Left (Still Standing, #1)

by Graves, T. R.

  "Nonsense. I've got this, and that's final," I say, sliding three twenties into the tiny black booklet and looping my purse over my arm.

  Heading toward the door, we pass the very young hostess. "Thank you for choosing Churasscos, Ms. Messenger."

  Sabrina and I come here at least once a week, and Colt and I come at least once every other weekend, so we're practically on a first-name basis with all the staff.

  "It was wonderful, Piola. Have a great day."

  When I look away, I see Colt coming into the restaurant. Shocking me is the fact that Eden Addison, the firm's youngest partner ever, is holding on to his elbow. Oblivious that his girlfriend is standing in front of him, he stares over at her, and whatever he's said makes her laugh and slap at his shoulder.

  With the boyish grin I know as well as I know my own, he laughs too.

  My stomach drops to my toes.

  Maybe Mr. Moon was wrong.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE BUXOM DEVIL

  Baylee

  "Babe. I didn't expect you to be here," Colt says, coming toward me.

  The way he looks at me—sad and ashamed—tells me there's more to this lunch than he wants me to know. My heart is racing, and I've lost the ability to speak.

  When Colt reaches out to touch me, I casually slip back and away from him. He knows me too well for me to hide my feelings.

  We'll talk tonight. Not here. Not now.

  I don't want anyone else to know I'm hurt to the core—and angry—so I put on my fake grin and stare at Eden's hand until she releases Colt's elbow.

  She, too, has the good sense to look ashamed of herself.

  "Sabrina and I were just having lunch," I say and realize speaking around the lump that has formed in my throat is more difficult that I'd expected.

  When I glance over to Sabrina and see a new round of pity in her face, I feel the moisture seeping into my eyes. All I can do is pray I don't turn into a sniveling ball of tears here in the middle of this restaurant.

  "Sabrina, do you mind getting the car? I have a meeting I can't be late for. I'll be out in a few minutes," I say, calmly... carefully.

  She nods. "Sure. Colt, it was nice seeing you again."

  Ever polite and not sure what else to do or say, Colt agrees. "Same here, Sabrina."

  After Sabrina leaves, Colt turns to Eden and says, "Why don't you get a table for four? Dad and James will be here shortly."

  I notice how Colt makes a point of letting me know he's not having lunch with Eden by himself. Little does he know I'm not upset by the lunch. It was the intimacy of what I just witnessed.

  "Sure. It was nice seeing you again, Baylee," Eden—beautiful, successful, smart Eden—says to me, and it's all I can do not to slap her across her face for driving this wedge between Colt and me.

  Even my green-eyed monster has to admit the blond, buxom beauty is stunning. She's the whole package all the way down to her bloodline. It seems her father, James, and Wyatt have been friends their entire lives. Both driven. Both successful.

  According to Colt, Wyatt insisted that Eden join his firm as soon as she passed the bar. Within one year, she'd been made partner. Wyatt still hasn't made his own son—who joined the same year—a partner, and I happen to know for a fact that Colt is brilliant. I can only imagine what Eden brings to the table, considering Wyatt's expectations.

  I glare at Eden as she walks away from us. There's a natural swag to her hips as she strolls away. It's as if she's practiced in a mirror her entire life so men—every man in the room—will watch her ass while she walks away.

  "Babe, I have a meeting in a few minutes. Do you want me to walk you out to Sabrina's car?" Colt asks, grabbing my elbow before leaning over and kissing me on the cheek, breaking my heart further.

  Going out of my way to avoid a scene, I slip away from Colt. "No, thank you. I made it into the restaurant myself, and I can make it out just fine."

  He can tell by my whispered tone that he's done—said—the wrong thing.

  "What's wrong, Bay? All I'm doing is having a business lunch. Why are you acting like you've just caught me cheating?"

  I glance up. Colt looks as torn as he did last week in his study. He's as hurt as I am. My distrust is painful for him. Instantly, I soften.

  Unconditional trust. That's what you committed to last week.

  "I know, Colt. I-I just didn't expect to see you here. That's all," I say quietly.

