Animal Attraction

by Kathryn Halberg

  “You’ll be the one in the white coat?” she teased.

  “I will.” He laughed, picking up his keys and wallet. “Let’s get you to your car.”

  11

  The drive to the restaurant was not nearly long enough. Every light was green, not giving her time to sit idly or contemplate turning around. In the blink of an eye, she was handing her car keys to the valet outside the swanky steak house.

  “Rachael, you look beautiful,” Gabe said, standing as she approached the table.

  She allowed him to kiss her cheek before sitting across from him. Unfamiliar sensations made her want to flee—doubt, nerves. Guilt.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  A bottle of red and two glasses, one empty, sat on the table. Gabe poured for her then topped off his own. “I’m glad you came.”

  Play it cool, Rach. Be nice, don’t piss him off, don’t ruin the contract.

  “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Had some things to take care of.”

  “It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”

  Sipping her wine, Rachael looked around the restaurant. It was fairly crowded for a Sunday evening. Several other couples were near them, one über-romantic pair next to them was slicing into their filets, feeding bits to each other. Gag. A few families peppered the room, the children squirming in their seats. She imagined they wished they were at McDonald’s instead.

  I feel you, kids.

  She stifled a laugh, then turned back to her dinner companion. “Gabe,” she began, feeling out the words as she spoke them, “I appreciate you taking an interest in me. I am beyond flattered. But I do want you to know that I’m not looking for anything right now.” With you.

  He was quiet, watching her, his finger tracing the top of his wine glass. “Let’s not rush into any decisions, one way or another. I, for one, am just here for the prime rib.”

  Smiling at his deflection, she was relieved that he wasn’t upset or put off by her declaration. “Is it good?”

  “The best you can get around here.”

  They settled into an easy banter, chatting about work and mutual friends. They talked more about EHL and her work there. He told her about his work and growing up in the various cities McAllister Corp had called home over the years.

  “Must have been hard to get to know someone when you moved so frequently,” she observed.

  “I suppose that’s why I so rarely get to be myself. I’m always making first impressions. It’s almost second nature at this point. The showman has taken over.”

  Recalling his showboating ways at lunch, she laughed, ticking off on her fingers: “The showman, the clown, the flirt . . . The Playboy?”

  Spreading his hands out, he grinned sheepishly. “Yes. To all of the above.”

  “For what it’s worth, I prefer this version of you. The Gabe who can laugh at himself and be honest.”

  He lifted his glass. “I do too.”

  “So why the big act?”

  He picked up his fork, stabbing a piece of lettuce. “It’s part of the job. We all have our role to play in the McAllister Corporation.”

  “Believe it or not, I understand,” she said. Rachael gestured to herself with her fork. “Sales and face du jour, right?”

  He chewed his salad and watched her thoughtfully. “I believe you do.”

  “Besides, it gives me an excuse to get all the cool opportunities—like meeting the heads of McAllister,” she winked, earning a laugh. “So, tell me,” she asked, sotto voce, “is Stoneworth always such a prickly, pompous grump?”

  He practically dropped his fork, before releasing a guffawing laugh. “Oh, shit. Yes, Ivan is a legendary tyrant in our company. But the man does know his corporate law.” He shrugged and leaned forward. “Your turn. Is your mom as terrifying as they say?”

  She burst out laughing, “Oh, yes. Very much so.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and laughed harder as the couple next to them openly stared, clearly wondering if they had gone insane.

  Go back to feeding each other.

  Rachael giggled and made a serious effort to get herself under control. At last able to comment, she added, “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to go against her in court. Or chess. My mother is borderline psychic or something. She always knows what’s coming before everyone else.”

  He smirked. “Guess we both have someone like that in our lives.”

  “To our burdens,” she toasted.

  He met her glass in mid-air and they dissolved into another fit of laughter.

  The rest of the dinner passed in pleasant banter, and she relaxed, feeling their relationship falling neatly into friendship. They knew many of the same people in the business realm and he was very easy to talk to, but he was no Rick.

  The waiter took their plates and she groaned, feeling full and sleepy. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

  He nodded, dropping his napkin on the space in front of him. “More wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What have you got going on this week?”

  “I’m hoping to get Olive back home tomorrow.”

  “Ah, yes. Half of the Martini and Olive combo. Where is she?”

  “Animal hospital. She’s recovering from a run-in with a Chevy.”

  “What? When did that happen? Is she okay?”

  “It was the other night after we had lunch. She ran out the side gate and into the road before I could get to her. It was awful.” Rachael shivered, hoping she never had to feel that helpless again. “But she’s going to be okay. They’re taking good care of her at the vet.” A smile warmed her face as she thought of Rick, Gil, Cora, and Nancy, the matchmaking wonder.

  He shook his head. “I could never do that, work with hurt animals.”

  “It takes a special someone who can,” she murmured, thoughts returning to Rick.

  “Uh-huh.” Gabe watched closely, missing nothing. “And who is this special someone?”

