FLIRTING WITH 40

by K. Bromberg

  She shakes her head. “That woman isn’t me.” The laugh that falls from her lips is loaded with doubt. “She’s a fake who is trying to prove her worth and is doing it miserably.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. That is you. You’re refusing to see it.”

  “Says who?” she demands.

  “Says me.”

  “You don’t even know me.” Her words are soft yet biting.

  I do believe that Blakely Foxx is angling for a fight, and maybe if I give it to her . . . maybe if I piss her off enough, she’ll turn around and direct that anger where it needs to be focused.

  I take a step toward her, my eyes demanding more. “I don’t think you know yourself, Blakely. You keep saying you want to find her, but you keep burying her beneath everything you’re afraid of. Maybe it’s time you stop using the old you as an excuse and let the new you just be.”

  Her bottom lip quivers, and I hate the sight of it. “Go to hell, Slade.”

  “Is this our first fight?” I ask and chuckle. “Is that what we’re doing? Should we go back toward the main building and do it there so everyone in camp hears us and knows we’re a legitimate couple? It would give you another excuse for why we didn’t work out in the long run. For why it seems you can’t stand up for yourself and just take what you fucking want.”

  Your promotion.

  Your pride back.

  Me.

  “What?” she snaps at the low blow.

  And it was low, but it was also said to get her attention.

  It sure as hell got mine too.

  Me?

  What the hell is that shit all about?

  I don’t have time to figure it out. Blakely is standing in front of me with parted lips and wounded eyes, and fuck if I hate that I put it there but still want her to call me on it and own every damn thing I’ve said.

  “You heard me,” I provoke.

  “I did, and all I hear is arrogance.”

  “Well, someone has to say it.”

  “You don’t get to speak for me,” she says and jabs a finger against my chest to emphasize her words.

  “Then you better start doing it for yourself because your silence is your own worst enemy.”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Not a chance in hell. You need to hear this.”

  “Get out.” Her body vibrates with frustration not very different from the kind I feel. Only hers is because she doesn’t want to hear it, and mine is because I finally want her to see what an incredible person she is. The woman Paul never allowed a light to shine on. “Please. Just go.”

  A tear slides down her cheek, but she blinks back the rest before another one falls.

  Christ.

  “Fine,” I say with my hands up. “I’ll give you your space, but only after I say what I need to say.”

  “Save your breath,” she mutters.

  “I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, Blakely, but it definitely isn’t the same thing I see when I look at you. You fight me on wearing a bathing suit to go in the lake, you religiously put all those lotions on what you call your crow’s feet at night, and you wonder why you don’t measure up to the flighty people you work with. You make excuses why you can’t, why it’s better to bide your time than rock the boat, and then you wonder why they look at you differently.”

  “Slade—”

  “My turn, Blakely. That’s twice now you’ve come back from a meeting with tears in your eyes, so this is my turn.” I hold my finger up to stop her. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you? That bathing suit you argued over putting on yesterday because you thought you were fat or looked bad or whatever the hell reason you had? You put it on and looked in the mirror and cringed. You want to know what I saw? I saw your curves. The ones I want to map one by one with my hands. They’re sexy and beautiful and—”

  “Slade—”

  “I don’t see the lines around your eyes that you crack jokes about. I see evidence of laughing and living, and damn it, I want to know the story behind each and every one of them. You’re so damn hung up on your age, Blakely, but when I look at you? I just see you.”

  She shakes her head to reject my words, but I nod to contradict her.

  “I’ve heard you talk to your coworkers and have seen you betray yourself almost every time. You downplay your knowledge so you don’t step on toes. You know the answer to every question Heather throws out at you, but you’re petrified to know too much or be too smart because you’ll piss her off. Well, fuck her, Blakely. Goddamn own who you are. Be the woman you are.” Rage eats at me. The kind that stems from wanting to help someone but knowing you can’t do it for them. All you can do is show them the road and hope they fucking drive on it.

  “It’s your doubt that kills you, and I’ve sat here and wondered why. Why do you not think you deserve this? The respect? The promotion? The laughter? The admiration? I’ve told myself Paul’s to blame for all of this, for wearing you down and killing your self-esteem. It’s easier than thinking you are choosing to be this person . . . but he can’t be your excuse all the time. You’re the one who has to look in the mirror every day, and until you can like who you face, until you see the same woman I admire looking back at you, you’re going to struggle at your job and you’ll definitely struggle with accepting the fact that I like you, Blakely Foxx.” I take a deep breath and step back as her eyes flash up and meet mine. “I like you, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it because this isn’t like me. I stick and then move. I don’t form attachments . . . but there’s something about you that begs me to figure you out. There’s something in me that’s telling me you’re worth it even if getting you to see it is a pain in my ass.”

  I’m not sure if she’s as shocked as I am that I just said that, but there’s a hitch in her breath and her shoulders shudder as if she’s holding back a sob.

