“So when do you start?” she asks, raising a dubious eyebrow when I gesture to the crackers in offering. She refuses with a dry smile and a brief shake of her head.
“I haven’t been offered the position yet.”
“I thought you said it was yours if you wanted it?”
“I said I think it’s mine if I want it,” I correct her. Then I think of the look on Graham’s face when I left. Not happy would be a fair assessment. Angry would be closer. Furious might just hit the nail on the head. That’s what I’d be signing on for.
At least for a time. And it might not be that long if I play my cards right.
Cracker in hand, I reply, “Maybe. Probably. I guess anything could happen. My old boss could tell him I wasn’t as great as I thought she thought I was. Or they could find someone more qualified. I can’t take anything for granted.”
“Oh, you’ll get it,” Kelsey assures me. She’s like April that way, having more confidence in my abilities or appeal than strictly warranted.
Crackers may be a necessity in the face of nausea and a weak stomach, but as a snack without something wet to wash it down, it’s a poor substitute for chocolate or chips.
Water it’s going to have to be since the only thing to drink in the house is a six-pack of Troy’s favorite beer, and that’s not going to work for me. And unless my roomies return with something to sustain us until tomorrow, grocery shopping is going to be bumped up to today.
“Oh my god, I just realized you’re going to be working with that seriously hot bartender.”
Thoughts of grocery shopping get pushed to the side by Kelsey’s exclamation.
I swallow what’s in my mouth before asking, “Which one is that?” Maybe she’s not talking about Graham.
“Since you hardly ever go, you might not have seen him yet, but he’s the one with the English accent.” Her expression takes on a wistful dreaminess.
Of course. Who else would it be but Graham?
“I know him.” She’s my friend. I may as well get it out there now. Plus, she’s been telling me about Alex.
Glossy crimson lips part as her eyes grow round. Her silence is momentary, her recovery even quicker. “Are you serious?” It comes out on a breath.
I nod and shove the rest of the cracker in my mouth. I can’t talk with a mouth full of food. I was taught better than that.
“How? Who is he? Abby was practically doing cartwheels trying to get his attention, and Portia is already picking out names for their kids.”
Abby, a petite, pint-sized brunette, and Portia, the pretty, statuesque head cheerleader, are Kelsey’s roommates. That they’d be instantly smitten with Graham is par for the course, them not being seeing or hearing impaired.
“I met him a few years back.”
Kelsey scoots up closer to the counter as if terrified she’ll miss a word of my response. “You’re going to need to give me all the pertinents. Name, relationship status, age, sexual orientation and the reason this is the first time I’m hearing about him.”
Easier to answer the last question first. “Maybe because I only found out he lives here a few weeks ago. We’re not exactly close.”
“Wait, I assumed you guys dated. Am I wrong?”
A fair assumption. The right assumption.
“For a very short time. Things didn’t end…well.”
Her shoulders come forward until her upper torso is practically suspended over the counter, driven by her insatiable need to know.
“What happened?” she asks breathlessly.
“Things just didn’t work out.”
Kelsey’s expression falls, her hopes going the way of a deflated balloon. Pulling herself back, she resumes her upright position on the stool.
“Okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk about it.”
And she won’t because she knows what it’s like when the shoe’s on the other foot. Her non-relationship with Alex being a prime example.
“Wait, that means—” She breaks off and flips her hair over her shoulder as realization dawns. “You’re seriously thinking of working with your ex-boyfriend?”
When she says it aloud like that, it does sound like an asinine idea. The penance factor is important here but I can’t explain it to her.
“Should I let that stop me? It’s not like off-campus job opportunities that pay that much are in heavy supply.”
Her head bobs in agreement. “True. True. Thank God my parents insist I don’t work so I can concentrate on my grades. Although I have been thinking about tutoring Math.” She’s working on a double major in Math and English, a fact most people are shocked by.
She swiftly rights the ship and steers the conversation back on its original course. “You don’t think it’ll be awkward?”
And how. I’ve now taken to nibbling around the edges of my cracker, one I sense is destined for the garbage. I pause, crumbs skirting the inner edge of my upper lip. “It doesn’t have to be. I’m an adult and so is he.”
You can’t take the job. I don’t want you working here.
I mentally cross my fingers when stating the latter.
She kind of shimmies her shoulders, shooting me a look that’s pure skepticism, not a drop of faith in the mix. “I don’t know about that.” Every word is dragged out in sing-song way. “I can’t imagine working with any of my exes.”
Well, I’m not sure what that says about her past relationships. Or maybe I’m being naive. Maybe this is just a really bad idea. Doomed to fail from the start. Guilt and desperation can make for a lethal combination, and under which a sane person shouldn’t make this kind of decision.
Doubt begins gnawing away at my resolve.
“But then most of my exes were jerks.” Her expression turns contemplative then her eyes narrows sharply as if an unpleasant thought just popped into her head. “He isn’t a jerk, is he?”
“No. Not at all,” I reply, practically tripping over the words in my haste to clear him of the charge. Me, on the other hand…
“Well that’s good,” she says, nodding in approval.
