Far From Normal

by Becky Wallace

  Their eyes are heavy on me, waiting for a response.

  “Having Gabe on a larger, more powerful team would also be good for Velocity.” Emma changes tactics. “Which would ultimately be good for you.”

  Right. That’s why I started this whole thing in the first place. She’s certainly good at figuring out where everyone’s buttons are. Going to UNC is mine, and apparently, for some unknown reason, I’m Gabe’s.

  “I don’t want to pull you off this account—especially when you’ve been doing so well—simply because you’ve forgotten our goal and yours.”

  Geez, Em. Way to lay down the threat. Mom would be proud.

  “I haven’t forgotten.” My voice snaps in a way that would have gotten me in trouble at home. If Emma hears it, she doesn’t make a comment about my attitude. “But I can’t promise that anything I say will make a difference.”

  “But you’ll try?” Em asks.

  “If I have to.”

  Emma and Scott exchange a relieved look, and I want to throw up.

  “Thank you, Maddie.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Good night.” I hurry to my room before they can call me back and flop face-first onto my bed.

  I didn’t trip over anything or fall down a flight of stairs, but it hasn’t stopped me from stumbling. Am I putting aside my goals for a guy? For a throwaway summer fling?

  Gabriel Fortunato is an international heartbreaker. I know that. The whole world knows that. It was one kiss on the rooftop. It didn’t mean anything.

  Yes, it did, my mind so kindly supplies. My heart kicks into sixth gear as I think about our conversations, about those moments of connection that have nothing to do with how good he looks. I don’t think anyone knows how difficult his relationship with his family is, or that he manufactures charm for the public, or that if he was left to his own devices, he’d play the piano and nerd out over history.

  Seeing the other side of him, the one that he doesn’t put on for the cameras, is like being let in on a secret. It’s a trust I want to keep.

  A paw scratches my bedroom door.

  “Ugh. Go away, Watford.”

  He scratches twice more and then whines. It’s so pitiful, I can’t ignore it. I swing open the door, and let him in. He hops onto the bed beside me, resting his head on my stomach.

  Gosh, I love this stupid dog.

  I MUST HAVE SHUT MY ALARM OFF BECAUSE I DON’T WAKE UP UNTIL I hear Watford gagging in the living room. And waking up late to a puking dog should have given me a trajectory of my day.

  Patty snorts at me as I walk through the secret door, but it’s such a typical Patty greeting that warning bells don’t start chiming until Katie sees me. I swear it’s like someone unplugged one of those Christmas yard inflatables—everything bright and sparkly about her goes dark, and she starts to sag.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, feet skidding to a stop.

  “It’s not a big deal.” She forces her smile into place, but it has none of its glitter. She loops her arm through mine and walks me to my cubicle. “Seriously, don’t let it get to you.”

  I gasp. Every flat surface is decorated with color printouts—all pictures of me and Gabe from last night.

  There’s one from the parking lot, when I leaned against the Ferrari and Gabe had grabbed my wrists. It looks intense and kind of sexy, even though that’s not at all how that moment felt.

  There’s another taken from the entrance of the Belden-Stratford. Were there even guests in the lobby last night? I obviously didn’t notice because in the picture, I’m one hundred percent focused on Gabe. We’re hand in hand; I’m giving him an openmouthed grin.

  The worst picture of all—or the best, if you’re judging by artistic merit and not level of embarrassment—is taped right above my computer. Gabe and I are pressed together, only the safety bar at the field keeping us apart. He’s smiling down at me. My hand is twisted in his shirt, baring a couple inches of his skin. From the way it’s cropped, you can’t tell that I’m holding onto him for balance and not because I want to peel his clothes off.

  “That one’s everywhere.” Mara stands in my cubicle door, hands stuffed in her pockets of a sleeveless emerald jumpsuit. “Almost all the fan sites and the online gossips have it. It’s steamy.”

  I bunch it in my hand, crumpling it into a tight ball that matches the one inside my chest. “Did you do this?”

