Adrian knocks on the connecting door.
"It's open," I tell him.
He walks in, and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry I said you were complicated."
A preemptive apology? From Adrian?
The world must be turned upside down.
"I'm not upset that you said it," I tell him, staring at the blank TV screen. "I'm upset that it's true."
I can see his dim reflection reaching out to me, so I go. I let him take my hand, and I sit down, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and says nothing.
Finally, he speaks.
"This whole thing is complicated. It's not your fault. I wanted the part of Natalie to be played by someone I could trust. I think Kara wanted to do it. She never brought it up, because she knows she can't - she already runs in these circles, she's known as herself. I think she's unhappy that someone else got to do it, instead of her."
I'm shaking my head. "Stop making excuses for her. Please."
"I'm not."
"You are. She likes you. Did you tell her that we're sleeping together? Did you tell her about the pool?"
His tone is mildly offended. "Of course not. But she's not an idiot."
"She didn't like me the first moment she saw me. So if she didn't know…"
Adrian kisses my forehead. "I told you. It's got nothing to do with us. She's just unhappy with something she can't control."
A thousand questions rush and churn in my head. I want to ask him if all that stuff about us fooling around in the office was just dirty talk and fantasies. I want to ask him why Kara saw me as a threat from the very beginning, if he didn't tell her something.
"Come to bed?" Adrian asks, finally. "Just to sleep. I mean - unless you'd rather something else."
"Sleep sounds good," I admit. "Might have overdone it a little this week. I could use some recovery time."
"God, yes." Adrian grins at me, leading me through the door. "Does this mean I'm getting old?"
"A little," I tell him. "But it's okay. You've got enough money that nobody will call you out if you keep pretending like you're young. Make sure to wear lots of tight jeans and hipster glasses."
"I have been wondering if my eyesight's going," he admits, sitting down on the bed and pulling off his shoes. "I don't know, though. That's a bit of a commitment to the hipster uniform."
"Well, you can start slow, and work your way up. Start with a stylish beard."
"You think so?" He touches his chin, thoughtfully.
"Sure. It would suit you. Everything suits you."
"If only the senior partners weren't an average of nine hundred years old," he sighs. "They'll think I'm a dirty hippy. I'd better not."
I laugh, slipping out of my hideous dress. "Oh, goodness. Well you wouldn't want to cause a stir at the country club."
He groans. "You think you're joking, but the last time I played golf with them, one of them spent the whole time talking about how he thinks his great-great-great-great-whatever-granddaughter must be 'doing drugs' because she wants to get a tattoo. I was tempted to ask what drugs, just to hear him say something like 'crack marijuana.'"
Cackling, I fall into bed. "'Helen, I swear that child is snorting the blue crystals like I saw on the TV show.'"
"How'd you know his wife's name is Helen?" Adrian curls his arm around my waist, pulling me against his body. Spooning with my boss - go ahead and add that the list of things I never thought I'd do.
"Lucky guess. It was a toss-up between that and Brittany, which would of course apply to his third nineteen-year-old trophy wife."
"One day I'll snap, and kill them all with my five-iron. But until then, I've got to pretend that we can socialize." He sighs into my hair. "I know you think I'm bad, but you have no idea how lucky you are. Really."
I smile, a little sadly, into the darkness.
"I think I've got some idea."
***
The next morning, before our flight, I manage to sneak down to the gift shop and pick something up that I think will make him smile. I'm planning to save it for when we get home, when I suspect he'll need a reminder. But once we're settled into our flight again, champagne in hand, I'm already itching to give it to him - just to see his face.
I notice that he carefully avoids making eye contact with the flight attendant, and I feel kind of bad.
"Here." I plop the little bag on the table between us. "To start your hipster uniform."
He gives me a look as he unwraps the bag and unfurls the shirt. When he sees the writing - KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD - I get that chuckle I was hoping for.
"Good one," he says, folding it back into the bag.
The air is thick with the expectation of the conversation I really, really don't want to have. My stupid gift landed like a ton of bricks. That's it - I'm ripping off this band-aid now.
"So do you want to talk about what happens back home?" I hold his gaze, even though it makes me want to sink into the floor. Even if that means falling thousands of feet into the earth.
"What happens back home?" he echoes. "Well."
He clears his throat, and I just wait.
"We just need to keep things in perspective, that's all," he says. Like all businessmen, he's mastered the art of using a lot of words to say nothing. "You and me both, we've only got one speed. Don't do anything halfway. Ever. That's what I like about you. But it can get you into a lot of trouble, especially when it comes to…interpersonal…"
He doesn't want to say relationships. I can tell.
I still have no idea what he wants. How he expects me to behave.
"Just give it to me straight, doc," I say, resting my elbows on the table. He laughs a little, glancing at me, then down at the table and back.
"I can't, Meg. How could I possibly? I can't predict the future. I'm just saying we need to be careful. If you want me to draw up a ten-step plan of action for how we proceed from here, I can't. I'm not going to." He shakes his head. "It's complicated."
