by Rhonda Bowen
It should have made me happy. With that kind of take, the end of my time with Cordelia is now in sight. But it only made me scared. Scared that Cordelia is lying about some or all of what I have agreed to. It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened. Scared that I will feel like a slave for two weeks. Scared that at the end I will be free, but Delia won’t, and there will be no way for me to help her. Scared that the young woman who has become like a little sister to me will turn into the cold hearted, bitter woman Cordelia is if I don’t get her out of that house and soon. But I can’t afford to take care of Delia, not on my current income level. And not with the other responsibilities that will inevitably be mine when I cut the cord from Cordelia. If my plan for post-Cordelia-life is going to work, I need to be more financially secure. I need that job.
“I just...” I think about the emptiness in Delia’s eyes as she prepared for the date Cordelia had set up for her on that same Saturday night. “It’s just time.”
“Carrie?” I feel Morgan’s hand on my shoulder. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Is everything okay?”
For a moment, for the smallest moment, I consider telling Morgan why I let my mother set me up on all the dates she knows I go on. But I can’t. Morgan would never understand. After all, this is a woman who is still a virgin and who is content to wait until her sexy entrepreneur boyfriend puts a ring on her finger to give up the goods.
Besides, confidentiality is what keeps Cordelia’s business alive, and while I didn’t care much for her, I know breaking that confidentiality will put me and Delia at risk also. No, this is my secret to take to the grave.
“I’m fine.” I stand and open my locker. “I just need to do this okay? I need the pay increase that this job gives so I can move out of my neighborhood and start planning for my future. Is it so bad to want that?”
“No,” Morgan begins. “But what about—”
“Look, Morg.” I turn to face my friend. “I know you don’t agree with me, but I need to do this. And I need you to support me on this, as my friend.”
She bites her lip and stares up at me, concern pooling in her eyes as she tries to figure me out.
“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
I look away from the questions in her eyes. “Thanks.”
We go through the motions of changing then walk out of the gym together.
“Pizza?” Morgan asks.
“And chunky monkey ice cream.”
Morgan dumps her gym bag into the trunk of her Lexus and stretches. “I think we deserve it after that workout.”
We are both laughing when my phone rings.
“This is Carrie.”
“Carrie. I need you to come to Philly.”
The line is full of static, but I have no doubts about who is on the other end.
“What’s going on, Dutch?” I walk away from Morgan’s curious gaze. “Is everything okay?”
“I just managed to acquire a new client from Japan. But he travels back on Saturday, so we need to secure the major points of the contract and get all the legal stuff signed and done before he heads out. He wants to do a lunch meeting and see how much we can hammer out...”
Dutch is still talking, but I am zoning out. It’s one thing for Dutch to call me at eleven at night for clothing advice. It’s another for him to expect me to drop everything and get on a plane because he asks. I mean, I know he’s my boss and technically this is work, but still.
“Dutch, I can’t just get on a plane.”
“It’s all paid for. I already emailed you an electronic ticket and the details for what I need you to bring. Ann from legal is going to leave all the documents on your desk so you can just stop by the office and grab them on your way to the airport in the morning.”
“Dutch, I have meetings, appointments, files on my desk that need to be handled this week.”
Plus, an interview with HR in less than twenty-four hours and a date with Sebastien tomorrow night.
“Pass them on. This is of utmost importance. This could be a multimillion-dollar account for us.”
“So get one of the junior partners—”
“I don’t want one of the junior partners.”
“Your clients should see the face of the company, not an assistant.”
“I need you, Carrie. I need you in this meeting with me.”
“Well, I can’t!”
The words come out before I can think about them, but I am mad. Dutch is messing with my plans and causing more havoc than he can possibly imagine. I’m not worried about my interview with HR. They will understand. But if I miss that date with Sebastien, it could be a breach of our agreement which could cause problems with my agreement with Cordelia. I can’t afford that for many reasons.
The silence seems to hang on the line for eternity.
“Why can’t you?”
I can’t think of one truthful response I can tell Dutch.
“Carrie.” There is an edge of impatience in his voice. “Why can’t you come to Philadelphia? Are you at the hospital? Is someone in your family sick?”
“You know what, Dutch? Forget it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I end the call before he can say another word and stand in the parking lot, staring at the main doors. I take a deep breath and walk back to the car.
“Everything okay?” I feel Morgan’s eyes watching me with concern.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I get in and slam the car door shut. “Just peachy.”
Chapter 7
Philly is as frosty as my mood.
A freak storm has blown across the city leaving a blanket of snow in its wake. Though the storm has passed and snowing stopped, the evidence of its path lay clear.
I reel the hotel address off to the taxi driver, and he takes off from the airport at record speed. Dutch offered to pick me up in his rental, but I declined. I am still mad at him for making me have to fake an emergency with Sebastien and add an extra day to the contract as consolation. I need some time to get my emotions in check before I see him.
