Spin Control

by Holly O'Dell

  "I think I know what you meant." At this point I had stood up and was looking down at him. I hastily grabbed my purse but was eerily calm when I spoke. "I'm sorry if I've given you any reason for us to not work together. I've seen how smart you've been with this whole Devin thing, and I'm sad to be losing such a good coworker. I just wish that sometimes you'd think before you speak"

  He grabbed my arm as I breezed past him. I ignored the rush I felt through my body. "You're right, I don't think before I speak, Kate, and unfortunately, it always seems to happen around you."

  I pulled my arm away. "Well, I must be doing something to trigger this."

  "You are. No, it's not what I meant! See, it's like I can't control it!" This was the most animated I had ever seen him.

  "I don't believe this," I shook my head. "I feel more horrible than I did when Gwen nearly fired me this afternoon."

  "That wasn't my intention. Please. You've gotta let me explain."

  "Doesn't matter what the intention was" With that, I marched purposefully toward the door, ensuring that Billy's would never be voted "Most Charming Place to Grab a Cup of Coffee" in my book.

  About three blocks away from the coffee shop, my pace had slowed to normal. I didn't mind the idea of walking another ten blocks or so before getting a cab; it was the perfect antidote to the afternoon.

  Had I been irrational in the coffee shop with Michael? I wish I could have blamed my behavior on PMS or a full moon, but neither of those was happening. Why did I let this man get under my skin? Should I have let Michael explain himself? But what was there to explain, really?

  I replayed the scene at the coffee shop over and over in the cab I eventually caught, and I was so involved in it that I almost missed the limousine sedan parked outside my building.

  The back door slowly opened, and there stood Devin. He wore a baby-blue polo shirt and khakis, like he was ready to hit the golf course, or pose for a cologne ad. He was the last person I wanted to see right now.

  "Late night at the office?" he asked as I approached him.

  "Nah, just got caught up with something."

  "I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to join me for a drive." He smelled of whiskey.

  I looked toward my apartment, then back at the limo. "You know, I really shouldn't," I said as I recalled my very recent conversation with Gwen. "It just wouldn't be good for business. Know what I mean?"

  He shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to have my way with you ... unless you want that, of course." He raised an eyebrow.

  "Devin, please" I was in no mood for innuendo.

  "What's going on?"

  "It's really not worth mentioning."

  "You look like you need to relax. Come on, let's go for a ride."

  I stepped back. "Why are you even here?"

  "I just wanted someone to talk to" He grinned slyly. "Okay, that's a lie. I wanted to talk to you."

  I folded my arms. "I'm sure whatever you have to say to me can be said right here on this sidewalk."

  Devin laughed and shook his head. "You're something else, Kate"

  Here we go. "All right, what is it, Devin?" I reluctantly asked.

  "I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with. I just thought that you deserved to hear how much I appreciate you"

  "Did you have a life-changing experience?" I asked skeptically. His response was a coy shrug.

  "So you stopped at my house and waited for me so you could tell me this?"

  "Why not?"

  I withdrew a deep breath, shaking my head. Devin grabbed my hand, but I immediately tugged it away. "Look, Dev, it's been a draining few months-no thanks to you, by the way-and I don't know what kind of mind game you're trying to play here. But if you just start behaving a little more I can be off this project, and we'll be out of each other's lives forever."

  "Think about it," he intoned. "Have you seen anything but good things about me in the papers?"

  I contemplated his point. Ever since Michael and I had started working with Devin, it felt like the vehicle was always in reverse. Almost every night we were at a benefit, a bar, a party, making sure that he was cast in the most favorable light possible and constantly steering him away from lecherous photographers-or Miranda Hamilton. I was so caught up in this world that I didn't even bother to realize that we might have actually been making progress.

  This was it. This was what I was going to tell Gwen first thing Monday morning. Michael was right, Gwen only dealt in facts, not emotions, and if I had pulled together all the good press-and point out the lack of bad press-surrounding Devin, she might deem the project complete, exonerate me, promote me. No more Devin. But then again, no more Michael. I felt as if someone had just punched me in the stomach.

