Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  I set it down, then lift a pregnancy journal. It’s cream with a fabric cover and has a pretty green ribbon to close it.

  “That should be your gift to your sister-in-law,” Shane says and motions to the journal.

  “Mm, I don’t know.” I start to set it back. “She’ll probably hate it, it’s not really her.”

  “No, it’s you. That’s why she should love it.” He nods and moves to the next display. More beeps follow.

  I glance over at the array of stuff he’s adding and sigh. I’ll just stop in tomorrow with Ellie and redo it all. And I’ll need to call Ren and let her know I added a few more reasonably priced things. After I fix it, of course. I look down at the journal again. I do like it.

  The giant C pillow rips from under my arm. “Hey!” I turn just as it snaps across my back. “Ow!” It really isn’t that soft. From the corner of my eye I see a Fossie’s employee. She’s looking over.

  Shane swings it again, I step and duck. “Shane,” I whisper sternly. Great, here she comes.

  “Excuse me, you can’t be doing that in here,” the Fossie’s lady calls out, picking up her pace. “Sir? Sir!”

  “We’re very sorry,” Shane says but gets one more smack in. This one doesn’t miss.

  Oh my God, he’s twelve.

  “Sir, you can’t—”

  “Sorry,” Shane says and grins. “Last time. We’re done. We just need to pay for . . .” He lifts the pillow and motions to my journal, then hands her the scanner guns.

  Walking toward the cashier station, I ask, “You’re getting the pillow?”

  “What? You don’t think I should?”

  I hope he’s kidding. Shane stops at another display, distracted by a silver-plated snow globe with a race car in it. He holds it so the white plastic snow swirls around the little track.

  He can’t buy a breastfeeding support pillow. I reach to take it.

  He flinches.

  The globe slips from his hands. Oh, shit! We both reach for it. It’s a game of hot potato, bouncing first to his hands, now to mine. Shane wraps an arm around it like a football, but I have it in my fingertips. He tucks both the globe and my hands tight against his midsection.

  For a moment, we’re frozen, half-bent and tangled up together.

  I can feel the heat off his body. His scent is in my nose. I’m looking into eyes with liquid-gold flecks. And just like the snow globe, my little world is all shook up.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” says the same Fossie’s lady from behind us in a huff.

  With deliberate care we straighten. But I feel a bit unbalanced. Guilt, like a lasso, wraps around the feeling and pulls in tight. Why should I feel guilty? I haven’t done anything.

  Shane holds the globe out, satisfied, and shows the clerk. “See, not even a scratch.” He turns to set it back on the display and his elbow catches a crystal bear. It falls in slow motion and shatters with a loud crash.

  The Fossie’s lady doesn’t even blink. “Cash or credit?”

  AT THE STOPLIGHT, I CHECK my phone. Three missed calls. One’s from my mom, the other two from Bradley. I punch in my code and wait for the robo-voice to finish telling me the number and time through my car’s Bluetooth speakers. Bradley’s message is first.

  “Hey, hon.” He sounds worried. “It’s almost six thirty and I’m at the gym.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Wish you would have called if you were running late. I, ah . . . yeah, I’ll hang out front for another ten minutes before starting. Call me when you get this.”

  A horn double beeps from behind me. Light’s green. “I’m going!” I wave a hand and hit the gas.

  I completely forgot about the gym. How? How did I forget? It’s Wednesday. We always go on Wednesday and Thursday together. I look at the digital readout on my console. It’s going on 7:30? Using the steering wheel control to delete the message, I wait for the next one.

  “Hon, where are you?” Now he’s definitely concerned.

  I cringe.

  “I called Clive. He said you left early, had an off-site with Shane Bennett. This isn’t like you. Call me.”

  I delete and let the third one play. “Hello, Kensington. It’s me, your mom.”

  I know it’s you, Mom.

  “I don’t know why you hung up on me. I told you I would be right back after I answered the other call.”

  “You hung up on me, Mom,” I say to the message and turn onto my street. After knowing how she kept Shane’s messages from me, I’d like to hang up on her.