  She shrugs. “I came in early and decided to run all the searches. This is just part of what I found.”

  “So you hung them up all over my cubicle?”

  “Oh, come on, Maddie. I’m just trying to help you out.” Her smile is knife-edged as she hands me a file. “Don’t you want to know exactly what people are saying about you and Fortunato?”

  I open the cover, and it’s full of page after page of comments printed from fan sites and gossip blogs. Very few of them are flattering. A lot of them are offensive.

  “Is she one of those models who look absolutely rubbish unless they’re made up?”

  “She’s not even that cute, so she must have money.”

  “What could he possibly see in her?”

  Katie snatches them out of my hands, folds the stack in half, and hurls it Frisbee-style into Mara’s cubicle. “Not helpful, Mara.”

  “Of course it is. Half our job is to be aware of what people are saying about our clients. I’m helping you become aware so you can deal with it appropriately before it turns into something else.” She motions to the ball of paper in my fist. “And if this is the way you’re going to go about handling the Fortunato account, at least own up to your methods.”

  When she drops into her chair, Katie makes finger guns at Mara’s back.

  “Ignore her,” Katie says, scrolling through the feed for the @proWAGs account on Instagram. “Mara’s just jealous and so are all of these idiots.”

  Commenters hack on each woman’s hairstyle, body type, and outfit and slight them for things not even in the picture. The majority of the comments are women cutting down other women.

  “Why do we do this to each other?” I ask, looking up from Katie’s phone.

  “You’d think we’d be beyond this sort of ugliness. Some women do such a good job building each other up, while others only see one seat at the table, and they want it for themselves.” She shakes her head and leans against my desk. “We’d be so much better off if we worked toward the same goal instead of in competition with each other.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Arman says just loud enough for us to hear over the half wall that separates his desk from mine.

  Katie climbs onto my desk so she can peer into Arman’s space. “Have you been listening to everything we say?”

  I can’t see him, but I hear his laugh. It’s pleasant and friendly, just like Arman.

  “It’s not like you ladies are whispering.” He stands up so I can see his face. “For what it’s worth …” He pauses to shoot a look toward Mara’s cubicle and lowers his voice even further. “I think, in her own way, she really is trying to help you.”

  At that moment, my desk phone rings. My aunt wants to see me in her office. Right away.

  THERE’S AN OPEN FILE ON HER DESK. PICTURES OF ME AND GABE ARE shuffled in with news reports and screenshots from some gossipy fan sites. I didn’t tell Emma about the rooftop episode, but from the photos I’m pretty sure she’s made an educated guess.

  “You wanted to see me?” I drop into one of the chairs in front of her desk and tuck my hands under my thighs.

  “Did you approve the post Gabe uploaded this morning?” She holds up her phone so I can see the screen.

  Two matching fortunes are placed on what appears to be his kitchen counter. I pretend not to see the line of out-of-focus bottles just off to the left—one bearing the unmistakable shape of Patrón tequila—and some lime wedges. Em makes no comment on the alcohol, which I guess is a bonus because I don’t want to have to try to explain that.

  Instead, I lean in close to see the picture. Go for
it, both fortunes read. And the text below it says, “Some things are too good to pass up.”

  It could mean anything. It’s ambiguous and unspecific, but that doesn’t stop me from flashing hot with the memory of last night.

  Em’s eyebrows are up, waiting for an answer.

  “No, I didn’t approve this. And he knows he’s supposed to run everything past me before he posts.”

  “I’m not upset about the post. It’s a little enigmatic, which some fans really love. I’m more interested in what it’s referring to. Do you have any idea?”

  I have a pretty good guess, but I’m not admitting that now. Or possibly ever. “I’m not positive.” Not completely a lie. I don’t have any idea what he was thinking the moment he posted this picture.

  “Hmm. I was reading too much into it, then. I was hoping that it meant he was willing to consider a move to Arsenal.”

  Or maybe it was the push he needed to kiss me until my head spun.

