“Molly?” Cheryl mimicked. “Do you have to flirt with everything that moves?”
Molly regarded Cheryl with the same look of surprise she must have given her first cow-eye dissection in biology class. Cheryl blushed. Maybe the comment had been uncalled for but Andy’s whole “I’m nice to everyone” thing was really starting to get on her nerves. Because he wasn’t nice to everyone. He was Mr. Look Her Up and Down and Shrug.
“Cheryl, you do seem a little angry,” the nurse mused. “Everything okay?”
Cheryl didn’t bother to answer. It was pretty obvious that everything was not okay.
Molly pulled out a pen flashlight and started an assault on Cheryl’s pupils. “Blink. Blink again.”
“Where the fuck is Stan?” Cheryl said. “Andy, where is Stan?”
“Calling the local news, I think,” Andy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s a good story. Star marketing executive, downed by angry racquetball.”
“When I get out of this bed . . .” Cheryl tried to sit up but Molly put out a gentle hand and pushed her back. The penlight moved forward again.
“I haven’t been drinking, Officer,” Cheryl mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the glare. The back of her lids appeared orange. Cheryl adjusted her position, groaning slightly at the sharp pain in her head. “Molly, I better get some good drugs out of all this,” she said, trying for levity.
“Drug seeker,” Andy sang. “Drug-seeking behavior!”
Cheryl’s eyes flew open. Molly was biting her lip as though wondering if she was indeed a criminal.
“Andy,” Cheryl said, “the mere moment it is confirmed I am not dying, you’re fired.”
“Please tell me she’s dying,” Andy pleaded.
Molly giggled, then slid on her stethoscope and started listening to Cheryl’s heart.
Cheryl pursed her lips, forcing herself to hate the plain gold necklace with its single pearl that Molly was wearing, instead of the nurse herself. It was swaying back and forth as she moved, making Cheryl dizzy and drawing an unnecessary amount of attention to Molly’s cleavage, a view Cheryl could have lived without. Unable to take the humiliation of being such a total victim, Cheryl grabbed the metal disk of the stethoscope out of Molly’s hands and spoke into it like a microphone.
“Seriously. I’m fine,” Cheryl said. “Let me go home.”
Molly flushed, then made some furious notes on Cheryl’s chart.
“I am so sorry about that,” Andy said. “She’s edgy. It must be the head wound.”
“She’s been through a lot,” the nurse agreed, reaching out and patting Cheryl’s hand. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“That’s really sweet,” Andy said, touching Molly’s elbow. “I wish everyone had a heart like you.”
“This isn’t a bar,” Cheryl said. “If you want to pick her up, do it on your own time.”
Molly blushed again, sneaking a quick look at Andy. He was wearing that dimple like an accessory.
Pocketing her stethoscope, Molly turned to Cheryl and said, “You do have a slight concussion. We don’t have to keep you here for observation as long as you have someone to stay with you . . .”
“I’m taking her home,” Andy said. When Cheryl opened her mouth to protest, he said, “Stan’s not here. He had something planned with his wife.”
Cheryl’s heart sank. “Where’s my BlackBerry? Does he have it?”
Andy glanced around the room. Cheryl’s gym bag was on the chair. He walked over and sifted through it, shaking his head. Cheryl couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything embarrassing inside. After a minute, he said, “Maybe it’s at the gym. It’s not here.”
Staring at the lights on the ceiling, Cheryl felt her head spin. There were few options. If she had Andy call to demand her phone back this instant, Stan would probably pull over and start snooping through it right there on the side of the road. No, Cheryl would have to wait until morning and hope Stan had more faith in her than she had in him.
“Andy, are you . . . Are you staying with her?” the nurse asked, tapping the pen against her teeth. “She needs to have someone stay with her.”
“No way,” Cheryl said. “I’m gonna call a friend.”
“Apparently, that’s not me,” Andy said with a grin. “Want to change before we go?”
Cheryl wanted to shake her head but it hurt. “Let’s just go,” she said, slowly bringing her legs over the side of the bed. After a minute, she stood up. The world wobbled around her but she brushed away Andy’s arm when he offered it.