  “. . . I needed to tell you about the get-together. Anyway, I sent the e-mail, so I’m sure you know. But I wanted to make sure you didn’t get her a diaper bag, because that’s what . . .”

  Mom jabbers on. She doesn’t get the concept of message. Come to think of it, it’s not all that different from talking with her.

  “It’s Gucci and it’s to die for, very Ren. She’s going to love it—”

  The message beeps off because it’s run out of room. She probably kept talking. She got her a Gucci bag? A Gucci diaper bag? I pull into my apartment complex and notice Bradley’s BMW parked out front.

  Oh no.

  Bradley’s sitting on the couch, the TV’s on, and his phone is to his ear when I walk in. He clicks it off. “I was just calling you, again. What happened? Everything okay?” His voice is strained.

  I toss my stuff up on the counter. “I’m really sorry.”

  Bradley stands and moves toward the kitchen. “I was worried, I mean, you never showed up. And Clive said you were with Bennett?” His jaw is clenched.

  I can hear the question he’s not asking.

  “Um, well, yeah . . . we hashed out the top movies and scenes to use in the conceptuals, oh, and I went over to Fossie’s and picked up Ren’s shower gift, like you asked.” I open the bag with the pregnancy planner I found. “See?”

  “With Bennett?” His face screws up, confused.

  “No. Well, yes, but . . .” My heart’s beating triple time. The pit of my stomach is thick in sludge, bubbling with guilt. “Shane wanted to discuss the project. He was at that coffee place at the mall for some late lunch thing, so we met there. Not a big deal. Two birds, one stone.”

  All true. Still guilty.

  Which is stupid, because I didn’t do anything wrong, nor do I intend to. I open the fridge to find something to drink, pushing some things around to stall. If only I’d remembered the gym. I grab the juice and turn.

  “I should have called, but he did sign, and that means we’re going to be working together . . .” I put on my best what-do-you-want-me-to-do look.

  “Yeah, I know . . .” Bradley shifts his stance and folds his arms. “I just don’t like you meeting him after hours. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable. So, yeah, that needs to end.”

  He’s not asking.

  I’m not sure what to say. I gaze up at him. Eyes of blue, no specks of gold. My gut twists. He’s jealous. Maybe he has every right to be. How would I feel if it were reversed? “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  His arms drop and the tightly worn expression softens a little. Stepping close, he lifts my chin and leans down to give me a slow, soft kiss. “You want some wine?”

  He’s already pouring himself a glass.

  “Um, sure. I’m gonna go change, be right back.”

  Even casual, Bradley’s handsome. Cropped blond hair and clean shaven, he’s always polished. I stifle a laugh. Bradley’s like Jane’s boss, George, in 27 Dresses. He’s perfect. And Shane? Yeah, he’s definitely more like Kevin Doyle. Same hair, just add stubble and an accent.

  Ren is Tess, always upstaging everyone. Tonya can be Jane’s friend, what’s her name? She sleeps around, actually looks a bit like Tonya. It’s Judy Greer, but do they say her character’s name? I don’t think they do. My stomach drops.

  Am I like Jane? She was afraid to say no, always trying to please everyone else. That’s not me. I can say no.

  “Hon? Wha
t are you doin’?”

  What am I doing? Recasting 27 Dresses. “I’ll be right there,” I call through the hallway and step into my sweatpants.

  When I come out, Bradley’s back on the couch in front of the TV. I snuggle in next to him and he leans down with a kiss. His lips are warm and move over mine with ease. I pull back and smile up at him. He is George.

  He gives another quick peck. “Let’s move the wedding up.”

  My expression falls. “What?”

  “Yeah, let’s move it up.” He shifts so he’s facing me. “Now that your job’s safe, why wait? Grayson and Ren are expecting in the spring, so we could maybe do it in the next few months. So everything’s not overlapping.”

  I straighten, seeing instant red. “Why are we planning everything around Ren’s pregnancy?”

  “We’re not.” A low growl of frustration rises from his chest. “We’re making sure it’s all about you. Okay?” He leans in and kisses my nose. “No overlap.”