  At that very moment, Wyatt and another man I've never seen make their way into the restaurant. As always, Wyatt is larger than life, entertaining his client like only Wyatt can. As soon as he sees me, he sends a glare toward Colt.

  "Baylee. How are you, my dear?" Wyatt—charismatic as ever—instantly hides his irritation with his son and gives me one of his signature bear hugs. "Colt, you didn't tell me you were inviting Baylee to join us."

  I may not know Wyatt as well as I know Colt, but I can sense his frustration. This is a business lunch that means a lot to him. I decide to get out of their way.

  "I'm not, Wyatt. I had lunch with a colleague. We were leaving when Colt and Eden came in. I have a meeting and need to get back to the office. I'll see you this weekend. Colt told me we were going out on your boat," I say, making small talk and preparing to leave.

  Again, Wyatt shoots daggers at his son. "Ah... I'm glad Colt told you about that. We're going to have a wonderful day. I look forward to seeing you, Baylee. Now, if you don't mind, Colt, Eden, and I have a business lunch with James."

  Wyatt nods his head toward the table, quietly demanding that his son join him sooner rather than later.

  I don't need him to spell it out for me. He expects Colt to give their client his undivided attention and for me to get the hell out of the restaurant and quit distracting his son. This isn't the first time I've gotten the distinct impression that Wyatt is no Baylee Messenger fan. He's actually had the nerve to hint on several occasions that he felt I wasn't good enough for his son. Fortunately, he's never had the bad manners to say it to my face.

  Thank God for small miracles! I think sarcastically.

  Without another word, I turn my back on the men and head toward the exit. Before the door closes behind me, I hear Colt. "I'll see you at home tonight, babe."

  I don't acknowledge him in any way. I readjust my fake smile, making sure I look like I believe Colt was having an innocent business lunch, rehearse what I'm going to say to Sabrina, and focus on the meeting I'm about to head into.

  In the car, Sabrina says, "I can't believe we met up with Colt."

  I know she's trying to open the door for me to talk to her, be a friend, but it's not something I can do right now.

  "Y-yeah. After you left, his dad and a client came in. They were having a business lunch," I say, desperate for my words to be true. Changing the subject, I turn toward Sabrina. "Speaking of Colt's dad. He invited us out on his boat this weekend. It's one of the biggest ones in Kemah's marina. I'm sure there's plenty of room... if you'd like to go. Colt and I are always the youngest people there. It would be nice to have someone I could hang out with while they talk shop. What do you think?"

  Sabrina beams like I've given her the boat. "Oh my God! That would be so much fun, Bay. I'd love to go."

  Suddenly the boring outing seems like it might be kind of fun. "We'll be leaving the dock at ten Sunday morning. I'll text you the specifics once I make it back to my desk. You're going to love it. Wear a swimsuit, and you and I'll find a deck where we can lay out and listen to music while they talk non-stop about their cases."

  With that crisis averted, Sabrina no longer appears to feel sorry for me, almost like she's forgotten all about the entire incident.

  I wish I could forget the familiar ease Colt and Eden shared with each other. My gut twists, my head screams, and my heart breaks, but Sabrina has no idea because I can and will hide all of that from her... from everyone.

  CHAPTER 3

  LESS TALKING AND MORE DOING

  Baylee

 
; My office is a quiet sanctuary where I can take a few minutes to gather my wits and think through all I know before my afternoon meeting.

  After a few minutes of logical thought (rather than emotional reactions), I chastise myself. Colt is at a business lunch, and I'm acting like a jealous girlfriend. Nothing more. Nothing less. He loves me. Look at the size of the diamond on the ring he bought for me for Christ's sake. It's six carats, easy.

  Actually, I'm not entirely sure the size and style of the ring he chose screams my name. It's too big and overstated, but if that's the way he wants to show me his love, who am I to argue?

  Ping.

  The instant my computer chimes with the meeting reminder, I glance at the clock. Five minutes until this week's mandatory team meeting. I grab a notebook, pen, and my Starbucks no-fat latte before heading to the conference room. The meeting is scheduled to last all afternoon. The caffeine will keep me on my toes.