Dutch is waiting for me in the hallway outside our meeting room, hands in pocket, looking like a kid outside the principal’s office. For a brief moment, I feel sorry for him.
“Carrie, hey.” He steps towards me, but then seems to rethink the movement and steps back.
“Hello,” I nod politely. “Where’s Mr. Kanji?”
“He should be here in twenty minutes.” Dutch shifts his weight from one foot to another.
“Good. Then we have time to go over our plan for the meeting. Shall we?” I nod towards the room.
“Of course.”
It is not long before we shift into work mode. The truth is, Dutch and I work very well together, and in creative meetings like this, the hierarchal structure tends to fade into the background and we work more as a team. I understand the way he thinks, and he is always interested in my input. Our ideas are usually different but somehow, they tend to have elements that work well together. By the time Akio Kanji and his team arrive for the meeting, we are ready to go.
We meet well into the evening, take a break, then reconvene for dinner. I excuse myself a little early, so I don’t have to walk up with Dutch. Instead, I hide out in my room and ignore the phone.
By the time the Japanese group leaves after breakfast, we have secured them as clients for the marketing of their line of electric cars. It will be an amazing account, and I look forward to working on it.
I am packing in preparation for my early afternoon flight when the knock comes on the door.
His brow is wrinkled, and there is a dullness in his eyes when I open the door. He looks so sad and forlorn standing in the entryway. When I realize that I am thinking about putting my arms around him, I take a step back.
“So you want to tell me what’s going on?” Dutch enters my hotel room but leans against the wall by the door.
“What do you mean?” I move clothes from the closet to the suitcase.
“Carrie.”
I fold up my pajamas and stuff them in the small travel bag.
“Carrie.” His hand on my arm stills any further movement. “Talk to me please. What happened on Wednesday? Why were you so upset? Why are you still so upset?”
“I am not upset.”
He shoots me a look that tells me he knows I am lying.
“Really. I’m fine, Dutch. I’m just tired, and I have a lot to do when I get back.”
He still looks skeptical.
“As soon as I get back, clear my desk and get a goodnight’s rest, I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Okay, if you insist,” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “But we have to do the thing first.”
I turn around to look at him. “What thing?”
“You know...the thing.”
“Dutch, no.”
“We always do it after I close a deal, and that was a big deal.”
“But, Dutch...”
“If you don’t do it, I’m going to think you’re still mad at me,” he shrugs.
I open my mouth to protest then close it, knowing anything I say will just trap myself. Dutch knew how to block me into a corner.
“It’s December! The roof is covered in snow!” I protest. “Plus, I bet they don’t even have it here now.”
There was a knock on the door. “Room service!”
My jaw hits the floor as Dutch answers the door and a young man dressed in a red and white uniform rolls in a covered tray.
“You ordered room service to my room?” I screech.
Dutch tips the waiter. “Thanks for the fast service.”
I fold my arms. “You are so ridiculous.”
“And you’re going to be even more ridiculous outside in the cold in just that blouse,” he shrugs on his coat before grabbing the tray. “Grab your coat and let’s go.”
I roll my eyes and head for the closet. I should have known better than to argue with Dutch. I never win.
* * *
“I can’t believe you are making me do this, Carrie.”
“Me!” I protest, snuggling deeper into my down jacket. “You are the one who was all gung ho about going to the roof. I was perfectly happy staying indoors.”
He chuckles as he cuts another piece of the crepe, dipping it into the chocolate sauce that has spilled onto the plate.
“I’m kinda liking the crepe idea though, instead of just ice cream,” he murmurs before slipping the fork into his mouth.
“Me too.” I cut another piece from the plate we are sharing. “Good idea, boss.”
“Thank you!” He grins. “And cheers to closing the Kanji account! We’re gonna enjoy working on that together. Maybe I can get Finance to even squeeze in a trip to Japan.”
I laugh out loud. “Yeah right. As if Finance is giving you anymore money to run around with.”
“Hey, half this company is mine,” he argues with chocolate syrup on the side of his face. “I can do what I want.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Wow. You still think that’s true after seven years?”
He digs his spoon into the mound of vanilla ice cream. “No, not really.”
We both laugh as we huddle together at a chilly table on the outdoor rooftop balcony of the Logan Philadelphia hotel. There are only a few people inside the glassed off area, and I don’t have to look to know they are probably staring at us like we are crazy.
I look over at Dutch trying to scrape the last bit of chocolate sauce into his spoon and something tugs at my heart. This might be my last rooftop experience if I end up working with Susan. Sure, her team will have rituals of their own, but it won’t be the same. I am going to miss moments like this. I will miss a lot of things. I grab a napkin and wipe his cheek.
“What?”
I show him the napkin. “You had chocolate sauce all over your face, mister.”
“Oh,” he glances at the napkin then into my eyes. “Thanks.”
His eyes echo the sentiment. Beautiful greenish gold eyes that glow against his pale skin. Beautiful eyes that are always full of kindness and warmth. Eyes that will probably stay with me long after I leave this roof and this job.