  I open my mouth and then rethink what I was about to say. “You know Gabe blames Geoff for all the hate he got in Europe? That he choked during the World Cup?”

  “I believe Geoff’s quote was ‘Fortunato is a young star who will flame out before we ever see his brilliance. Don’t waste your money hoping he’ll shine.’ He repeated a similar phrase in every World Cup interview. He probably thought he sounded so clever.” She smirks and shakes her head. “I understand Gabe’s hard feelings, but Geoff is willing to figuratively eat crow on this. Gabe’s biggest detractor wants to sign him for the team he’s building. Is there any better way to reverse the damage of Geoff’s remarks?”

  I can’t help but agree. I don’t think Gabe would get a much bigger apology.

  “Tell him that. Use the influence you have over him to get him to see sense.” She taps the stack of pictures of me and Gabe. “You clearly have some.”

  Her words hollow out my chest. “I’m sort of wondering about the ethics and professionalism of this because Mara …”

  “What did Mara say?”

  I shake my head, feeling like Cube tattling on Max for eating the last ice cream sandwich. “She … umm … pointed out that mixing business with pleasure doesn’t look very professional. And it’s all business, I swear.” Don’t oversell it. I mentally slap myself.

  Emma breaks into a huge smile. “Do you remember who I dated before Geoff?”

  Hazily, I remember someone before The Cheating Bastard. “A baseball player? A pitcher for the Yankees?”

  “I met him while I was working at that PR firm in New York. He had social anxiety disorder and needed someone to accompany him to events. Someone who could guide conversations to topics he felt comfortable with and could cover for him if he started to panic.”

  “I didn’t know any of that.”

  “That’s the point. He needed me as a buffer, and really, we’re using you to the same end. Gabe just needs a little help getting out of his own way. If people want to assume there’s something else, then let them assume.”

  A buffer. Okay. I can handle that. In fact, it almost sounds noble. Like I’m helping him overcome something that’s stopping him from reaching his potential.

  “He asked me to be his date to the gala. Do you think—”

  “I think that’s perfect. You were going to be there anyway, and now you’ll have an excuse to stick by him all night and make sure he stays out of trouble.” She looks me up and down, taking in my pink sundress and ponytail. “Plus having him show up with someone who isn’t an heiress or a model will be really appealing to the public. They’ll love seeing him with someone normal.”

  I ignore the way the last words sting. “Then, I guess, I’ll tell him yes.”

  “All the interns will be involved in the set-up process, so it might be best if you meet Gabe there. William will be out front to lead Gabe through the media gamut. I don’t see any issues with you joining him there.”

  Media. Gamut. Are there two less attractive words?

  “Or I could just wait inside,” I say hopefully.

  “You could, but I don’t think Gabe would have asked you to be his date if he wanted to show up alone.”

  “Right. Sure.” I stand up from the chair and brush imaginary crumbs off my dress. “Was that all you needed?”

  “Sweetie, I can tell you’re still a little worried. Some people hold on to the antiquated idea that personal and professional lives should never overlap, but it’s completely ridiculous. When you work as closely as we do with our clients, there’s bound to be some crossover.” She holds her arms out, signaling to her fancy office. “It is how I got here.”

  She’s built an amazing career out of the ashes of her marriage. But is this really something we should thank Geoff for?

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  I HAVE A HARD TIME FOCUSING WHEN I GET BACK TO MY DESK. My stomach is tied in knots when I think about talking to Gabe about Geoff. Is going back to Europe really in his best interest? I mean, it obviously is money-wise. But if the public shamers bother Gabe so badly, then wouldn’t it be better for him to stay here where he’s relatively anonymous?

  Since it’s a half day, Katie and I skip our lunch break and decide to eat at Water Tower Place after work. The food hall has the world’s best macaroni and cheese, which I get with a huge slice of fresh corn bread. Katie gets a kale salad, and we take our meals out to sit in the shadow of the Hancock Building.

