by Lane Hayes
“He won’t. You’re doing too well.”
“Any idiot can sell in this market…which is why I’m asking for your help,” he replied, nudging my elbow.
“So you’re desperate?”
“Obviously.”
I flipped him off then asked, “Don’t I need a real estate license?”
“Not for office work.”
“Office work,” I repeated with a whimper. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“Ha. Ha. You did clerical work for the museum too, hotshot.”
“I did research and applied for grants. That’s different. Besides, there’s an off-chance I might be able to get something at a gallery. I’m not sure what they’d pay but I’d be in my field and—”
“Look, it comes down to this…I need help and you need a job, right? I can work around your schedule and I can pay well.”
“How much?”
The question was rhetorical. The second he told me he “needed” my help, it was over. My friends were like brothers to me. Grant, Zane, Eric, Nick and I had been there for each other through thick and thin since college. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. I would have done it for free. However, the number he casually threw out was way more than I’d been paid at the museum.
“Well?” he lifted his brow expectantly and gave me a lopsided grin.
I sipped my coffee and gazed at him over the rim of my cup
thoughtfully. “That’s a lot of money. You don’t have to—”
“Don’t thank me. This is my father’s firm. He insists on paying well.”
“Your dad doesn’t like me, dude.”
“Sure, he does. He just doesn’t like that you aren’t Greek.”
“And he thinks I turned you gay.”
“True. But otherwise, he likes you just fine. Not that it matters. My dad isn’t coming to oversee the West Coast sales force. That’s my job…managing and selling. And to do it properly, I need employees I can trust.”
“You don’t mind if it’s temporary?”
“Not at all. Can you start tomorrow?”
“Geez, you must be desperate. Sure, I—ow! Don’t squeeze, don’t squeeze. My head hurts,” I groused, pushing out of his impetuous headlock and then wiping his sloppy kiss from my cheek.
“Thanks. You’re doing me a huge favor. It’ll be nice to have someone I’m not related to in the office.”
Grant stood abruptly and moved to the other side of the island. He set his cup in the sink and then washed his hands before coming back to grab his suit coat. He slipped it on with a fluidity that made it look like he was doing a spread for GQ instead of heading to the office on an ordinary Wednesday. Grant was dressed to impress in a well-fitted navy suit I bet cost more money than my current net worth.
“Have a nice day, dear,” I said in a woman’s falsetto as he adjusted his sleeves.
“Thanks, hon. Go back to bed. You look like hell. And if you do venture out, pick up some peanut butter. You ate all of mine.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did. And don’t buy that chunky stuff. I hate it.”
“You love it.”
“No, you do.” He picked up his briefcase then pointed in the general direction of my room as he moved to the door. “Your phone is ringing. Maybe it’s the Irish hunk calling to collect the BJ you offered last night.”
“Fuck off,” I said with a half laugh.
Grant waggled his thick brows lecherously and neatly dodged the tangerine I threw at the door as he closed it behind him.
The ensuing silence in the airy great room was broken a moment later by a persistent buzzing sound. I studied the dark brown liquid in my cup and tried to decide whether or not I should bother finding out who was calling me. My lack of urgency spoke for itself. However, if I didn’t want to lose the entire day to a hangover, I had to pull myself together. Aspirin, a shower, and then…more coffee. I took a deep breath and made my way to my bedroom. I grabbed my cell from my bedside table and propped my pillows against the headboard before lying down to scan my messages.
There was a missed call from Finn and a two-worded text.
Call me
I frowned at the small screen and against my better judgment typed a shorter response and pushed Send.
Why?
So I know ur ok
I’m fine
How do u feel?
Like shit
Like this? Finn sent a funny cartoon of a drunken Homer Simpson in his underwear and an unflattering T-shirt barely covering his belly. I chuckled at the photo and sent one of Tatum Channing in his tightie whities.
Yeah but I was hoping to look more like this
Naturally
I started to add a snappy comeback like I might have done a year ago when text banter was a normal part of our interaction. But when I couldn’t figure out how to do it now without sounding inappropriately flirty, I gave in and pressed Call.
“Was that a smartassed ‘naturally’ or did you mean, ‘I must have hit the wrong button because your resemblance to Tatum Channing in physical appearance and on the dance floor is uncanny’?”
Finn guffawed. “Honestly, I think you look more like a younger Orlando Bloom.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“I’m guessing you’ve got a case of the Irish flu.”
“You are correct, sir. Is that really what you wanted to know? You had to figure I was heading for a cliff after five margaritas.”
“Five?” he asked incredulously.
“Or more. I can’t remember. In fact, I don’t remember much about last night,” I lied.
“You were funny. It was good to see you again.” Now he sounded hesitant and unsure. This was the Finn I couldn’t explain to my friends. This man wasn’t calculated or underhanded. I had nothing more than instinct to support my feelings, but it wasn’t like me to fall for a cold-hearted snake. There was more to Finn than he let most people see. Then again, he hadn’t really let me in either and that was why even a simple phone conversation was a bad idea.