Andy grabbed her bag and they headed toward the entrance. The halls were filled with families and couples and, in spite of herself, Cheryl was grateful for Andy’s company. Hospitals were horrible places to spend time alone.
“It might be cold out,” Andy said. “Want my jacket?”
“I’m fine.”
Outside, the air was icy against Cheryl’s legs and she regretted her answer. She also wished she had taken the time to change. As she shivered, Andy ran around to the driver’s side and started the car, immediately turning the heater to high. The vents blew out cold air.
“Sorry. It should be warm in a minute,” Andy said, glancing in his rearview mirror and carefully pulling out. “Listen, if you feel sick or anything, tell me. I’m supposed to take you right back. Where do you live?”
Cheryl gave him her address and he punched it into his GPS system. A pert, female voice started giving directions. After a moment, Andy flipped on the seat warmers.
“You really should start kissing Stan’s ass,” Cheryl said, absently watching the scenery as it went by.
“Huh?”
“You didn’t laugh at his jokes earlier,” she explained. “Bad idea. If you want to get ahead.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andy rub the back of his hand over the dark stubble on his cheek. With his strong jawline and perfectly white teeth, Andy was one of those guys that would be a perfect fit for any of their clients’ commercials. Of course, Cheryl found it hard to categorize Andy as classically good-looking. There was something too relatable about him, an amiability that naturally made him one of the gang.
Cheryl thought back to Andy’s first day at TurnKey. At lunch, he’d sat quietly at the end of the table at Hooters, observing how the team interacted. Stan had been harassing the Hooters waitress about Buffalo wings, deliberately emphasizing words like hot and spicy while leering at the young girl’s breasts. Granted, the breasts were quite an eyeful (or mouthful, as Stan always said), pushed up to the ceiling in the tight orange bra, but Cheryl was annoyed by the teasing. Maybe it was—Cheryl had peered at the name tag—Susie’s fault for choosing a career that seemed to beg for harassment but still, Susie should have dumped a pitcher of beer on Stan and gotten it over with.
“Just order already,” Cheryl finally cut in, irritated with Stan’s performance.
The waitress smiled at Cheryl in relief.
“I think we already know how much heat this guy can handle,” Cheryl said, rolling her eyes. “Can anyone say Cabo?”
The men at the table groaned, instantly getting the reference to that company sales conference in Mexico. Stan had gotten hammered and passed out on the beach, turning redder than a Mai Tai. Cheryl liked to joke that Stan’s massive amount of body hair was the only thing that saved him from death by sun poisoning.
Stan threw his hairy arms up in dismay. “It was the worm!”
“Too bad your date didn’t know that was all she was getting,” Cheryl quipped.
The men pounded the table with glee and a beer got knocked over into the breadsticks. Cheryl folded her napkin and gave a ladylike smile. Feeling Andy’s eyes on her, Cheryl had taken a deliberate sip of her margarita, slowly licking the salt from the rim.
Every guy at the table had stopped what he was doing and stared.
Cheryl was smart enough to make the move look mindless. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andy shift in his seat. She looked back at him for a split
moment and his eyes darkened—that tiny, universal sign. Unfortunately, a piece of salt had chosen that very moment to lodge in the back of her throat. Cheryl choked and had to grab for a nearby glass of water.
Jack Thompson looked over at her in surprise. “You okay, there?” he said, grinning.
Jack was such an asshole. Cheryl almost wanted to sleep with him, just to have the pleasure of not returning his call. She caught her breath and sat up straight.
“We know you’re short, Jack,” Cheryl said. “But I wouldn’t make it so obvious you’ve never heard a woman choking.”
The guys at the table roared. Andy had smiled, shaking his head.
“Stan isn’t funny,” Andy said, tapping his hands against the steering wheel. “So, why waste my breath?”
Cheryl looked at him in surprise. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”
“Am I supposed to worry that you’re going to repeat it?”
“But you’re . . . you’re the new guy,” Cheryl said, confused. Maybe it was her head injury but Andy just wasn’t making sense. “You’re supposed to kiss up to the boss. That’s what new guys do.”