  “Heeey.” Katie drops onto the bench next to me. She’s wearing a floral-printed dress that looks straight out of the ’90s. It even has lace around the collar. “You’ve been weirdly quiet today.”

  “I’m always quieter than you.”

  She scoffs. “True, but …” She digs her phone out of a striped bag that is big enough to double as a circus tent. “Is it this?”

  It’s the WAGs Instagram feed, and the top post is me and Blanca, cheering Gabe’s second goal. We’re both ecstatic. Neither of us knew cameras were on us. My eyes immediately drop to the first comment.

  Somebody teach that girl to contour.

  I put the phone screen down on the bench. “Do you follow this account—”

  “Ugh,” she interrupts. “No. Mara sent it to me.”

  “Why?”

  She sighs and tucks her legs underneath. I’ve finally realized that this quirk is because she’s so short her feet don’t always touch the floor.

  “She’s totally got it out for you.”

  “I noticed.” I’m hesitant to say anything about Mara out loud, but I really want Katie’s take. “Do you think Mara would have deleted my video footage?”

  “I think …” She pauses, pulling her enormous cat-eye sunglasses down over her eyes. “Maybe? It is a pretty awful thing to do, but she is banking on getting hired permanently after she graduates college. She feels like everyone has gotten help from their family, and she’s got no one on her side.”

  “And by everyone she means me, right?”

  “Not just you. Did you know that Javi is Patty’s grandson?”

  This stuns me on more than one level. Javi is so outgoing, and Patty is … pretty caustic. “Patty’s old enough to have a grandson? I thought she was like thirty-five at most.”

  Katie uses her hands to pull her skin taut on her face. “Didn’t you notice her eyebrows? She paints them on super thick to cover the way her facelift pulled them halfway up her forehead.”

  “How do you know she had a facelift?”

  “Because I knew her before she had it.” Katie bites her bottom lip. “I met Patty years ago when William started interning at Velocity.”

  I don’t say anything, but she reads my confused expression.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal because it’s not like we’re close, but William is my cousin.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Horrible? Yeah. That’s definitely true at the office.”

  “He calls you Intern.”

  “He did it to force separation between us, constantly re
minding himself that I wasn’t the little girl who he used to take baths with.”

  I gag.

  She laughs. “I feel the same way. But then you came along, and he couldn’t call me Intern and you by your name, so you got stuck with Coffee.”

  We fall silent for a few seconds, and thoughts tumble over each other in my head. “Poor Mara. She probably feels like she has no chance.”

  “Don’t feel too bad for her. She was William’s girlfriend last summer.”

  True.

  “And he really is trying to be fair,” Katie continues, stretching out on the bench and shading her face with her hand. “He even created this spreadsheet, tallying up all of our accomplishments this summer so he knows which intern was the most valuable. So far, I’m at the bottom of the list—and yes, he told me.”

  Yikes.

  “It doesn’t matter as much to me as it does to you. My mom just wanted me out of the house doing ‘something productive’ for the summer and begged William to take me on.”

  Having more than one avenue to college would be nice. I mean, there’s a chance I could have tried out for a university dance team somewhere and gotten a little scholarship money, but it’s not the direction I want to go. Knowing the way my brain works means that I’d go to school and dance and study. Sleeping and eating would happen only when I was done studying, and I learn even slower when I’m tired.

  “This is depressing.” She tosses her fork into her salad and steals half of my cornbread. “Tell me about Gabe, besides the obvious fact that he’s so hot he might melt your face off.”

  “He’s not what I expected.” He is gorgeous and cocky and ridiculously flirty, but he’s also sweet and funny and a little bit broken.

  “And an amazing kisser?”

  So much that. I take a bite of my macaroni to avoid eye contact. “Who said anything about kissing?”

  “Girl. Please. I saw the pictures. The game? Going back to your apartment?”

  My lips won’t cooperate. I can’t contain my smile as that moment on the roof resurfaces.

  “Maddie!” She steals the other half of my cornbread. “Do not make me eat this!”