Asking For A Friend

by Parker, Ali

  Craig flashed me a wide grin that immediately made me suspicious, pushing his way past me and into my apartment. He headed right for the fridge and pulled out two beers, popping the tops before sinking down onto my mottled white leather sofa. At least he had the good sense to put the beer caps in the trash before leaving the kitchen area.

  He handed me a beer and pulled two rectangular pieces of glossy paper out of his pocket, sliding one out from behind the other as if he were performing a magic trick. “I got tickets, so I came to get you so we can go to the game.”

  “What game?” I asked, apprehensively. My Sundays were treasured for relaxation and as un-American as it might have seemed to Craig—we’d had the argument on many occasions—I didn’t enjoy watching sports on the only day of the week I truly took off. Mostly.

  He held the tickets out to me, grinning from ear to ear. “I know you don’t like this kind of thing, but come on. These are floor seats to the Celtics.”

  “Celtics,” I scratched my chin, pretending to think. “That’s basketball, right?”

  Craig laughed, but probably only to keep himself from punching me. “Yes, it’s basketball. And we’re going.”

  “You’re going.” I corrected him, rolling my eyes as I swigged my beer and walked back to the room service menu on my dining room table. “We’ve had this discussion before. I’m not going. Surely you can find someone else.”

  “Can I find someone else?” He scoffed. “Of course I can, but I’m not going to. Did you hear what I said? Floor seats.”

  “I don’t much feel like sitting on the floor,” I replied sarcastically, knowing I was risking a playful hit at the very least. And potential more. With Craig, even the playful punches hurt a little. But I was willing to risk it. After everything that happened this week, I needed time to unwind. To think.

  Dinner with Marissa was still in the forefront of my mind. Except for the part where we talked about my dad, a conversation that would require thought in and of itself, I’d had a lot more fun with her than I’d expected to. It was vexing, since she should’ve still been annoying the hell out of me. She’d been forced on me, for fuck’s sake. She was too bright in what she wore, habitually barged into my office, and again, hiring her hadn’t been my choice. I shouldn’t like anything about the woman, yet I was finding myself liking more and more things about her.

  Craig reminded me of his presence by clearing his throat loudly. “Earth to Layton. I know you know floor seats don’t mean sitting on the actual floor. Besides, you can either come with me, or I’m giving your number and your spare key to ‘Stalker Sarah.’ Really, you have no choice.”

  He grinned like the cat who got all the cream, knowing he had me in a corner. Stalker Sarah was harmless, but fucking annoying. I’d gone out on one date with the woman and it had taken me six months to shake her.

  Eventually, I’d even changed my personal cell number just so I wouldn’t have to deal with her incessant calls. I tried blocking her number first, but the woman either had access to or owned at least ten numbers. It was exhausting.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” I said to Craig, who shrugged.

  “You don’t know how badly I want to go to this game,” he replied, pulling out his phone and scrolling. “Let’s see, I think I have her number here somewhere.”

  I doubted he would really do it, but I threw my palms up in surrender anyway. If he was going through this much trouble, I’d go to the damned game. “You win. Let’s go.”

  An hour and a half later, I was seated among thousands of screaming fans with no regard for personal space. They also didn’t give a shit about spilling their drinks. I was extremely uncomfortable, but trying my best not to show it.

  Craig had set his own inner—not so deeply hidden—Neanderthal free and was screaming right along with the rest of them. He seemed to be having a great time and I refused to be a downer, despite my discomfort.

  Beer kept flowing and toward the end of the game, I was finally starting to relax. A buzzer of some sort sounded and Craig collapsed into his seat next to me, sweat pouring down his brow as if he’d been playing in the game himself. He took a deep swig of his beer and held the cold liquid to his forehead.

  “So,” he said. “Did you ask her?”

  “Did I ask who what?” I suspected he was referring to Marissa and asking whether she knew why my father made me hire her, but since he was already sweating I saw no reason not to make him sweat just a tiny bit more. He did drag me out here, after all.

  Craig lifted his eyebrows, silently calling me out on being full of shit. “Start talking, Bridges. We both know you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Busted,” I cursed and sat back in my seat. The people behind us were loudly debating the competence of the referee, which bought me a couple of seconds to think before Craig elbowed me in the side. I gulped down the rest of my beer and proceeded to tell him all about our dinner.

  When I was done, he frowned and narrowed his eyes to slits. “She just left?”

  “Yep,” I admitted, though the way she ended the evening still stung my usually ironclad ego. Shrugging, I shook my head. “I have no idea why though. She kissed me on the cheek and hauled ass away from there like she was on fire.”

  “Damn.” If I didn’t know any better I’d have said he sounded impressed. When he started laughing and patted me on the shoulder, I knew he was impressed. And not with me. “Chick has balls. I’ll give her that much.”

  “I can vouch for the fact that she doesn’t have actual balls,” I smirked, the memories of that night when I found out for sure, still fresh and hot in my head. It was an encounter I was thinking about too much. “Dinner went well. We went to get hot chocolate and bam, she was gone.”

