Beholden

by Madison Michael

  “Now Sloane, you know I am your mother and I love you no matter what. I would never say anything to hurt you but I am going to say this, and you better listen to me, Sloane Egan Huyler.”

  Uh, oh. I am in big trouble now. She hasn’t talked like this since I broke curfew in high school.

  “Are you listening to me, Sloane? I am dead serious now,” Marianne waited until Sloane acknowledged that she was paying attention.

  “Everyone annoys you Sloane. They always have. It is not them; it is you. I was walking on clouds when I thought you would marry Wyatt Howe. I was afraid you would never get married. You are prickly and controlling. You are a gorgeous girl, Sloane, if I say so myself. Men have come to accept and even appreciate a strong, smart woman. But no one wants one who always thinks she is smarter than they are, who always has to be right. You look down your pretty nose at everyone Sloane. Even me, I suspect.”

  Sloane was trying to hide the tears forming in her throat. “I never looked down my nose at you, Mom, and I resent your implication that I have. But I will give some thought to what you said and we can talk more about it on Saturday.” She needed to hang up before she started to cry.

  “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You are a lovely, bright woman. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I blame myself for spoiling you the way I did, your father too. We gave you everything and let you run the show because we loved you so much. But circumstances have changed for us, Sloane. Since your father…. well you know,” her mother still could not say the words convicted, guilty or jail,“…we cannot have all the things we had before. This is true even in relationships. You may need to lower your expectations, dear. I hate to say it, but it’s true.”

  “You are absolutely right, Mom. But I have lowered them,” the wobble in her chin was evident now in her voice. “I have lowered them to no one. I expect no one to be my friend or to date me. No one. I have to go.”

  Hanging up abruptly, Sloane sank to the nearest chair, only now realizing that she had been pacing a trail in the carpet during the entire conversation. She reached for a tissue and let herself give in to tears for the first time in weeks. She had not cried since that fiasco with Randall.

  Oh no, do not go there. Thinking about him will just upset you more. Not a peep from that asshole for a full month. A full month! The least he could have done was send a note of apology. He had been a complete jerk. Just when she could have used a white knight, he turned out to be the dragon.

  At least he had recommended Maria. After the icy email she had sent him, she heard from Maria immediately and the transition from PHPP to the investment banking firm was completed without a hitch. Maria was phenomenal, talented, full of great ideas, and just plain fun to work with. Being with her was the closest Sloane had come to being with a friend since her father…. well you know.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Monday morning Sloane arrived at the office before seven. She had not been there in over two weeks. She couldn’t look at the consultants’ and administrators’ miserable, accusatory faces. She still did plenty of work, but from the privacy of her vintage apartment. The high ceilinged dining room was roomy, the thick carpets absorbed any unwanted noise, the gorgeous Baker table afforded her plenty of room and the crystal chandelier provided adequate light. She covered the expensive table with a heavy cloth – protecting the polished mahogany - then spread her papers and computer all over it.

  If her back hurt at the end of the day from lack of an ergonomic chair, it was a small price to pay for the view that greeted her when she was able to look up from her tasks and see the green leaves of the crabapple trees outside her floor to ceiling windows. And, added bonus, she was close to the kitchen too. The stress of work had actually caused her to gain a few pounds. She started each day with healthy low-fat yogurt, fruit and a full pot of coffee, but by early afternoon she was elbow-deep in chips or cheese and crackers.

  Back in her father’s old office, barricading herself in, she sifted through every single piece of paper still in his files. She had found nothing important in the few papers she had taken from the house on Saturday, but the bulk of the material was here in these files. She intended to review every line of every page until she identified potential problems that could stop an acquisition. She was no expert, but even she could figure out if the contracts would transfer to a new buyer. Why else would they be asking for them now?

  Piled on the desk were folders from the third drawer of a four-high cabinet. The top drawer sat open with papers sticking out haphazardly. The folders from the second drawer were still stacked on the floor waiting to be returned to their rightful place.

  Sloane had established a system: open a folder, review its contents, put aside anything that might be of importance and throw the rest on the floor. Anyone passing the office, had they been able to get past the locked door, would have been astonished. Sloane was methodical to a fault, neat, organized and a more than a little OCD. Not that she had a doctor’s diagnosis of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. She was just such a control freak that she was always in command of every inch of her environment.

  Not today. Today she just wanted to cover as much as possible before she had to meet Regan for lunch. She didn’t want to have to return to the office if she could avoid it, so she was plowing through the stacks, oblivious to the mess she was making. Her assistant, Mike, would clean it up later, filing everything back perfectly. Frankly, Sloane thought, Mike would be grateful for something to keep him busy.

  At 11:00, Mike buzzed her on the intercom to remind her of the time. Sloane had requested that he do that at 11:00, then every fifteen minutes until she needed to leave. Looking at the stacks around her she realized that there was no way she could finish everything. Disappointed, she calculated her ability to take everything from the fourth drawer home, recognized the futility and dedicated herself to finishing the third drawer before lunch and the other drawer later this afternoon. She had no choice.

