some set up? Just to torture me?
My nerves are completely raw, exposed.
I need to walk inside, but I just can’t. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so—deflated. Not in a million years did I think Rick would have an actual shot with me, and then I definitely didn’t think once I handed it to him, he would totally reject me.
Go inside. You look like an idiot. What did you think was going to happen?
Finally, I muster up the energy to walk inside. I’m like a racecar engine that was just revved up nonstop for two hours then told it couldn’t race. Something is off. I’m missing something. I miss him. I got my hopes up that I’d feel his lips against mine, and now I’m just empty inside without it.
My phone rings from my bag, and suddenly I’m in a tunnel a thousand yards away, even though the phone’s right in front of me on the table. I don’t want to answer it, but what if it’s work? I have to.
Begrudgingly, I pull it from my bag and see the unknown number. Probably a bill collector or something. Did I forget to pay something? I answer and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Ms. Patrick?”
“Who is this?” The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t put a face to it.
“Wells Covington.”
Why in the world is he calling me? I’ve never given him my number. The firm wouldn’t just hand it out to a client. They prefer all communications with clients to go through receptionists and partners. The entire conversation is an out-of-body experience. I’m still back out in the hallway and not mentally present.
I shake my head, trying to snap out of my daze.
“What? Who? I mean, how’d you get this number? This is inappropriate.” My mind is still floating a million miles away, still on Rick and the ultimate rejection, but somehow my body goes into autopilot, making me still somewhat functioning.
He laughs at my words, as if what I just said was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s funny.”
“I’m dead serious. Why are you calling me?”
The laughter ceases immediately. “We need to talk.”
This is the craziest night of my life. I’m just waiting to wake up from an awesome dream that turned into a nightmare.
Rick Lawrence
It’s been exactly three days since I pulled the epic Bill Buckner move. Ground ball right through the fucking legs at the World Series. Goddamn it! She was right there, leaning in. It was everything I’ve ever wanted, and I turned into a total pussy and just walked away.
Why? That’s the big question I’ve pondered over and over, non-stop. How did I fuck up the best date of all time?
For the love of all things holy, I put in damn near a year of pretending, deception, obsessing, and dare I say quite possibly stalking. I don’t know what it was. The manwhore part of my brain tells me it was just to see if I could do it, to get her to that moment, but I’m full of shit. I’m in love with her. Head-over-heels smitten in love. She’s by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I had her in my palm. There’s only one explanation for it. It was subconsciously to protect her. She deserves so much better than me. I would end up hurting her.
Not on purpose, of course. It’d be my past, my job, my personality. I manipulate people. It’s what I do. That’s what it has to be.
I’d leave everything behind for her in a second, but what would that look like? What? She has to quit a job she loves? We’d have to run off somewhere where my childhood could never catch up to me? What kind of life would that be for her?
She just wanted a kiss, not wedding bells and shit.
Regardless of how I rationalize anything, I hate myself for it. I want to run to her, tell her it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with me. Tell her how perfect she is, and how much I always want to be around her, that I never want her out of my sight. That I’d go ten years without even a kiss if I had to, twenty, fuck it. Tell her I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, but she’d never believe me. It sounds fucking batshit insane when I even think it. I can’t imagine saying it out loud.
The worst part is, I hurt her. She has to feel so humiliated right now. I saw the spark in her eyes. I gave her some kind of hope, even though I don’t understand why she looked at me that way. Then I crushed her. Not only that, no explanation, no apology, just three days of radio silence while I worked outside of the office.
She probably hates me now.
I walk up from my office just as the four dickhead brothers start up the hallway toward me.
Shit, Decker’s leading the way. They must have a meeting or something. Surprisingly, they all appear amicable.
Not so surprisingly, Decker glares right at me the second we make eye contact. He’s not pissed at me, but I get the look anytime Dexter is around him.
Decker has me looking at a bunch of shit on Wells Covington, tracing ownership through corporations, staking out warehouses, trailing him to look for known associates, calling around. Usual social engineering shit for intelligence that’s right in my wheelhouse. About all I’ve seen on that end that’s of interest, is his affinity for sex clubs, and I can’t imagine that being valuable other than maybe for some kind of blackmail.
I hate that my brain immediately goes to that. I hate what I am, especially when I want to be a better person for Mary, but I am who I am and I don’t know if I can change, even though I want to.
The problem with the whole scenario is Decker hides information from his brothers and manipulates things behind the scenes, and it puts me right in the middle of it. Dexter and Wells are best friends and shit, so I’m forced to lie both ways when they ask me to do this kind of shit. If Decker would just fucking talk to his brothers, I’m sure they could work it all out, but they’re secretly bitches who avoid confrontation.
Pussies.
You’re one to talk, Mr. Walks Away who doesn’t communicate for shit.
