Hate to Love

by R. S. Lively

  Fortunately, when I pull into the tiny parking lot behind her apartment building, I notice her car sitting in its usual spot. The car is about as old as she is, but she told me yesterday she hasn't even considered getting a new one yet. It's always been there for her, and she feels loyal to it.

  She also made me promise not to tell Rubber Duckie.

  She really needs to get out more.

  After parking next to her, I walk up to her door and knock firmly. Her footsteps shuffle across the floor toward the door, and I hear her mutter under her breath as she looks through the peephole. She must be delighted I'm here. The door opens, and Julie glares up at me.

  "What?"

  "Nice to see you, too."

  "It's been an hour. I've hardly had time to long for you."

  "I need to talk to you."

  "Do you really?"

  "Yes. Are you going to let me in?"

  She rolls her eyes but steps back to let me inside.

  "What do you need, Shane? Not that you care, but I'm still working."

  "That's what I want to talk to you about. I want you to know I'm serious about this."

  "You are? What changed in the last hour?"

  "I talked to Kilmer and Vanessa."

  She shuts the door harder than she probably needed to, and whips around to look at me.

  "Why would you do that? Are you trying to undo everything I've done? It's just like Mrs. Livingston and the stupid blanket."

  I wait a few seconds for an explanation, but it doesn't seem she’s going to offer one.

  "Is that a mystery novel you've been reading?"

  Julie sighs and rolls her eyes.

  "Mrs. Livingston. My neighbor."

  "Oh, Gloria. The woman with the pizza."

  "That would be her. She's decided I need to learn how to knit. I started a blanket. I didn't even get through the first row of stitches before she pulled them all out. So, I did it again, and she pulled them all out."

  "How many times did you try to start the blanket?"

  "Seven."

  "I'm not going to undo your work, Julie," I say. "I'm not the one who approached them. They came to me. Apparently, Kilmer was at the press conference."

  "Where was Vanessa?"

  "I don't know, which tells me it was probably somewhere she shouldn't have been, doing something she shouldn't have."

  "Why were they there?"

  I relayed the conversation to her, getting angry again just thinking about it. When I'm finished, I meet her eyes, fury burning in my gaze.

  "I'm even more determined to figure this out now. I don't know how you're going to do it, but you’re going to get me back on track."

  "You're willing to go along with me now? You're not going to argue and fight me every step of the way?"

  "No. Wait. Yes. Wait." I take a moment to think about what I'm trying to say. "You need to work on clearer communication. Yes, I'm willing to go along with you. No, I'm not going to argue."

  I feel like I've made a pledge of some kind, or that I watched myself make it. Maybe I just had an out-of-body experience. This doesn't sound like me. In the back of my mind, though, I think I’m desperate to find the smile that left Julie's face back at the conference room.

  "Alright," she says. The smile isn't there yet, but her face doesn't look as tense as before. "Good. It just so happens I signed you up for a goodwill event next week."

  "A goodwill event?" I ask.

  "Yes. It'll show fans that you’re willing to get out into the community, give back, and make a difference. Remember all that talk at the conference about wanting to prove to the public you're healing, and earn back their trust and right to call them fans?"

  "Yes. I came up with that."

  "And it was great. It's also just a bunch of bullshit unless you plan to do something. Now it's time to back it up with some action and show the world how sincere you are.

  "What are we going to be doing?"

  "There's a big cleanup effort happening at a city playground. We're going to go help."

  "We're going to help clean a playground?" I ask. "How's that a goodwill effort?"

  "The community is made up of people who welcomed you when you joined the team. Even before you were an idol, they were willing to accept and support you. Now it's time for you to give back to them. Getting out there will show them that you care about them as much as they care about you. You want to thank them for their support and show them you're interested in their lives – even when it's not football season."

  "And you're going to go with me?" I ask. "You said 'we'."

  "Yes," she says. "I'm not ready to let you out on your own just yet. You did well at the press conference, but I could see you were just about to lose your shit with that one reporter. Now I'm putting you out with a bunch of families. I need to be there as a buffer."

  One week later…

  "I definitely don't think this is family friendly," I say as I poke the sharp end of my trash collecting stick into what is approximately the hundredth condom of the day.

  "Which is exactly why we're here," Julie says with a smile much too bright for a woman who’s spent the morning trying to scour traces left by the dredges of humanity on every corner of a playground.

  She reaches into the pouch at her hip yet again and pulls out her phone to snap a picture of me. She's been doing this throughout the day, capturing my civic involvement in all its glorious detail. It's not until she's taken several snaps that I realize I'm still holding the impaled condom.

  "Hey," I protest. "Delete that."

  "Absolutely not," she says, her smile wider now. "I very well might make that my Christmas card this year. The bonus I'm getting from babysitting you is paying for gifts, anyway."

  "Come on," I plead, reaching for her phone. "Get rid of it."

  She dodges me, holding the phone closer to her chest, and giggles.

