by Maggie Riley
“And the worst part is – ok, one of the worst parts – is that it’s good,” I took another long drink of wine, draining my glass. “The book is really good.”
Georgia sat back. “Wow,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about your own work.”
“Well, technically, it’s not my work,” I reminded her. “It’s Jack’s.”
“Bullshit,” she argued. “From what you’ve told me, no one else could have gotten anything book worthy out of someone as closed off as Jack Willis. So not only did you get great information, but you also wrote an amazing book with it.”
“Not like anyone will ever see it,” I grumbled.
I’d always taken pride in the work I had done. Even if my name wasn’t on something, I still considered a part of it mine. Still put my full attention and focus on it. I wanted to make it good, even if I wasn’t going to get recognized for it. And I had wanted to do the same for Jack’s book. But somewhere along the way it had become way more personal. I put so much of myself in the book because I loved Jack, and that was what made the book good. I had written it with such love and tenderness that it was like exposing a part of myself to the whole world.
“What did Jack think of the pages?” Georgia asked.
I shrugged. “He never saw them.”
“What?” Georgia sat up so abruptly she almost made me spill my wine. Mr. Mistoffelees jumped off the couch and hissed at her, but she ignored him. “You haven’t shown him what you wrote?”
“He fired me before I could.” I gestured towards the door where I had dropped my bag and everything else when we came in. “I was going to bring him a thumb drive with the manuscript and a print out of the first chapter. But now I guess it will all just go in the trash.”
“Absolutely not!” Georgia got off the couch and gathered up my things.
I grabbed for the pages, but she held them away, reading them. After a few moments, she sunk into my old, ratty chair that sat across from the sofa. I drank more wine and watched her face. She smiled and then the smile began to fade, her eyes scanning the pages rapidly. Then they began to well up with tears. When she was done, she put the chapter down on her lap and took a deep breath.
“Libby,” she told me, wiping her eyes. “This is magnificent writing.”
Somehow her praise only seemed to make everything worse. All that hard work, all that sweat and blood and passion I had poured into those pages was for nothing. Just like everything I had tried to build with Jack was nothing.
“Just toss it in the trash on your way out,” I told her, waving at the pages dismissively.
“Over my dead body.” Georgia stood, holding the thumb drive. “You’re going to send this to him and you’re going to send it now.”
I gaped at her. “Are you crazy?” I demanded. “What part of my getting fired did you not understand? Jack said the book was a bad idea. The last thing he wants is to read the progress of a cancelled project.”
“He’ll want to read this,” Georgia said with utter confidence.
“No,” I argued. “That’s going straight into the digital trashcan of death.”
“If you don’t send it, I will,” Georgia threatened. “But I think he’d rather get it from you.”
“I’m pretty sure Jack Willis wants nothing to do with me.”
“I’m pretty sure Jack Willis has no idea how you really feel about him,” Georgia countered. “But these pages will show him. They’ll show him that all you did was try to make something he could be proud of. And if he’s as smart as everyone says he is, he’ll read this and be damn proud of it. And proud of you. Just like I am.”
Tears filled my eyes. Georgia always knew the right thing to say.
“What if he hates it?” I whispered.
“Then he’s a moron and you’re better off without him,” Georgia told me. “But I don’t think he’ll hate it. I think he’ll love it and I think he’ll realize what a fool he’s being.”
“You don’t know him,” I said. “He felt I betrayed him. Exposed him. I don’t think there’s anything worse than that in his eyes.”
“But you didn’t betray him. Or expose him.” Georgia sat down on the couch next to me and took my hands. “You celebrated him. In a way that only you can.” She squeezed my fingers. “He’ll read this and see how much you love him.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I admitted. “I’m afraid he’ll see that and still want nothing to do with me.”
“You have to be brave,” Georgia told me. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
I knew she was right. But still, it took twelve hours after she left for me to build up the courage to go down to FedEx and print out the pages. I was deeply hungover, and full of ice cream, and I was pretty sure that the woman at the counter thought I had lost my damn mind. She might not have been that wrong, but the lingering hangover and sugar high helped a hell of a lot when it came down to it. But still, when I handed the envelope to her, I sent up a silent, desperate prayer.
Please let him see me the way I see him, I thought. And please let him feel the same.
Chapter 27
JACK
I was having a shit week. I had done everything I could think of to make myself feel less terrible, but none of my usual tactics seemed to be working. Going to work on a complicated engine at Tom’s Bike Shop? Nope, I was still angry at Mac. Getting out of the city and going fast on those empty roads on my favorite bike? Definitely not, all I could think of was how good it had felt to have Libby wrapped up tight behind me. Not even a good bottle of whisky and the best pizza New York could offer seemed to shake me out of my bad mood. For a moment, I even thought about calling up one of the women I had an arrangement with, but nothing about that sounded appealing to me.
