“I wasn’t expecting that you would let me back. In fact, I have a few job interviews lined up this week.” That last part was a lie, but I had plans to start my search for a new job the moment I left this therapy session.
“Fine,” she said again, her hand at her throat. But something had changed, had softened in her eyes.
Now was the time to ask about Nicolette, while she felt a little more forgiving towards me.
“I did want to ask you for a favor, though,” I said, the first hints of trepidation in my voice. This wasn’t about me, it was about Nicolette, and I was worried I would let her down again.
“I knew that was coming,” Mother said, inspecting at her nails with disinterest.
“It’s not for me, it’s for a friend,” I began, fidgeting in my seat for the first time. I propped my right foot on my left knee, uncrossed it, then repeated the same thing on the other side.
“Get on with it, Harry!” I caught the nickname before she did. Sometimes my mother’s Park Avenue façade slipped ever so slightly to show the mother I knew was underneath it, the one who used to sing me to sleep when I was a little boy. I hadn’t seen that woman in years.
“Right. My friend, Nicolette, she’s in PR but she’s also in fashion. The PR firm she’s working for is awful and I told her you were looking for someone in the marketing department. I was wondering if you would interview her as a favor to me.”
I took a big risk asking her to do me a favor. Mother hadn’t done me a favor in a long time.
“I don’t know about that. How reliable could someone you recommend be?”
Two steps forward, five steps back.
“Please, Mother. She’s not like me. I met her through you. Remember, you set her up on a blind date with Jax?” Hopefully invoking my cousin’s name would be enough to convince her that Nicolette was worthy of at least an interview.
“Oh, yes, the Fowler girl. Her father gives a lot to our children’s charity. He’s a real-estate developer, isn’t he?” She was rambling now, talking to herself. Talking herself into it.
“I think so,” I said, nodding. The truth was, I had no idea what her father did because we’ve never talked about it.
My mother fingered her pearls, her eyes closed as she thought about my proposition.
I realized at that moment that the therapist’s office was probably the wrong place to have this conversation, but who knew when I would have my mother’s full attention to make it happen.
“All right. Have her send me a résumé and I will set up an interview for Wednesday. But if she turns out to be terrible, this will all be on you.”
Ladies and gentlemen, my mother, the optimist.
I let out the breath I was holding in relief, sagging against the chair.
“Thank you, Mother. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
I had broken way too many promises to my parents in the recent past—I just hoped this one was one I could keep.
* * *
An hour later, my parents and I were seated at a fancy restaurant of her choosing on the Upper East Side. Beatrice Radcliffe-Rogers wasn’t versed in much else but fashion, but she knew the restaurants in Manhattan. This particular one she’d heard about through her Pilates friend Gayle Stevenson. Gayle’s sister’s trainer had raved about it.
That was the story we’d heard in the car all the way there.
By the time we arrived, I was not only starving, but I was longing for a drink. I suddenly wished I had made that AA meeting instead of missing it.
“What’s good here?” I asked my mother as we perused the menu.
This time I would fight the urge to order a drink. This time I would make up for what I couldn’t control yesterday. Suddenly, I wondered if this was a test from my mother to see if I would keep my promise about getting sober.
All the more reason to stick to my guns.
Deciding on a fillet and saffron risotto, I distracted myself by looking around the restaurant. It was dimly lit, the kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones while leaning over the table towards each other. Nicolette would love it.
I made a mental note to bring her here for a date when I got the chance.
Dinner was bearable. My mother only managed to belittle me once when I rebuked the drink menu the waiter brought over just before our meals. For the first time in a while, I had a conversation with my father about business where I didn’t feel the least bit bitter about them firing me.
As we made our way back out to the car, he asked me where I had interviews lined up. I paused for a moment, debating on whether I should tell him that I was still searching or if I should lie. But, in the end, I decided on honesty, because I’d heard it was one of the steps to getting sober.
“Well, I don’t have anything lined up yet. But I’ve been looking. With my marketing background from the fashion house and with my business degree, I was thinking of checking out banking. I know that’s not my practical experience, but I was always strong in math, and you know I love money.” I chuckled as I spoke, trying to take the serious edge off of the conversation.
It was a defense mechanism, and I knew it.
“I know some guys over on Wall Street,” Dad said, patting me on the back. “Let me know if you want me to put in a good word.” He glanced at my mother, who was taking a phone call just as we slipped into the car. “Don’t tell your mother.”
I nodded as my mother climbed into the car, dropping her phone into her purse on her lap.
“Your cousin has been acting out of character lately,” she said, her voice tight. The pursed lips were back.
The whole way back to my apartment, my mother ranted about Jax. Apparently, he was spending a lot of time with Liza. But there was also some drama with his ex-wife Natalie Livingston. Mother didn’t relay the details—I would have to ask Jax later—but she was livid and had worked herself into a tizzy by the time we arrived at my building. I was careful not to comment or tell her that I thought Jax was a grown man and could do whatever the hell he wanted. Instead, I watched the lights of upper Manhattan flash by my window. The late-November evening was filled with windows of Christmas displays, appearing to twinkle as we drove by. My thoughts were consumed with Nicolette, and though I’d spent the better part of the afternoon with her, I longed to see her again.