"Complicated," I repeat. "What's complicated about it?"
He glances at me, unfolding a newspaper. "Please, Meg."
It's going to be a long fucking flight. Unless I kill him before it's over.
***
When I get home, after I drop my bags on the floor, the only thing I want to do is collapse in bed. But my mind's racing, and there's no way I can possibly calm down enough to sleep.
I gave up on trying to get Adrian to tell me what the hell's going through his head. He buried himself in work for the rest of the flight, and I toyed with the idea of changing to another seat just to make a point about how rude he was being, but I just fumed quietly instead.
The next morning at work, I don't know what I'm hoping for. He'll just keep shutting me down if I try to talk about what happened in Austin. Of course, we don't need to talk about it. I'd just like to continue the activities, but he seems at least passively resistant to that, too.
For now.
All of my nice clothes are still dirty from the trip, but I wear one of the most flattering outfits I have. When I come in with his morning coffee, I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe in his scent. I've always liked it, but it means something different now.
"Here's your coffee," I tell him, softly, setting it down. He doesn't look up. "Do you need anything else?"
He shakes his head.
Fuck it.
"I seem to remember we discussed some other tasks you might need me to complete in the morning," I say, in the most seductive tone I can manage while my heart tries to escape my chest.
He closes his eyes, and sighs heavily.
Not a promising reaction.
"Meghan, sit down." He makes a gesture towards the chair. I do, smoothing my skirt, readying myself for the tongue-lashing of the century. And not in the way I was hoping for.
Adrian interlaces his fingers and looks at me. And he says the last thing I'd ever expect: "Any plans for Thanksgiving?"
What?
"I always have plans fo
r Thanksgiving." I'm wincing at the thought; I can't help it. My family's holidays are about as frigid and hostile as they come, but it's better than spending them alone. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. "Why?"
"There's a book conference in London," he says. "Mostly for locals, as you might imagine from the scheduling. But we could make a big splash there."
We. Seriously? He's not even going to address what happened between us in Austin, and he's already planning the next trip?
"Well, I can't," I tell him. "I'm sorry."
I don't often take a hard line with Adrian, but in a fight between him and my mother, my mother wins. Every time. She makes him look like Mr. Rogers.
"Meghan, come on. I'm giving you the perfect excuse to avoid it." He looks back down at his paperwork. "Just make sure to arrange everything. I don't want to deal with your family drama when the time comes."
I scowl at him. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but…"
"It doesn't matter what I'm trying to accomplish," he growls. His eyes flash, and I swallow hard, finally seeing some hint of the passion I got to know last week. Not exactly how I wanted it, but at least it's a reaction.
A moment later, he calms down. "Just make arrangements, Meg. I'll call you if I need you again."
***
It's the longest workday of my life.
When I get home, as I'm finally dropping my purse on the sofa, making all kinds of murderous plans in the back of my head, I hear my phone buzzing. My heart leaps into my throat, hoping against hope that it's Adrian, calling to apologize.
Seriously? What universe do I think I'm living in?
Toto, we're not in Austin anymore.
I smirk to myself as I pick up my phone, but my smile quickly dies.
Mom.
"Hi, I just walked in. I can't talk long." I'm hoping my brusque demeanor will actually have an effect this time.
"Don't worry. I just need to know when you're getting off for Thanksgiving."
Fuck.
"I told you, I'm taking care of my own tickets."
She laughs. "Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, I need to plan everything. You must know by now - haven't you asked Mr. Risinger?"
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly before I answer her. "Actually, I might have to work through Thanksgiving this year."
"What?" She's so shrill that I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear. "That's ridiculous. Tell him you can't."
"It might not be an option, Mom."
"How is it not an option? There's always an option. If you're really so important to him, he'll find a way to forgive you."
I'm pissed off at Adrian, I'm royally pissed off at my mom, I'm pissed off at the world - but right now, my mom trumps everything. The last thing I want to do is defend his power play, but fuck me, I'm going to.
"I want to do this, Mom. It's important for the company. It's important to me. It's not going to kill me to miss a Thanksgiving." I take a deep breath. "And it won't kill you, either. I'll see you at Christmas."
Her voice is pure venom. "This conversation isn't over, Meghan."
She's not lying.
Chapter Thirteen
I miss you
That's all it is. Three little words, on the screen of my phone.
I stare it them¸ my heart pounding. It's been a week since Austin, I'm just starting to wonder if the whole thing was some kind of insane fever dream.
Another message comes in.
Can we talk?
I sigh, tapping out my answer before I have a chance to think about it too hard.
About what?
He answers quickly.
You know what. I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. But don't torture me.
At that moment, my doorbell goes off. Seriously?
Swear to God, if it's my drunken neighbor who forgot his front door keys again…
I look through the peephole, and my heart drops through my stomach. There's no point in ignoring it - she'll just keep on ringing.
Even though I'm in my pajamas, I yank the door open.
