"And why on earth would we see each other later? I've seen enough of you for a lifetime."
He stands to leave.
"I'll be stopping by to check on one of my new investments tonight."
New investment?
"What in the ham sandwich are you talking about, and what does that have to do with me?"
"I'm your new landlord."
"You're my what?!"
Oh. Hell. No.
Fifteen
Sloan
"You're laughing at me again."
"I know. I'm sorry–"
Elizabeth can't even finish her sentence as she laughs even louder. I don't understand it. She's never laughed this much the entire time I've known her nerdy ass. She's lucky that she's growing a little baby Roman inside of that tummy of hers, because I swear that I'm ten seconds away from throttling her.
"I mean it, Elizabeth Hill. Shut your cute little pregnant trap."
We're in our old favorite haunt, Java The Hut, and I'm waiting for my caramel macchiato with a double shot of espresso while she waits for her mug of decaffeinated green tea.
Elizabeth holds her stomach, palms flat on her growing pouch, as she tries to subdue her laughter. "But your life is incredibly funny."
"My life is not a sitcom. My life is shit. I'm starting to hate my job. I have a black eye. My sister is barely speaking to me. I can't get laid to save my life. And the icing on the cake? The number one person that I need to steer clear of is now my freakin' landlord."
"He had some sort of fight with his brother."
"So?"
"I guess he needed another place to live, so he bought one." Elizabeth isn't laughing anymore, but it doesn't matter, because I can see it all in her eyes, that she is completely entertained by this twist of fate.
"Wait . . . do you think that he's going to actually live in the building too? What's he going to do. Kick out one of the tenants because–"
"What?"
"Wait he can't be."
"He can't be what?" she asks with a look of anxious glee.
"There's only one vacancy in my building that I know of. On my floor. Next door to Kyle. But he wouldn't."
Elizabeth takes a sip of her tea and smiles at me over the top of the mug. "Aah, but he would. He's a King."
I take a sip of my coffee like it's a shot of whiskey.
"So what you're saying is that you think it's totally possible that he bought my building and is moving in next door to me?"
"I'm afraid so. Hey, lift up your bandage so I can take a peek."
I lift up one side of my bandage for a few seconds then stick it back down.
"Is it presumptuous of me to say that he did this solely to get on my one last good nerve? I mean it can't be a coincidence. Didn't the dark knight tell you anything?"
"No, I only know about the dispute between the Kings, because I was eavesdropping on Roman's phone conversation with Camden. I didn't know anything about him buying your building."
"I'm never going home."
"What?" She giggles. "You have to. You live there. Let's order some croissants. I'm starving."
"It's cold in my house. My thermostat is broken. The super said the thing is busted, but that he'd need the landlord's purchase approval to install another one. The landlord never got back to him. Now I see why. He was too busy selling the damn building to a lunatic."
"Get an electric blanket and go home."
"If there were mice in my house I wouldn't go home."
"That's stupid too, and don't talk about mice when I'm hungry."
"You're afraid of mice as much as I am."
"Yes, but I'd hire an exterminator to get rid of them. I wouldn't just leave my home, crazy girl. I didn't realize that Cutter brought out this type of visceral reaction from you. What else happened when he came by your job that you're not telling me about?" She grins mischievously.
The best kiss of my life.
"You're getting some sick pleasure out of this which is very uncharacteristic of you, my dearest friend. That man of yours is rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways."
"What do you have against Cutter anyway? As you get to know him better, I think you'll begin to get a better understanding of who he is. He's really–"
"Let me stop you there." I throw up my hand in the formation of a stop sign. "I don't plan on understanding anything about Cutter King at all. My hope was that I wouldn't see the guy again until your wedding day or until the baby comes. Whichever comes first since you seem to keep changing your mind about when you're getting married."
"Blame Aunt Juliette. She keeps changing my mind for me."
"Guess it's all a moot point. I'm going to have to see him now. Doesn't mean that I have to like it though."
"But isn't that the real reason why you're so upset? You do like it?"
"Let's just talk about decorating my goddaughter or godson's room."
"Changing the subject on me?"
"I have a vision. Do you want to see what I have planned for the baby or not?"
She finally yields and pretends like she's zipping her lips with her fingers. Then she gets up to order us two croissants. While she's ordering I decide to pull out my pen and sketchpad. I like to make rough drawings of what I want a room to look like before I begin decorating it. Decorating rooms is just a hobby for me, but one that I take seriously if I'm going to do it right, and I can't wait to make Elizabeth's nursery a beautiful sanctuary for her and the baby.