Andy gave her a look. “This new guy’s gonna do the work,” he said. “Maybe that will be good enough.”
“Good luck with that.” Cheryl laughed. “What are you working on right now?”
“Pure. It’s . . .”
As Andy started rambling on about his energy drink account, Cheryl listened closely, trying to figure out what made Andy tick. There was no way this kid believed it only took hard work to get ahead. Clearly, he was playing his cards close to his chest, which meant she really was going to have to watch out for him, which was incredibly annoying. Even though Cheryl had sealed her position at TurnKey years ago, she was always on edge. It was a boys’ club and in spite of their casual amusement at her bawdiness, Cheryl would never be an official (ahem) member.
“Look, I’m glad I get to work with you,” Andy was saying. “Your name was one of the reasons I came to TurnKey. It carries a lot of weight, especially in Chicago.”
With anyone else, Cheryl would have retorted that it should, considering she developed TurnKey from a one-room marketing company into a full-blown necessity. The Midwestern advertising community couldn’t live without it. But she only felt compelled to nod.
“I hope we get to work closer together,” Andy said, looking over at her.
For a brief moment, their eyes locked and warmth spread through Cheryl’s body. Irritated, she adjusted her seat belt.
“What’s wrong?” Andy asked, immediately noticing her discomfort. He slowed the car, like he was ready to make a U-turn right back to intensive care.
“I’m fine,” Cheryl practically shouted. “Just take me home already.”
Andy’s eyes widened in surprise. The rest of the ride was quiet, punctuated only by an assured mechanical voice neatly guiding them home.
Chapter Six
“DOUG, THIS PLACE IS JUST BEAUTIFUL,” DORIS SAID, SETTING DOWN her purse and settling back into a white leather chair.
For their anniversary, Doug had surprised her with a table at Blackburn, one of the nicest restaurants in town. The lighting was low all around them and a harp player strummed softly by the fire. Bottles of Pellegrino sparkled on the tables.
“I thought you might like it,” Doug said.
At the table next to them, a silver-haired gentleman and a distinguished real estate maven nodded a hello. After giving them an awkward smile, she leaned forward and whispered, “Are you sure I’m not underdressed?”
The light blue cotton dress Doris was wearing would have fit in just fine at the Outback, which is where Doris thought they were going, but not here. The real estate maven was wearing something low-cut and black, with a strand of designer pearls.
Doug gave her a quick glance. “You look fine.”
Doris bit her lip. Fine was not the word she was looking for, but after twenty-three years of marriage, what did she expect? Tugging at her neckline, Doris said, “Well, then. Good.”
A waiter with a pronounced upper lip swept up to their table. “Good evening, my name is Jonathan,” he said. With a flourish, he handed both her and Doug thick maroon menus. “What are we drinking this evening?”
“A nice glass of red wine,” Doug announced. “Doris?”
“Um . . .” Doris hesitated. Her hands fluttered around for a wine list.
“How about a nice champagne?” Doug suggested.
Doris smiled. “That sounds great.”
The waiter whisked away. Doris’s menu had already been opened for her, so she looked down at the heavy pages. The first thing she noticed was that there were only five options for dinner entrees. The second thing she noticed was that there were no prices.
“Doug, everything on the menu is free,” she whispered.
“What?” Doug looked confused for a moment, then he looked at the menu and laughed. “In that case, I think I’ll get two steaks.”
“I’ll get two chicken marsalas,” Doris said, nodding. She set her menu to the side and admired the forks on the table in front of her. They looked like real silver. She wondered if anyone ever tried to steal them.
Doug reached across the table and stroked her fingers. Doris loved the way his gold wedding band seemed like a natural part of his hands. In fact, Doris couldn’t remember a time she’d seen him without it.
“Are you stroking my fingers because you love me,” Doris teased, “or because you want me to stop manhandling the silverware?”
Doug leaned forward. His voice dropped an octave, becoming low and suggestive in that way Doris had always loved. “What do you think?”
“The silverware.” Doris nodded.
Doug’s eyes grazed over her, settling on her ample cleavage. “I don’t think it’s the silverware.”
