by Violet Blake
“I’m sure you’ve heard about my run for Senate,” she said.
I suppressed an eye roll. “Congratulations.”
“My campaign preparations are getting underway, and there’s just so much left to do.” A clear note of self-pity rang through, and I resisted all impulses to just hang up on her.
“I’m sure not.” I had to end this call. Fast. There was only so much room left in my life for crap, and I was about at my quota.
“I need you to come to Washington,” she said.
My cleaning stopped. I glowered at the phone, unbelieving of what I’d just heard. Stay civil. “Um, I’m pretty busy. You know, working, so I can have a roof over my head, food to eat, all that.”
“I’ve booked you for a flight tomorrow, and all expenses will be paid. Details will arrive in your inbox shortly.”
“Wait a second!” I said, my voice rising, my heart seizing. “How can you possibly expect me to drop everything for you? And last I checked you wanted zippo to do with me. Which was made super clear when I was disowned. In the hospital.”
She let out a long, heavy sigh. “What is it you want, Blair? Your trust reinstated? Fine. I’ll see that you have a home to live in, a job, and everything will be back to normal.”
I closed my eyes and let that sink in for a moment. What the hell was happening? “I’m not exactly clear on what you’re wanting from me. I already have a house, a job, and a life. Right here.”
She answered with a dismissive snort, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t learn in finishing school. “Are you really happy working an entry-level job at a firm where you’ll never be recognized? And living in a 500-square-foot apartment owned by a woman who doesn’t pay her taxes?”
At least I wasn’t holding my phone when I clenched my fists. Because that phone—or anything I held—would’ve been crushed to bits. “You’re spying on me?”
“Protecting my interests. And right now those interests are my position at the Capital. My constituents are very big on family, and in order to win, we need to put on a strong front.”
I let out a hiss through clenched teeth. “This coming from the woman who didn’t so much hand me a tissue in the hospital after my appendix ruptured? Who told me to buck up and marry Ethan even though he all but admitted that he was using me for your political influence, because most marriages are business relationships anyway?”
“So altruistic,” she said. “What if, in addition to restoring your trust, I give an endowment to your favorite charity? You liked those children in Africa when you visited. What if I built them a school?”
I clenched my eyes shut so forcefully I saw stars. “You are missing the point. I want nothing to do with you. Not after the way you treated me.”
“I am your mother,” she said.
“You told me it would’ve been less trouble for you if I had just died.” The words came out with all the force of a wrecking ball. I’d never repeated that conversation to anybody, it’d been so unbelievable, so horribly painful to even think about. And what person would believe my own mother actually said that?
“I was upset.”
“You should’ve been upset that I’d almost died. Not that you had a PR disaster to clean up. You are un-fucking-real.” My shaking fingers hovered over the surface of my phone, ready to hang up on her.
“Come to Washington. We will make amends when you return. What would be a convenient date for you?” she asked, the tone in her voice not at all accommodating.
“Mom, I’m not—”
“I have a reporter friend at the Post who can do an interview, at least plant the seed that we are on good terms. But I won’t wait for much longer than a week for you to return. Next Friday is the latest.”
“You don’t need me to win a campaign. Just like I don’t need you to run my life. I’m taking care of myself now.”
“Surely you’re not missing the irony, darling.”
“Which is…”
“For a girl who is so insistent that she have control over her life and make her own way, don’t you find it…interesting…that you’ve gone for the richest man you could find?”
And just like that she turned everything that was happy about my life into shit.
I hit the end button. The conversation was over.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday morning I dragged my half-dead carcass into work. I couldn’t concentrate on work after the call with Mom. Which meant I had to spend most of the night forcing myself to finish. And when I finally got under the covers, her words to me found an infinite haunting loop.
She didn’t give up easily. She never did. She’d find my Achilles Heel and that would be it for my new life.
Was this what adulthood was all about? Fighting for every damn thing, no matter how insignificant?
I set my satchel on my desk and fell into my chair. Kleenex littered the space surrounding Eva. Gag.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” I pushed my box of Kleenex her way. Looked like she needed them more than me.
She nodded and sneezed into her fist. Ew. “Came down with it over the weekend, but Victoria needs all hands on deck this week, so…”
So yeah. Here we were. Mix three weeks of no sleep with a shit ton of stress and this is what you get. Fabulous.
“Is there anything I can help you with for the presentation?” I seriously doubted Victoria would want Eva up there, even if speaking was her strength.
“It’s all good. Did you get the artwork finalized?”
“Sure did.” I spun my chair to face my computer and pulled up the login screen. A few minutes later Eva peered over my shoulder, and we put the final designs into the presentation, printed the material for the client’s folders, and everything was set.
As far as presentations went, this one went pretty disaster-free. Victoria was pleased with the performance—most of which I ended up doing, seeing how Eva had to flee the room in a fit of sneezing—and the clients appeared to be more than politely interested. Bonus.
Victoria walked the owner out, and his assistant VP, Julie Armstrong, stayed behind to gather his belongings while he schmoozed.