  “She’s keeping you on your toes,” Craig mused, tipping his head to the left. “Even if that’s all she does, she’s worth the money you’re paying her.”

  “I’m not paying her for that,” I scoffed. “I will admit to having a good time at dinner though. Better than I thought I would.”

  “Valentine’s Day is coming up,” he said nonchalantly, then smiled brightly. “Maybe you should invite her to the Valentine’s Day party at the office. It’s always a good excuse if you’re wanting to get to know someone.”

  “Valentine’s Day, huh?” The last time I had a date on Valentine’s Day was in high school. It usually gave women the wrong idea if you invited them out on Valentine’s Day, but Marissa and I already worked together.

  Either way, we’d be spending the day together. It wouldn’t make much of a difference if it was at the office or not. I grinned at Craig, suddenly feeling far happier about my surroundings. “That’s not a half bad idea.”

  Chapter 18

  Marissa

  “Mommy, why are you cutting it like that?” Annie leaned over our dining room table where I was working on a dress. She stretched the red material between her little fingers, stroking it while she watched me work.

  I finished slicing through the fabric that was later going to form part of the skirt and set it aside, talking to Annie as I rotated the remaining material on the table. “If I cut it like this and add a few more panels, the skirt will flare.”

  Annie nodded dutifully, as if she were taking a class in dressmaking. I pushed my tool box containing buttons and sequins and other shiny things at her. “Why don’t you sift through those and take out a few options for us to decorate the bodice with?”

  Eyes lighting up with excitement, she started taking out the different plastic levels in the box and spread them out in front of her. “I love doing this stuff with you, Mommy.”

  “What stuff?” I asked, pausing for a moment to take in the contented expression on her gorgeous face as she sorted through the sparkling contents of the box. “All this crafty stuff?”

  I loved watching the way Annie made sense of the world, carefully deciding how she wanted to sort her treasures and weighing one up against another before setting it down and repeating
the process. She took her glamour-upper role very seriously and I could see it in the way she considered the different options.

  Regardless of all the hard times I’d had after her conception, and how hard I had to work to keep us afloat, especially in those early days, she’d never been anything but a blessing to me. I adored her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was thankful for her every day, but in rare moments like this when we got to spend quiet time together doing things we both loved, my heart burst with pride and wonderment over the girl she was becoming.

  She was smart, considerate, empathetic, and intuitive. I also happened to think she was the most beautiful little girl who’d ever existed, but that was neither here nor there. I tried to focus on all of her positive qualities when I paid her compliments, not merely her looks. She was so much more than a pretty little girl and she deserved to know and never doubt it.

  Sticking her tongue out between her lips, as she sometimes did when she was deep in thought, she said, “I’m glad I get to learn about this from you. Brie at school says she never sees her mom.”

  “That’s sad,” I said, always careful to not say anything that could be construed as criticism if she ever repeated it at school. “I’m sure her mom would love to see her more.”

  Annie shrugged. “She says her mom spends all her time on the phone with her friends. She never has time for Brie.”

  “She could be on the phone for work, honey,” I explained patiently. “If you want to, you can invite Brie here to do crafts with us sometime, if you think she would like that.”

  “Brie loves crafts,” Annie said confidently. “She especially loves that thing where you stick little pieces of stuff on something to make it pretty.”

  I frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about. “Mosaic?”

  “Yes!” Annie exclaimed. “She loves mosaic as much as you love designing and making dresses.”

  She hopped off her stool at the table and rushed to my board displaying my design of the dress we were busy with. It had been commissioned by an affluent older lady who planned on wearing it to some art gallery opening. I was hoping that having someone like her wear my dresses might lead to more clients.

  I didn’t really have the time or money to make more than one dress a month, but getting to the point where I could do two would be great. The creative outlet of both the design process and the physical making of the dress was something I desperately needed in order to stay sane.

  It was something I loved and as I had told Layton, was deeply passionate about. The more time I spent on my dresses, the better I was at everything else in my life. Somehow, it fed a need deep inside that inspired me to strive for greatness in everything I did.

  For that reason, I tried to get Annie involved whenever I could. She didn’t need to love designing or dressmaking, but I wanted her to find whatever her equivalent interest might be. Plus, if this Brie girl truly did love mosaic and needed someone to do it with her, then Annie and I could provide that for her.

  “Why don’t you invite her over sometime next week? I’ll pick up supplies and we can mess around a little with different arts and crafts,” I said to Annie, who nodded enthusiastically while still staring up at the design. “We’ll do some mosaic for Brie, some dressmaking for me and what would you like to do?”

  Annie rocked her head from side to side, tracing the lines of the dress on the paper above her. “I think I would like to try drawing.”

  “Drawing it is, then.” I thought of Layton and how much of a perfectionist he was with his designs, as opposed to my own, which were downright sloppy in comparison.

  Fair enough, mine had to be altered as the dress was altered. Since the dress was altered to suit the body shape of the person that had to fit into it at the time they had to fit into it, my designs also didn’t have to be as exact as Layton’s from the get go.