A funny silence fell between us. It wasn’t accusatory or expectant, but it felt…needlessly vacant. Like an empty chair at a dinner table that should have been removed when the guest didn’t show. I pushed my fingers through my unruly mop of hair nervously as I tried to think of something vaguely humorous to bridge the divide.
“I was just—”
“Would you like to—”
“You go first,” he offered.
“I should get going. I have important ‘job’ phone calls to make,” I said playfully.
“Ah. Right. Were you hoping to move on to another museum?”
“Ideally, yes. But Marley suggested I talk to Dante Crowder. He owns a few galleries and—”
“I know Dante. He’s a friend of mine. I’d be happy to put in a friendly word for you.”
“Really? Wow. I’d appreciate it. I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little intimidated by his reputation. He’s a mini-celebrity in the local art world.”
“True, but he’s also a nice bloke. Let’s have dinner. We can go over your resume together before you chat with Dante.”
“Huh?”
Finn chuckled softly. “Dinner. I’m busy this weekend but I bet we can squeeze something in next week.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I can’t, Finn. I…I can’t do this again.”
“Do what? It’s dinner, Josh. Just a meal.”
“That’s the problem.” Swallowing my pride was somewhat easier to do when I felt like crap. I couldn’t feel much worse than I already did. “It wouldn’t be ‘just a meal’ for me. It would be last year all over again and in spite of the fact that I practically begged you to let me blow you last night—”
“I thought you didn’t remember anything.”
“Yeah well, it’s coming back to me. Look, maybe you’re not offering and I’m out of line saying this but…I’m not interested in reprising my role
as friends with benefits.”
“I thought we agreed we could be friends last night.”
“Last night didn’t count. I wasn’t myself.”
“What if I promised to keep my hands to myself? Would you trust me?”
“It’s me I don’t trust. I just—” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I sounded too fucking pathetic to my own ears. “Never mind, I have to go. Take care, Finn.”
I ended the call, tossed my phone onto the bed and then flopped facedown on my pillow. It was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I wished I could blame it on my hangover, but I couldn’t lie to myself. The awful truth was, I still had a crazy crush on Finn Gallagher.
Working for Grant may not have been my dream job, but by Friday, I conceded this temporary gig was a godsend in more ways than one. It was great money for relatively easy work that didn’t require anything more strenuous than learning the phone system and inputting sales contracts. Plus, it wouldn’t interfere with the online language course I planned to enroll in or the two evenings a week I was required to take Conversational French at a satellite campus. And when I found out the campus was located three blocks from Kostas Realty in the Financial District, I figured the stars were beginning to align.
The biggest perk was that I had less time to think about Finn. I’d been tempted to call him a couple of times and ask if he wanted to check out the Frank Stella exhibit at the de Young. After all, maybe I’d been too hasty. Maybe we could just be friends. My list of single buddies was dwindling rapidly and it would be nice to have someone other than Grant or Marley to hang out with every once in a while. I was a jumble of contradictions when it came to Finn as evidenced by my behavior the night I ran into him at the bar. I’d started with self-righteous indignation and ended up humping his leg…as one did. Right? Wrong.
I squinted at the handwritten corrections on the contract I’d inputted and then at the computer with a sigh. This was mindless work any eighth grader could do, but it obviously wasn’t keeping me busy enough. Damn, I was a head case.
My cell ripped me from my reverie a second later. It buzzed and then blasted Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” at top volume. I blushed furiously as I fumbled to turn it off as fast as possible. Talia, the office manager, and my new boss, barked a quick laugh.
“Are you kidding me? I didn’t think guys your age knew that song! I think I like you, Josh,” she singsonged, letting out an amused snort.
“That wasn’t me. One of my friends changed it as a joke and I forgot to fix it,” I said as I adjusted my phone to silent mode.
“Was it Grant? My kid cousin is a funny one. He may be kinda shy, but he’s sly too.” She waggled her perfectly arched brows and gave me a lopsided grin.
Talia was probably in her early forties, though it was difficult to tell. I based my assumption on the photos of her preteen kids decorating her desk. She was pixie small with jet black hair, dark eyes, and a penchant for Jo Malone perfume. Thankfully, her scent was some kind of ode to a nectarine that reminded me of summer, so it wasn’t unbearable when she regularly re-spritzed during the day.
I wouldn’t complain either way. Talia was sweet but even after just two days on the job, I could tell she was a ball-buster on top of being Grant’s second or third cousin. Everyone here was related to him. Kostas Realty could have been a reality show spin-off of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I was the only non-Greek, non-family member employee. I stood out like a sore thumb, but everyone was friendly and welcoming. I got the impression Grant didn’t share much and they were pleased to meet someone who might give them a glimpse into their reclusive cousin’s private life. And maybe tell a secret or two.
“Grant knows better than to mess with my cell. Retribution comes faster when you’re roomies. It was probably Zane. He’s a seasoned practical jokester,” I huffed. “I bet he did this last week and I never noticed. No one but my sisters or my mom calls me. Which means…”
I glanced down at the display on my phone for confirmation. I had two missed calls. One from my mother and another from an unknown number.