  I feel like the asshole.

  “This is on you.” My voice is low, barely audible. “You want the promotion? Then take it. You want to tell Heather off? Then tell her. You want me? Then love the new Blakely first because that’s who I want to laugh with. Not the one you think all these people want you to be—whoever that is. Just the you from the beach bonfire who was willing to dig her toes into the sand and howl at the moon. Just the you who hates the outdoors and drinks whiskey at a bar after a long day at work and tells off men who try to talk to her. Just the you who is willing to go along with crazy schemes like the one I concocted because I feared I wouldn’t get a second glance otherwise. That’s who I’d pick every time. Hands down. Just you.”

  There’s hurt and denial and a myriad of other emotions I’ve drummed up swirling in those eyes of hers, but she needs to figure this shit out.

  I don’t give her a chance to respond because I’ve said too much. I’ve called her on the carpet when I have no fucking right to.

  Without another word, I slam the tiny door behind me and jog down the steps, needing to clear my own head.

  Needing to wrap my own thoughts around my own admissions.

  Blakely

  You’re right.

  Holy shit. Is that how people see me?

  Wait. Come back.

  All of those would have been reasonable responses to Slade to get him to stay.

  But I didn’t say any of them.

  Not a single damn word. All I did was sit there angry at him for being so brutally honest, rejecting the things he said instead of owning them.

  Just you, Blakely.

  All those truths kept ringing in my ears, overshadowing some of the more major ones he said.

  I like you, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it because this isn’t like me.

  I let him walk out when I should have called after him.

  I’m supposed to be finding myself, and every time I really need to be the new me, I can’t seem to summon her.

  Like how in the middle of his rant, the new me just wanted to grab him and kiss him senseless. The problem was
the old me was scared to death to do so because it’s so out of my norm to take what I want.

  And, oh, how I wanted.

  So here I sit, second-guessing my actions and frustrated that I am.

  There are a million ways the conversation could have gone had I spoken up instead of letting him walk away. Like I could have told him he was absolutely right and that I’m trying hard to to find the Blakely Foxx he is telling me he sees hiding.

  “You okay? You seem a little preoccupied.”

  I look over to Gemma and smile as I run the paddle of the canoe through the water. “I’m fine. Sorry I’m so quiet. I was just rehashing a conversation in my head. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Rehashing because you’re thinking of all of the things you should have said or rehashing because you gave as good as you got and you’re proud of yourself for it?” She quirks a lone eyebrow above the line of her sunglasses. “I’m typically in the former camp.”

  “Yep. Me too.” I laugh. “And yes, that’s exactly what I was doing. Thinking of the million things I should have said instead of the giant nothing I did say.”

  “Should I assume you’re talking about Heather?” she asks, lowering her voice and glancing around even though the closest canoe is over a hundred feet away.

  I wasn’t, but if the shoe fits.

  “I think that’s how I feel after every conversation with her.” I chuckle and rest the paddle across my lap.

  “I should have spoken up when she said that to you this morning. About the bear.”

  “I can fight my own battles, but thank you for the thought,” I say.

  “Bears scare me too.” She laughs nervously. “Just like Heather does.”

  Now she has my undivided attention, but I tread carefully. “All bosses are a little intimidating.”

  “You aren’t.”

  I startle at her comment. “But I’m not your boss.”

  “You will be soon enough.”

  “Gemma,” I sputter, “what gives you that impression?”

  “I was having drinks with Minka last night after the movie and talked while the guys talked sports.” She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the alcoholic cider she smuggled in her backpack.

  “Okay.” The word is slow and reflects the caution I feel.

  “We were talking about this trip. We both brought up the notion that it’s weird we’re here on this retreat to become a stronger team and yet Heather’s made damn sure that none of us actually do the bonding part.”

  I nod, not wanting to look like I’m fishing for whatever it is she wants to say.

  “Did you see the look on her face when I asked if I could be paddle partners with you? Her eyes bugged out of her head.”

  And she’s right. Heather’s disdain was written all over her face when Gemma raised her hand and said she wanted to partner up with me.

  “I think she was a little more miffed that the husbands—well, except for hers—opted to go drink with Slade again. I don’t think her being flustered had anything to do with you asking to be my partner.”

  “Can you blame them for wanting to drink with Slade?” Gemma laughs. “I’d join them if I could. And she was miffed, Blakely. I know you have to take the high road here, but I don’t. All I know is Minka said Heather is all about assigning partners so she can control who talks to who. She wants to make sure she has an ally with each pairing so we don’t talk shit about her.” She holds her hands up in front of her in dramatic fashion. “Because whoa! It’s not like we’re adults who aren’t going to talk on our own volition anyway.”

  “True.”

  “Anyway, it’s like she planned this whole retreat for us so the board gets the impression she’s being a good boss, but it’s all for show.”

  “Show for what?”