So I went for the big guns and called Jennifer, asking to have Ella for the weekend. It must have been something in my voice, because to my surprise, Jennifer didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. Maybe we were finally getting the hang of this co-parenting thing. Maybe we were getting to the point where we didn’t have to count to five every time we spoke in an effort to keep things civil. And it was true, that when I called her on the phone, I didn’t feel any of the frustrations and hesitation about speaking to her. I didn’t feel like we were gearing up for a fight.
It seemed that she felt the same, because after agreeing to let me see Ella, her voice softened a little over the phone.
“Is everything ok?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” I lied.
She scoffed. That was the problem with ex-wives. Sometimes they knew you better than you wanted them to. Not that I should have been surprised. We had known each other a long time.
“Is it the Celero’s launch?” she asked. “You know it’s going to go great.”
I hadn’t thought of the Celero all day. That wasn’t like me at all.
“Or maybe it’s something else,” Jennifer offered when I didn’t respond. “Or someone else.”
Dammit. She really was too intuitive for her own good.
“Were you this nosey when we were married?” I asked her.
“Nope,” she said with a laugh. “I was too busy to be nosey.”
“I guess that’s true,” I agreed, and then paused.
There was a conversation we’d never really had, and suddenly I wanted to have it. Wanted to confront my own flaws face on.
“Why didn’t we work out, Jen?” I asked her, surprising myself.
“Oh,” she sounded just as shocked. “Well, I think it was because we’re too similar, maybe.”
“Both stubborn and driven?” I offered.
She chuckled. “I won’t deny it.” But then her voice became serious. “But neither of us are very good at being forthcoming with our feelings. Or with anything, really.” She sighed. “We both put up walls and neither of us had the energy to try to tear each other’s down.”
I thought about that for a moment. I had always respected Jennifer’s privac
y, and she had done the same for me. At the time, I had thought of it as a strength in our relationship – that we trusted each other. But now I could see that it had also been an excuse. An excuse to keep my distance from her. And from the way I felt.
Libby wasn’t interested in letting me build walls. She came into my life, tearing them down at every opportunity. She didn’t care if it made me feel exposed or vulnerable. Because she had no problem being either. Suddenly, I felt a wave of jealousy towards Libby. About how open she was.
Then I had an unpleasant thought.
“Do you think we do that with Ella?” I asked. “That we’re distant and closed off?”
I could hear Jennifer’s earrings jangle as she shook her head.
“You’re a great father, Jack,” she told me. “Whatever problems you and I had, I think we’ve done a great job making sure Ella isn’t inheriting the same issues.” She paused and I could hear the emotion thick in her voice. “She’s so amazing, you know? I think she has the best parts of both of us, and more.”
“I hope so,” I said. “She’s a great kid.”
“That she is,” Jennifer agreed. “And I know you two will have fun during your extra time together. She loves spending time at your place.”
“You don’t mind me taking her?” I asked.
Jennifer paused. “Actually,” she said. “It’s kind of perfect timing. I have a date.”
My eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know you were dating.”
It should have been strange having this conversation with my ex-wife, but I realized as I asked, that I really did want the best for her.
“It’s still new.” Jennifer sounded a little flustered. “But he’s a great guy. I’m hoping I can introduce him to Ella soon.” She hesitated. “If that’s ok with you.”
“If he’s going to be an important part of your life then he should definitely meet Ella.”
I imagined introducing Libby to my daughter. There was no doubt in my mind that they would get along fantastically. They were so similar in the way they reached out and grabbed life with all they had. Fearless, both of them.
“I hope you’re not putting your life on hold because of her,” Jennifer interrupted my thoughts. “You should find someone who makes you happy.”
It was a weird conversation, but I hung up feeling like Jennifer and I had crossed a bridge. That whatever happened from this point on regarding our daughter, we’d be able to tackle it together, even though we weren’t together in that way.
My intercom buzzed.
“You’ve got a package, Mr. Willis,” Jon, the doorman, told me. “Would you like me to bring it up?”
“That would be great,” I told him. “Thank you.”
I wasn’t expecting anything, especially not the thick, heavy envelope that Jon handed over to me. I looked at the return address. Libby Hanson.
My heart did an annoying flip. Stop it, I told myself. It’s over.
If I was smart, I would have put the package aside, or just tossed it in the garbage. Whatever had happened between Libby and me was done and there wasn’t any point in revisiting it. In any way.
But then Jennifer’s words echoed through me: “We both put up walls and neither of us had the energy to try to tear each other’s down.”
She was right about that. Libby had been chipping away at that wall of mine and the moment she got too close, I pushed her away. But even knowing that – even knowing what a colossal asshole I was – didn’t make her betrayal any less hurtful. Still, I hung on to the package. I just didn’t open it. Instead, I just left it on the counter and stared at it while I sipped a glass of expensive and delicious whisky.
Mac called me for the fifth time that day, and I finally answered.
“What the fuck, man?” he asked as a greeting.
“What the fuck indeed?” I muttered, still eyeballing the package.