  It's an unexpected sound. In the short time I've worked with her, I haven't heard Julie genuinely laugh. It makes me smile, and I reach for her again. She takes a few steps, turning her back to me, and leaning over slightly. The black jeans that were as unexpected as the laugh stretch across her round ass, and I can't help but admire it. Julie looks cute in the outfit she has on today – black skinny jeans and a lacy white top. I was surprised when I first saw her this morning. Even though she's still awkward and aloof, I feel like I'm slowly getting a glimpse of the real her.

  I step up behind her and wrap both arms around Julie's waist. My hand grasps the phone, but she manages to yank it out of my grip. As she tries to step away from me, I tighten my hold on her, and lift her up off the ground. Her giggle turns into a squeal, and I whirl her around a few times. It takes a few seconds before I realize I'm laughing. When I set her back on her feet, Julie tucks her phone into her pouch and smooths her hair back into a slightly messy ponytail.

  She pulls away and looks over at the building where the other volunteers are gathering. "Everyone else is heading over to the activity building to work on painting," she says, sounding slightly out of breath. "We should probably go."

  Chapter Eight

  Julie

  "I think this one is my favorite so far," I say.

  I laugh as I turn my phone toward Mrs. Livingston again, so she can see the picture on the screen.

  "I can't believe you did that to Shane Lawson," she said.

  I laugh again and shrug. Turning the phone toward myself, I look at the image of Shane, a streak of white paint down the bridge of his nose.

  "Only his face," I say. "It's not like I had him strip down, so I could use him as a giant canvas."

  I can't believe those words just came out of my mouth. I just told an elderly woman wearing pearls and a cardigan that thoughts of Shane naked had flickered through my mind.

  "Well," she says, moving right past the comment, "it seems the two of you had fun."

  I nod.

  "We did," I say as casually as I can. "That wasn't really the point, though. We wer
e there so he could look good in front of the families and meet some local kids. It makes him seem more like a real person."

  "Just make sure you keep that in mind," Mrs. Livingston says. "You don’t want to get yourself too invested in this. Or in him."

  I'm surprised by the comment and look up at her.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I heard the way you talked about Shane when you first told me about him. I saw how you looked at him when he was here the first time. You were angry and resentful. You didn't want to be in the same room with him, much less dedicate all this time and effort working with him."

  "So?"

  "So, I hope you remember that this is a professional project, nothing personal. You're starting to remind me of a little girl who brought home a bird with a broken wing and nursed him back to health, only you don’t want to let him go once he's mended."

  "Trust me. That's not what's happening here. I might have brought a broken bird home, but that bird is arrogant, rude, entitled, and thinks he's the greatest thing since sliced… birdseed."

  "You lost control of that metaphor at the end there, didn't you?"

  "A little bit, yeah. But the point still stands. He's the same Shane Lawson who has caused so much trouble in my life. Even if he wasn't, though, aren't you the one who told me I should keep an open mind because people change?"

  "I might have, but that can mean a lot of things."

  I look at her for a few seconds, trying to decide if there's some joke or deeper meaning I'm missing.

  "Either way, I don't want to keep him."

  Even as I say it, I have to wonder if I'm being totally honest with Mrs. Livingston. The afternoon spent at the park with Shane wasn't what I initially expected it to be. Not at all. I thought he was going to complain the entire time or do the absolute minimum just to get out of the situation. It took him some time to warm up and get started, and he did his fair share of complaining about what he had to clean up, but I'm not going to blame him for that. One disgusting used condom warranted complaints, and he had to deal with far more than that. The rest of the time, he actually seemed engaged with the project – almost happy to be there and be a part of it. As we left, he mentioned to one of the organizers that someone should connect with the local police department and find officers who were willing to patrol the area to cut down on the unsavory behavior going on at the park. He didn't go quite so far as to volunteer to be that person, but just the fact that he had the thought impressed me.

  My mind keeps going back to how his arms felt wrapped around my waist, though. Remembering those few seconds of connection between our bodies makes my heart flutter in a way I won’t admit to myself, much less to anyone else.

  Two weeks later…

  "I don't understand," Shane says. "I thought I've been doing park cleanups, and meeting with kids, and all that because giving back to the community is your approach to fixing my image."

  "It's part of the approach for fixing your image," I say.

  "And the other part is going to some ridiculous gala?"

  "Yes."

  "I hate those things. Besides, if I'm supposed to be keeping in touch with the fans, why would I go to something that seems like the complete opposite of connecting with them?"

  "Spending time with fans and doing good for the community is an important step in creating the image you want, but no one is going to believe that's your real lifestyle. Everyone knows you make an exorbitant amount of money, Shane."

  "You really like using that word when you talk about my money, don't you?"

  "You have to realize you make more – in a year – than the people we met at the park do in their lifetime."

  "I'm aware."

