by Penny Reid
“Family stuff.” He scratched his jaw, inspecting me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Things are fine.” I made a mental note to deepen my voice the next time I spoke; I didn’t sound like myself, my tone was pitched too high.
“Fine,” he said, giving me a flat smile.
And for some reason the flatness of his smile made my stomach hurt.
“Well.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my eyes on his, giving myself one more moment to look my fill before making an escape. “I guess I’ll—”
“You going to Janie’s this Tuesday? For your knitting thing with the ladies?” He shuffled a step forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Yes.” I didn’t move away, I stood my ground, lifting my chin to maintain eye contact.
“You, uh,” he glanced beyond me, down the hall. His eyes seemed conflicted. “You still like dogs?”
“I love dogs,” I said without thinking.
A new smile, more genuine than before, claimed his features as he brought his gaze back to mine. “Right. You love dogs.”
“I do. I love them.”
“Well, if you’re going to be at Janie’s, you should stop by my place on your way out and meet Wally.” His grin grew, his eyes twinkling just the tiniest bit, and my heart did a little flip.
“Wally?”
“My dog.”
Hope fluttered its wings low in my belly. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” He nodded once, his gaze traveling over my face before dropping to my lips. “Just don’t throw any balls out the window. My place is on the twenty-eighth floor and I love that dog.”
I grinned. And then I laughed while my heart raced ahead of my brain.
Was this happening?
YES THIS IS HAPPENING!
Is he inviting you over?
YES HE IS INVITING ME OVER!
Has he forgotten about Vegas?
IT WOULD APPEAR SO!
Maybe . . . maybe he was willing to give me another shot.
Smiling up at him, I sighed, and was just about to ask what time I should come over, and perhaps offer to bring dinner, when we were interrupted.
“Dan!”
At the sound of his name, Dan blinked, frowning like he was confused, and glanced over his shoulder while I peered around him.
It was Tonya. Tonya from accounting on the seventeenth floor. She’d taken Janie’s position at Foster just a few months ago and was just delightful. Well, she was delightful except she never laughed at my jokes. But that was probably my fault, I made weird jokes.
Tonya was also smiling at Dan like she knew him well. Really, really well. Perchance even intimately. I quickly shooed away this unpleasant thought, but then my suspicion was confirmed when, upon reaching us, she lifted to her tip toes and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
Automatically, his hands came to her sides and he held her, returning the kiss and then smiling down at her.
“Hey,” he said, “You ready to go?”
She nodded, still smiling brightly, “I was on my way to my desk to grab my bag.” Tonya turned to me as she spoke and gave me a friendly grin of greeting. “Hey, Kat. Do you know Dan? He works with the security firm on the top level of the building.”
I nodded and said nothing, returning her friendly grin as best I could. I was dazed, like I’d been spun in a circle thirty-two times and then told to spell aloud chrysanthemum. I’d never met a person who could spell chrysanthemum out loud.
“Kat and I’ve known each other since last year, through Janie. You know, Quinn’s wife?” Dan’s arm slipped around Tonya’s waist as he glanced at me, his gaze once again dispassionate. “We’re friends.”
Friends.
I swallowed, my gaze dropping to the floor as I gathered my wits. Who knew the word friends could sound so sharp? Like the verbal equivalent of a serrated knife. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my chin again and gave my coworker a really good impression of a smile.
“Friends,” I confirmed. Convincingly.
The muscle at Dan’s jaw jumped and he looked back to Tonya. “She’s one of the knitting ladies I was telling you about. I was just asking her to come by on Tuesday and meet Wally.”
Tonya’s smile wavered as Dan mentioned his dog. “That reminds me, I need to pick up Claritin again after lunch.” To me she explained sadly, “I’m allergic to dogs.”
“Oh. That’s . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, because—honestly?—part of me was vindictively happy that this very kind woman, who was apparently dating the guy of my dreams, was allergic to dogs.
I’m an evil harpy.
I didn’t want to be an evil harpy.
I won’t be an evil harpy! I REFUSE!
“That’s too bad,” I finally said, and I meant it. “Is it all dogs? Some, like poodles, are better for allergies than others.”
Dan scoffed. “A poodle? I don’t want a poodle.”
“Why not?” I asked, surprised by his snobbery towards poodles. I liked poodles.
“Did you hear about the poodle that gave birth outside?”
I glanced at Tonya. She looked at him with curiosity, like she was interested in the story; but to me, this felt like the set up for a joke.
“No . . .” I narrowed my eyes on him. “What happened to the poodle that gave birth outside?”
“She got a ticket for littering,” he said, completely serious.
And, despite the situation, I laughed at the cheesy punchline.
Littering.
I rolled my eyes.
Tonya looked between us, a wrinkle between her eyebrows.
A few seconds later she also laughed, like she just got the joke, or felt like she should laugh, shaking her head and then turning to Dan and saying, “That’s good information, though. Our next dog should be a poodle.”
His eyes widened, and his lips parted with surprise. He seemed to be struggling to respond. This time, I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing, figuring that Tonya was joking with him in return.