I can tell the exact moment her curiosity about the demise of our relationship returns. The speculation in her eyes. That flame of curiosity is quickly doused, no doubt from the don’t ask look on my face.
“The tips should be good. That place is always packed,” Kelse offers, a sign she’s switched to the pro column on the pro and con list.
Yes, please, let’s look on the bright side. “And I could use it.”
“Your parents are rich and they’re making their only daughter pay for her way through school? Not right. So not right,” she tsks.
“No, they pay for everything. Tuition, books, rent, insurance for my car, food, my cell phone bill. I think I’m capable enough to earn my own walk-around money.” My relationship with my dad may be more strained than not, but I don’t want to give people the impression my folks are ogres. Plus, my mom thinks it’s a good idea. That it’ll help teach me financial responsibility. My dad would swaddle me in blankets if he could. Where I’m concerned, there’s no distinction between protection and overbearing.
“Is that your way of telling me I should get a job?” Kelse asks in a wry no-offense-taken tone. Actually, the smile tipping her mouth indicates she’s amused by the notion.
“Of course not. I’m sure your parents aren’t as controlling as my dad. My dad is…let’s just say he treats me the same as when I was five.”
Kelsey tilts her head and gives me the I don’t envy you look. “With five girls and no boys, my dad gave up on having a princess a long time ago. He needed a couple of us who’d be able to appreciate the merits of football.” She holds up her hand. “That was me and Chelsea.”
“You have a sister named Chelsea?”
“Yep, twins. Kelsey and Chelsea. My mom was all into rhyming back then.” Kelsey chuckles. “She said it was only after we turned three that she realized she’d made a mistake. Something about not helping us develop our own identities.”
> “Wow, I’ve never been friends with a twin. Identical?”
Her eyes dance. “Sometimes I can’t even tell us apart.”
“You guys didn’t want to go to the same college?”
Kelsey snorts. “If I’d been able to get into University of Chicago we would have. Brainiac got early acceptance.”
“Wow, your sister must be smart.”
“Gifted.” Heavy air quotes around that single word statement. “But enough about me, are you going to take the job?”
I prop my hip against the counter and study her as closely as she’s studying me. “What do you think?”
“Would he mind working with you? Whatever happened in the past, is it water under the bridge?”
This time I opt for honesty, thinking it can’t hurt. And she in the position to be way more objective about it than I can. “He’s against it.”
Her eyes silently scream ‘Interesting’. “How much?”
“A lot.” With everything in his being.
That seems to clarify things for her because a sly gleam enters her eyes. “Take the job.”
Chapter 7
Blake and I have been best friends since high school. He’s like the brother I never had. We’re alike in a lot of ways. I don’t mean in looks. Do you remember John F. Kennedy Jr.? The one who died in a plane crash a long time ago? Everyone tells Blake he could be his son. I’ve seen pictures and I admit the resemblance is strong, but Mrs. Richards, his mom, has assured him he’s not Kennedy’s secret love child.
Anyway, getting back to my point. One of the main reasons we get along so well is because we like so many of the same things. Name the sport and we follow it. We both prefer jogging to de-stress and stay in shape. We also know our way around a toolbox. Actually, one summer during high school we worked at his family’s home improvement company installing customized closets. Not a bad way to make a living if you don’t mind manual labor. But the one way we’re really alike is our drive. We’re both super ambitious.
I should say I was until I dropped out of college and returned to England.
Blake never lost that drive. After he graduated from Columbia, he went to work for an app development company in midtown Manhattan. He’s been wanting to go out on his own since he hit the three-year mark. When I told him I’d been able to transfer all my credits to Warwick, he’d done some research and concluded it’d be a good and cheap place to set up shop. It had been his idea that we room together when I moved back, and he’d been the one to find the two-bedroom apartment we’re leasing now. He’s also the one who got me the job at his uncle’s club.
All around good friend and great guy, right?
His only problem is that he thinks he can solve everything. After telling him what’s going on with Emily and the job, he thinks he can take care of that too.
“I’ll talk to him. And you don’t have to worry that I’ll say anything about what went down between you two.” Still in his pajama bottoms and hair disheveled, Blake places a large bowl of cereal on the dining room table.
“No, I already told you, I’ll take care of it.”
After a couple seconds of internal debate, I snap a banana from the bunch on the counter and join him at the table. Breakfast is served.
“Yeah right.” He lets out an amused snort. “That means she’ll be training by the end of the week.”
I send him a scowl. “Funny.”
“Watch,” he says, pointing his spoon across the small table at me. “The girl sounds like a stalker. You’re not going to be able to get rid of her.”
“Don’t worry, by the time I’m finished with her, she won’t come near the place again. Believe me, she won’t take the job.”
John made it clear he intends to offer her the job unless her background check reveals she’s a serial killer. Which means I’m going to have to convince her not to take the job, and it shouldn’t be that hard since it’s a job she doesn’t really want.
“What does she want?”
