by Brown, Tara
“I just want to say sorry—”
“No.” She loses the office mask. Her eyes are wide with emotion. “I’m so embarrassed. I drank all the champagne and didn’t eat and I was already so upset—”
“Jenny.” I take her hand in mine but she doesn’t squeeze back.
“Lawrence,” the way she says my name is different. It’s cold like it was when we first met. “I should have said something before but I just got out of a relationship.” She closes her eyes and pauses. “I’m an idiot. I—we broke up—I—” She searches the ceiling for the words and can’t seem to get her breath. “It’s been a week. It was last Tuesday. It’s why I was such a mess when I met you. So emotional and crazy and it took me a couple of days to settle into the wedding.”
Her words are a knife to the heart.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t say something. I honestly thought it was a one-night stan—”
“It’s cool,” my fucking voice betrays me and cracks as I step back, letting go of her hand. “I get it. It was nice meeting you too.” I manage to keep it together but my whole body is at odds with me.
“Lawrence,” she says my name again.
“Goodbye, Jenny.” I nod and turn, walking to the elevator. When I get inside, she remains there, staring at me as the doors close. My chest throbs, matching my pride. “You’re such an idiot,” I whisper to myself.
23
The to-do list
Jenny
The day already feels like the worst I’ve had in a while, and it’s only eleven in the morning. Pacing my office, reliving the entirety of the conversation I had with Lawrence, I’m plagued with regret. The words were coming out and I wasn’t in control of them. He makes me so crazy. And now that he’s said goodbye like that, like I’d killed his dog, how do I fix it?
“You promised that?” Laura, the agent who handles the A-list Hollywood celebs comes stomping into my small office, shouting, “How the hell do you expect me to make Liam-fucking-Farringdon behave? Have you ever met him? He’s an opinionated narcissist. He thinks he’s god’s gift to the world. Women and the world. He thinks he’s an artist. What he is, is a playboy.”
My brain takes a second to snap back into the right crisis. “He owes you, Laura. You got him the biggest role coming out of that studio next year. It’ll make him a household name.” I can’t believe she’s bitching. I handed her a sculpture made from a pile of sludge.
“You got him that, not me. He won’t listen to me!” Her high-pitched shrieking draws the eyes from the already busy hallway.
“I think Liam will do whatever you say when he hears this has fixed his grievous error. He’ll behave or he’ll lose his career. No one likes a diva.”
“He doesn’t give a rat’s ass,” Laura groans. “And in turn, when he loses his job, I’ll lose mine.” She isn't nearly as grateful or motivated to fix it as I’d imagined she’d be.
“If your client goes rogue, you have to clean up the mess.” I’m dumfounded. This is the bread and butter of our floor of our global communications marketing and PR firm. We handle the hard stuff—people. The other floors handle easy shit like brand names and corporations.
“I can’t agree to this commitment.” She turns to leave my office. “You made it, you take him on.” She walks out, visibly angry.
Defeated, I slump into my chair as Sukii comes in, cocking a dark eyebrow. “Is she for real? Did I hear that right or are my eavesdropping skills slipping?”
“Fuck me. She’s for real. But I can’t take him on, Victor will kill me. We don’t handle Hollywood douche bags. I’m already working six days a week. I just moved. Lawrence hates me. But I’m pretty sure he’s a skin-suit situation so maybe that’s for the best.”
“What?” She closes the door and leans against it. “What are you talking about?”
“He unpacked my apartment exactly how I would have done it. And bought me a coffeemaker and balcony furniture. The exact kind I pinned on my Pinterest page. I woke up in bed like some doll in a house. It was crazy and creepy.”
Her jaw drops but her words don’t match my assumptions. “The guy shows up to you being a slobbering mess and when you pass out, he pays for your apartment to be unpacked by a team of rich-people elite movers who Marie Kondo’d the place for you, and you call him a skin suit? Jesus, Jenny. Harsh.”
“What?” I’m lost.
