"Don't flatter yourself," Owen says. "It wasn't every night."
He holds out a hand toward the open doors in a gesture of ladies first, ignoring the way I cock an eyebrow in surprise at his words.
I get onto the elevator, and as I turn to watch him press the button for the lobby, my hands closing over the bar on the wall behind me, I'm distinctly aware of the shift happening between us. It's like there's a sudden crack of familiarity in his otherwise impassive wall.
Usually, people are visibly taken off guard by the things I say. It's something I enjoy. But the way Owen lets my antics bounce right off of him, and leaves me scrambling for a comeback, is surprisingly fun.
"Glad we got that out of the way," I say, as the doors close again. "Confession is good for the soul. You should really let it all out, though. I mean, since we're here and everything—"
In two fluid steps, he's standing in front of me. And though it's not an aggressive proximity, it's deliberately close enough so I have nowhere to look but into his eyes. He stretches out his arm, laying his palm flat against the wall behind me, and every pore on my skin seems hyper-aware of how close his arm comes to my side.
"What do you want to hear, Emily?" His gravelly voice is low and serious as sin. My lips part and my face tilts upward, both on their own accord. "You want me to tell you that I wanted you? That you were all I could think about? That I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you? Tell me, is that what you want to hear?"
I almost nod but manage to remain still, refusing to take his bait. Because it's clear now. He's holding something over my head. Taunting me with some unspoken strife. Keeping us stiff and formal even while a tangible attraction spins in the air between us.
The elevator comes to a stop. He watches me in the seconds before the doors open. "That was a long time ago," he says.
"Then you shouldn't be thinking about it," I respond, just as evenly.
His hesitation is so subtle I almost miss it. It's not until he gets off the elevator that I realize how close he really stood in front of me, and the empty space around my body feels exaggerated. I forget to move, my back against the wall as though held in place by his words, long after they've disbanded into the air. Except they are no longer questions, they are statements, loud and clear.
I wanted you. You were all I could think about.
I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you.
CHAPTER TEN
Never go underwear shopping while horny. That's a lesson I never thought I'd need. Everything I buy is suspiciously lace and see-through. Not sure who my subconscious is planning on banging, since the only guy I've got my eye on seems to hate me because he couldn't screw me in high school. Ah, petty first-world problems.
When I return to the condo, I devote the rest of the day to my job search. Though I've barely moved from the dining room table all afternoon, my energy seeps from me anyway. Job hunting is exhausting. Trying to not appear desperate for work is exhausting. Wording your resume to make yourself sound incredibly awesome is…well, that part I always enjoy.
I'm proud of my resume. It paints the picture of someone who's known from early on what she wanted. I worked for UC San Diego's legal department as an office aide to their IP attorney, all the while getting my undergraduate degree there. My second year at UC Berkeley law, I landed a spot on a competitive summer associate's program. My resume, in short, looks legit.
By the time Alexis comes home, I have to make a point to straighten my posture because my head is buried in my hands after a long day of submitting applications.
Lex walks over to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, her demeanor shows the signs a long, tiring day. She's been at work all day with him. If being around Leo is so draining for her, I'm not sure if she's going to make it to the end of the week. My sister likes to bury herself in work when she's going through something emotional, but this time—the very thing she's avoiding is part of her work life. Complications she should've foreseen. Penises have a tendency to disrupt normal thinking patterns in even the smartest women.
"What?" she asks at the way I've been watching her.
"Nothing."
If I were Lex, I'd make his life hell. She is his boss. She could do it if she wanted to. And my sister's smart enough to do it in a way the poor guy wouldn't know which way he was getting fucked. That's the best type of revenge, the subtle type that leaves the person questioning the root. But my sister is not vindictive enough for that.
She disappears behind the door of her bedroom. I turn down the music playing from the laptop to a volume she probably can't hear through the walls. But not even an hour later, I knock on her bedroom door, starving, hoping to drag her out to eat somewhere.
Lex must not hear me because she doesn't respond. I crack the door open and peer inside. Her room is dimly lit by the last rays of light on the horizon. All I see on her bed is a circular lump under the covers and an arm thrown over the pillow she keeps over her head. I hesitate, feeling guilty about even considering waking her up.
"Hey, Lex?"
She doesn't stir. I take a few steps, but halt at the sound of a chime that cuts through the silence. Lex doesn't stir to that, either. I walk over to the cellphone on her bedside table with the intention of turning off the sound. Then I accidentally on purpose read the text messages on the screen.
[You know what just occurred to me? Keeping me in the friend-zone requires some maintenance.]
[You've got to talk to me once in a while, remind me how you're immune to my good looks. Or I might get my hopes up and send you flowers again.]
It's from Jacob.
A friend of mine, Julia, tried to set Lex and Jacob up on a blind date a while back. My sister was already too starry-eyed over Leo to even give Jacob a shot. Now look at her. I've never seen my sister like this. I mean, sure, she takes things kind of rough. But I've never seen her act like this over a guy, not even when her marriage fell apart.
What is it about this Leo guy that has her so torn up?