  She blushed, realizing she had turned dreamy on him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m used to women looking like that at me. This is a new experience, having someone else get the girl. And while I am disappointed, more than you would imagine, I’m not going to be a dick about it. I can’t compete with someone who saved your dog’s life. Tell me more about this Mr. Special Someone.”

  Well, this is unexpected.

  “Rick—Dr. Richard Thomas, actually. He’s . . . I don’t know. He’s great.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “He’s a good guy?”

  “All signs point to yes, so far.”

  “And, Magic 8 Ball, do you see something coming from it?”

  She fidgeted with the stem of her glass and shrugged. “Maybe. I honestly don’t know yet. But I’d like to find out.”

  “I like you, Rachael. But I also realize you’ve got me planted squarely in the Friend Zone. Maybe someday I can convince you to give me a shot, but that’s probably not going to be possible until after you sort things out with Mr. Special.”

  “Thank you, Gabe.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not giving up all hope. But I do enjoy our time together. It’s nice to find someone to talk to. Even if you are a tiny thing who, unbelievably, turns me down at every opportunity. All but once, that is,” he added wickedly.

  “Yes, well, if you don’t mind keeping that last part private,” she managed behind her flaming red face.

  “I don’t kiss and tell, love. But I can’t control what others make up about me.”

  She recalled her dad’s comment about perceptions versus reality. So true.

  “To friendship?” Rachael asked, raising her water goblet.

  “To new territories—friendship with a woman,” he groaned.

  Laughing at his antics, she pulled her phone out of her bag and checked the time. A new text from Rick. Looking forward to seeing what tomorrow brings.

  And so was she. Rachael sighed happily. Test the waters with Rick. Be friends with Gabe. Keep work on track
. Get Olive back home. It was all going perfectly.

  Things were finally going her way.

  12

  Things were definitely not going her way.

  A photo of Gabe and Rachael exiting the restaurant last night, laughing and looking pretty cozy, graced the homepage of a popular entertainment website. “Hot Heartland Power Couple,” the headline screamed.

  “Oh, my freaking God!” Rachael moaned, staring at the screen.

  “I told you it was interesting,” Carlie said dryly over the speakerphone. “Care to dish?”

  “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “I’m going to take it that’s your eloquent way of saying this was not what you were expecting?”

  Rachael read aloud the start of the article, unable to believe what she was reading. “America’s favorite Playboy may have met his match in one Rachael Eller, as in the EHL Global heiress and eldest daughter of . . .”

  She slammed her screen shut and flipped back onto her bed, Martini watching worriedly from his perch. “What am I going to do?”

  “First, you’re going to tell me what’s going on with Mr. Dark and Dreamy, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Nothing! That’s the crazy thing, Car. We agreed to be friends. He’s a very sweet guy, but my attentions lie elsewhere.”

  “And would that elsewhere have to do with Olive?”

  “Yes . . . what if he sees this?!”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Do vets even pay attention to this kind of stuff?”

  “How would I know?”

  “If he does, tell him you two are just friends. End of story, right?”

  Sure. Rachael climbed out of his bed and hours later she was photographed with one of corporate America’s favorite players—The Playboy—leaving a fancy restaurant together. Who the hell even knew they were at the restaurant?! Who took the photo? God, how could this be happening?

  Oh my God. A wave of nausea hit her as another thought occurred. What if people thought that was how she closed her deals?

  She slapped an arm over her forehead. “This is a freaking nightmare.”

  “I’m sure you’re overreacting, Rach. I gotta finish getting ready for work, but I wanted to make sure you knew. For better or worse, you’re a tabloid celebrity now.”

  They disconnected and Rachael stared up at the ceiling. What to do, what to do.

  She shot off a text. How’s Olive? Still good to come home today?

  And another. This time to Gabe. Holy crap. Check out the Eyes America website.

  Stomach lurching, she went downstairs to the kitchen, thankful to see a pot of coffee brewing.

  “Morning,” called Dad, looking over the top of his newspaper.

  “Morning,” she grumbled, ripping open a packet of sweetener and flinging open the fridge, scouring for the flavored creamer.

  “We’re out. Use the milk,” he said, setting down the paper to watch her more closely. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

  She shook her head and grabbed the milk, pouring it into the coffee. Not the same, but it would work. “Mom still here?”

  “No, she left early.”

  Rachael debated calling off. Her mom was going to want to talk about it. But no sense putting off the inevitable.

  Her phone vibrated, and she leapt to check it.

  At least they got my good side. Sorry, love. Like I said, people talk.

  I know. It’s not your fault. But shit, shit, shit! Talk about terrible timing.

  You know we would make a killer couple though. They got that right.

  Rolling her eyes at Gabe’s comment, she dropped her phone into her bag.

  “Heading out. Can you let Martini in when he scratches?”

  He nodded. “Will do. Hope you sort out whatever is bothering you. Be careful. Your old man’s always here if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks. Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too,” he said as he turned back to whatever headline had his attention this morning.