“Yeah, Cap just told me. I was on my way in here to tell you when Laura came in and lost her shit. Lawrence didn’t unpack you. He got professionals to do it so when you woke up in the morning, everything was perfect. He was trying to be nice because you were such a wreck. Cap says he showed up and put you to bed and took care of everything. He was super upset you were such a mess, perhaps thinking it was his fault, like he shouldn’t have sent over champagne.”
“Oh fuck me,” I repeat and fall into my chair. My heart’s back from the puddle and racing a mile a minute. I cover my face with my hands and contemplate screaming into them, but the reminder I need to be worth the practically free apartment silences me.
It takes a whole minute of deep breathing before I sigh and put my hands on my lap, tapping my overdue manicure on my thighs. “Fuck. I didn’t even thank him.” I laugh but it’s one of those crazy irrational laughs.
“Okay, look, you have a huge pile of shit here.” Sukii waves her hands in front of herself as if my whole life is a storm of bad things. “Stan just moved you into the apartment, you can’t fall apart like this.” She hurries toward me. “We are going to write a list of things you need to do. Start with work, don’t touch anything unless it’s in chronological order, and we will tackle it all.”
“Okay.” I snap back, taking gulps of air again and nodding my head. “I’m sweating.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think you might actually have that anxiety sweating thing.” She hands me a tissue and takes out my planner, flipping to the back where the notebook pages are. She’s aware of the list of shit I need to get done better than I am so she writes while I fan myself with my desk calendar.
It takes a minute to get my brain back to work mode, but I manage to tuck Ben, the apartment, Lawrence, and the hockey game into a file in my head. “Did we ever hear from Natasha Wentworth’s agent?” I ask.
“Yes. She just emailed back. Says she’ll call you. She doesn't want a paper trail either.”
“Perfect.”
“Okay. Check that list, start at the top, don’t stray. You can’t mix business and pleasure right now.” Sukii pats me on the back once before she leaves, hopefully to find me more coffee as I send another email and phone Stan who isn’t in yet. “You emailed that you wanted to chat with me, Mr. Levisohn?”
“Yeah, I just got a call from Laura. She sounds upset. She asked to have Liam traded to you.”
“I can’t take on anyone else, Victor will kill me.”
“Victor won’t be involved in this.” Stan sounds annoyed but I sense it’s not with me. “Liam will be your first solo act and to even things out, I’m giving Laura a few of Victor’s needier people who are transitioning into Hollywood, trading clients. I don't think she has the spine for Liam. And you’re on this already anyway. Which means you need to clear the week of the press junket. It’s in Beverly Hills. Make sure you have flights booked and a hotel. Get Sukii to help, she’s a star.”
My heart is racing so hard I feel my pulse in my temples.
“Great,” I squeak out. “Thank you, sir,” I try to sound as though I mean it with something resembling enthusiasm. My first solo client should be exciting.
“I told Laura she would be picking up your slack this week while you handle this and your move and everything else. She’ll also be doing your work the week of the junket when you’re away, as it happens the same week as the hockey game benefit.” He sounds as though he’s making that her punishment, which isn't even close to fair. I’m technically the one being punished.
“Of course.” I want to say something else but I don’t.
“You’re a lifesaver, Jenny. A real star on this team. I want you to know I see that, and more than that, you have earned every bit of that apartment.”
My stomach tightens as I speak, “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“I have no doubt in your abilities. See you later.” He hangs up and I try to take deep breaths.
This has to be some sort of alternate world or a hoax from God.
I almost want to lay my head on my desk and cry.
Instead, I get another latte and begin making phone calls while searching for antacids to soothe the irritation from too much coffee and stress.
“You busy?” Victor comes to the door of my office and leans against the frame. The older European gentleman is not who I expected to run the American hockey PR. But he’s an avid fan and a genius at advertising.
“No—yes, but obviously never too busy for you.” I laugh nervously. What the hell am I saying?
