by Erin Zak
“What? Is something funny?”
“I just…I thought you were going to fire me.”
“Oh Jesus. Cecily, I really don’t give a fuck who you sleep with. I didn’t care when you were sleeping with Willow, and I certainly don’t care now.”
My shoulders fall. “You knew about her?”
It’s his turn to nod.
“I thought we were so careful.” I sigh. “How naive was I?”
“Very,” he answers, then stifles a chuckle. “You two were…yeah. Not subtle.”
“Great.”
“How’s Luke doing since the divorce?”
I shrug. “Honestly, we’re closer now than we were then. We eat dinner together once a week, and he’s seeing a woman who’s completely cool with us having a friendship. So I guess things are good? I don’t know.” I laugh. “Jeff, I swear to God, I never knew my life was going to take this turn. Whatever happened to turn signals?”
“Oh, Cecily, my dear, if we always used turn signals, we’d miss some of the best detours.”
“I know that’s supposed to be inspirational, but I sort of hate you for saying it.”
He laughs as he stands, holding his tumbler. “You miss me, and you know it.”
“I do,” I say after standing to see him out. He downs the last swallow of his drink and sets his glass next to mine. “Please give Tammy my love.”
He pulls me into a hug. “You know you’ve always got a place in our home. Motor home and otherwise.”
I chuckle into his Old Spice neck. “Thank you, Jeff.”
“Take care of yourself.” He lets go and heads to the door but stops and turns to face me. “You leave for Vegas tonight. Gotta start at the Heights as soon as possible.”
“Tonight? For real?” I’m not as upset as I sound. Well, I am. Sort of. My stomach is already in knots. “Am I allowed to bring someone this time?”
“I’m not your boss, Cecily. You are the CEO. You get to do whatever you want.”
“You’re literally telling me we’re taking on a new project and ordering me onto a plane tonight.”
He laughs. “Touché.”
“You love springing this stuff on me, don’t you?”
“I do.” He grips my bicep before he leaves. So he’s really still my boss is the moral of the entire story.
And I am also going to see Francesca again. I feel like I may vomit. We haven’t spoken since…
I collapse onto the couch and shout, “Julie,” across my office. She rushes in, carrying her iPad and a stylus. “Can you please order a second first class ticket for my sister to join me in Vegas tonight?”
“Y’know, I would have gone with you.” She smiles. “Never ask me, do you?”
I lift my head. “Next time. I promise.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says as she leaves. “I’m just playin’ with you, boss lady.”
I force myself to laugh. There’s not a bone in my body that found her joke funny, but keeping myself on Julie’s good side means she does what I ask without complaints. I push myself up and look around my office. I need to leave, go home, and pack and head to the airport. But first, I need to go to Brenda’s and beg Thomas to let her come spend New Year’s Eve with her recently divorced and completely confused sister. “This ought to go over real, real well.”
Chapter Nineteen
Cecily
“Basically, order anything you want and charge it to the room. I don’t care, and the company is footing the bill, so it really doesn’t matter…Brenda?” I glance around the living area of the very suite I had months earlier, and my sister is nowhere to be found. “Where are you?”
“Did you know there’s a guest bedroom? An actual guest bedroom! Like, we don’t have to share a bed.” She sprints out of the room under the stairs and slides across the tile floor in her socks. “This is incredible. I have never been happier about spending New Year’s away from my husband.”
I laugh as she rushes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. “There are beers already in here. This thing is fully stocked.”
“It’s a mini-bar, Bren.”
“What the fuck rock have I been living under?”
“I legit have no idea.” I accept the Corona Light she hands me and drink from it greedily. My senses have been on overdrive since I walked into the lobby. I saw six people I knew from my evenings with Francesca, but they either didn’t recognize me or they did recognize me, know the whole story, and hate me.
“Okay, so what’s our plan tonight?”
“I have to meet and have drinks with the casino bigwigs tonight at six to solidify our relationship or whatever the heck Jeff calls it.”