“Call her back now if you want. I’ll show you how to input the addendum for the office building proposal as soon as I finish what I’m working on. I need fifteen minutes…and if you happen to go by Starbucks and feel like bringing me an iced mocha, I might love you forever. Just sayin’.” She handed me a ten-dollar bill and fluttered her eyelashes theatrically.
“Forever, eh? Deal. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
The strip of blue sky above hinted at a sunny day, but the monolith buildings cast long shadows over the narrow street and provided a natural wind tunnel when the breeze kicked up over the Bay. I zipped my jacket in deference to the chill and the upcoming conversation then pushed Call before heading south on Montgomery Street.
“Hi, Mom. I—”
“I think your father is seeing someone,” my mother blurted.
She sounded flustered and unhappy. I could hear the steady whirl of a mixer in the background and the sound of a spatula methodically smacking the side of a bowl and knew she was at her wits’ end. My mother was a nervous baker. Generally, Kate Sheehan was calm and collected. But whenever she felt overwhelmed or itchy, she broke out her favorite recipes, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. Most kids might have loved coming home to the smell of freshly baked bread or a super-sized plate of warm brownies. Not me. If Mom pulled out her Kitchen Aid Pro Mixer, it meant she was upset. Very upset.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. He’s dating!”
I ducked into the Starbucks on the corner and immediately plopped down on the first empty chair I spotted against the far wall. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. Somehow, I didn’t think reminding her they’d been divorced for over a decade was a good idea. And hell, I was as surprised as she was.
“Did Dad tell you that?”
“No! Of course not. The Prestons saw him with—someone. Agnes told me they looked cozy and that your father seemed very…happy.…” Her voice trailed off in a melancholy note that pierced my gut.
Fuck. I took a deep breath as I raked my hand through my hair. This was a new one. It was positive to finally move on and find happiness with other people. It was what mature people wished for their previous partners and what mature grown children wished for their parents. But this was unexpected.
“Mom, don’t bake. Just…relax. Remember your breathing exercises.”
“I tried that. They didn’t work. I wonder what this means.”
Maybe it meant Dad had finally moved on and perhaps she should do the same. I bit my lip, wondering if stating the obvious might be for the best. But no. That would require brutal honesty and maybe tears too. Juggling an iced mocha order and handling my mother’s distress on a fifteen-minute break from a new job required superhero skills I simply didn’t possess.
“I’m at work but—”
“Oh, honey! I’m sorry. Never mind me. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you another time,” she said, sounding suddenly in control.
“I’ll come home tomorrow. I can be there by one.”
“No. There’s no need. But…have you talked to your father lately?”
Your father. The emphasis she put on those two words separated her from him in a contrary way I found fascinating. This was the confusing soundtrack of my youth. The one where no one said what they meant. No wonder I was single. This game was too fucking complicated.
“I talked to him last week,” I said as I stood to grab a place in line.
“Maybe you should call him. To see how he is…you know?”
“You mean I should pump him for information and ask him what the hell is going on?” I put my hand over my phone and gave the barista a tight smile while my mother gasped indignantly on the other end. “Can I get a venti iced mocha and a tall coffee, please?”
“I said no such thing, Joshua! It’s just a suggestion.”
“Relax. I’ll call him.” I paid for th
e drinks and stepped aside to wait at the far counter with my fellow caffeine addicts. “But that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell me anything. Look, I’ll come by this weekend and take you to the movies or something.”
“No. Don’t. I’m fine. It’s more important that you make sure your father isn’t heading toward a mid-life crisis. Oh, dear. Do you think he bought the Harley he’s been threatening to buy for years? Jesus, he’s going to kill himself!”
“Oh, my God. Okay, Mom. I have to get back to the office now. I’ll call him this weekend.”
“Tonight. Call him tonight and try to see him this weekend. Find out what’s going on.”
“You’re friends with Dad. Why can’t you call him?”
“And sound like a jealous ex? I don’t think so.”
I heaved a theatrical sigh as I grabbed the drinks. “All right, but if he’s fine, which he probably is, you’ll need to accept it.”
“Of course I’ll accept it. I want him to be happy. I also want to be sure he’s okay. Now tell me about your job. How is it so far?”
I filled her in on my collective twelve hours working at the realty firm and my plans to learn a language. I knew my mom would be pleased to hear I was going back to school. As a high school principal, nothing made her happier than discussing the importance of education. It was a good way to talk her off the ledge and end the disturbing call on a high note.
I was about to push the door open when I noticed I had a new voice message from the unknown number. I set the drinks on an empty table to listen to it before I headed back to the office.
“Hello, Josh. This is Dante Crowder. My friend Finn Gallagher suggested I give you a call. I have an opening at the end of summer at one of my galleries for a managerial position. If you’re interested, please give me a call. I’d love to meet with you.”
Holy crap. Really? I listened to the message a second time to be sure I wasn’t hearing things before returning his call.
“Hi. I’m Josh Sheehan. I—”