“You were pretty great,” she said. “I know I’m not supposed to say things like that, but I thought I should.”
Smiling, I handed her Victoria’s business card, relieved as fuck this whole thing was over, and that it’d gone well. “Thank you. I hope we’ll get the chance to work together.”
“I’m sure we will. I hear you did the artwork?” She smoothed her icy blond hair back.
“I did.”
“Phenomenal. Between you and me, even if something falls through, you are an incredible artist. Do you freelance, have an online portfolio, anything like that?”
“I do a few things on the side.” Mostly sex these days, but I could probably fit some freelance art into my schedule. I gave myself a mental shake. Mind out of the gutter. “I actually have an online portfolio, too.”
“Great. Do you have a card?”
Of course not. Lowly temps didn’t get them. “I’m still here on a temporary basis,” I admitted, sliding a paper toward me. “But I’ll write down my information, and we can be in touch.”
“My dad actually owns Armstrong Galleries,” she said. “If you’re ever interested in an exhibition, you should check it out.”
“Thanks so much,” I said. Armstrong’s had some enormous street cred in the Colorado art community. If I could get in there—most likely in my dreams—I’d be set. I finished writing my contact info for her, and she folded it and put it into her briefcase.
“Excellent. Wonderful to meet you, Blair.”
When she left, I did a little dance, a cross between Snoopy and Mr. Peanut. I never said I had grace.
Once I was finished, I walked back to my desk, prepared to give my inbox some much needed attention.
But it was the new wallpaper all over my cubicle that really caught my attention. 8x11 glossies of the Most Eligible cover tiled the walls o
f my space, mocking me. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
For a girl who is so insistent that she have control over her life and make her own way, don’t you find it…interesting…that you’ve gone for the richest man you could find?
Eva sniffled and turned around, her eyes puffy and her nose the same hue as a cherry tomato. “Hey.”
Surely Eva hadn’t put them up?
She glanced at the new decoration and shook her head. “Practical jokes? You must be one of the team now.”
“Oh.”
Her expression softened to one of sympathy. “Don’t take it personally. Really. We all do stuff like this to each other—if they didn’t, it wouldn’t mean you were part of the team.”
I pushed my lips into a stiff smile. “It’s fine. Really. Just a good reminder of my place.”
Time to employ some crying prevention tactics. Eva left for home a few minutes later, but her Kleenex stayed behind, on her desk where she’d left them. Sighing, I heaped the mess into her trashcan, walked it to the Dumpster out back, and scrubbed down her work area. Hell no was I going to get sick. Temps didn’t get paid sick days. I had a car to fix, damn it.
“Knock knock,” Victoria chirped, rapping lightly on my cubicle entry. “Do you have a moment?”
“Sure. Have a seat.” I motioned to Eva’s now-clean station.
She sat, and smoothed her skirt over her bare knees. “Fab job in there, Blair. Really fab. Rich told me we got the contract.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, grinning.
“What do you say we have drinks after work? Eva’s going to be out sick today, maybe even tomorrow, but I have some ideas I’d like to go over with you.” Her dark eyes turned into pools of chocolate—no way could I say no. Contract be damned.
“Sounds great.”
It should’ve been great. But instead, she showed up at my cubicle at 4:55, her dark skin an unhealthy shade of burgundy, her eyes glassy and not looking at all healthy. “Sorry, Blair. Looks like I’ve caught what ever Eva has. Take a rain check?”
“You bet.” When I heard the elevator ding I blasted the entire cubicle with Lysol, covering every possible surface.
“Mind keeping the airborne toxins to a dull roar over there?” Stan, one of the junior associates, called.
“Sorry!” I sank into my seat, my cheeks flaming. He’d thank me when he and I were the only ones who didn’t get sick. Hell, I might save the whole damn company.
My phone dinged, and I checked the screen.
Sawyer: Headed to Summit. Looks like I’ll be there all week :(
I frowned, too.
Blair: Damn it. How am I going to meet my daily orgasm quota?
When he didn’t reply right away, I sighed and packed up for the day. It would be the first night in weeks that I’d left by five. Sadly, I would have to find another way to celebrate.
I’d walked two blocks before his reply came.
Sawyer: No reason not to. Send pics ;)
Blair: Will do.
I hit send, walked a block, then typed up another text. Fuck what my mom said, and fuck the stupid magazine joke.
Blair: I’ll miss you.
The phone rang.
“You’ll really miss me?” he murmured.
“Well, you know what they say about absence.”
“Aw, is your heart fond of me yet?”
I laughed. “That’s a little more flowery than I’d put it, but close enough.”
“Fair enough. How did your presentation go?”
I told him all about it, and how the office was going through a plague. He told me how his office was going through a major internal audit. Stress, stress, and more stress barely described his situation.
“It was just the hostess and the two waiters, though, right?” I asked, three blocks from my house. At least this neighborhood had a decent amount of trees.
“That’s what we thought at first. Hey—are you walking home?” His voice held a note of concern mixed with skepticism. He’d totally busted me.
“It’s nice out. Why not?”