“Sup, Rick,” says Dexter.
“When’s the castration? I mean, wedding?” I give him a little smirk. Have to keep up appearances.
Donavan and Deacon laugh their asses off. Decker pretends to crack a smile.
Dexter doesn’t miss a beat. “How’s slumming down at the church revival going?”
Usually, I’d laugh my ass off. In fact, I have to pretend to find it amusing. Fact is, I want to punch him right in the fucking face for bringing up Mary. He has no idea what happened, but still. My heart speeds up, face heats up like an iron in a flame.
I have to take a few deep breaths, just to calm myself and respond in a normal fashion. “Going well, and I’ll pray for your soul.”
Dexter shakes his head, and snickers. “So full of shit.”
“Aren’t we all?”
He doesn’t respond.
I do my best to change the subject. “So, you guys hiding out from your women or what? Trying to get a little ‘me’ time before hitting up a farmer’s market with the boss? Have a scotch and cigar without anyone catching you?” I hold up both hands. “Not judging. I get it, I really do.”
Donavan mumbles, “Asshole.”
Deacon says, “Firm finance meeting. You coming?”
I shake my head and grin. “Oh no, I never worry about getting paid, and that’s all that really matters, now, isn’t it?”
They all
walk past me, except for Donavan. Decker’s eyes never leave mine as Donavan hangs around. I can tell Decker wants more information than what I’ve given him, but he won’t come out and say it, because he knows I’m the best at what I do. He won’t get better work from anyone else. It’s why I can walk around here like I own the place. He’s the most impatient cocksucker I’ve ever met, though, and I have to get him something of substance soon or he’ll be on my ass.
“Hey, we still good for the date?” Donavan hems and haws.
“Told you I had it all taken care of. It’s no biggie. They do them at the church all the time.”
Donavan nods. “Okay. Just feels weird, but Pais is gung-ho about doing it. I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Just relax, if I can walk into the church and not get struck by lightning, so can you.”
“Shit.” Donavan sighs, then seems to get his confidence back. “All right, I’ll holler later if something changes.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise.”
Donavan starts to walk off.
“I mean, the part where they pull the rattlesnakes and shit out is kinda weird, but you’ll survive, I promise. They’ve only lost two church members. Ran out of antivenom.”
He throws up a middle finger and doesn’t look back.
Finally, he walks off, and I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t know how long I can keep this shit up, pretending Mary isn’t affecting my life. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that situation.
There’s still a small pang of guilt I’ve buried deep in the pit of my stomach when I’m around the brothers too. It never goes away.
Fact is, if they really found out the truth about me, I’d be fired. Doesn’t matter how irreplaceable I am. They’d have no choice.
I can’t let that happen—ever.
Once they disappear, Mary comes back to the front of my mind. What the hell am I going to do?
Mary Patrick
I do not enjoy my life right now.
Everything is thrown off its axis, and I prefer calm, regimented living. These kinds of situations are fun to read about in books, or watch in movies, the suspense keeps you glued to the pages or screen, the turmoil, wondering if the couple will make it through this rough spot, but as for real life—big fat nope.
I like predictability and my life is anything but predictable right now.
The last few days, I haven’t seen Rick. You wouldn’t think that’d be unusual, given the nature of his work. He’s always out in the field, spying on people, whatever he does for Decker and the brothers. At least, that’s what I imagine him doing; eating fast food in his car with a pair of binoculars.
But even if he only stops by the office for five minutes, he always finds his way to my desk.
Always.
Or I always end up “randomly” bumping into him somehow. For months, it was borderline obsession, and now, I miss him.
I miss him so much, and I literally have no idea why. I can’t explain it. It’s so surreal. Now, I’m kicking myself for all those brushed off opportunities I had to really get to know him, and I threw them all away pretending to be busy or telling him I didn’t have time for him. Now, I’d give anything for just one more of those moments.
Plus, I shouldn’t feel that way at all. I should be mad at him. He totally rejected me.
Did he really? Maybe he was respecting you.
I don’t think so. He wanted to kiss me, and I was right there, and he threw it all away, but I still want him for some reason. I still wish he was around, and he’s not here.
To make matters worse, I’m supposed to go meet with Wells Covington in twenty minutes. The day after he called me, I went straight to Decker and told him about the phone call. As expected, he blew it off as if it was no big deal and told me to just meet with him, and also not to admit to looking into him about anything. He said Wells is paranoid, and I should just ease his concerns.
It’s ridiculous. How did he even know I was looking into him anyway? All I did was some internet searches on documents. I didn’t even make any phone calls. Not to mention, this is a partner’s job, not part of my job description. But, raised in Texas, I was always taught if someone pays you, you get the work done. As long as it doesn’t compromise who you are, you do the work, and you do it to the best of your abilities. It’s ingrained in my brain; who I am.