  "What's going on in that head of yours?" Devin asked.

  "Just putting all the pieces together, that's all."

  With no warning, he leaned in and planted a sloppy, uninvited kiss on my lips. "You are so beautiful. Even more beautiful than you were the night of that benefit a few years back, in that picture of us"

  I backed away from him and almost lost my balance. My jaw tightened. "Why would you bring up the night of the benefit?" Light bulb. "You jerk! You almost cost me my job! Why on earth would you have sent that picture to my boss?"

  He tried to look sheepish. "Seemed like the thing to do. And for the record I am so attracted to you right now."

  I glanced down at my wrinkled white blouse and black pants. I looked like a hostess at the Olive Garden, not to mention that I felt like I was trapped in a coffin, even though I had the cheerful sky above me and a soothing breeze blowing past.

  "You need to leave. Now," I demanded.

  "I'm sorry, I just got caught up in the moment."

  "What moment? And even if there was a `moment,' that's not a license to maul me"

  "Isn't that what you wanted?"

  "For crying out loud, Devin, you need to pull yourself together. I have not once in the last few months given you any indication that I wanted this to work out between us"

  "Oh come on, maybe just a little fling?"

  I looked into those blue eyes, wondering how they had such a power over me when we dated, and how they were repulsing me now. "I may not always have a grasp on what I want in life, but I know that you're not it."

  I must have stung him. He immediately swung around toward his black limo sedan, got in the back seat, and slammed the door.

  As I watched his car pull away, all I could think of was not Devin but Michael: how I should have given him a chance to speak his mind at the coffee shop. Maybe he did have a valid reason for not wanting to work together. Maybe I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Maybe I should've told him how I really felt about him.

  I needed to call him, invite him over to talk. I ran up my stairs, but I froze once I got to my phone. Fear and anxiety lumped in my throat. How would I even address all this? How would I explain my erratic behavior? "You could say sorry for starters," I said to myself.

  I finally found the courage to pick up the phone, but not to dial his cell phone. I'd dial the first few numbers, then hit the power button on my phone.

  For now, I had to focus on casting Devin out of our lives. After all, if Gwen realized how much progress we had made with Devin, she'd have to accept that the project was successful. And Fox himself complimented us on a job well done last night; shouldn't that speak volumes? I dragged my laptop out of its case and fervently started taking notes of the last two months. I couldn't help but smile, knowing that at least one loose end would soon be wrapped up.

  But none of this stopped me from continually glancing at my phone. Maybe Michael would call, and I could explain my behavior, and he could explain his, and things would be all better. But as the hours went on, all was silent in my house. "Forget it," I grumbled and dialed Michael's cell. It rolled immediately to his voice mail.

  "Hi, Michael, it's Kate." I hoped he wouldn't notice my trembling voice. "I'm sorry for running out of the co
ffee shop like that. I do want to talk, really. So, um, give me a call, and I hope to hear from you soon"

  I tossed the cordless on the couch and watched it bounce off right onto the floor. I went back to taking notes on the computer and doing some online research, but in the back of my head, all I wanted was that phone to ring, and that it would be Michael on the other end.

  It had been a long time since I looked this forward to a Monday. Today I was going to have a clean slate. I was going to show Gwen all the newspaper articles, the columnists, the thank-you notes from charity event organizers, all boasting of how Devin was now a good guy, or at least as such in the eyes of the media. I had worked all weekend gathering up the evidence.

  Granted, Gwen and Fox Underhill hadn't placed a timeline on the transformation (unless the words "do it soon" could be construed as a timeline), and they might still want us to have more substantial proof, but just like everything else in my job, I'd put a spin on it. "Tell me one item in a paper or magazine that has reflected poorly on Devin," I would say. And they couldn't, either. "Look at the praise he got from Partnership for the Homeless. You can't tell me this isn't progress?" Of course, in this grand scheme, Gwen would smile know ingly and approvingly, forgetting how I had wronged her just the Friday before.