But when Tonya continued to look completely serious, Dan’s expression screamed deer-caught-in-headlights. “Uh . . .”
“Just think about it,” she said.
She’s not joking.
My urge to laugh was dashed, crushed into smithereens. How long have they been together? Are they getting a dog together? Have they talked about it??
Tonya then gave him another quick kiss and pulled away, saying to Dan, “Okay, give me three minutes. I’ll be right back.” To me she sent a smile, “See you later. Maybe Tuesday? When you stop by to see Wally?”
“Sounds good. See you then,” I responded evenly, determined to mask my disheartened disappointment from Tonya.
My co-worker turned and walked quickly down the hall, like she was in a rush to finish up so she could meet Dan for lunch. Both he and I watched her go. Every click of her shoes against the tan linoleum floor felt like the rusty hinges creaking shut on the door to my heart.
Dramatic much?
I sighed. I wasn’t finished being dramatic. I wanted to indulge in the impulse for just one more minute.
I’ve missed my chance. Dan has moved on and I’ve lost my chance. FOREVER!
Now I was finished being dramatic. At least, I was finished until I could escape work and stop by the market on my way home. Once there, I would buy all the cheese. All of it.
But for now, I turned back to Dan as Tonya rounded the corner. He was looking at me as though waiting, patiently waiting, giving nothing of his thoughts away.
I glanced at him. Strangely, I found looking at Dan much easier now that all interactions between us would be taking place within this very well-defined box of our current relationship—which is to say, we had no relationship. We didn’t even have possibility of a relationship.
“Tonya is really great,” I said sincerely, because Tonya was really great. “She made a raspberry crumble for the office third quarter birthday party. It was delicious.” I smi
led; that was easier, too. “I’m happy for you both.”
He frowned. I watched his chest expand with a deep breath as his eyes moved between mine.
After a protracted moment, he asked, “You coming by to see Wally? On Tuesday?”
I nodded once. “Sure. Does he need a cape?”
His mouth curved to the side, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you knit him one if I said yes?”
“I would.” I glanced at my hands, considering my next words before saying, “I would do anything for my friends.”
When I looked at Dan again, his eyes had fallen to the floor. He appeared to be deep in thought. Taking another deep breath, his gaze lifted to mine again. This time they looked bracing.
“I have to go,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll see you around.”
He nodded, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked at me. “You know, it goes both ways. I’d do anything for my friends, too. All you need to do is ask.”
“Thanks.”
Well.
That’s settled.
Friends.
So why was my throat so tight?
Dan gave me a subtle nod, a short smile, and moved to the side, walking around me.
I didn’t move as he left. I didn’t move as I listened to his footfalls carry him farther away. I didn’t move because my mind was racing, readjusting my impression of reality, reorganizing my world view.
I wouldn’t be one of those women who pined for someone else’s boyfriend. I wouldn’t. The girl-code forbade it. As of now—as of right this minute—Dan was just a guy I knew. If I found myself pining, then he’d be regulated to acquaintance rather than friend.
I would avoid him. I would not think of him. I would not—
“Hey, Kat,” he called.
I twisted toward his voice, my heart giving a betraying little flutter as our eyes met.
“Yes?”
“If I don’t see you, Happy Valentine’s Day.” Dan grinned. It was small, genuine, gentle, and it made my chest hurt.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said, issuing a quick smile, and turned, my feet carrying me away from my new acquaintance, Daniel O’Malley.
Pre-order Marriage of Inconvenience releasing March 6th, 2018
Read on for the first three chapters of 'Marriage of Inconvenience'
Chapter One
Marriage: The legal union of a couple as spouses. The basic elements of a marriage are: (1) the parties' legal ability to marry each other, (2) mutual consent of the parties, and (3) a marriage contract as required by law.
Wex Legal Dictionary
**Kat**
“What did you just say?”
My sharp question earned me a sharp look from Ms. Opal. She eyed me from across the room. Mouth pinched into a disapproving pucker, my coworker’s gaze lingered on the cell in my hand. Ms. Opal didn’t do this often—send me disapproving looks— just whenever I spoke too loudly. Or laughed. Or smiled. Or showed any emotion.
None of which I did with any frequency.
“Sorry,” I said to her, even though my sharp question hadn’t been directed to Ms. Opal.
It had been directed to the person on the other side of my call. The unexpectedly disastrous, panic-inducing call.
I heard a chair creak, and then he repeated, “He’s planning to have you committed.”
“Please wait,” I whispered, dipping my chin to my chest, allowing my hair to fall forward. Blocking my face from Ms. Opal and anyone else who might walk through our shared space, I whispered, “Let me call you back. I’m at work.”
Uncle Eugene huffed, the sound ripe with impatience. “At work.”
“Yes. At work. As in my job.”
“Your job.” His words were as flat as matzo.
“Please give me five minutes. Thank you,” I said on a rush.
Not waiting for his response, I ended the call and clutched my cell to my chest. I stared unseeingly at the dark, solid wood surface of my desk while trying very, very hard not to FREAK THE FREAKITY FREAK OUT!