  “And no time to plan, either.” I pull away, leaning against the couch. I don’t want to wait too long, but . . . I don’t want to rush it. And I definitely don’t want a Christmas wedding. “How would we get everything done, I mea—”

  “We’ll hire a planner.” He’s genuinely excited, waving his hands around as he talks. “Just think about it. I love you, Kenz, and I don’t wanna wait. Do you?”

  “No, but . . .” My mind’s in hyperdrive thinking of everything we’d need to do. “We’d never pull it off.” I want to be married, but I don’t want it just thrown together. “Maybe this weekend we can talk with Mom about it, see what she thinks?” My stomach sours. I know what she’ll think. If it’s more convenient for Ren, then she’ll be all for it.

  “I almost forgot. I’m heading to Michigan this weekend to see a game in Lansing—box seats. It’s with a client, so I gotta go. But . . .” He strokes my cheek. “I did get symphony tickets for you. Maybe take Ellie, or your mom. You can discuss wedding dates.”

  “Okay . . .” I shrug with an abbreviated smile. A girl’s wedding day is the central moment. I really don’t want it rushed. He knows this, right?

  Ugh, I am Jane. I should have said no, a simple no. A surge of panic is rising up in my chest, unsettling me. That’s natural, right, especially under the circumstances of Shane showing up and the movie list—oh, movie! I jump up and smile. “Let’s watch a movie, maybe 27 Dresses?” I’m digging around to find it.

  “What about The Bourne Supremacy? Or Die—”

  “No, come on, you’ll like this one. I’ll even make popcorn.” See? I can say no. This will be great. Bradley and I can create our own movie moments. Because I already have my happily ever after, right?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Knocked Over

  WITH ONLINE SOCIAL MEDIA, the world of marketing has changed. This means fewer designers and more programmers. Once, before my time here, there were more than twenty designers employed. Now, with fewer than half, we still have the workload of twenty.

  Glancing over at my team, I notice everyone is busily working away. Checking the project log confirms we’re slammed. How are we in financial trouble? I have two more small projects to assign but no one’s open. I draft and send a quick e-mail to my team, asking who can take on extra, then prop my elbows on my desk and palm my head like a basketball.

  The whole thing is screwy. There’s plenty coming in. So where’s it all going? I’d actually like to hire an additional designer.

  I do a quick scroll of my Facebook feed and notice Ren’s now bogging it down with round-the-clock baby updates. Will baby Shaw be pink or blue? Foursquare has her pinned at the Carmel OB-GYN, and she’s tagged my mom as being with her.

  Of course.

  I type good luck! even though I might be the one that needs it. I have to call her about the gift registry. I have to fix the registry, first. And get back to work. Having the contract is not the same as keeping it.

  ELLIE AND I ARE AT a little Italian bistro in the mall. I’m always in this mall. Not only is it superb shopping, but there’s fine dining and small eateries. In other words, carbs.

  We’re splitting a lunch plate sampler. Three different kinds of pasta: spaghetti, ravioli, and fettuccini. Plus, it comes with garlic bread to completely tip the carb scale.

  “Okay, so you know the whole history with me and Shane, right?”

  Ellie nods and takes a bite.

  I lower my voice and change my tone to do-or-die serious. “If you mention any of this, and I mean even the tiniest minute detail . . .” I lean over for dramatic effect. “I will tell the entire office that the photocopied boobs in the picture hanging in the break room are yours.”

  Ellie’s mouth unhinges mid-bite. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would and I will. That’s how serious this is.” I take a drink of my tea, clear my throat, and unload. “Okay, you know that Tonya was the one who told me Shane cheated in college, right? Turns out it was only a drunk-kiss thing and it was Tonya who he was with.”

  Ellie’s mouth drops. Her hand covers it.

  I nod, pausing to let it sink in.

  “But wait, there’s more.” The words are wrapped in thorns and scrape as they come out. “Shane called my house the weekend after when I went home. My mom told him to leave well enough alone. To leave me alone.”

  Her eyes are huge and anime, peeking out over her fingertips.

  I tell her how Shane signed the contract, with the added agreement of the Love Like the Movies list, then explain what the list means. “Here, look . . .” I hand her my phone so she can see.