As I look from the messages to the pathetic heap under the blankets that is my sister, I decide Jacob is perfect for Lex. Though I only met him once, I instantly liked him. His carefree personality could really rub off on my sister. The guy is smart and it doesn't hurt that he's an insane combination of hot and adorable. I mean, he has dimples for Christ's sake.
Lex obviously made the wrong choice in dismissing him. If she'd had given him a chance, she might not be curled up under her covers in the fetal position right now. She might not have an awkward mess of a broken affair to deal with every day at work. She might be in a healthy relationship, for once.
As I chew on my bottom lip, my thoughts quickly merge into a decision. I'm taking matters into my own hands. I have to. I owe it to my sister.
Phone in hand, I slide out of her room as quietly as I can manage. Then, leaning against the kitchen counter, I try to think of how to respond to Jacob's message.
[I think you're right. Join Emily and me for dinner?]
I go to set the phone down on the counter but his response is immediate.
[You're in luck. Just so happens I canceled plans I didn't have for tonight.]
I smile because he's maybe a tad too enthusiastic. And that's probably what Lex doesn't like about him. Lex is the opposite of enthusiastic. My response to his message is a time and an address.
Two thoughts come to me as I set the phone down. First, Lex is going to be pissed. Second, I've invited Jacob over to a dinner I haven't even started cooking. I rifle through the cabinets and refrigerator and realize Lex hasn't gone grocery shopping in at least a week or two. I meant to earlier, but got caught up in job hunting.
There isn't much to work with in this kitchen and so I decided it's pasta for dinner once again. I've got a half an hour to live before my sister wakes up to kill me.
It isn't funny, none of this is, but I laugh anyway, like an evil witch as I stir the simmering sauce.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lex damn near strangles me when she finds out what I've done. It's a good thing that I'm trained in the art of persuasion because I manage to convince her to take a shot of vodka and eat dinner with us like a good host. By the end of the night, Jacob's charm melts the icebox that is my sister. She ends up enjoying his visit enough to invite him to her company's Christmas party on Friday. Well, he technically invited himself. Jacob seems like the type to do that a lot, wedge himself into the tiniest of holes. Like a sexy little chipmunk.
The next morning, my mood lifts a notch with the familiar chime overhead and the prominent sweetness enveloping my senses. The scent of powdered sugar and cinnamon.
An elderly couple sits at a table by the door, the woman cutting up a large plate of French toast. Nearby, a middle-aged man, dressed for construction site work, is hunched over a plate of pancakes. The kid from the other day is here again, sitting on the same stool and picking over an identical looking plate of eggs.
Owen is behind the register, standing beside a guy I've never seen before. From the way the two are hovered over the machine, with Owen gesturing to the buttons, it looks like the new guy is being trained.
At the sound of the door, Owen's eyes rise to meet mine and though neither one of us outwardly reacts to the presence of the other, our gazes remain unbroken until I take a seat on my favorite stool, beside the kid, and pull out my laptop.
The kid looks as disgruntled as ever, his head resting in his hand like before.
"How's your day going, so far?"
He peers up at me as though surprised. His face, which was crinkled between the eyes, relaxes a bit but his voice is flat when he speaks. "Not that great."
"That's the spirit." I smile at him, taking his words to mean he's not a morning person. He sort of smiles back, more like he shrugs at me with his lips, before breaking eye contact.
The new guy takes my order. Owen goes back into the kitchen and I wonder if he's progressed to full on avoiding me.
Bringing my attention to my laptop screen, I pretend not to notice that the kid is watching me.
"Is it a girl that's got you all mopey?" I ask, without glancing at him.
He takes a deep breath, like my words pressed on a bullet hole in his stomach. "Maybe."
I'm typing now, logging into my email account. I can tell it's easier for him to talk to me when I'm not looking at him. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Landon."
"I'm Emily. How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"Okay, I'm nine."
I'm surprised. I knew for sure he wasn't fourteen, but I wouldn't have guessed he was so young. He comes across much older. Twelve, maybe. Maybe because he's tall.
"How old is the girl?"
"She's ten."
"Want to know a secret? Women are not as complicated as they seem."
He leans in and I don't think he realizes it. I meet his eager eyes and tilt my head forward as though I'm about to reveal a sacred secret that men are not meant to hear.
"She wants to be flattered, but not too much. She wants to know you like her but wants to feel unsure of it at the same time. Does that makes sense?"
"I think so. What do I do?"
I hesitate. I know what I'm supposed to tell him. I'm supposed to tell him to be himself. To tell her the truth about how he feels. And if she doesn't appreciate him the way he is, she doesn't deserve him. That's what I'm supposed to say. But, of course, it's not what I'm going to say.
"You do something sweet for her. But make sure it's in front of her friends, otherwise it won't count. Then you ignore her for a day, maybe two. Then do something else sweet for her. And repeat."
"That's it?" he asks, incredulous.
I shrug. "I give her a week before she's in love with you."
I'm going to hell. But it's true.