  Actually, she could have just delivered the requested documents that the investment bankers requested, but Sloane wanted to understand exactly how attractive HI might be. Of course, she could wait for their findings, but then she would not be Sloane.

  The good news was that after sifting through hundreds of request documents, she had only pulled about a dozen from the pile that she thought they might find problematic in an acquisition. Unfortunately, almost all of them dealt with the transfer of their remaining contracts to new owners. Could that deter a potential buyer? There was no way to know yet. A few didn’t seem relevant to a buyout at all. In fact, to Sloane, they looked more like something her father’s lawyers might have requested, but she added them to the stack as directed.

  By 11:45 the buzzing reminders were irritating Sloane. Smoothing her black pants, she grabbed her suit jacket off the back of the chair, picked her bag up from the small table in the corner and left the mess, locking the door behind her. Now that she was planning to come back, she wanted everything just as she left it.

  Wandering into the ladies’ room, she ran a comb through her already perfect hair, reminding herself to call Aaron at the exclusive Oak Street salon she frequented. She was due for a trim next week and he would fit her in. He was one of the few people who treated her with the same deference he always had.

  One of the very few.

  She retouched her lipstick. The deep red was strong for early June, more of a winter color, but it was something of a signature for Sloane. The bright color gave her wan face an element of drama that fit her personality perfectly and caused heads to turn when she entered a room. Straightening the pale blue sleeveless blouse that complemented her eyes, she tossed on the jacket and headed out to meet Regan.

  Sloane spent the ten-minute walk speculating on Regan’s agenda. Something was up, she was sure of that. She was wound tight as a drum when she pushed open the door. Taking two deep breaths to steady herself, she approached the host. At the mention of the Howe name, he snapped to attention and, w
ith a wonderfully obsequious demeanor, he showed her to a window table facing State Street where Tyler was already seated.

  Tyler jumped from his chair and stood politely, helping Sloane to take her seat and remove her jacket.

  Why do men do that? Who cares? I like it. It’s especially thoughtful too, since I know that Tyler clearly doesn’t like me.

  Fortunately, Regan arrived not long after Sloane. Tyler had been polite, but the two had barely managed to make small talk. That changed with the arrival of Regan who spoke easily of music, movies and books before they had even looked at the menu. She put Sloane completely at ease.

  In fact, Sloane was comfortable enough to stop worrying about the why of lunch and start watching Regan and Tyler interact. On the surface, they were friendly, but there was an element to their banter that resonated with sexual tension. While they were both sociable and thoughtful, they also enjoyed a good argument, and it was obvious to Sloane that they sometimes forgot they weren’t alone.

  I wonder if they are aware of how much they are revealing their feelings to the rest of us. They have been friends for so long, but I suspect there is a lot more going on here. Maybe I can find a way to help it along. Regan has been such a good friend. It would be nice to return the favor.

  The trio decided to share a cheeseboard along with a delicious bottle of Pinot Noir, followed by Michigan Apple salads for the women and a pulled pork sandwich for Tyler. Just as they were placing the order, Tyler looked over Sloane’s shoulder and smiled broadly at someone behind her. Sloane didn’t turn around when Tyler stood to greet and shake hands with the intruder but her demeanor changed when she heard him offer the person the fourth place at their table.

  “Love to, thanks,” she heard the reply and felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

  No. No. No. No. Walk away, please, just walk away. What excuse can I use so I can leave? Maybe he will go when he realizes it’s me. Let him come up with a pretext. Just breathe and this will all be over in a minute. You can survive a minute.

  Randall leaned down to give Regan a peck on the cheek, then turned to Sloane and did the same. He was behaving as if nothing had happened between them. Sloane figured that he was playing a role for their lunch partners, so she played along too. She could adopt a cool, friendly demeanor for a minute or two. After all, a month had passed since their disastrous date. If he could fake their friendship, so could she. If she could just get this blush under control, she knew she would be fine.

  Breathe. Then he will be gone. Don’t stare at him and don’t touch him, whatever you do, no touching. Just remember to breathe.

  Randall took the proffered seat and ordered an iced coffee from the passing server. Sloane’s heart sank as she realized he was planning to stay. She could feel the heat of him inches from her bare arm and smell his woodsy aftershave. His hair was slightly windswept with just one thick brown lock falling over his forehead. He looked young, rakish and very sexy. He had carefully hung his suit jacket over the back of his chair and she watched, mouth watering, as he rolled up the sleeves of his fine cotton shirt.

  Although Sloane was having trouble concentrating, conversation between the four of them was surprisingly easy. It appeared Regan really just wanted to catch up, so Sloane tried to relax as best she could under the circumstances and enjoy the rare excursion. She had a brief memory of lunches like this from the past, of dining with many friends or mid-day dates with Wyatt. She allowed nostalgia to creep in momentarily, then pushed it firmly out of her mind.

  Regan told stories of stepping up to the helm at LHRE, about the struggle her father had with allowing a woman to run the show. She made them all laugh. Tyler talked about Wyatt’s business, managing to brag about its success without once mentioning Wyatt. Sloane had never noticed before how charming he was, when he chose to be. Sloane raved about Maria’s skill and the competence of the PPHP office in general, omitting the fact that she had stopped all her interactions with Randall.