It was too soon, too fast, but like a runaway freight train, I couldn’t stop it.
Chapter 14
Nicolette
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Liza commented as she swept her long, fiery curls up on top of her head and into a messy bun.
We were in the kitchen, where I had been pretending for the better part of an hour to be reading a book while I was really waiting for Henry to call or text me. Liza was brooding about Jax, sitting at the kitchen island next to me, nursing a still-full cup of coffee. Two days ago, she’d told him she needed space and time to think about what was going on between them. It was a fair assessment, especially since they were hot and heavy right off the bat without really getting to know each other. She and I hadn’t talked too much about it, only the vague comment here and there about both of our love lives at this point, which wasn’t usual.
But nothing about either of our situations was usual.
I shrugged in response to her comment, not looking up from the book.
“Are you even reading that?” she said, snatching the book from my hands and pulling it away.
“Hey! Give it back!” I jumped from the stool and chased her to the living room where she stood, holding the book over her head.
She knew I was too short to reach it.
“Tell me what happened on the last page you read.” Liza opened the book and skimmed it quickly before putting it back over her head.
I thought, racking my brain, but couldn’t remember any of the words I had stared at for the better part of thirty minutes.
“Uh,” I began, but it was useless, so I decided to try something else. “It’s about a woman and her best friend
who haven’t had a real conversation in over a month.” I propped my hands on my hips, raised an eyebrow at her, and waited for her response.
Her arm dropped to her side; the book forgotten. “Ugh, Nic. I’m so sorry. All of this Jackson shit has really occupied a lot of space in my brain. What’s been going on with you?”
She tossed me the book and we both ambled back over to the island, taking our seats again. I tugged my hoodie down lower over my leggings, grabbing the ends of the sleeves with my hands and wrapping my arms around myself before tucking my legs underneath me on the stool. The urge to tell her everything—the one-night stands, the thing with Henry, my job—was on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitated. What would telling her accomplish? She had a lot on her plate this week with work and Jackson. I didn’t want to complicate it further.
I settled on the one thing that would cause the least uproar. “I quit my job.”
Liza leaned forward, placing her hands on my knees. “What?! Oh my God! Seriously? When?”
“Yesterday. Hannah called me back into work after I had just got home for the night. It was the last straw, I was done.” I left out the part about Henry’s promise to talk to his mother.
“Wow, good for you. She treated you like shit. You deserve better. Now, you can go after something in fashion. I bet your dad has a lot of connections.” She was bobbing her head up and down as she reached for her now-cold coffee and took a swig.
After making a face at the taste of her coffee, Liza stood, walked to the microwave and popped the mug in. I watched her, listening to the beep beep of the buttons she pressed, the whir of the machine as it heated her coffee, all while deep in thought about the Henry thing.
“Sure,” I said with half the enthusiasm I felt.
Liza turned around at the sound of my voice, her eyes narrowing as the microwave began to beep shrilly behind her. She didn’t reach for the coffee but continued to stare at me as if she were waiting for me to say something else.
“What else is going on, Nicolette?” Her hazel eyes bored into mine.
I shrugged again, because telling her all of my deepest darkest secrets, the ones I only shared with my therapist, wasn’t something I felt like doing on this Wednesday morning. She sighed in response, took the now-warm coffee from the microwave and puttered over to the cabinet. I stared as she pulled a travel mug down, dumped the coffee into it, and set it next to her phone and keys.
With a backward glance at the microwave clock, she turned to me one last time. “I’m gonna be late, but this isn’t over. We need to have a talk when I get home tonight.” She pointed a finger at me as she backed down the hallway.
I nodded. There was only so long for me to hide the truth from Liza.
* * *
An hour later, after hitting the gym hard and showering there, I made my way back down the block to our building. Since I hadn’t heard from Henry yet, and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, I decided that when I got back up to the apartment, I would polish up my résumé. It never hurt to be prepared.
As I walked up to the door, an Uber XL pulled up in front of the building. I ignored it at first, because everyone on this block used Uber and car services. But movement from my right caught my eye as I stepped into the open door of the lobby, and I turned just in time to see Henry jogging up to me.
“Henry? What are you doing here?” He had the habit of just showing up unannounced in lieu of calling.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” He came to a stop next to me, bending down on his knees to catch his breath for a minute. “I need to get back in the gym.”
I chuckled and we fell into step to the elevators. Pressing the button, I turned to him.
“How was the therapy session?” I asked, not adding what I wanted to about his mother and an interview.
Henry rolled his eyes. “Pretty much same old, same old. Except my dad was really receptive when I told them about AA.”
“That’s great news,” I said leaning in and giving him a side hug.