The kid may be cute but he carries himself like an old man, dragging his body from place to place. His shoulders slumped, head tilted down. His lack of confidence makes him forgettable. He's not the type of boy that gets the girl. The truth is even a grown woman is wired to want a difficult man. The obsession starts with not knowing what he's thinking.
Does he like me? Is this a game? Why didn't he call me? Why hasn't he looked at me?
I'm trying to do Landon a favor by telling him the truth. He would learn it on his own eventually but a kid like him would probably end up friend-zoned every time before he realized that a small, healthy streak of asshole is what girls secretly like.
It's not my fault. It's not like I was the one who infected the subconscious of women everywhere with this twisted notion. It is what it is.
He squints at me. "That sounds like a trick. Way too easy."
"Try it. Let me know if it works."
"It's a deal," he says, glancing at his watch.
I'm impressed the kid even owns one. Landon gets up, digs into his pocket, slams down a crumpled up ten-dollar bill, and calls out to Owen as he did the other morning.
I get a sensation of déjà vu, searching Owen's reaction. It's the same measured expression as he watches Landon walk off then stuffs the bill unceremoniously into his pockets before his eyes lock onto mine.
"Good morning," he says, automatically.
There's no sense of familiarity between us. No remnants of the banter from the hospital yesterday. Owen is cold and distant again, as though I've walked through those doors for the very first time and he secretly wishes I'd go away.
He wipes down the counter beside me.
"All right, Owen. I just have to know. What is it about me that turns your smile upside down?"
He stops to stare at me and I can tell he thinks I'm being ironic. Thinks I know exactly what his grudge is against me.
"I believe it's called classical conditioning," he says.
My response is a small shake of the head, signaling my confusion.
"When you crush on things that get your ribs broken, you learn not to crush on them anymore," he explains.
"Are the ribs a metaphor for something?"
"I don't know," he says, not missing a beat, "was you sending your boyfriend to break them a metaphor for something?"
I'm not sure if he's kidding. He seems to have the driest sense of humor I've ever encountered. He delivers his words deadpan. And though his face is serious now, it's too serious.
"Okay—" I put up a hand "—let's stop right there. What are you talking about? Who broke your ribs?"
"You mean, you don't remember?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be asking." As I say this, something cold grips my stomach because the answer dawns on me before it leaves his lips.
"Varsity wrestler, stocky blond guy."
Jesus Christ.
"Jonathan broke your ribs? When the hell did this happen?"
Owen turns slightly away from me. "Really, let's not bother having this conversation now. My ribs healed fine."
His words carry the insinuation something else didn't heal so well.
I shoot up in my seat and grab his arm before he can move away.
"Look, I'm not sure what you think I did, but I had no part in whatever happened to you."
"Are you sure about that?" he asks.
I release the hold on his arm and let my hand fall to my side, certain he doesn't believe me. "Wait, did Jonathan tell you I did?"
Owen looks out past me like he's recalling something. "I think his exact words were, this is a message from Emily."
I'm aware of how every inch of my expression falls as I struggle to keep my tone from revealing how mortified I am. Because I remember clearly just how ruthless Jonathan could be.
"He lied, Owen. I swear. I would've never asked him to hurt you. Or anyone."
Owen watches me as though the truth is evident in my reaction, and his reluctance dissolves before my eyes. It's as though a realization crosses over his face, illuminating it like a passing headlight.
"Right, of course," he says with
a slow blink. "I'm sorry I implied otherwise. Shouldn't have brought it up."
Relief floods me and I realize how important it is to me that Owen believes me. The guarded way he crosses his arms and looks over toward the door gives me the suspicion that he's embarrassed.
"No, I'm glad you did," I say. "We've been having this silent turf war. Only, I had no idea and have been sitting here sipping coffee. Probably pissing you off."
"You do nurse a cup of coffee for hours."
"I'm jobless. You have free WiFi. And a hot guy behind the counter."
He keeps his eyes locked onto mine but his lips don't so much as twitch. I still sense his resistance to react to me. He's so used to holding a grudge, he doesn't quite know how to let it go.
"Do you not like me flirting with you?" I ask, as casually as if I were asking him for the time.
"I like it just fine."
The energy between us softens right then. Like a glacier shifting a few inches as it begins to thaw. I smile and his lips twitch up at their corners. This entire exchange is a pleasant surprise for us both.
The new guy manning the register calls him over and, as Owen walks away, something becomes obvious to me. The reason Owen looks so out of place in this diner is because he doesn't belong here. He answers the new guy's questions patiently and I can tell he is trying hard to make the guy feel comfortable.
That's when it hits me—he doesn't typically work here and was left with no alternative when his father fell ill. Owen's presence in this diner is temporary. This new hire is his ticket out of here.
The disappointment sinking in my stomach is ridiculous. My presence here is also temporary. I'm a visitor, passing through. I've got a life elsewhere, a life that will take me away from this place for good. And soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Every once in a while, things go right. Friday starts off wonderfully. By nine in the morning, I get a phone call from Janie Lowe. She's the hiring manager for the firm where I completed my summer associate's program back in law school. They offered me a position after graduation but I turned it down for what I thought was a better one.
Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) Page 6