  Most of all, though, I couldn't wait to share the plan with Michael. He hadn't called me back all weekend, and yes, I had come up with a hundred excuses for why he never returned my call. ("Maybe he lost his phone" and "He hates me and never wants to speak with me again" were the two competing favorites.) But as much trepidation as I felt to see him, I had to do it.

  I stepped into the office at 8:30. I unloaded my briefcase on my desk, hung up my tan belted trench coat, and peaked around the corner into Michael's office. The lights and computer were both off, and his chair was tucked neatly under his desk. It was uncharacteristic for him to arrive later than 7:30. Maybe he had an early-morning meeting, but the urge to talk to him at this moment overwhelmed me.

  I walked around the office in search of an answer. "Good morning, Rita." I tried to sound nonchalant as I brushed past the front desk. "You haven't heard where Michael might be?"

  "Got a voice mail late last night from him saying he would be out a few days due to a family emergency"

  My face fell. "Is he okay? Did he say what happened?"

  "Just a family emergency. That's all he said." Rita enunciated to me like a child who didn't quite understand an answer to a question. "Why don't you try his cell phone?"

  "Nah, if it's a family emergency, I won't bother him. Thank you for your help." Rita shrugged, not nearly as concerned as I was with Michael's whereabouts.

  On my way back to my office, I saw that Gwen's door was closed as she faced the window while talking on the phone. She only closed her door for serious conversations; she usually enjoyed making everyone else in the office uncomfortable with her loud voice and offthe-cuff remarks to clients. Maybe she was talking to someone about me, trying to find out if any of her counterparts would take on a lying, back-stabbing sycophant as a charity case. I really needed to talk to Michael so we could get things straightened out with each other, and then with Gwen.

  I went back to my office. What were the odds that this was really a family emergency? I wondered as I held the phone receiver in one hand and pushed down the dial-tone button with the other. Would he have said something that drastic just to avoid talking to me? I've had plenty of "family emergencies" in my dayshopping, fatigue, or just not feeling like going into work. Then again, if it really was a family emergency, would I want to interrupt Michael with something as minute as this? On the other hand, he might not even have his cell on, and I could just leave him a message, in addition to the other one I left him on Friday night.

  I was about to dial when Gwen stormed into my office; she scared the receiver right out of my hand.

  "You are a genius! An absolute genius!" She mindlessly waved a newspaper through the air.

  "Huh?"

  "I knew you and Michael were doing good stuff on this project, but this blows me away!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You haven't seen today's Post?"

  "Urn, no, I've been a bit, uh, preoccupied."

  "You don't look at the papers every morning?"

  "Yeah, uh, sure, of course I do." Why was I lying again? Ugh. "You know what, Gwen? I don't look at the papers every morning, unless it's to do the crossword."

  Gwen barked out a laugh. "You're too much. Trying to fool me into thinking you do the crossword"

  So this is what telling the truth gets me? I needed to see what was in that newspaper, what was causing Gwen's sudden state of euphoria. She dropped the paper on my desk and plopped herself into the guest chair and watched me while I read it.

  There, on Page Six, was a prominent shot of Devin whispering in Miranda Hamilton's ear. It must have been taken the first night they met. The headline blazed, "Taming the Devil in Devin?"

  I looked up at Gwen, who was nodding vigorously, encouraging me to continue reading.

  Confirmed Manhattan bachelor Devin Underhill appears to have met his romantic match in America's sweetheart, Miranda Hamilton. The two have been seeing each other since Hamilton arrived in New York three months ago to shoot her new movie, "Talk Is Cheap." With a reputation as one of Hollywood's most generous-and genuinestarlets, Hamilton seems like an odd fit for Debonair Devin, but with his recent charity work, no doubt she was drawn to him, says a source close to the couple.