“Are you seriously ignoring me because I told your girlfriend a couple of funny stories about us as kids?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“First of all, Libby is not my girlfriend. And second of all, you told those funny stories to someone who has the ability to spread them all over the internet.”
But as I said it out loud, I realized how ridiculous it was. Why would Libby put that information out there? That wasn’t her style at all.
“Well, then, first of all, you’re a moron, because Libby is awesome and second of all, who the fuck cares about what you were like as a kid?” Mac sighed. “No one is that interested in your life, dude.”
“I wish that were true,” I said. “Unfortunately, the tabloids don’t seem to agree with you.”
Mac was silent for a moment. “So you’re just going to let them hold you hostage then?”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I argued.
“Sure it is,” Mac retorted. “From what it sounds like, this book was a chance for you to change the narrative – a chance for you to control the story. Instead, you gave Libby absolutely nothing to work with and made yourself so boring that your adoring fans would have no choice but to look for more tantalizing information elsewhere.”
“My adoring fans?”
“Tech nerds, billionaire fuckers, whoever is so fascinated by you these days.” Mac sounded as annoyed by the whole situation as I was, but he was focusing his annoyance on me. “You need to get your head out of your ass and realize that you messed up.”
“How do you know I messed up?” I shot back, knowing I hadn’t shared the details of my relationship – or my break-up – with Libby.
“Because I know you better than you know yourself,” Mac retorted. “The minute Libby walked into the bike shop, I knew that you were going to fuck it up with her.”
“Your powers of intuition are astonishing,” I said dryly. “Have you ever thought about starting your own psychic hotline?”
“You know I’m right,” Mac told me.
And he was. Which was very irritating. It was now becoming clear to me that I had overreacted. Enormously. I was so afraid of exposing Ella to the tabloids and papers that I had completely shut off every part of myself that wasn’t business. I didn’t let anyone in.
I looked at the package, and had a pretty good idea of what was in it.
“I have to go,” I told Mac.
“You’re welcome,” he responded and then hung up before I could respond.
“Bastard,” I muttered at my phone before tossing it on the counter.
Then, circling the package as if it was a poisonous snake, I downed the rest of my whisky and put the glass aside. I picked up the envelope. It seemed heavier this time. Tearing it open, I found exactly what I had been expecting. It was the book.
A LABOR OF LOVE is what Libby had titled it. There was also a bright pink post-it stuck to the front of the manuscript. In her swirly, girly handwriting, Libby had written:
I hope you’ll give the book a chance. It says it all. Or so I hope.
Pouring another glass of whiskey, I took it and the manuscript over to my favorite chair. Then, with the best view of Manhattan that money could buy, I began to read about myself.
I couldn’t put it down. When it came to books, if it wasn’t a manual for a car or a bike, I tended to read very slowly. But Libby’s words pulled me in and wouldn’t let me go. I read until the sun came up, completely captivated.
The book was fantastic, and for the first time, I saw exactly what Libby had been trying to do the entire time. It had never been about invading my personal space, it had never been about snooping through my private life. It had been about revealing me in a way I’d never been revealed before. Not in the press, not in the tabloids, and to a certain extent, not even to myself.
It was exactly as she had told me over and over again. She wanted to make a product that I could be proud of. That I wouldn’t mind having my name on. And that’s what she created. Something special. Something real. And I saw instantly that without all the stories, without all the personal detai
ls, the book would have been boring. Forgettable.
Libby had done everything in her power to make the biography special. And I had done everything in my power to stop her.
Still, she hadn’t given up so easily. On the book, or on me. Every page felt like a love letter. A love letter I wasn’t sure I deserved anymore. The person that Libby described was me – they were my employees, my inventions, my stories – but I had never seen myself the way she saw me.
She thought I was funny. And kind. A good boss. A passionate creator. An honorable person. She seemed to see me better than I saw myself. And she certainly thought more of me than I did. Or at least she had when she wrote it. Who knows how much of that affection and tenderness had been diminished by my terrible treatment of her.
It was exactly as Mac had said. I was a moron. I had been looking for betrayal and I found it. I made it. But Libby hadn’t betrayed me. I had betrayed her. I had taken all of her good intentions and hard work and thrown it back in her face because I hadn’t understood.
I hadn’t understood that I had been falling in love with her.
That I was in love with her.
The realization hit me like the Celero traveling at 100 mph. I was in love with Libby Hanson. With the curvaceous, adorable, clever, ridiculous Libby Hanson. Someone who ignored all my rules. Ignored all my orders. Someone who did what she felt was right, even when I tried to block her at every turn.
She knew me. And she loved me. The book in my hands, the pages she had sent me, that proved it. Her honesty, her openness was evident in every chapter, in every word. She lay herself bare.
I didn’t deserve her. I knew this for certain. But I wanted her. I wanted to be the person she imagined me to be.
What if it was too late? What if I had pushed her away and she was already moving on? I wouldn’t blame her, that’s for damn sure, but I wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. Without trying to win her back. She deserved that at least.
She deserved the man she wrote about.
Chapter 28
LIBBY