  “To give her some bonus points since you steal most of them.”

  “Please.” I laugh and play it off but am so very curious what she means. “She has more clout than I do.”

  “She really doesn’t.” She takes another sip. “Minka says that’s why she’s terrified of you.”

  “Me? But I don’t want her job.”

  “But you could have had it, and isn’t that just as daunting to the person who took it? To know there is someone in the wings the board thinks is more capable of doing the job than you are? To know that you were second choice?”

  “Can I have some of that?” I ask of her flask. I take a swig when she offers it, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. I let the alcohol burn down my throat and warm my belly as I look out over the lake. “Thanks.”

  “The way we see it—”

  “We?” I stutter over the simple word.

  “We. There are a few of us who are Team Blakely. A few who are just there to collect a paycheck. And then the two Heather brought with her when she moved over to work here at Glam are obviously on her team.” She meets my eyes like I’m crazy for not realizing there was a ‘we’ component here. “But yes, there is a we, and we’ve got your back.”

  “I wasn’t aware any of you felt this way.”

  “We do, but we have to thread the needle just as carefully as you have been because we don’t have the backing of the board. She is our boss, after all, so we can’t exactly roll our eyes in front of her. We see it. We’re rooting for you. Just know that.”

  “I don’t even know what to say.” This time, I take the flask without asking as the whole notion hits me that I have all this silent support I didn’t even know I had.

  “Anyway. The way we see it is that you’re the only one who knows the ins and outs of Glam. The board freaking loves you, and as hard as she’s pushing for her best friend for the position because she needs her—”

  “What do you mean, she needs her?” I all but chuckle over the question as I play it off. I thought I was the only one privy to Heather’s scheming.

  “To cover for her and save her ass?” Gemma’s eyes grow wide. “Surely, you know this and are just being professional. I mean, after that first brainstorm session we had on how to brand the new Goody-Girl eyeshadow palette when you corrected her facts like five times. You played it off like her lack of preparedness was understandable because she was new, but we all saw it.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so obvious,” I murmur.

  “Girl, she’s been gunning for you ever since.” She waves a hand at me. “But don’t you worry. She can lobby for her best friend to get the job all she wants, but we’ve made sure to drop hints to management that you’re the one for the marketing position.”

  “Thank you. Truly.” Her words bolster my confidence. “But rumor is she gets final approval on their choice since the positions work side by side.”

  “Is that why you’re being so cordial and taking her shit? Because you need her approval?” she asks, putting the exclamation mark on this whole situation. It also makes me realize that my quiet resentment might also come off to some like I wouldn’t be a strong leader.

  Shit.

  My smile is timid. “Well, even if Minka is right and Heather is terrified of me, I still have to tread carefully. I wouldn’t put it past her to put me in a compromising position on this retreat just to have a negative she can flash in front of the board members.”

  Gemma looks at me, bewilderment etched in the lines of her features. “You don’t seem like someone who would let someone get in her way.”

  I open my mouth to refute her, but something Heather said this morning echoes in my ears. If you’re the one leading, sometimes you have to hide your fears—or, in my case, my doubts—and simply play the part.

  And by playing the part, I have one of two options. I can stoop to Heather’s level and use my good standing with the board to bully her into giving the nod should I get offered the promotion. But that isn’t me, and I don’t want to be like her. My other option is to somehow prove to Heather I’m not a threat to her or her shiny title.

  “So what are you going to do, Blakely?” Gemma asks.

 
I give her a knowing smile.

  Maybe I came here already knowing what I was going to do, but it just took Gemma’s prodding, the knowledge that I do have some of my coworkers behind me, and Slade’s in-my-face commentary to make the idea that’s been niggling in the back of my head to come to fruition.

  Maybe this is just the push I need to own who the new Blakely is and howl at the moon.

  Blakely

  Nerves rattle through me as I make my way back to the cabin to take a quick break and grab a sweatshirt for the next activity.

  And Slade.

  At least, I hope I’m grabbing him to come along. After how he stormed out of here earlier, I’m not exactly sure how he feels about being anywhere near me right now.

  When a branch breaks behind me, I whirl around, the thought of there being a damn bear there more than terrifying, but I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I see Slade. He’s standing with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulder is leaning against a tree to his right, and there is the most stoic expression on his face.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.” I offer a smile, not sure what to say.

  “I owe you an apology.” He takes a step toward me, eyes intent, and sigh heavy.

  “Why apologize when all you said was the truth?” It’s my turn to step toward him, to apologize. “I know—”

  “I was out of line.” A ghost of a smile turns up the corner of his lips and warms my heart. “You’re under a lot of pressure, and the last thing I want to do is add to it, but damn it, Blakely, I want you to see who I see when I look at you. I want you to trust that same person too.”

  My eyes burn with tears because the sincerity in his tone and the emotion flooding his voice is enough to make my heart melt.