Suddenly, it doesn’t seem so cold outside.
The banging of metal and glass breaks the moment as a gust of wind blows across the patio. The door rattles, and we both look across to where we have wedged it open at the same time. The outdoor area was closed for the season, but when no one was looking Dutch had found an unlocked door and propped it open. We were sure some hotel staff would come out at any moment and redirect us back inside. But it hasn’t happened yet.
“We should go before hotel security comes to get us,” I say getting up.
Dutch stands also, grabbing the empty plate. “Or before we get locked outside.”
As if on cue, the wind rushes through again and the chair holding the door squeaks as it slides across the floor. Dutch and I dash towards the door, with Dutch barely catching it before it swings closed.
Once inside, I lean against the glass doors, breathless. “That was close!”
“I know!” Dutch grins. “But at least I got you smiling again.”
I shake my head as I head towards the elevators. “You know, for all the drama you are putting me through this month, I better be getting an amazing Christmas present.”
Dutch smiles and hits the call button for the lift. The doors open, and I watch as he gets on after me. Christmas carols play in the elevator as it takes us down to the floor our rooms are on. In a few hours, we will be on our way to the airport and before the night is over, I will be back in my own bed.
My cell phone rings and I pull it from my coat pocket. One glance at the screen and I am unable to stop the frown the comes almost naturally. I sigh and turn the phone off before tucking it in my pocket.
“Who was that?” Dutch asks.
I generally try not to lie to Dutch, partly because I don’t like it and partly because he tends to see right through me when I do. But what can I say in this situation? The man who is paying to date me is calling?
I sigh again. “It’s nothing.”
A mix of sympathy and concern swirls in Dutch’s eyes.
“Didn’t seem like nothing.”
I lean back against the elevator wall and close my eyes, the music of the carols the only sound between us.
“Don’t you just love this time of year?”
Dutch makes a sound of agreement. “It’s my favorite.”
The doors open, and we both step out. I head right towards my room as Dutch heads left towards his.
“Merry Christmas, Care.”
I pause and look back. “Merry Christmas.”
I watch him walk down the hall, almost bouncing with each step.
Chapter 8
I stand at my bathroom mirror, staring at my face, wondering how much concealer I would need to make the dark splotches underneath my eyes disappear. I lean closer. Likely a lot. Guess today will be a makeup day.
I didn’t sleep much the night before. Even though I returned to New York before eight, I had gone into full repair mode with Sebastien, deciding to pay him a surprise late night visit. A girl has to be careful about those things most times, but I have read Sebastien very clearly, and for a gorgeous successful man, he is incredibly insecure. In fact, the way his eyes lit up at the sight of me at his hotel door made me feel the slightest bit of compassion for him. He really isn’t such a bad guy. One bottle of wine and some adult socializing later and he was passed out in the comfy hotel bed with a contented smile on his face.
I managed to make it back to my own place before one in the morning. But even after a hot shower and a couple aromatherapy candles, I still couldn’t fall asleep.
I can finally see the end to the chapter of my life that is marred with shameful memories, and I have managed to give Delia the Christmas with Jayden’s family that she is longing for. But even the thought of those things doesn’t shake the heaviness that settled over me lik
e a wet blanket. It probably has part to do with the nasty voicemail from Cordelia I came home to on my machine. This is why I try to avoid Cordelia. She has a special gift of making me feel like less than nothing.
There was a time when we had a better relationship. Back when I was sixteen, when she first became my foster mother. I remember walking up to those ten-foot glass and iron doors thinking it was the gateway to heaven. I had never seen anything that beautiful. And when I stepped inside, I nearly passed out.
Cordelia had smiled, amused by my reaction to her wealth. Back then, I didn’t care enough to wonder where all the money came from. I was just glad to be somewhere where I didn’t have to be crammed into a tiny bedroom with five other girls. No, in this place, I had my own room, my own bed, milk that came as liquid not powder and cheese that smelled bad in the right way.
There were other girls back then, but Amanda was the one that looked out for me. Told me where was okay to go in the house and where it wasn’t. Taught me how to curl my hair, how to drink without getting drunk, and how to walk in stilettos. Even though she was only three years older than me, she had always seemed more knowledgeable about the world. Maybe too knowledgeable.
And whatever she didn’t cover, Cordelia had. Back then, she used to be so sweet to me, taking me on trips all over the city. Taking me shopping. Sitting and talking with me each day. For a split second, I thought she loved me. And then my eighteenth birthday came, and everything changed. I had aged out of the system, and Cordelia gave me a choice. I could leave if I wanted to or I could stay and work for her. I had seen Amanda come and go with men. She had told me about all the parties and events she went to. She had even been photographed in OK Magazine at a celebrity party once. If that’s what Cordelia wanted me to do, I was with it. Too bad I hadn’t known everything that working for Cordelia entailed. If I had, maybe I would have chosen door number two.
But there was no time to dwell on that now. I was where I was, and I have to do the best I can until I can be somewhere else.