by Amanda Aksel
“Any other questions?” Darren asks.
I flip through the yellow pad, checking my notes before I let them go. “Nope, I think I got it. You two are free to head to the bar.”
Darren sends a sideways glance to Eric, who notices but doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.
Eric smiles. “You can meet us when you’re done. We’re going to Pearl 20.”
Pearl 20 is known for hosting cocktails with trendy investment professionals after the market closes. It gets busy again around nine, for those of us who get stuck at the office past happy hour. A couple of drinks to calm my nerves before I head home to bed sounds pretty good, especially if Eric’s there.
“Thanks, maybe I’ll stop by.” I stand, buttoning my jacket, and the guys begin to head out. “I really appreciate your help today.” I offer Darren a handshake. His is limp and tired. On the other hand, Eric’s is firm and friendly. When he lets go, my skin tingles all the way to my . . . uh-oh. I grab my yellow pad to shield my first in command, recalling rueful moments with dirty toilets just in case. But there’s no poke coming through.
Just call me beast tamer!
I head back to Owen’s office. All the cubicles are empty and the entire floor is quiet except for the faint hum of a vacuum cleaner on the far side. I bang my knuckles on his open door. The overhead lights have dimmed to a warm glow and a brushed nickel table lamp illuminates his workspace.
“How you doin’, boss?” I ask with a little smirk.
He doesn’t look up. “Did you learn anything at your meeting other than your place here?”
I flatten my lips and clear my throat before taking a seat in front of his desk. “Yeah, you’ve got a great team. The guys helped a lot. All I need to know now is how you want to play this.”
He lifts only his eyes from his desk, like I haven’t earned his complete attention, and his serious expression has yet to relax. “I think it’s best to just have the two of us. I’m running the meeting, of course. Having you there is going to show that we have some new, young blood on the team. Here”—he hands me a sheet of paper—“this is what you will present. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I take a moment to review what he’s given me. All things considered, it’s not a bad break. From what I can tell, tomorrow is going to be more about impressing Owen Campbell than Todd Fairbanks. He can dazzle the client, and who knows, maybe I’ll learn something. “I got it. You can count on me.”
“Can I?” he asks, head up this time.
“Yes,” I say, directly. No sweaty palms, no trembling hands or mouth. No doubt I’ll nail this tomorrow.
He returns his attention to the work on his desk. “Okay. Good. I’ll see you at eight a.m. sharp.”
I stand, folding my assignment into a neat square before stuffing it into my Gucci. “You got it, boss.”
He doesn’t respond and it’s almost like he doesn’t know I’m still here. Or doesn’t care. I better go.
“Owen,” I say, just before I make it to the doorway.
He looks up.
“What happens to me after the meeting tomorrow?”
“Let’s just get through the pitch. Then we’ll talk.” That doesn’t sound any different from We’ll let you know. I nod as I slowly turn and walk out. “Richard,” he calls, and I look back. “If we close it tomorrow, then I’ll make sure you have a job at the firm.”
All right, Delia, stay positive!
“Well, in that case, I’m looking forward to working for you.”
Owen’s expression relents into a half smile. “Good night, Richard.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A warm breeze wafts through my short hair as I step off the curb and gaze up toward the top of Monty Fuhrmann Tower, trying to pick out the conference room window on the thirty-second floor. Only thirteen more hours before I sit at the table with Todd-freaking-Fairbanks. The sky has turned black, but the streets of Manhattan are brighter than ever. A perfect city for insomniacs, a club I’m sure I’ll be joining tonight.
A melodic chime sings from inside my Gucci. I pull out my phone; the screen’s lit with a picture of Regina pouting with the pair of Chanel stilettos she couldn’t afford.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Girl, I’ve been texting you. Where have you been?” Regina grills me like a fretful mother.
“I just left the office. Why? What’s wrong?”