"Mom. Dad. So great to see you, and so unexpected." I offer them a frozen smile. My mom is fuming, my dad lurking in the background with that hollow look in his eyes. She wore him down, like she always does.
"Meghan." My mom breezes in, planting a chilly kiss on my cheek. "Dressed for bed already? Don't you ever go out?"
"Not every night, Mom." I'm hovering in the middle of the room as she wanders through the living room, running her finger along the shelving.
"Do you ever dust?" she asks, her nose wrinkling slightly.
I let out a sigh, because it's all I can do. "So let me guess, you're here to talk about Thanksgiving, huh?"
She sits down, gingerly, on my sofa. "Yes. Have a seat, Meghan."
This is my place.
I do what she asks.
"I thought you might listen to reason if I could speak to you, face to face," my mom says. "Besides which, your father and I haven't seen the city in a while. We're looking forward to playing tourist for a few days. I'm sure you're busy with work, but I hope you'll join us whenever you can disentangle yourself."
"I'm very busy these days," I tell her, feeling my phone buzz in my hand. Shit. "Excuse me, Mom. I just have to use the restroom."
Hurrying down the hall, I shut the door behind me and stare at my phone.
I'm coming over.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
It text him back hastily.
Please don't
I can't explain why. I'll never hear the end of it if I do. He doesn't answer for a moment, and I'm pretty sure I have several small heart attacks waiting for his response.
Too late.
The doorbell rings. My pulse hammers so hard it hurts, and I run to the front hall, pulling the door open with such force that it slams against the wall.
Adrian's standing there with his hands behind his back, still dressed from work but slightly unraveled. His tie is loose, his jacket gone, and his sleeves rolled up, and if my fucking parents weren't here I would have immediately jumped on him.
The look on my face gives him pause, just seconds before my mom's voice echoes through the hall.
"Who on earth is that, Meghan?"
For a moment, he looks like a deer in the headlights, but he recovers quickly and steps inside. "I'm so sorry," he says, as my parents approach like they're on a lion-hunting expedition, and my boss is Aslan himself. "I didn't know Meghan had company. How are you? Adrian Risinger, Meghan's boss."
He sticks his hand out, and my dad goes first, hesitantly.
"We know who you are," says my mom, in a tone that lowers the temperature of the room by about twelve degrees. "Five years, and never once did you ask Meghan to work Thanksgiving. Now, all of a sudden, you need her all week? It's completely unheard-of."
Adrian's still got his other hand behind his back, holding a small white box. I have an inkling of what it might be, and it's certainly nothing work-related.
"Yes, well, I'm sorry about that," he says, smoothly. I've seen him put on this face before in front of the senior partners, but they're not my mom. "But, you see, working over Thanksgiving gives us a distinct advantage with the Japanese company I'm trying to partner with. My competitors won't get to them until after the holidays, so if we strike while the iron is hot-"
My mom closes her eyes, doing that angry, dismissive hand gesture she's so good at. "No, no, no. I don't want to hear it. If you're determined to do this, that's fine, but leave my daughter out of it. She will be at our family Thanksgiving."
Adrian cocks his head. I can feel something changing in the air, like he's bristling a little.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Burns, your daughter's absolutely indispensable. I need her." He glances at me, and his eyes momentarily storm with a thousand secrets. "It's not my intention to ruin your family celebration, but can't you perhaps postpone it?"
My mother lets out a shrill laugh, and I cringe. "I'm sorry, are you trying to tell me h
ow to run my family affairs?"
"Are you trying to tell me how to run my business?" Adrian counters, taking a step towards her.
My heart stops.
"You don't own my daughter's life, Mr. Risinger." My mother stares him down, but the expression on her face isn't one I've seen before. "And I don't need you to tell me how indispensable she is. I know she's smart, I know she works hard. She's too smart to be working for you. If you're going to keep her as a secretary, the least you can do is respect her personal obligations." She takes a deep breath. "Meghan, if you don't stand up to him, he's never going to respect you. No man will. You're never going to get a decent job on a music major if you can't act like a force to be reckoned with."
"Fine, Mom. Fine." I throw my hands up in the air. "I'll come to Thanksgiving! Okay? I'll come. But I'm getting my own tickets. Now please, I need to go over something with Mr. Risinger. I'll call you in the morning, okay? We can make plans."
"Oh, I think your father and I will be just fine," she sniffs. "Don't put yourself out."
"I thought you said you wanted…"
She waves her hand. "Don't worry, it's not all that important. Obviously you're very busy."
The look that she shoots me with makes it very, very obvious that Adrian's lie didn't go over quite as well as I'd hoped.
"Sleep tight," is her parting shot, before she shuts the door.
I take a second to just breathe.
"Good God." Adrian collapses on the sofa, staring at me with wide eyes. "Should I call a priest?"
A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest. "Oh, she's not…she's not that…"
"See, you can't even say it." He chuckles. "It's all right. You're allowed to agree that your mother might be a demon, so long as you're not the one who actually said it."
His Secretary: Undone Page 14