“No problem, I spoke to Stan. He explained.” His eyes flicker and roam my body. “You okay with taking your first solo client?” His wandering stare has always creeped me out.
“No?” I laugh softly.
“I’ll be there if you need me. But try not to need me.” He winks and walks out.
“Yes, sir.” I laugh again, hoping to the gods of all that is holy I don’t.
I take a deep breath and prepare for the onslaught of my new to-do list.
It’s an intense day of catching up and smoothing but I believe I have it covered.
By the time I’m leaving the office, the lights are off and I’m alone. I’ve rescheduled sushi with Claire for the weekend and have missed dinner so I’m starving.
I don’t click down the hall, confident in my heels as I normally do. Instead, I carry my shoes and walk in my purse-Tieks to the elevator. I push the button and sigh, leaning against the wall.
The walk home is nice, diverting and chaotic. The streets are full though it’s dark and past nine.
“Good evening, Ms. Snowdon,” Eric says as he gets the door.
“Jenny,” I say with a smile and head for the elevator.
When I fish out my keys from my purse, I see my to-do list with two things not yet completed.
Ben and Lawrence.
And I have no idea how to fix either one.
24
That’s not a girl
Wednesday, July 5
Lori
The locker room is quieter than normal, with only a few voices speaking in muffled tones, almost whispers, suggesting this room has become something tragic instead of a place where we normally amp each other up. We gear up as the disappointment of losing to the Senators in the playoffs lingers as if hanging out in the shower steam that rarely leaves. The New York Rangers do not take a loss well during regular season; the playoffs are hitting us that much harder.
The sound of a slap on bare cheeks echoes through the quiet room, but it takes a second to realize they were my cheeks. The hit is hard enough that the sting is delayed, but when it lands, I wince, nodding my head. It was a good one.
“Why you so quiet lately, Lori?” Brady’s voice booms over the awkward stillness of the room as he leans in rubbing his sore hand from smacking me that hard. “Red keeping you up at night?”
“No, your mom tired me out last night,” I retort, taking the cheap shot which matches my mood and my desire to avoid all conversations involving Jenny. Deep down, I like that he’s sensitive about his mom.
“Not my mom, bro!” He shoves me into the wooden shelves in front of me.
“Don’t fight it.” I spin, naked and smirking at him. “You gonna be okay calling me daddy from now on, bud?” I wink. “Because I think she likes me.”
His eyes widen and ferocity flashes in them. His fist balls and before he can contain himself the knuckles are flying. I leap to the right, leaving him to punch the wall where my head was. “Shit!” he shouts, cradling the injured appendage. “You fucker!”
“Eckelston!” Coach barks. “Coldwell! Quit grabassing. Get your gear on and stop dicking around.” He’s in no mood either. This fun-game nonsense is no fun at all.
Pretending to be fine and not dying from the rejection I haven’t told anyone about yet, I stagger away from Brady as he turns on me.
His lips are locked in a sneer and his eyes are slits. “I’m gonna beat your ass!” he says like it’s a deadly threat, but his tone is low because he too fears the coach.
My lips part to make another mom joke but a hand slides across them from behind and a voice whispers in my ear, “Quit while you’re ahead.” Matt cuddles me from behind. The fact I’m naked and he’s sort of spooning me in some of his hockey gear as Cap walks around the corner makes me laugh, despite Matt’s hand on my mouth and my heart broken.
“I don’t want to know.” Cap waves his hand at me and Matt. “Just get dressed, both of you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I struggle free and saunter back to my gear, making a kissy face at Brady who nurses his hand. It’s reddening and swelling. “You bruised those knuckles, ya hammer.”
“I know!” he snaps and walks to the changing area where we always leave our regular clothes and starts stripping. “It’s fucking swollen already, Lori.”
“You did it to yourself, bud.” I begin dragging on my gear. It still smells like the loss of our spot in the playoffs. Blood, sweat, and tears. Matching how everything smells in my life currently.