“You tell me. Frankie said you got fired and maybe rehired, and then you gave a man a heart attack. Is that true?” I can’t tell if she’s more concerned about me or more pissed that she had to hear the latest scoop secondhand, and fragmented at best.
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, and I didn’t give anyone a heart attack.” Well, not exactly.
“Whatever,” she says, and I almost hear her head swivel. “Are you headed home?”
“No. Pearl 20. Eric invited me out for a drink.” If only I could twirl my Delia-hair around my finger as I float over to the bar.
“Just the two of you?”
“No.” And my feet ground again. I kick them along Broad Street. “There’s a bunch of guys from the office with him.”
“I should come with you.” The sound of a nail file sanding down fingernails creeps through the phone.
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“And I don’t need to spend another night at home. I’ll be there in forty minutes.” And with that she hangs up. I consider calling her back, but I’d need a lot more than twenty percent battery life to dissuade her.
Inside Pearl 20, long pendulum lights reflect off the polished dark wood bar. There are just enough people to fill the place, but not enough for it to be considered packed by New York City standards. I spot Eric and some of the other guys standing around a high-top table. Their ties hang loose as they sip their short cocktails and chat above the bar music. He takes a sip of his old-fashioned. It’s his go-to drink. There’s something sexy about the way he barely touches the glass to his mouth then lightly licks his top lip when he’s done.
“Hey,” I call to Eric, totally ignoring the rest of the guys.
“You made it.” He smiles. “Grab a drink, then come join us.”
“Okay.” I nod and head over to the bar. A beautiful woman pushes off the counter, sliding off her barstool. I glance down past her sleek, tanned legs to her rose-colored strappy stilettos.
“Cute shoes,” I say as I take her seat.
The woman smiles and sends me a wink. “Thanks.”
“What can I get you?” a bartender in a black button-down asks, watching her walk away. I don’t think he’s staring at her heels.
A pink drink sounds good. “Cosmopolitan, please.” The man behind the bar quickly delivers my cocktail with a lemon twist. Back at the high-top table, most of the guys have deserted it but the break room posse remains.
“You remember Brian and Mike from earlier,” Eric says, pointing to the guys.
“Yeah, what’s up?” I send a chin nod before sipping from my martini glass. The sweet and slightly sour citrus delights my tongue like it was any other night at the bar after work. They both shoot me strange looks, and my cheeks grow warmer with every second that they don’t speak. I guess there’s not much to discuss past desperate girlfriends and water-efficient kitchen porn. What are the chances they’ll walk away to avoid another oddball conversation and leave me alone with Eric?
Mike twists his face into an inquisitive look. “Rumors have gotten around. You really think you can close Fairbanks tomorrow?”
“Without a doubt, man,” I say, believing every word.
Eric leans in, gesturing for us to follow. “I heard that if it wasn’t for Richard, the meeting would have been canceled.” That’s no rumor, but I keep that to myself.
I tilt my glass, meeting his gaze for a moment. “Just doing my job.”
“Well, you may
have saved the deal, so I propose a toast.” Eric lifts his glass and all eyes turn to him. “To Richard!”
“To Richard!” the guys shout, drawing attention from the other patrons. I relish in their brief tribute, but the only person’s approval I care about is Eric’s.
Darren wanders over, pushing his way in between Eric and Mike. “What’s going on over here?” he asks.
“We were just toasting our savior from Switzerland,” Brian says.
“Oh, right . . .” He doesn’t seem amused and downs his short drink the way a parched gardener guzzles water on a hot summer day, then shakes the ice in his glass. “I’m going to need another one of these.”
The moment he leaves the table, Brian points to a group of eligible ladies in their black and navy skirts with blouses opened just enough to let the “girls” breathe. He and Mike make their way over while Eric and I stay back, nursing our drinks quietly. My crush, who’s been crushing on me—well, old me—doesn’t seem as eager as the other guys on the team. Throughout the bar they’re wearing pleased smiles, picking up women, and making connections.