  If Annie was interested in drawing, perhaps I could borrow some of Layton’s discarded sketches to bring home. Just to show her another style. I watched her admiring the dress, asking, “What would you like to draw?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought. “Anything. I just like drawing and if we’re all choosing something we loved for the day Brie comes over, I’m choosing drawing.”

  “It’s an excellent choice, kiddo.” I had to remember to ask Layton about some discarded or old drawings. Encouraging Annie’s passions, as fleeting as they might turn out to be, was vitally important to me.

  Ruffling her hair as she walked past me, I said, “It’s important to always keep something you love in your life, baby girl. Remember that. No matter what it is, find it and hang onto it. Make time to fit it into whatever your schedule ends up being.”

  Annie nodded seriously, betraying a maturity she seemed to be gaining at an alarming rate. “I will Mommy. Is that why you keep making your dresses?”

  “It is,” I told her. “See, I love my job, too, but this is something I do just for me. It helps my mind focus and relaxes me.”

  I wondered if that was how Layton felt about his designs. They didn’t seem to relax him. If anything, they seemed to tense him up. On the other hand, he’d turned his hobby into a career. Under the circumstances, it was natural that it would become stressful to him even if it used to relax him.

  If I were to make more dresses, would it start stressing me out too? I would hate for that to happen, but I wasn’t exactly planning on changing my hobby to my career anytime soon.

  Annie and I kept working on the red dress, which was eventually going to be a floor length dress with a gently flared skirt. The client wanted to hide her generous butt, and wanted a fitted bodice with sheer cap sleeves to emphasize her small waist, but hide her flabby biceps.

  While Annie sorted through the sparkly bits and I kept cutting the panels I needed to size, my thoughts kept drifting to Layton. I was getting used to thinking about him all the time now. Whenever I had a minute or was doing something that allowed me to think while doing it, I found Layton was on my mind.

  It wasn’t just because he was hot or good in bed—or the wall—but because of who he was. Or who I was starting to believe he was at any rate. The man intrigued me.

  Denise breezed through the door about an hour later, bringing bags of food. Delicious scents escaped on the steam rising from them, while Annie and I followed our noses, finding Denise unpacking in the kitchen.

  “Nona Maria sent this.” She motioned at the containers she was in the process of unpacking on the kitchen counter. On Saturdays, Denise’s neighbor cooked up a storm. Every Sunday she distributed the fruits of her labor to those in her building.

  According to Denise, it was Nona Maria’s way of staying in touch with her family’s ways, even when they themselves were far away. As soon as she learned about me and Annie, she started packing food for us every week and sending it with Denise.

  Today’s feast consisted of garlic bread, salad, a deliciously creamy Chicken lasagna and a chocolatey desert we had yet to get to. “I love Nona Maria.”

  “Everyone does.” Denise giggled, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. “She’s an angel.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. Annie nodded along, but her mouth was too full of lasagna to contribute much to the conversation.

  After dinner, Annie went to take a bath. Denise and I stayed behind in the kitchen, having the one glass of red wine we permitted ourselves sometimes ‘for our hearts,’ we said. She filled our glasses while I was getting Annie ready and helping run her bath.

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, Denise was sipping her wine and drumming her fingers against the counter impatiently. “So, how was your dinner with the boss man? I’ve been dying to find out.”

  It was too late by the time I got home to talk to her about it. Denise was passed out in our guest room and by the time we woke up this morning, she was nearly late for some breakfast thing and had to rush off.

  Grabbing the glass of wine she held out to
me, I gave her a swoony smile. “It was so good.”

  I filled her in on everything, ending with an undeniable confession. “I think I’m really starting to like him, Dee.”

  She fixed me with a contemplative look, searching my eyes before she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “If you like him, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe he’s worth taking a shot on.”

  Hope flared in my chest, but I got out the metaphorical fire extinguisher and doused that dangerous flash of emotion. “No, it’s not like that. I mean, I’m starting to like him. He’s not actually a bad guy. If things were different, maybe. But I can’t take the risk of bringing a man in and out of Annie’s life.”

  And that was my reality. My one true love was Annie. As much as I liked Layton, as much as I thought about him, I would get over it. I wasn’t in the habit of bringing men into Annie’s life, only so we could wave goodbye to them again. I wouldn’t put her through that, and I wouldn’t put myself through it again either.

  Chapter 19

  Layton

  “I would like to remind everyone that the human resources department will be on the lookout for any—” I checked the printout my assistant had given me with HR’s requests about the Valentine’s Day party. “Uh, shenanigans. No shenanigans will be tolerated, even if it is a party.”

  I frowned at the paper in my hand, shaking my head slightly even as a chuckle escaped. Glancing up, I found myself looking right into the disapproving glare of my head of human resources. The man jabbed a stubby finger at the paper, prompting me to read the rules out loud and take them seriously.

  Laughter and chuckles tittered around the office as I finished the announcement. I couldn’t blame them for their amusement, since I was having a hard time keeping a straight face myself.

  O’Donnell, the head of HR, was the only person who would send me a list prohibiting shenanigans and expect people to take it as a decree. It was a party for crying in a fucking bucket. Fully aware of the dangers of a workplace relationship, I still didn’t prohibit them among my staff.