I walk into Starbucks five minutes early, and to my surprise, Wells Covington is already there. I figured a busy man like him would show up at least ten minutes late. That’s how they usually operate. They never like waiting on the “help.” I immediately feel bad for judging him too, because I don’t even know him.
“Ms. Patrick.” He stands up before I can sit down.
This man confuses me so much. From what I’ve heard from Abigail, he’s a real jerk and does not treat women well. One day she leaned over and showed me everything she was working on, pictures of him going into sex clubs and things like that. I never pay much attention. Wealthy people, at their core, are the same as other people, they have their likes and dislikes, and they lead different lives than mine. It’s their choice. It’s a free country.
Wells is an enigma, though. Anytime I’ve ever spoken to him about business, he’s a perfect gentleman and seems so level-headed, super intelligent.
I start before he can say anything else. “I’m a little confused about this meeting. Most clients, especially clients of your size, only speak with partners. And I apologize about the other night on the phone, you just caught me at a weird time.”
That’s putting it mildly, considering I just got rejected by the hot guy I want, but didn’t want for months on end. I’m such a mess.
Wells leans back, eyeing me for a long time, almost like he knows something I don’t. Almost like he knows everything that happened, and he called at that time on purpose. I know that’s ridiculous. It’s how it feels, though. It’s probably some trick he does, some psychological technique.
“It’s not an issue. But let’s not pretend we both don’t know what’s going on here.”
Uh oh.
Decker told me to lead him away from any talk about us looking into him. Deny everything. Just assure him we have his best interests at heart. My life is so much easier when I can just sit behind a desk. I wasn’t made for this kind of thing, and I do not like being put in the middle. I don’t like being asked to be deceptive. Decker should be doing this right now, not me.
Be an adult. You sound like a petulant child.
“I’m not sure I follow. As far as I’m aware, we handle your financial—”
He holds up a hand. “I’m just going to stop you right there and save you the time. I realize you’re just doing your job, and this is odd, me asking you here. I have my reasons. But I deal in facts, not hyperbole. So, let’s be honest with one another. Your firm is looking into companies I own. Decker has delegated this responsibility to certain people at your firm. I can name them if you like.”
Double uh oh. I also can’t imagine how he’s staying so calm as he lists everything off, nor can I imagine how he possibly knows all this.
“Abigail is looking into my sex life, which is brazen as can be, considering she’s Dexter’s fiancée and Decker has asked this of her and has told her not to discuss it with her fiancé.”
I shrink down in my seat a little, and he must see right through me. “I’m not aware of anything beyond basic due diligence…”
Wells doesn’t raise his voice, not one octave, but continues on through my sentence. “We need very clear communication about this, Ms. Patrick. I know this is not your doing, and I would never be rude to you. I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable, I simply have a message for you to deliver to Decker that might be of interest to you as well. Hence, why I requested a meeting with you. If he values my business, values his investigator, Rick Lawrence, whom you’re all too familiar with, and values his relationship with Dexter, he’ll cease what he’s doing immediately, otherwise I will escalate things. The only re
ason I haven’t returned my business to Bennett Cooper is because Dexter and Paisley are better than Cooper’s finance department, and because, believe it or not, I don’t want to come between him and Dexter. That being said, my patience runs thin. Business is business, and I won’t have this anymore. Be sure and tell him I will not hesitate to take aim, considering what I know about Rick Lawrence and how much he values him as an employee.”
He stares right at me, long and hard as he mentions Rick’s name. What does Rick have to do with any of this? What does he know?
A barista drops off one coffee I didn’t order, just as Wells stands up. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I need to leave. Please, enjoy the coffee, and thank you for meeting with me. If Decker doesn’t deliver that message to Mr. Lawrence, I expect you to. It will not be pleasant, knowing the things I know. Have a great day.”
He walks off before I can respond. I glance down to see it’s a triple white chocolate mocha; what I always order. It’s starting to feel like I work in some kind of conspiracy theory movie, where everyone knows inside information, and I’m the character without a clue as to what’s going on. Or that Jim Carrey movie, The Truman Show, where he’s really some kind of experiment and everyone’s in on it but him.
How did he know what kind of coffee I drink?
More importantly, what about Rick? That’s still the only thing I can focus on. Is Rick in trouble? Would Wells Covington blackmail him with whatever information he has? Just to get back at Decker?
I’d be right in the middle of it.
I miss my old life.
Rick Lawrence
It’s been a few days since I totally fucked up the greatest date of my life. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mary about it, because I’ve been so busy working outside the office. That changes tonight.
I’m on my couch, 9 pm, staring at my phone, willing my hand to pick it up and call her. That’s what I need to do. Every second that ticks by drives us farther apart.