“You’re not joining the others?” I nod to the nearby metropolitan mating ritual taking place.
He shrugs, stirring his drink. “Nah, the girl I want isn’t over there.”
No, but she is right here. “You mean Delia?”
“Yeah, I was going to tell her everything tonight, like we talked about. But she’s leaving for Florida. That’s where her family lives. Her grandma isn’t well.”
Oh, man . . . she already left.
“I don’t know why I thought coming out tonight would make me feel better. It doesn’t.” He frowns and pushes his drink aside.
He’s actually really cute when he’s moping over me. And at the same time, I hate seeing him like this. I give him a playful shove, wishing I could just take his hand for once. We didn’t have this much physical contact when I was a woman. Who knew me having a dick could help bring us closer? “Cheer up. She’s not the one dying. Maybe she’ll come back.”
He slouches down, staring into his drink again. “What if she doesn’t? What if I missed my chance?”
Standing here listening to him talk about me is so bittersweet. I never thought I’d be one of those girls who would take the man over the job, but in this moment, I would give anything to be my old self again. I’d do anything to stay in the city with him. Even clean every apartment in Manhattan. I’ve gained fifty pounds of muscle, but my heart is ten tons heavier with regret. How can I have lost him before even knowing I could’ve had him?
Fucking figures.
“It’s my own fault. I could’ve told her a million times!” He raises his voice in a frustrated roar and my heart soars at the sound.
“I know the feeling,” I say, almost grazing his hand with my fingertips. But they don’t look like my fingers. What I would give to see my real hands again.
“You do?” Finally his gorgeous blue eyes meet mine.
“Of course. Yeah, there’s this, um . . . girl I used to work with. She was my favorite person, but I didn’t think the feeling was mutual so I never did anything about it. I keep thinking how things may have turned out differently if I’d had the guts to say something back then.”
“I guess men can be really stupid sometimes.”
I lift my glass to his. “Hear, hear.”
Eric takes a drink of his old-fashioned. I could stare at him for hours. He’s so damn cute. I just hope I don’t have goo-goo eyes right now. Then again, I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping those to myself over the years.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs the screen a few times. “This is her.” His bright screen is lit even more by a photo of the two of us, the real us, smiling during a night out almost a year ago. I can’t believe he still has it. It feels like a lifetime ago now. I look terrible. It was the end of the night and most of my makeup had worn off. Plus, I wasn’t getting a lot of sleep back then. Why couldn’t he have used a filter?
“She’s cute,” I say, which is exactly how I think of myself. Cute.
“She’s beautiful,” he corrects, tenderly getting lost in the screen.
Beautiful? I don’t know if anyone but my mother has called me beautiful before. Oh my god, I have to figure out a way to change back. I shut my eyes tight, wishing, hoping, and solo Truth or Daring that I can be Delia again. When I open them, I half expect to be back to my old self, in my own bed, waking up from an outrageous dream. But I’m still in this bar. Still Richard with a dick. My cheeks burn and I ball my fist. For the first time since I woke up this morning, I feel sharp tears prickle my eyes.
This sucks!
“You okay?” he asks.
I suck in a deep breath and blink back whatever tears have surfaced. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired.”
Get it together, Delia!
I take a long sip of my pink drink, the alcohol soothing me some. Might not be a bad idea to change the subject, talk about guy stuff, but I don’t want him to stop talking about, well, me. Especially when this may be my only chance to hear it. “So if she comes back, what are you going to say?”
“I’m not going to tell you. It’s personal.” He forces a smile the way he does when he doesn’t want to talk about something. With one last gulp, he finishes his drink. Maybe a few more of those and he’ll spill it.
“C’mon, man. It’s not like I’m gonna tell her. Besides, don’t you want to say it out loud to someone? Just a little bit?” I hold my thumb and index finger up with the tiniest space in between.
“Maybe a little.” Eric looks hesitant, but I motion him to continue.