Oh God, oh God, oh God. What am I going to do? Why now? Why—
“Kat?”
I stiffened, instinctively straightening my spine, and managed a raspy, “Yes, Ms. Opal?”
I sensed the older woman hesitate, and felt her disapproving eyes move over me. I was familiar with this look of hers. It was the kind of look I imagined mothers gave their kids during teenage years. The kind of look parents everywhere administered to children when they were acting like a fool, as I sometimes caught Ms. Opal muttering under her breath.
Struggling to paste on my polite smile of perpetual calm, I glanced at the older woman. We’d been working together in the same space for going on five years and I’d grown accustomed to her pointed looks, usually. But today, as Ms. Opal lifted her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes, my throat tightened and my cheeks heated.
I was officially off-kilter.
Discovering one’s cousin wishes to send thee away to a nunnery will do that. And by nunnery, I mean a mental hospital. And by send away, I mean lock away forever.
As far as coworkers went, I liked Ms. Opal a lot. I appreciated her exacting nature. We were the two highest-ranking administrative employees in the firm, and we worked well together. She was no-nonsense, dedicated, and never gossiped. The woman was always five minutes early and fully prepared for all meetings. Sometimes I thought she liked me too, like the time she came back from vacation and discovered I’d organized the copy room according to her preferred design. She hadn’t given me a pointed look after that for a full six weeks.
Presently, she cleared her throat. “I need a few number-ten envelopes from the supply closet. Will you please retrieve them for me? I’ll cover your desk.”
Startled, I stared at her. She was still giving me a pointed look, but even through the wild jungle of my panic I recognized that it wasn’t a look of disappointment. She seemed concerned.
“Yes. I will.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Forcing myself to nod, I stood from my desk. As my chair made a clumsy scraping noise against the floor, I darted out of our shared office. It wasn’t until I was three cubicles away from the supply closet, and one of the senior architects gave me a weird side-eye, that I realized I hadn’t stopped nodding or clutching my phone.
It didn’t matter.
Maybe nothing mattered.
Maybe not even cheese mattered.
Ceasing my inane nodding, I redirected my attention to my sleeve, fiddling with the buttons in order to avoid eye contact. I then pulled at the keys attached to my waist and unlocked the closet. Once inside, I shut the door behind me and flicked on the light, hoping none of the staff architects had spotted my mad dash.
Architects were like junkies around office supplies, insatiable. I didn’t understand their preoccupation with mechanical pencils and graph paper, especially since all their work and renderings were done using computer models. Regardless, we could never keep either in stock.
I once had a junior architect buy me a fruit basket for a packet of highlighters. I felt like saying, Dude. Anyone can buy highlighters. Just go to an office supply store. Instead I wrote her a thank-you note.
Staring at the screen of my phone, I pushed past the rising tide of fear and redialed Uncle Eugene’s number.
He picked up the phone immediately. “Hello?”
“Hello,” I said. Waited. When he was quiet, I added, “It’s me. It’s Kat.”
“Yes. I know.”
I waited again. When he said nothing else, I asked, “What am I going to do? Please tell me what to do.”
“You don’t have many options.” He sounded grim, but then he always did. I appreciated his consistency.
Eugene Marks wasn’t really my uncle. He was my family’s lawyer, but I’d known him since I was a kid, and he’d always been nice to me. Grim, but nice. The bar had been set so low by my blood relatives, to the extent that Uncle E
ugene had been my favorite person growing up. I always remembered his birthday with a hand-stamped card and an edible bouquet of mostly pineapple. Pineapple was his favorite.
“Please, tell me my options.” I paced within the small closet.
“Fine. First option: you allow your cousin to become the guardian of your person and your property. He will promptly commit you, take control of your inheritance when the time comes—specifically, your controlling shares in Caravel Pharmaceuticals—and you may spend the next several years institutionalized. He’ll have control of your accounts and finances, therefore you’ll have no funds legal representation.”
See? Grim, right?
“Please explain to me how any of this is possible. I’ve been—voluntarily—going to counseling for just over two years now. I earned my GED, and my AA all on my own. Now I’m putting myself through the part-time business program at the University of Chicago, maintaining a 3.9 GPA while working full time.”
“Yes. Even though some of those actions will work in your favor, it won’t be enough.”
“Please explain.”
“Firstly, you aren’t ready to lead a multi-national pharmaceutical empire.”
“I agree. Of course I’m not ready.” I kept my tone calm, firmly dispassionate. “But I have been flying there two weekends a month, haven’t I? I’ve been meeting with you, the board, learning, preparing. As far as I know, the board is happy to vote my father’s shares as a collective until I reach thirty-one. That was the plan we all agreed to two years ago, and I’ve done everything asked of me.”
“Except quit your job and move back to Boston.”
I shook my head. “We’ve already discussed this.”
What I didn’t say, what I hadn’t admitted to anyone, was that I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to move back to Boston, to assume the role I’d been born into. I’d been stubborn, stalling, putting off the inevitable, because just the thought of living that life, living in that empty mansion, sequestered from the real world, filled me with misery.