Just then, Jonathan arrived with their drinks. He set a bulbous glass of red wine in front of Doug, a sparkling crystal flute in front of Doris.
Doris leaned back in her chair, lit up inside. It had been so long since she and Doug had connected like this. Thinking back to the incident at the mall with Katherine Rigney, Doris couldn’t help but gloat inside. Katherine had been right. Doris was lucky.
“Are we ready to order?” Jonathan asked.
Doug raised an eyebrow at Doris. “We are,” he said. “We’ll have . . .”
Doris tuned out and looked around the restaurant. Couples leaned close together over intimate tables lit by candlelight. Over by the fire, the harpist was strumming with her eyes closed, the notes in rhythm with the crackling flames. The waiters rushed around in starched white uniforms, the utmost in respectful efficiency.
“Why haven’t we ever come here before?” Doris said, as Jonathan scampered off.
“I don’t know,” Doug said. “Never thought about it.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“To us,” Doug said, raising his glass. “Twenty-three years of . . .”
“Brilliantly wedded bliss.” Doris smiled.
They clinked glasses. Doug’s eyes held hers. Doris blushed, taking a sip of champagne. Light and bubbly, it left a pleasant finish in her mouth. “Yum. That’s good.”
“Mine is, too,” Doug said.
Doris watched champagne bubbles float up through the gold liquid. It had been so long since she and Doug had actually sat down to dinner together, she wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Most of the time, Mandy was the focal point, but Doris wanted to talk about something different, enjoy this connection she had with her husband, even if it was just for one night.
“Oh, I know what I wanted to tell you,” Doris blurted out, remembering. “I bumped into Katherine Rigney at the mall. At Macy’s. It’s hard to believe we’re all so old, isn’t it?”
Doug choked on his wine, spluttering loudly. The couple at the next table glanced over at them.
“Honey, are you okay?” she said, leaning forward. “Did it go down the wrong pipe?”
“Wrong p
ipe.” Doug nodded, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “Sorry about that. Oh, look.”
Jonathan swept up to the table, moving the drinks aside to make room for the appetizers. With a flourish, the food runner laid out two dishes.
“Oysters Rockefeller,” Jonathan said, pointing at a plate of baked oysters. “And the seafood salad.” A shimmering display of calamari, shrimp, and baby scallops lay nestled between green olives and lemons.
“This looks great,” Doris said, stabbing a piece of calamari with her fork. She brought it to her lips and took the first bite. To her surprise, it was rubbery and bland.
“How is it?” Doug asked.
Mouth still full, Doris nodded. After swallowing, she lied, “Really good. How are the oysters?”
“Try one,” Doug said. “They’re an aphrodisiac . . .”
Doris blushed. Even though Doug was always tired from work, there had been more than one occasion where he had turned the stereo in their room to jazz, splashed on some of that cologne she’d bought him years ago, and come at her with an awkward hug. Doris had been finding it hard to get excited about sex, mainly because of her weight. They hadn’t been intimate in months but tonight, it was time to make a change. It was their anniversary, after all.
“An aphrodisiac?” Doris said. “Then maybe I should try one.”
Doug passed her a forkful of steaming oyster. It was slimy and tasted like rotten fish, but Doris swallowed it whole and gave a big smile. “Doug, I think it’s already doing something.”
He grinned. “Really?”
Taking a deep breath, Doris slid her shoe off in an attempt to rub her foot against Doug’s leg. After a moment, Doris realized the hard thing she was stroking was actually part of the table. Doris adjusted her position and thrust her foot out again. This time, it made contact with something soft.
“Ouch,” Doug said, jumping. “Did you just kick me?”
“Sorry,” Doris said, immediately drawing her foot back. “I was . . . my shoe fell off.”
“Better put it back on,” Doug said, plugging his nose and waving a hand. “You don’t want to scare away the other tables with those stinky feet.”
“Ha-ha,” Doris said, fumbling for her shoe. Even though Doris liked it when Doug joked with her, sometimes his jokes were annoying. It wasn’t like they were sixteen anymore. Who wanted to talk about stinky feet at an anniversary dinner?
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