  "That's probably what attracted Miranda to Devin, the fact that they both so strongly believe in the power of charitable giving," the source says. "Devin's really turned himself around and has become a better person, especially now that she's in his life."

  Witnesses knew how serious Underhill was when they spotted him last week purchasing an engagement ring at Tiffany, running upwards of $300, 000, according to the source.

  While no one knows for sure when and how he officially proposed, the source confirms that they are both in Bermuda this week. "Don't be surprised if you hear about a mid-week wedding," the source says.

  I looked at Gwen disbelievingly.

  "So, who was the 'source'-you or Michael?" she gawped.

  "Well, I certainly can't take credit for it." Why would Michael do something like this and not tell me about it? Worse yet, how could all of this be happening right before my eyes, and I missed all the signs? "You didn't happen to hear from Michael today?"

  "I heard about his family emergency. Maybe he's on his way to Bermuda to be the best man!" How apropos that Gwen thought this was the funniest thing she had ever heard. "Fox, of course, is thrilled," she continued. "I was just on the phone with him, and as far as he's concerned, we have done our jobs. Granted, he wishes his son would have told him of his plans, but who can complain when you're marrying someone like Miranda Hamilton? I'm telling you, her walking into our office was the best thing that ever happened to us"

  "Speak for yourself," I mumbled inaudibly.

  "What was that, my dear? You're not upset about this wedding, are you?"

  "No, no. I'm, uh, I'm surprised that it got to the Post this fast, that's all."

  She propped her middle-aged derriere on the corner of my desk. "Kate, you know how difficult it is for me to apologize, but I am sorry how I reacted on Friday. Had I known what you were up to, you little devil, I wouldn't have said anything! I was just keeping you on your toes, that's all."

  "Well, it worked"

  "Don't look like you're at a funeral, Brown!" Gwen leapt from my desk. "This is the best day ever in Burton Relations. I get to retire, you and Michael are going to be partners. There is one thing I think you should do, however."

  "What's that?"

  "Fly to Bermuda."

  "Excuse me?" It was more of a harsh statement than a question.

  "It'll be on me. Just take a little trip, say hi to the newlyweds, and come back in a few days. I'm assuming since you and Michael were such great matchm
akers, they'd want you down there with them."

  "I'm not so sure about that, Gwen. They've been pretty private about this whole engagement" Private and shocking.

  "You're going to have to do some follow-up press for them after they're married anyway, so don't consider this a request, consider this an order."

  "What if I don't go?"

  "I'd say you're an idiot for not going to a tropical paradise for free"

  "Can't I just let Michael handle this one?"

  "He's MIA, remember? Quit being such a ninny and just go," Gwen demanded.

  I rose from my chair to become face to face with Gwen. "Fine," I succumbed. My mind was so clouded that I couldn't have put up a fight even if I'd wanted to. "I need to go home and pack. If you don't mind, I'll just finish up a few things around here."

  "I'll have Rita book you a flight and a room at Hotel Bella, obviously." She left my office and shouted halfway across the hall. "Rita, get Kate on a flight to Bermuda immediately!"

  I re-read the article. "That's probably what attracted Miranda to Devin, the fact that they both so strongly believe in the power of charitable giving." Devin could care less about charities before we got our hands on him. Witnesses knew how serious Underhill was when they spotted him last week purchasing an engagement ring at Tiffany.

  How did I not know this? All along Michael insisted that Miranda was not interested in Devin, and she herself made that pretty clear too. Had Devin finally won her over behind the scenes? And if he really was en gaged, he had no business trying to kiss me on Friday. Something wasn't adding up.

  I had grown to consider Miranda a-gulp-friend, and because of that, I felt this sense of obligation to warn her about the fact that her fiance was hitting on an ex-girlfriend days before their wedding. For that reason alone, I could justify going to Bermuda.

  Where was Michael? I needed to know what, if any, role he played in this mess. Perhaps "family emergency" meant staying out of the office until the fallout had cleared. I had to call him, but I needed to make another call to someone who might help put some of the pieces of this obtuse puzzle together.