Exhaling a long breath, he keeps his eyes lowered. “I’d say, Delia . . .” I focus in on him, desperate to memorize every word he says so I can play it over and over in my head like my favorite song. “Don’t move to Florida.” My heart plummets into my stomach, beating so loudly I have to struggle to hear Eric’s words. He pauses, turning his thoughtful, dreamy gaze my way, then says, “I’m crazy about you.”
I can’t breathe.
It’s worse than when I choked on the salami at lunch. I want so badly to kiss him, tell him I’m crazy about him too. I feel faint. Have I been holding my breath this whole time?
“Hey,” he says, giving me a strange look. “You sure you’re not jet-lagged?”
I exhale and shake my head. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I gasp for a nonfresh breath of bar air. A flicker of light catches my eye, and I look up at the smoky crystal chandelier hanging over the center of the room.
“So what do you think?” Eric brings my attention back. “Too corny?” He lowers his eyes, a little unsure of himself.
“No. It’s perfect.” My heart flutters when I say it, because if Eric never gets to say those words to Delia, at least he’ll know that someone appreciated them.
He gives an accomplished nod and at the same time, a familiar scent lingers in my breathing space. Regina’s Versace perfume.
“Eric! Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?” She’s so believable even I forgot she knew we’d be here. I wait for her to acknowledge my presence but it’s as if I’ve disappeared.
“Hey, Gina. What are you doing on this side of town?” he asks.
She sets her designer bag on the table. “Oh, I was at a client dinner down the way and thought I’d come in here and meet some cute Wall Street boys. Know any?” Her attention whips right over to me, flashing me her parted-lips sexy stare. She sends me a devilish wink.
Eric runs his fingers through his soft hair. “Gina, this is Richard. Richard, Gina—she’s Delia’s roommate.”
“Hi there,” I say, as Gina and I play up the whole ruse.
He turns his attention back to my best girlfriend. “How is she, by the way?”
“Yeah, I heard her grandmother’s not doing well.” I give Gina the old you get my drift sta
re.
“Let’s just say she’s had a rough day,” Regina offers.
I pout my lip. “Aw, poor Delia.”
Eric’s head hangs over his empty glass, and Regina and I shoot each other telling glances.
“Richard, would you be a doll and buy a girl a drink?” Regina asks. Her smile’s so big I can see all of her teeth. That’s her pretty, pretty please smile. Why is she trying to get rid of me?
“Sure . . . What can I get you?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
I narrow my eyes, wishing we could communicate telepathically. “Comin’ right up.”
Darren’s standing by the bar, waiting for his next drink. “Heyyy, Richard,” he says, patting my shoulder as I approach. He’s got one of those big stupid grins like he’s been shooting doubles all night.
“What’s goin’ on?”
He leans his elbows on the bar. “Just, ya know, decompressing. It’s been a helluva day with you showing up and everything. Twice.”
My mouth turns into an exaggerated O. “Oh, yeah, sorry, man. Duty calls.” The bartender hands him his short rum and Coke, and I request a cocktail for Regina.
“Eh, it’s okay.” He takes a long drink. “You know, I was supposed to be in the pitch tomorrow with you guys.”
My brow raises. “Really?”
He nods. “Yeah, been really looking forward to it. But with the new developments, I’ve been benched. The only way I’ll be in that meeting is if you get hit by a bus.”
Too bad for him this city is pretty safe for pedestrians. For a moment, I feel bad about his misfortune. Then I remember it isn’t my call. “You want me to talk to Owen for you?”
He shakes his head with a clownish frown. “Nah, don’t bother. I got an offer from another firm. I was on the fence about it, but after today, I’m gonna take it.”
“Wow. Congratulations.” I guess someone scooped him up.
Darren lifts his drink in the air. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I lean against the counter and watch him walk off, bouncing a little with every step. He’s definitely feeling that rum. It’s a shame for Monty Fuhrmann to lose him. But hey, in the spirit of staying positive, more opportunity for me.