“It’s called schmoozing. You should know that and be good at it.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s my least favorite part of the job. You do not have to come with, but we can get dinner afterward. I’ve made us reservations at Mediterena. It’s a tapas place. Super delicious.” Brenda is standing at the windows staring down. “Do you even want to leave the room?”
“I don’t know. This is incredible. Seriously.” She laughs. “I had no idea you were so important.”
“Oh God, I’m not important. At all. This is all for show. They’ll fire the company in an instant if we don’t deliver.” I stand and head to the stairs. “I’m going to go clean up. You do the same. I’ll meet you downstairs at five till eight.”
“Got it.”
I climb the stairs, one by one, and with each step, the memory of Francesca comes on stronger and stronger. I can barely handle the sensation. I want to stop, go downstairs, and get a different room, but as I push through the doors into the master suite, I stop dead in my tracks. Of all the times I wish I didn’t remember every detail of our night together, this is it. Unfortunately, I can see, feel, smell all of it. Her eyes, her skin, her lips, her scent. My heart beating is the only thing grounding me.
Maybe I can fix it. Maybe I can find her, apologize, and fix how I acted.
How I overreacted.
I know I hurt her. I hurt myself. And I should have never done what I did. Now it’s up to me to fix something I had no right to break.
After I turn the shower on, strip, and get in, I stand under the water and remember every single inch of Francesca’s body as we showered together. Her voice as she moaned my name. Her hands pressed against this tile. Her body as she came. I rest my head against the cold tile and take a deep breath.
And another one.
And one more before I open my eyes and force myself to carry on with my evening. This meeting is huge, and I cannot screw it up. Even though landing this deal would mean more trips to Vegas. More times to see a woman who might still hate me. More times to try to beg forgiveness if this time doesn’t work.
Oh God. What if this doesn’t work? What if me appearing out of the blue causes this whole thing to go belly-up? What if she really does hate me? What if she never wants to speak to me again?
I step into the warm stream of water and pray like hell it washes my insecurities away. Me being weak and afraid was not how I caught Francesca’s eye in the beginning. There’s no way I’m going to mend us if I don’t keep my head up and remember why we worked so well to begin with.
Two people who so desperately wanted to forget the past with Willow and live for a future together without her.
Those hopes and dreams are still possible. They have to be. Please let them be.
Francesca
“You shut up right now.” I toss a shaker down the bar to Max. He catches it and flips a bottle of Tito’s into the air, snagging it expertly by the neck.
“I swear to God. Fucking Snoop Dogg is here.” He lifts his chin and cocks his head toward the left. “See him over there? He has like, fifteen girls around him.”
I stand on tiptoe as I try to catch a peek, but all I see are girls. Lots and lots of girls. “Dude, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”
“Whatever. No, I’m not. He’s over there. I can’t believe you don’t see him.�
�� He practically yells the end of his sentence as he snaps the glass from the shaker and pours a beautiful Heights Flyer martini.
Max grabs my shoulders after he sets the drink down and marches me to the end of the bar. “See? There.”
He has me facing toward the crowd and, “Holy shit. That’s Snoop!” I turn to him and laugh. “I can’t believe you’re right. I thought maybe you were hallucinating or something.”
“I mean, I know it’s crazy in here tonight, but I’m far from delirious.” He laughs as he smacks my ass. “I fucking told you.”
“You did,” I say as I echo his laugh. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
He reaches over and grabs a ticket for a new drink order. “Oh shit.” His grin means one thing and one thing only. “You ready for this?”
“Coyote Twins?” It’s the only drink reserved for us. When we revamped the menu, I told him we needed a showstopper. He agreed, and thus, Coyote Twins was born. We basically flip bottles back and forth to each other as we make a thirty-two-ounce rum punch. To be honest, it’s ridiculous anyone would pay the forty-five dollars for it, but hey, all it means is a bigger tip. Hopefully.