He put his arm around me, pulling me in for a full hug. My breath caught in my throat at the contact, but the spell was broken by the ding of the elevator arriving.
“Beatrice wasn’t so happy about it, though,” Henry added as we stepped into the elevator and he pressed the number for my floor.
“Why? I thought she wanted you to stop drinking?”
He shook his head. “I’m supposed to get sober the way she wants me to get sober. She told me to go away to a luxury rehab facility for three weeks instead of, quote, ‘embarrassing the family more than I already have.’”
I made a face. “That doesn’t make any sense. How would going to AA be an embarrassment?”
“Then everyone would know I had a real drinking problem. You know, instead of just speculating.” He rolled his eyes again.
“Well, if it matters at all, I’m proud of you for choosing to go to AA,” I said, resting my hand on his forearm.
I ignored the sizzle that started in my fingertips and shot up my arm at the contact. I ignored the way his verdant eyes darkened with lust as he focused on the connection. And I pretended that touching him, in any way, didn’t make my stomach clench deep inside with a need for more.
Ding. The elevator’s arrival at my floor helped to burst my bubble once more.
We stepped out, walked down the hall to my door, and I let us in, tossing my gym bag to the side near the closet.
“I also asked her if she would interview you,” Henry said as I locked the door.
I pivoted on my heel. “Really? What did she say?” I reined in my eagerness as much as I possibly could.
My efforts must not have been enough because Henry laughed at me. “She said she’d give you an interview. Today.”
My eyes widened, and for a moment I was speechless. “Today?” I croaked, looking down at my leggings and sweatshirt, and looked back at Henry. “What time? How come you didn’t tell me sooner?”
Henry shook his head, a different kind of look darkening his eyes for a moment. “In an hour. Something happened this morning. I’m sorry, I should have texted you.”
I opened my mouth to ask what had happened but closed it again. If he wanted to tell me, he would have told me already.
“It’s okay. I have to get ready!” I grabbed my phone from the counter, shooting a text to Liza about an interview today without all the details, and ran into my room. Henry laughed from the living room as I disappeared into my room.
What did one wear to an interview with a fashion designer? I ripped through my closet, discarding and dismissing every single thing I pulled out because none of it seemed right. Then I remembered the dress. The one fabulous black dress I owned, the one Liza looked stunning in when she went to the benefit with Jackson. Would it be appropriate for this type of interview? There was only one way to find out.
I hurried from my room, hair half clipped on top of my head and ready to curl, to Liza’s room. For the millionth time I was thankful that she was much neater than I was. The dress was freshly cleaned and hanging in the front of her closet as if it had been waiting for me all this time. With a sigh of relief, I pulled it from the hanger, tore my t-shirt off over my head and slipped it on. I shimmied out of my leggings, letting them puddle onto the floor as I made my way over to her full-length mirror in the corner to take in my reflection.
This dress was a magic dress, enchanting anyone who wore it, but in a different way. While its short length on Liza had made it look sexy and seductive, it’s slightly longer length on me made it look professional and fashionable all at once. Perfect for an interview with a fashion designer. I clapped my hands, hurried back to my room with my discarded clothes under my arm, and finished getting ready.
I did not want to be late for this interview.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I emerged from my room in the magical black dress and maroon velvet Mary Jane stilettos with a blazer in the same color and fabric. My hair was freshly curled, pinned back o
n one side with a deep side part. I had done my makeup carefully, not too heavy but enough to make me look mature and fashion-worthy. I was ready.
“Let’s go!” I called to Henry as I stepped into the living room where he sat on the couch, his shoulders hunched over as his fingers flew over his phone’s screen.
He looked up, his eyes widening before the emerald green burned with desire. I swallowed hard, trying not to let his reaction get to me, but it was proving difficult. The more time we spent together, the more my feelings deepened for Henry.
I wasn’t going to let those feelings come between the bond we were building, which was something much deeper than desire and lust. I wasn’t going to ruin it by sleeping with him.
Not this time.
“You look amazing,” he said, his voice husky with lust.
I swallowed again, taking a few steps towards the door to put some distance between us as he stood up from the couch and moved towards me. I busied myself with choosing a coat from the closet, so I could turn my back on him and break the connection for a moment. I could feel him move closer. He was standing directly behind me as I backed out of the closet, my coat gripped tightly in my fist. I was afraid to turn around, afraid to move because I knew how close he was. I was afraid I’d forget the promise I’d made to myself only moments ago.
“Henry.” My voice held a note of warning. Now was not the time. Not before I had to be on my game for an interview for my dream job.
“Turn around, Nicolette,” he growled the words in my ear, his mouth so close I could feel his breath rustling my hair. It sent a shiver down my spine.
“I’m afraid,” I said quietly, honestly.
“Of what? Me?”
I shook my head. “No, myself.”
I felt him hesitate after that but pulling back a little bit. He thought I didn’t want to take things further because of him—his drinking, his dysfunction. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
One Chance Page 9