“I hear your heels. How are you even able to walk?”
“That’s one of those things girls learn at finishing school, Prince Charming.” Keeping money on the side to pay for expensive car repairs, incidentally, was not.
“Your car’s all right, isn’t it?”
Clenching my eyes shut, I bit out a sour lie. “It’s fine. I’ve just been under a lot of stress and walking helps me burn it off. Plus, my running partner’s been MIA lately.”
“All right,” he said, but I didn’t get the feeling that everything was all right. The man was full of suspicion.
“Everything is fine. I promise. Besides, I’ve been too busy to run in the mornings without you, so this kind of makes up for it.”
His office phone rang and he sighed. “Text you later.”
“Bye.”
True to his word, at 8:46, I got a text from him. Or should I say of him?
Sawyer: Will this get you by until Saturday?
I clicked the attachment and sucked in a breath. Hot freaking damn.
He only captured himself from the waist up to his chin, but it was enough. More than enough. He’d even been a dear and included his treasure trail, and my mouth watered.
Blair: Only if I get one every day. Maybe twice a day sometimes.
Sawyer: Consider it done. Where’s yours?
I whipped off my shirt and bra, and set up my shot, sure to include my face only to my lips, and did my best impression of the Basic Instinct interview.
Blair: Just for you.
Sawyer: I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.
Blair: Me, too.
Sawyer: I miss you.
Blair. You, too. Talk to you tomorrow?
Sawyer: Definitely. Night, baby cakes.
Blair: Night, Sally.
Chapter Eighteen
The next two days could be summed up in one word: uneventful.
Victoria, Eva, and two others were out of the office. Those of us who remained chugged Echinacea tea, slathered on antibacterial gel every hour, and bombed the place with Lysol—even Stan joined my germ-free brigade.
But one by one, we dropped off like flies.
Thursday I woke up feeling worse than I had after my mugging. My brain cells imploded, and my lungs exploded.
Hell.
Screw this noise. I needed a paycheck. I dressed and walked to work, each step making me wish I’d get hit by a car so the pain in my head would stop.
Stan walked to the door at the same time.
“Oh no, not you, too. You’re not going in there.” He might as well have held up a cross and garlic.
“Come on, Stan. I work by the hour. I need to go in there.”
He shook his head. “No way. Those people up there? They’ve fought off this bug all week. You walk in there, and this place is going down.”
My lips dragged into a sad, defeated pout. “If I miss today, I won’t be able to get my car fixed next week.”
I’d worked out the math. If I sold my grandmother’s ruby cocktail ring—my last piece of valuable jewelry—I’d have just enough to squeak by. That would hurt because she was the one family member I’d actually felt loved by, but I couldn’t keep living like this. I needed a car.
“Don’t make me report you to your temp agency.”
At least he didn’t throw a bible and holy water at me.
Crossing my arms, I accepted my defeat with a huff. “Fine.”
His stance softened. “Sorry, Blair. We’ve all got families, though. If one kid gets sick, it’s all over. You know how it is.”
I didn’t. But I nodded, the sting of his reaction subsiding. “See you tomorrow.”
“Monday at the earliest.”
“See you Monday,” I said, already turning to head home. My throat rasped, burning hotter with every word. I called my temp agency to let them know I’d be out today and walked home.
Two
days without pay. It might not sound like much, but it came out to half of my monthly grocery budget—pre-tax. When you were behind on bills and your car was broken, it was even more catastrophic.
Coughing the whole way home, I accepted my fate. There was no way this day wasn’t going to suck.
...
Pain that couldn’t possibly have come from a mere cold crushed me. Practically suffocated me in my sleep. When had I fallen asleep?
Shaking my head, I pried my eyelids open and my vision cleared enough to make out the time: 1:34. A quick check out the window confirmed a.m.
And my phone was ringing.
For fuck’s sake.
I fumbled on my nightstand for my phone and my thumb found the answer button. Instead of the standard “hello,” I fell into a wracking, consuming coughing fit.
Chills shook me all over, every one of my hair follicles scorching like a cattle brand. Moaning, I fell back into bed, somehow able to hold onto the phone.
“Blair?” Sawyer’s concerned voice pulled me back into reality.
“Hey,” I rasped.
“Are you all right?”
“Define all right.”
“Holy shit, you sound awful. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
I could almost see him yanking his hair the way he did when he was upset. He was probably pacing the length of his hotel room. Hopefully wearing nothing but underwear and his glasses.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Have you taken anything yet?”
Closing my eyes, I drew in a painful breath that sounded like crushed tissue paper. “I’m all out.”
Probably shouldn’t tell him I didn’t have any in the first place. In my rush to get home I’d spaced flu meds. So stupid.
“Shit,” he said. “You don’t sound like you’re in any condition to drive.”
“Neither is my car.” Blame it on flu brain. With those words I’d practically dug my proverbial grave.
He groaned. “I knew something was up.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving me a lecture.” A hot flash tore through me, making me gasp. Sweat drenched my flaming hot skin, dissolving into an ice-cold chill that brought tears to my eyes.