“Yes. Get ready.” He crumples the ticket up and tosses it toward the trash can as he easily jumps from the ground to the middle part of the bar top. He stomps his foot and shouts, “Coyote Twins in the house!”
The crowd around the bar starts to hoot and holler as I walk up the steps to the bar top. I never thought I’d be comfortable doing anything except making a drink on a bar top, but I’ve settled into this new role of performer first, bartender second. “Who ordered it?” I ask and scan the crowd for the culprit. A guy in the back raises his hand, and I shake my head at him. “We hope you enjoy the drink!”
I strut over to Max. and we both bend over to pick up bottles of liquor. The crowd goes wild. We are dressed similarly, both in black pants, his almost as tight as mine, black fitted button-downs, and maroon suspenders. I have heels, he has white and black wing-tips, and damn, we do look good.
He flips a bottle of Bacardi over his shoulder, and I snag it out of the air like the professionals we have become. Believe me, this whole act took almost a month of practices to get perfect. I can almost do it with my eyes closed.
After the Captain Morgan goes in, Max jumps into the bar area and finishes the drink off with punch and the garnish. He hands it to me, still on the bar top, and I motion for the guest to come forward. He does, the entire time grinning at me as if he has a chance. He doesn’t. Even if he was cute. He takes the drink, passes me a bill, and says, “Keep the change,” in this weird voice I think is supposed to be seductive. I don’t even care as I realize he’s tipped us fifty-five dollars. Max helps me down, and we stash the money in our tip jar.
There are some days I am super happy I decided to stick with this job. After Cecily left and Willow…I can’t even talk about her without my stomach rolling. All I can say is, the last couple of months have been rough. But tonight, I’m finally able to breathe again. And it feels really, really good.
Cecily
I’m getting the hang of this whole CEO thing. Schmoozing and working deals has become part of my everyday vernacular. Being in charge is starting to be fun instead of a total drag. When I got back from Vegas the first time, it was very hard to get everyone to respect my new role in the company. I can understand. The promotion was as much a surprise to me as it was to a lot of other long-time employees. Either way, though, Jeff saw something in me that made him think I could do it. And now look at me. I’m doing it. And I’m getting things done. And it’s exciting.
When Brenda and I finish dinner and dessert, I can tell she’s borderline ready to go back to the room and go to bed. There’s a voice inside urging me to let her, but I also know she needs a night out as much as I do, if not more.
After the bill is settled, I grab her hand and pull her from the restaurant, through the hotel, toward the casino floor. “Listen,” I say as we move out of the people traffic and press ourselves up against the wall of the lobby. “You’re going to put your big girl panties on. I do not want to go back to the room yet. And let’s be real, you need to have some fun.”
“Isn’t that what tomorrow night is for?” She stifles a yawn. “I’m so tired, Cecily.”
“You just had a coffee. Rally for me. Please?”
“Will you let me sleep in tomorrow?”
“I will. I promise.” I smile. “And if you’re not having a good time in a couple hours, you can go. I won’t be angry.”
“I’m not going to leave you. We go back up together.”
I nod as I turn to take a step, but she pulls me back to her.
“Wait a second. Are we…” Her eyes widen. “Going to see her?”
I roll my lips and breathe in through my nose. I want to smack her for finally catching on, but she will probably embarrass me after a while, so really, I’ll have to smack her for other reasons later on. Might as well save the sibling abuse for a time she actually deserves it.
“Cecily, are you sure this is a good idea?”
I nod. “No.”
And she laughs. “So which is it? Yes or no?”
“I have no idea.”
“Great.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Okay, then, let’s do this.”
We both step into the stream of people making their way to the casino floor. With the New Year’s Eve holiday tomorrow, the place is packed. Guests are crowded around the tables, shouting when they’ve lost, laughing and screaming when they’re winning. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as we approach the main bar.