  "So, you probably realize it's not going to fool anyone to pretend you suddenly live a simple life. If you go down that route, you're only going to lose more credibility. Going to the gala shows that you’re still living a normal life – for you. It's another way to let the public know that you’re not going to let what people say about you, especially Vanessa, control your life or make you hide.”

  "Fine," he says. "I'll go. But only under one condition."

  I sigh.

  "What's that?" I ask.

  "You come with me as my date," he says simply.

  That definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.

  "Your date?" I ask.

  "Yes. I'll go to the gala if you come as my date."

  "Why would I go as your date? I'm your PR rep."

  "I know that," he says. "But not everyone else does. You've done a good job of staying in the wings. I can't just go to an event like that by myself. That will make me look really bad. Trust me, I know how the entitled, snobby people at events like this look at, and judge, each other."

  "Mostly because you are one of those entitled, snobby people?" I ask.

  "Yes," he says.

  "Well, at least you’re honest with yourself."

  "I am. I need to have a date to go to a fundraising gala. That's just the way it is. Inviting a real date, though, is a sure-fire way to get myself in trouble. Besides, having you there with me means you'll always be able to tell me what I'm supposed to be saying or doing. And I know how much you love doing that."

  "So, you're really asking me to go as your babysitter?"

  "That's how you described yourself before, isn't it?"

  "Still. It's just so flattering. I get your point, though. But I can't go to an event like that. I don't have anything to wear."

  "So, go buy yourself a dress. While you're at it, why don't you get some new clothes? No offense or anything, but your wardrobe doesn't exactly fit your new position. You're going to need a few pieces if you're going to keep doing press conferences and other publicity events with me."

  "I can't afford to do that," I say. "I don't get my bonus until the season starts, and my raise isn’t enough to go and splurge on a new wardrobe."

  "Put it on your expense account," he says. "It is technically a business expense."

  "I don't have an expense account," I say, looking back at my computer.

  I've spent more time staring at this screen in the last month than the rest of the time I've had the computer combined.

  "You do now," he says.

  I look up at Shane and see he's holding a credit card between two fingers. I shake my head.

  "I can't let you buy me clothes," I say.

  "Why not?"

  "Several reasons, but to start, it’s unprofessional and unethical."

  "No, it's not. Don't think of it as me buying you clothes personally. All I'm doing is investing in your future success. You can't be expected to shape my image if you can't integrate yourself into my life. That requires a certain image, too. Besides, you're an adult now, Julie. You don't have to look like that nerdy kid curled up in her daddy's chair reading a book anymore."

  "You remember that?" I ask, stunned by the revelation.

  "Who could forget a chair that ugly?" Shane says. He pushes the card toward me again. "Come on, take it. Don’t make me beg. Buy a dress for the gala, and a few outfits for work and life. Have fun. Think of it as a perk of being the only PR rep in the entire city badass enough to take me on and still be around a month later."

  I look at the card. He's right. Reluctantly, I reach out and take the card from his hand.

  Let's 'Pretty Woman' it up.

  "Thank you," I say.

  "Good. You’re welcome. So, what time should I pick you up for the gala? I haven't used the limo for a while. Seth would probably like to hear from me."

  "That won't be necessary," I say. "I think it would be better if we just met at the hotel where the organization is hosting the gala. It will give me a chance to get the lay of the land, and maybe come up with a few strategies before you get there."

  That's a lie, but I don't want to tell him I'd rather not be stuck with him as my only form of transportation home. Shane's reluctant, but finally, he agrees. We finalize our plans, and I send him on his way. I have
some shopping to do.

  Maybe I should call Bindi.

  The next day…

  "Why do you think he called us in?" Shane asks.

  I glance over at my former desk and notice it's been occupied by a new employee – a young woman around my age. She immediately strikes me as Mr. Slidell’s type. Shane and I are settled in chairs in the waiting area outside of Mr. Slidell's office. It feels strange to be at this vantage point, and I find myself noticing things about the office I haven't before.

  "I don't know," I say. "I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet. He left me a voicemail asking both of us to come in this morning, but he didn't say what it was about. I'm guessing he wants to check in and find out what we're planning for the rest of summer. Unless…"

  My voice trails off as I decide not to finish the sentence.

  "Unless?"

  "Unless something else has happened."

  "You think Vanessa might be pulling something else?"

  "I don't know. I haven't heard anything, and I've followed the situation pretty closely. Mr. Slidell seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to this kind of thing, though. It's possible he knows something nobody else does yet."

  A few moments later, the new secretary walks up to us.

  "Mr. Slidell will see you now."

  "Thanks," I say, climbing to my feet and following her into the office.

  I'm hoping I'm about to be praised for how well I'm working with Shane, but the look on Mr. Slidell's face when I walk into his office dashes those aspirations. He gestures for us to sit, and we do.

  "Is there a problem?" Shane asks when the silence stretches a few seconds too long.

  "Why didn't you tell me that the two of you have a history?"