  Ellie’s lips form each word as she reads.

  1. Sleepless in Seattle

  2. Pretty Woman

  3. Bridget Jones’s Diary

  4. 27 Dresses

  5. Dirty Dancing

  6. Sixteen Candles

  7. Love Actually

  8. Say Anything

  9. You’ve Got Mail

  10. My Best Friend’s Wedding

  I watch her, my insides percolating. Somehow sharing this makes it . . . what? Real. Yeah, maybe too real.

  Her eyebrows are arched high. “I can’t believe he’s doing this. Can I have him?” She giggles, glances back at the list, and lowers her head suspiciously. “27 Dresses is crossed out. Where’d you go yesterday? Does Bradley know about this?”

  My heart skips. I shouldn’t have said anything. I completely downplay it and tell her that we only registered a few things for Ren. “It’s really nothing. A few movie lines said in a similar scene to get inspiration for the redesign. But it’s better if it’s kept quiet. I mean, it’s already weird enough.”

  I should feel relieved. But I don’t. I feel worse. I’m wading around in a thick pool of guilt. Even the carbs aren’t helping.

  I decide to change the subject. “Speaking of weird . . . have you noticed your workload slowing at all? There’s been some talk that the agency isn’t having a good quarter.”

  Ellie wrinkles her nose. “No. Not all. In fact, they keep piling stuff on. I’m getting behind. Where’d you hear that?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I add, finally taking a few bites of pasta myself. Oh, this is good. “But . . .” I fill her in with the rest. Since we work together, it’s not considered a violation of the confidentiality contract.

  Ellie’s eyes are wide as she listens, her fork hanging in midair, which only adds to the guilt pile. My intent wasn’t to freak her out. I just wanted to see what she thought about Clive pressuring me to do whatever it takes to keep Shane’s account, the threat of layoffs, and the speech on financial struggles when we’re obviously swamped.

  I smile, reassuringly. “Maybe Clive was just, I don’t know, being theatrical.”

  “He is a drama queen,” Ellie adds.

  “Right. I mean, if we’re busy there’s nothing to worry about.”

  At least there shouldn’t be.

  SHANE ARRIVED AT THE AGENCY about ten minutes ago, and Clive set him up in the c
onference room. He called and requested a meeting with the team that’s working on his account. I have no idea why, I haven’t designed anything yet. I’m all twitchy and nervous. The door’s shut and the shades are drawn.

  Do I knock? I should knock.

  I rap my knuckles lightly on the door and turn the handle, but then Tonya and Bradley appear around the corner and my hand drops.

  I half smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi, hon, you okay?”

  “What? Yeah, of course.” Why? Do I look guilty? I feel guilty.

  Tonya pushes past me, opens the door, and grins. “No water for you this time.”

  I roll my eyes and announce I’ll be right back, spin around, and walk-run down the hall. Spotting Ellie, I wave her over. “I’m recruiting you. You are now officially on the Carriage House project. I’ll clear it later. Come on.” I’m pulling her arm and we’re speed-walking back toward the conference room.

  “Kenz, what are you doing?” Ellie asks.

  I shush her, open the door, and practically shove her in.

  Tonya turns to Bradley. “She’s not on this account.”

  “I invited her. I thought we needed a female technical perspective on the functionality,” I say and pull out a chair up front for Ellie. It makes sense. The other programmers on this account are male.

  I really just need a sounding board in all of this, a voice of reason, another set of eyes on the situation. Is this a situation? Maybe I just need someone here in case I lose it and punch Tonya.

  Shane clicks off his phone and stashes it in his pocket. “Good, welcome.” He smiles at Ellie.

  She forces back a too-big smile and giggles. Shane turns to me, puzzled. I try to communicate I don’t know, but I have no idea what my face is doing.

  “I guess we just need Clive, then.” Shane’s eyes are still on me.

  I look away, feeling the burn in my cheeks, and catch Bradley look from Shane to me. Ellie is focused on Shane, Tonya is drinking her water. And just to note, Shane and Tonya are not looking at each other. All noteworthy stuff.

  “So refreshing,” Tonya teases after setting down her water and fake coughs.