“It’s the day after Independence Day. I should have my head in the toilet like everyone else. Why do we have to do this? It’s barbaric,” one of the guys asks from the far side of the locker room. I don’t turn to see who it is.
“Because we lost. You were at the same meeting I was, Mike. Maybe we’ll all play harder next year for the win so we don’t have to spend our summer like this.” Cap is not excited to be here or holding back. “The rink’s packed and I expect you all to show up. Play hard, be fun, smile, and get the crowd going.”
“Anyone know who the fun team is? That was missing from the email,” Mike shoots back.
“Coach just said it. Clean the shit outta your ears,” Cap barks. “They’re a rec league team made up of the guys who work for the PR firm. The office we were all at last week.”
“And apparently, they’re all right. So if they score, we’re all gonna wish we were dead,” Matt torments us.
I continue dressing as the grumbling and groaning become the background noise. It’s better than the miserable quiet, but it doesn’t take away the sting of knowing I’ll see Jenny at the barbecue after the game, something I’m dreading.
When I’m done dressing, I turn to see Brady glaring at me. I continue to bug him. “I’m telling Nat you hit me and that’s why your knuckles are bruised,” I torment him.
He rolls his eyes. “She’ll believe it too, ya shit.”
I shrug and sit, waiting for the coach to come in and read us the riot act. He’s barely speaking to any of us. He took the loss harder than we did and wouldn’t even come to Matt’s wedding.
“All right, boys,” Coach bellows as he reenters the room. “This is a rec league team, but I’ve been told they’re good. You guys play at fifty percent until we gauge where they’re at. I don’t wanna see a slaughter out there, no showboating. Although, after how you played in the playoffs, maybe these guys can teach you something.” The remark hurts more than any of us wants to admit. He waves and walks out again.
We all look to Cap. He nods. “What he said. Game faces on, boys!” He follows Coach out. The hallway, like the dressing room, is a place where we normally amp each other up and get excited to play, but this isn’t that kind of game. Or week. Or year.
Dragging sticks and hearts, we make our way to the door and wait for our names to be called by the announcer. He’s blathering on about nothing, something to do with the fundraiser. I grip my sticks and helmet while trying not to stare off into space too hard.
“For reals, what’s up your ass?” Brady asks again, nudging me.
> “Nothing, man. Just tired.” I try to shrug it off.
“Red destroyed you last night, didn’t she? You don’t have to be shy, you can tell us. We knew she was too much for you to handle anyway.” He leers and I fight wincing. It’s been two weeks since I saw her last and any mention of her makes my entire body ache. And the worst of it is that I cannot stop thinking about her.
Serves me right to fall for a girl who was only looking for a one-night stand.
The only person who knows Jenny and I are done is Bev, and she called it instant karma and laughed at me.
I don’t imagine telling anyone else is going to go better.
“If you’re not sleeping, you should try this shit I’m taking to help with my energy levels,” Matt mutters. “Sami is making me take it as a trial. Some powder I add to my morning shake that she was asked to test out.”
“Holy shit, ladies, this isn’t brunch. Game faces,” Cap snarls.
I have to laugh at that. “I kinda want some brunch now that you mention it, Cap.”
“Brady, hit him again,” Cap says.
Brady nudges me into the wall, making me grunt.
“Send me the link for the powder,” I mention to Matt as the door opens and Cap is called out and the crowd goes wild. One by one, we make our way to the glistening ice that’s fresh and sparkling from the Zamboni.
Matt gets called. Then me. Then Brady. We wave and smile as we skate out. The cold air, the sound of the fans, and the smell of fresh ice perk me up. I skate to the team we’re playing, running my glove over theirs as I say, “Good luck,” on repeat.
I offer the refs a glove touch and head for my spot in the lineup.
The crowd is going nuts as more of us are called out.
Staring at the back of the other team, I notice a few of the guys aren’t very big. Not just short but slight, even in skates and gear. A flash of red hair sticks out the back of one of the smaller guys. I squint and notice the texture and gloss of the hair. It’s her.