  A familiar scene meets me when I enter the conference room. The stiff and uncomfortable chairs lining the back of the room are almost full while the giant comfy chairs at the table are all open and available. I take a seat in one of the many comfy chairs.

  The first time I took one of those chairs, I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I was just taking an open seat, and no one in the room was courteous enough to clue me in on what I was doing by sitting at the table. When Alex, my very new boss, walked into the conference room, he did a double take and suspiciously raised his brows my way.

  Knowing instantly that I'd broken an unspoken rule by coming to the table, I glanced behind me and saw that all of the chairs along the back row were full, and my peers were looking down, around, and anywhere but at me. None of my seasoned colleagues offered to switch places with me.

  Without options, I made a mental note to arrive early for the next meeting and make sure I sat along the back, observing these people until I was more comfortable with their mating patterns.

  "Baylee, it's good to see you here and at the table no less. That tells me you're ready to run the show. Take on a project. Here less than a week and already a project manager," Alex said snidely.

  Doing exactly what he'd wanted, I squirmed nervously in my chair and twisted my fingers. He and I both knew I was nowhere near ready to take on a project. Hell! I barely knew where the bathroom was located. When I stared across the table and saw Falan Franco and Gabe Jensen laughing at me as Alex openly mocked me, something inside me sparked.

  I knew right then I would take on a project, and I would do a better job than anyone had ever done. I lived with a brilliant trial lawyer and had never been intimidated by him. I can and will keep up with the big dogs, I swore to myself.

  Instantly, I stopped fidgeting, squared my shoulders, cut my eyes toward my condescending peers sitting across from me, and said, "I certainly am."

  I can still hear the way they audibly snapped their jaws closed and see the way they eyed me like I was their arch nemesis. Since that day, Falan and Gabe have worked tirelessly to undermine me. So far, it's just fueled me on and helped me make the projects I've managed wildly successful. In fact, every project I've taken on has been finished on target—sometimes before—minimized payment delays, improved profits, and increased productivity and efficiency for the clients.

  No matter what I've been able to accomplish, I knew that day and still know today that Alex is a prick. Anyone who throws their newbies to the wolves like he did to me that day—and numerous times since—doesn't have what it takes to lead me much less a team of people. The truth be known, I'd never really liked him, but Wyatt had pulled a few strings and gotten me the interview. Once a job was offered (probably at Wyatt's insistence), I took a leap of faith, accepted the position, and quit the job I loved.

  After spending my first year post graduation working as a nurse in a level I trauma center's emergency room, I figuratively hung up my nursing hat and settled down into a life of eight-to-five.

  In my nursing role, I loved taking care of patients—the rush of adrenaline when the trauma patients were flown in by helicopter, the impact a team of highly skilled professionals could make on a human being's life. In my new healthcare consultant role, I enjoyed analyzing workflows and helping hospital administrators improve their processes in such a way that means both patients and healthcare workers reap the rewards.

  Still, I miss the hands-on patient care and periodically regret my decision to give it up. At the time, I told myself putting Colt's needs before my own was what a good girlfriend did. It's what I did because my working nights, weekends, and holidays was a huge irritant for his father, which meant Colt couldn't live up to Wyatt's expectations, which meant he would come home stressed, which meant I'd have to see in his eyes that he wanted something different from me. In the end, I concluded it was easier to conform than to argue about my right to have any job I damned well pleased.

  Wyatt wanted me at Colt's beck and call in the event WCH had a gala or a client dinner or a mandatory family gathering—where spouses and girlfriends were warned about their public behavior—that required my attendance. Wyatt was not tolerant of my "little job" (his exact words) and my inability to take time off at the drop of his hat.

  Ever the people—Wyatt and Colt—pleaser, I went to work searching for a job that would keep me in healthcare but give me nights, evenings, and weekends off.

  I can't help but chuckle at that thought because I'm actually working more hours as a consultant than I ever did as an ER nurse. Since my hours are eerily similar to Colt's and I can make myself available for the mandatory family gatherings, neither Wyatt nor Colt mind the long hours I put in, and the family crisis has been averted.