“Who knows. I guess to apologize,” I reply with a shrug, taking another bite of my banana. I’d told Blake about seeing her at Zenith’s but not about the meeting at the mall. I’d hoped I wouldn’t see her again.
He arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s all she wants?”
My scowl deepens. “You’re out of your mind. No way,” I say dismissing what he’s insinuating with a hard shake of my head. “There’s no way she even thinks I would ever touch her again.”
“She might.” He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Who the hell knows. Like you said, she might just want to apologize, and if that’s all she wants, the solution is easy.”
A spoonful of Shredded Wheat disappears into his mouth. His blue eyes watch me as he chews. I strip the banana completely of its skin and take another bite whilst my mind completely rejects the idea of doing anything to alleviate her conscience.
That’s not going to happen.
Until I saw her again, I never realized how much I want her to suffer for what she did. I’ve suffered, now it’s her turn. It was her lie that set the whole thing in motion. Bloody well changed the course of my life. Let it weigh on her conscience, and it can stay there for the rest of her life for all I care.
I look up to see Blake staring at me hard, his expression expectant. I don’t know what he wants me to say.
“What?”
I hear the impatience in my voice and so must Blake because he snaps back, “Let her apologize. Accept her damn apology if that’s what it’s going to take to make her go away. If you don’t, I’m going to think you want her hanging around.”
“It’s not my job to make her feel better.”
“I’m not saying it’s your job. Dammit, Gray, do you want her gone or what?”
“What the fuck do you think?” I growl.
“Then just listen to what she has to say and be done with it. I’m not saying you have to forgive her but if this is what has her coming back over and over again, let her say her peace so you both can move on with your lives.” Blake goes from sounding exasperated to spent.
“I’ve moved on with my life,” I say, annoyed that he thinks I haven’t.
“You’re finishing your bachelor’s degree four years after the fact. You haven’t moved on.”
Blake is one of the few people who’s brave enough to say shit like that to me and he knows it. But he’s getting real fucking close to that line.
“I got three years with my father that I wouldn’t have. I’ve got more experience running a business than I would’ve with a four-year degree from Columbia.” I don’t know why, but I always feel the need to justify my decision to drop out of school and return to England. Things were shit. I’d felt like shit and this place no longer felt like home. I was supposed to stay after being treated like a degenerate criminal? I fucking hated this country. I wanted out.
Hell, I’m back and I’m still not sure I like it. But my mum’s here and I’m twenty credits shy of a degree and I’m not keen to start over anywhere else. I just want to get it done and over with. I’ll think about what I’ll do once I’m officially done.
“Then it wasn’t all bad, was it?” Blake says, talking between bites. “She might even have done you a favor in a warped way.”
Warped way? That’s putting it mildly. “You know the glass can just be half-empty. You may not die of thirst right away but you eventually will if that’s all you’re ever going to get.”
Blake’s eyes roll heavenward. Lord help me. “Please, don’t go getting all metaphorical on me now. It’s not even noon.”
I crack a smile. “It was pretty good though, wasn’t it?”
He grins. “So what’s it going to be? Do I talk to John or do you want to handle it on your own?”
Damn, are we back to that? I thought I made myself clear. “I’ll handle it,” I say, my voice firm.
Blake stares at me for a beat, his gaze assessing. “Okay, but think about what I said.”
“Right, accepting her apology i
s not the same as forgiving her. Yeah, I know. I’m taking it under advisement.”
Pushing out his chair, he rises to his feet, empty bowl in hand. “You do that.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Not often enough,” he shoots back smartly.
A small reminder that he was the only one who’d thought that me dating a freshman in my senior year wasn’t a good idea.
I can move my legs, I just can’t feel them, and despite liberal application of underarm deodorant, things are already getting a tad moist under there. My heart isn’t faring any better, pounding like I’m plummeting forty-five stories on a roller coaster without any restraints.
In case you haven’t gotten the picture, that’s my way of saying I’m a wreck.
Standing right outside Zenith’s doors, I steel myself for coming face to face with Graham. Funny, it doesn’t seem to get easier each time. Quite the contrary. Maybe because this is a fool’s errand, and I’m making a big mistake. Another one.
I take another look back at his car. Save mine, it’s the only one in the parking lot. As John had said, Graham’s here and he’s alone. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, having to deal with him without a buffer.
Well, I’m about to find out, lack of emotional preparedness be damned. I take a deep breath and smooth a hand over my hair, which I wore loose this time. I pull to open the door only to discover it locked. Yesterday, I’d been able to walk right on in.
Wonderful. I study the application in my hand and do another gut check. Maybe this is fate trying to tell me something. Then I remember my mom’s words.
We create our own fate. Don’t let anyone tell you different.
That helps to fortify my wavering resolve and I knock on the frosted glass door.
Then I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
At some point, I begin tapping the toe of my black ankle boot.
Dammit, I know he’s in there. Not giving up, I venture around the corner of the building and peer through one of the windows that overlooks the eating area. I instinctively jerk back and out of sight when I spot Graham standing motionless staring hard at the door.
Forever With You Page 7