I place my hand on Brenda’s arm to stop her. “Hold up.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks as she turns to face me. “Do you see her?”
I move so I can peek over her shoulder, and like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to Francesca. “Yes.”
“Which one is she?” Brenda spins, links her arm through the crook of my elbow, and pulls me close.
“The only female bartender there.”
“Well, shit,” Brenda whispers.
“What?”
“She’s hot.”
I sigh.
“Well, come on. What are we waiting for? Now or never.” She starts to walk toward the bar, pulling me with her. I can barely feel my legs, let alone walk without any difficulty. I fear I’m going to roll my ankle. All I can see is me tumbling to the ground and Francesca laughing at me like I’m a complete idiot. Because, well, I am a complete idiot.
When Brenda pulls out a barstool and sits like she owns the place, I wish I had her courage. As if nothing could ever throw her for a loop, she crosses her arms and leans against the bar top. I, on the other hand, am a coward and have strategically placed myself so I’m hiding behind her silhouette.
I hear Max say, “We’ll be right with you.”
I wrap my hands around Brenda’s bicep and squeeze. “Let’s just go. We can find another bar somewhere else—”
“Okay, ladies, my name is Max. What can I do for you?” His eyes have landed on me, and a small smile appears on his lips. “Well, holy shit.”
I raise a sheepish hand. “Hi,” I say with the smallest voice I’ve ever had.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He places his hands on the bar, eyeing me as if I’m wanted for some heinous crime. Breaking his best friend’s heart would certainly fit the bill, wouldn’t it?
“Business.”
“No other bar in town you could haunt, hmm?”
“I take it you two know each other?” Brenda extends a hand to Max. “I’m her sister, Brenda. It’s nice to meet you. Max, correct?”
He eyes me, then takes Brenda’s hand “Yes, Max. Brenda, you are a spitting image of your sister here. I take it you’re the younger one?”
She giggles, and I want to smack her. “Oh, you tease. I’m older. By a few years.”
“Definitely pegged you as the younger one,” he says with a cocky tone. I want to roll my eyes, but I deserve eve
rything he can toss at me. The berating, the snide comments, the teasing, all of it. “What do you want to drink?” He points at Brenda. “I’m going to say a pinot gris for you.”
She smacks her lips. “You are absolutely right.”
This time, I do roll my eyes.
“And for you,” he starts but stops as he leans a little closer to me. “The Heartbreaker Martini.”
And I roll them again. “Seriously, Max?”
He chuckles. “I’m sorry. What would you like?”
I shake my head. “A vodka soda with a lime, please.”
As he leaves, Brenda grabs my knee and squeezes. “Please tell me he’s straight.”
“Jesus, Brenda. You’re not fucking around on Thomas. Not while I’m around.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to fuck around on your husband but not me?”
I glare at her. “Y’know what?” And before I have a chance to finish my barrage of insults, I see Brenda’s eyes shift from accusatory to nervous. I move my gaze in the direction of hers. Francesca is standing next to Max, her eyes on us, and my heart leaps into my throat. I swallow hard once, twice, three times, before I hear Brenda clear her throat.
“She’s not happy, is she?”
“No,” I whisper, and before I know it, she’s marching toward us. I wish I could say I was scared, but honestly, I’m so taken aback by her outfit, the skinny black pants, the black button-down, the maroon and black striped suspenders, that I can barely breathe. Jesus, her shirt is so far unbuttoned that I can see her bra, and it’s causing my heart rate to increase. I brace myself on the bar, gripping the edge, and I pray to the lord above to please, please, please let her forgive me. Her anger is something I’m not sure I can handle.
Chapter Twenty
Francesca
I’m not sure I still have a heartbeat. I cannot feel it. I can barely hear the music over the ringing in my ears. I can taste the familiar tang of bile. I swallow and try to remain calm. This is my fucking place of work, my livelihood, and I’m not about to get into a screaming match with this fucking asshole of a woman right here and now.