  I'm stopped mid-thought when Falan comes in with thirty seconds to spare. She knows Alex can't stand it when any one of us is late so she always comes slinking in at the last second. She doesn't come before so she won't have to make small talk with the common folk. Alex—periodically Gabe—is the only person she really wants to converse with.

  Actually, Falan doesn't just talk to the very married Alex. She flirts aggressively with him. Everyone notices (gossips about) it, but he doesn't seem to mind. Hell! Why would he? She's a smart beautiful woman with auburn hair that she keeps pinned up in a bun that's as tight and meticulous as she is.

  I'll never forget the day a few weeks ago. I was running late when coming from an off-site meeting and didn't have time to stow my purse in my office, so I brought it into the meeting and slid it under the conference room table. A half hour after the meeting, I realized I'd not gotten a call from Colt I'd been expecting. When I grabbed for my purse to check my messages, I panicked because I realized two things. First, I'd left my purse, and second, Colt would be pissed that I missed his call.

  Quick as a flash, I checked the calendar to see if another meeting was scheduled in the room. After seeing it was still open, had been open since our earlier meeting, I dashed down the hall.

  I barged into the room to find Alex and Falan still sitting in their designated spots—he at the head and she at his right hand—face to face and inches from each other. From my angle, I could see Falan's hand resting on Alex's lap, not the exact place I'd have my hand resting on my boss if we were simply talking about a project.

  As if having the same thought, both Alex and Falan jerked their heads my way and glared at me with enough venom to make me want to beg their forgiveness, close the door, and forget all about my purse. Unfortunately, I needed my phone so I could find out the details of the fundraiser Colt and I had been invited—ordered—to attend.

  "I-I'm sorry. I left my purse," I mumbled.

  Without making eye contact with them, I clumsily pulled out a few chairs and snatched my purse from under the table. Even though I was trying to avoid looking their way—embarrassed by the fact that Falan had not moved her hand from Alex's lap—I glanced over and saw her roll her eyes my way and Alex's smirk in response.

  Their communication was silent but powerful. With it, I knew that Falan and
Alex had engaged in conversations about me and that neither respected me or my contribution to this team. Every success I'd had—without their help—was suddenly minimized, and the pride I'd taken in them instantly vanished. Like every other time I'm ashamed, my cheeks burned.

  Snapping me from my reverie, the entire room goes quiet when Alex walks in followed by Gabe. Alex takes his place, and Gabe sits at his left. As if he were a wild animal who'd just lain claim on his prey, Alex steeples is fingers and glares at Sabrina. I'd seen that look before, and it was not one I would wish on my worst enemy, much less my good friend.

  "Ms. Guy, tell me where you are with your project," he says, and the malevolence I see in his face doesn't make its way to his voice. To the casual observer, he looks like he's genuinely interested in her progress. Sabrina falls into his trap.

  "Everything was on track until Peter's son had to be admitted to the hospital. With him out and all of the other system analysts working on Falan's, Gabe's, and Baylee's projects, we've fallen behind. I talked—"

  "What did you just say?" Alex nearly yells, standing up and pounding the palms of his hand onto the table in front of him.

  The anger rolling over Alex is palpable. His olive skin goes a long way toward camouflaging the red rage seeping through him, but it doesn't completely hide the pink flush of his cheeks and ears.

  In some ways, I feel like I'm a motorist who is passing an accident in the middle of rush hour traffic. I don't want to watch, but I can't look away.

  "We're behind, but Peter swears that as long as his son doesn't get readmitted, he's going to work nights and weekends until we get back on track," Sabrina says, nervously brushing her black bangs out of her eyes and sweeping them behind her ears.

  "Well, Ms. Guy... let's hope and pray Peter's son doesn't have to go back to the hospital. I mean, God fucking forbid you become a real project manager and create a contingency plan, one that will keep your project on schedule. If you get this done, that hospital will realize an additional fifteen million dollars per year of revenue. Of course, I wouldn't want you to worry about the seven percent bonus we were promised if we completed this project on time. Do you know how much seven percent of this project is, Ms. Guy?"