  * * *

  On the drive to work, Rachael replayed the day with Rick, dreaming of how they might top that off. She pictured dinners on the town, drinks at “their” bar, and volunteering together at the shelter. Her smile died on her face as she considered how the conversation would go when she talked to him about the damn photo. Rachael dragged her feet as she approached her office, waiting for her mother to pop up any moment and nag her about said photo.

  “Has he communicated with you?” As if on cue.

  Out of the fire and into the frying pan, Rachael faced her mother. “Gabe?”

  “Who else?”

  “He’s glad they ‘got his good side,’” she made air quotation marks with her fingers, three hundred percent exasperated. Rachael entered her office and sat at the desk, her mother at her heels.

  “Did he have anything to do with the photo?”

  Rachael considered this. He scheduled the dinner, made the reservations. But what would be the purpose in having a photographer capture them leaving? It didn’t make sense. “No.”

  Mary Eller tapped her finger on Rachael’s desk, standing and staring off into space.

  The silence stretched on and on, becoming uncomfortable. “Mom?”

  She shook her head and held up her hand for continued silence.

  Ooookay.

  “I’ve heard nothing from McAllister regarding their contract negotiations, so I think we’re secure on that front. Dating Gabe shouldn’t impact any of our existing or pending client relationships. This may ultimately be a good strategic move to elevate your standing and help open more doors—assuming you don’t date other clients.”

  “Mother, I’m not dating him. It was dinner with a friend. And I have never dated any clients. Gabe was . . . he’s different.” She threw her hands in the air and spun around in her office chair. No need to explain that one any further. Her frustration level increased again. Just once it would be nice to have her mom ask how she felt about a situation, instead of skipping to future plans. Rachael frowned at the computer, the photo staring back. More than 250 comments on the story. She couldn’t bring herself to read them. Internet trolls, probably.

  “Whether or not you’re dating doesn’t truly matter, does it? For now, our best move is to wait and see. Unless there’s something more I should be aware of?”

  Rachael shook her head. At least there was definitely nothing more she wanted to tell her mom about.

  “Very well then. Let’s move on. Have you reviewed the contracts for the Clayton account?”

  They talked business for a while before her mother left to put out other fires. Rachael was exhausted and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

  Needing a distraction, she flipped open Instagram and saw she had gained literally thousands of new followers.

  “Fantastic,” she grumbled. “Hope they like seeing photos of Olive and Martini. They’re not going to see anything about Gabe.” She briefly considered making her account private, but they were already following her. Ugh.

  Turning to Facebook, the notifications icon glowed with a staggering number of people who tagged her in posts. She closed the app. Nope, nope, nope. Not dealing with this now.

  She still hadn’t heard anything about Olive, so she put in a call to the animal hospital. Her call was forwarded to the vet on duty. “Rachael? Hi, this is Gil.”

  “Oh, hi! I was expecting Rick. How’s Olive today?”

  “She’s much better, and I believe she’s rather hoping you’ll be by to take her home soon.”

  “Aww! I’m planning to leave the office early today. Be there around three?”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  She ended the call and drummed her fingers on her desk. Where was Rick? Didn’t he normally work days?

  Rachael, you’re being paranoid. He worked for Gil this weekend, so Gil is probably working for him today.

  She repeated
that over and over, trying to convince herself it was true. That was the only reason she couldn’t talk to him earlier.

  And that was the reason why he didn’t text her back. Riiiight.

  The sinking feeling was rapidly expanding, unease tearing up her stomach.

  The day inched by and she could barely concentrate, re-reading the same projections and proposals, spending more time checking the clock than anything else.

  Unable to tolerate it, she grabbed her cell phone and messaged Rick again. Hey! Am I going to see you when I pick up Olive? Planning to be there around 3.

  An hour later, there was still no response.

  A desolate feeling settled over her and she knew.

  It was over.

  13

  Gil was polite enough, but Nancy scarcely acknowledged her. Rick was nowhere to be found. When Rachael asked Gil about Rick, he became flustered and mumbled that Rick was off today. She considered asking them to tell him that nothing happened, that Gabe was just her friend, but how do you bring that up to people you don’t even know?

  So here she sat, alone with Olive in the car.

  “It’s not fair!” she shouted, slamming her steering wheel as she got back in the car with Olive. The dog glanced at her warily from her nest on the side seat.

  Frustrated, she threw the car into gear and took off, speeding away from the animal hospital.

  What would you think, Rach? You’d be horrified, right?

  The melancholy set in. She was equal parts surprised and disturbed by how much this whole thing upset her. Her stomach churned and her heart clenched. It was not possible to be so distraught over someone she had only just started dating, was it? How had she tumbled into this so quickly?

  Martini was ecstatic to greet Olive, and they were soon dancing around the yard. Olive’s cast didn’t slow her down much. Rachael would bring her back to the vet in two weeks for a follow-up. Hopefully, she would heal quickly and get it off then.

  “Rachael?” called Carlie from the front door. Rachael remained seated on the back patio, watching the dogs’ joyful reunion. Maybe she could absorb some of their happiness.