  Despite eddies under the surface that could easily have sunk the entire gathering, the four navigated the conversation all the way through the delicious lunch. Somehow, each time the conversation started to get dicey – about Regan and Tyler’s relationship, about the sale of Huyler Industries, about the ostracizing of Sloane – someone would jump in to smoothly change the subject, putting them back in safe waters.

  Lingering over the last of the wine, the conversation turned to numerous events that Regan had attended recently. The men had been to some but not all, so Sloane never felt left out of the conversation. Soon they were asking about the Children’s Hospital Benefit, now only two weeks away.

  Sloane was able to give them an update on the progress because Allyson had updated the board at their monthly meeting just last week. Sloane encouraged them all to attend, tickets were only $350 per person after all, there were still seats left and it was for a good cause. She tempted them by sharing bits and pieces of information about the band, the menu and finally the best of the silent auction items. Several sporting event VIP seats caught Tyler’s attention; a spa day appealed to Regan and a day on a private sailing yacht caught fire in Randall’s imagination. Regan promised a bidding war for the yacht until Randall offered to share the day. He even agreed she could captain the boat and they all enjoyed the spirited negotiations over something neither possessed.

  “You can bid online, even if you don’t come to the dinner, but I hope you will all attend. It would mean a lot to me.”

  “We could go together?” Tyler proposed to Regan as if he had not invited her months earlier. He allowed Sloane to assume he was responding to her sales pitch. “Then, at least you would have a dancing partner.”

  “And a good one at that. I would like that,” Regan accepted Tyler graciously before turning back to Sloane.

  “Who are you going with, Sloane?”

  The question sat there, like the proverbial elephant in the room. There was no good way for Sloane to answer. She was wracking her brain for a smooth comeback, a reply that would not sound hurt or vulnerable. She would not play the victim here.

  “Me,” she heard Randall reply in a confident voice. “I asked her ages ago to be my date, and she honored me by agreeing. What do you say the four of us go together?”

  Sloane sat there dumbstruck, and then it was too late to refute Randall’s assertion, even if she had wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She was relieved, thrilled and completely dumbfounded. The conversation swirled around Sloane’s head while she tried to figure out what had just happened. She couldn’t even decide if she had been duped or defended, but she had let too many seconds go by to undo things now.

  “Perfect,” Regan was agreeing.

  “Should I get us a limo? After all, it is Sloane’s big night. We should make a splash,” Tyler was offering.

  “All taken care of,“ Randall replied, squeezing Sloane’s thigh lightly under the table to prevent her from objecting then leaving his hand there, to burn through her skin while sending chills up her body. “Sloane and I made plans a while back. We will just expand them to the four of us. It will be great. Right, Hon?”

  Hon! Where does he get off calling me ‘Hon”? Or calling the shots for that matter? She would show him. She would show him right now…

  Sloane stopped herself from saying something mean, something that would make a liar out of Randall in front of their friends. She remembered her mother’s tough talk from the prior week and kept her mouth closed for the first time in her memory.

  It wasn’t easy. A look from Randall told her that he knew she was struggling to hold back a storm of invectives.

  Was he laughing at her? How dare he? That was it!

  “Actually...” Sloane began.

  “Actually, we should be going,” Randall effortlessly interrupted, “Sloane has an appointment with Maria. I’m just going to walk her back to my office.”

  Damn him. He just did it again. The lying, scheming, manipulative pig.

  As her brain scre
amed every nasty name she could think of, Sloane allowed Randall to pull back her chair, help her into her jacket, take her arm and say goodbye for them. She was standing outside on the busy street corner with Randall’s arms sheltering her from the throng of passing tourists before she could utter a word.

  It was like the fresh air freed her. “Why you overbearing, lying, conniving pig. You slippery, lying, rotten…”

  “You said ‘lying’ twice.” Randall was smiling, wrapping his arms tighter around her. He was laughing at her, maneuvering her, and getting away with it.

  But he was cute when he smiled like that. Besides – unbelievably - she had a date for the benefit. And she still had two weeks to find someone else. She would too, just to show Randall that he couldn’t push her around like this. Still, until then, a bird in the hand…

  “Okay, damn you, you win. I will go with you to the benefit because I need a date and you know it. And I will play along with your little game that we planned this all ‘ages ago’ although I am not sure why you put that out there.”

  “Oh, that was for you, Sloane, not for me. I thought you might want them to think you were something other than desperate. But you were, weren’t you? You were desperate, and I saved you, didn’t I? I came to your rescue when you needed someone, didn’t I? Just say it.”

  “What are you, a two-year-old needing some kind of reassurance? Yes, I needed a date, but I could have gone without one. So, no, you are not some kind of hero who rescued me. You are still just a manipulating, lying clod.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, if it is too hard for you to say ‘thank you’. We will both know the truth, won’t we, Sloane? We will both know that I just saved your skinny little ass back there. And you may not be grateful now, but you will be.”

  She was grateful, but she would rather die than admit it to Randall. She was furious that he could be so high handed with her, even if he was doing her a favor. Even worse, he dared to walk away, leaving her standing on the corner before she was finished berating him.