She returns with the food and sits down. "Okay, I'm ready. Lay it on me."
"So I thought about going with a deep cherry wood crib, changing table, and dresser but selecting pure white bedding and window dressings."
"White?"
"I think the contrast will look beautiful and natural regardless of the sex of the baby. I'm going to do everything in organic or recycled fabrics and materials too. The bedding. The curtains. The flooring. It's going to look amazing and be chemical free for the baby."
"I'm sure I'll love everything you've got planned."
"You will." I smile. "And don't worry I'll make sure that you are involved in every part of the process. It will be fun for us to hang out and do this together. I feel like I haven't spent any quality time with you in eons."
"Agreed. Speaking of quality time, have you talked to Tiny lately?"
Tiny is one of our closest friends from college. She lived on our floor and is the third missing piece from our bestie trifecta.
"Not really. All the stuff going on at work has been kicking my ass lately. Last time we spoke was probably two weeks ago. I think she met a guy. I'm not sure. I was half listening and half arguing with a saleslady in the mall about a return when we were on the phone."
"Well at least she's alive and breathing. I haven't heard from her in a long time. So what's going on at work?"
"I'm sure that I've mentioned her before but there's this woman, Regan, who just won't leave me alone."
"Has she ever gone to drinks with us?"
"No, she doesn't really fraternize with coworkers. Not unless they're management. So anyway, if I didn't already know that she is strictly dickly, I would swear to you that she wants me in the biblical way. She's obsessed with me. Let me rephrase that. Obsessed with crushing me. And I can't for the life of me understand why. She's been at the company longer. Her sales territory is more established than mine. Her team makes more money than we do. And if the rumors are true, the head of our division is some old friend of her family's. So her job is secure. She'd damn near have to commit a felony to get fired. So why is she so worried about what I'm doing?"
Elizabeth sighs. "More pretty girl problems."
"What?"
"I call what you're going through pretty girl problems. You're just one of those women, Sloan. It's been like that since I've known you. It was probably that way before we met. You're gorgeous, you come from money, a famous parent, and you're good with people–especially men. Women either love you or love to hate you. They're eith
er in awe of you or they're intimidated by you. You're a threat to that Regan person for some reason that only her psychotherapist can probably explain. It's her problem. Not yours."
"Pretty girl problems huh? Well I think my butt is way too big and it's my parents who have the money, not me, but I get what you're saying."
"Perhaps another theory is that Regan is one of those women who believes that there can only be one female at your level. I mean I'm no expert on office politics, but I imagine that some women prefer to be the only ones in the room."
"You could be right. I swear to you that my team supervisor, another woman named Fern, likes to pit the two of us against each other. She masks it as two sales teams battling it out for bragging rights and bonuses, but I think that she may possibly be trying to weed one of us out."
"That really sucks."
"Yeah, it does. You don't know how lucky you are to be an entrepreneur and not have to worry about crap like this."
"I'm not sure that it has anything to do with luck. I made a conscious decision that I would work for myself when I was an undergrad because of this very thing. I hate office politics. I'd never be any good at it. You could try working for yourself too if you wanted to you know."
Elizabeth has always been a huge proponent of women starting their own businesses instead of working for the "patriarchy." I can't honestly say that I ever gave it any serious thought. I was just glad to get a job after graduation and prove to my family that I could do more than post Instagram photos."
"I can't sell Viagra independently like its Avon."
"Obviously you would do something else, Sloan."
"Eh, maybe."
I get our conversation back on track and start explaining my intentions for the nursery. I show her the sketch of a very basic floor plan, so that Elizabeth can visualize what the space will look like once I've worked my magic.
"Also I'm thinking about placing some built-in shelving here. Do you like that idea?"
She shakes her head with a mouth full of croissant. "Umm-hmm."
"You seem hungry."
"I am. This croissant isn't cutting it."
"You want real food?"
"Yep."
"Where do you want to go? It's on me."
"Maybe you could cook me a little something at your apartment?" She starts laughing hysterically. "I wonder if we'll see your new neighbor there.”
I crumple up my napkin and throw it at her forehead.
That settles it.
Pregnant women are bitches.
Sixteen
Sloan
I wouldn't describe myself as a terribly vain woman, but I definitely feel uncomfortable making sales calls with my face partially covered in medical gauze. I guess that's why for the first time ever, I feel a little unsure of myself when I press the elevator button to the office of my first appointment of the day, Dr. Aiden Clark. A man whom I've known through my work as a pharmaceutical sales rep for almost two years and one of my favorite clients.
Every time I present Dr. Clark with a new product from my company's generic brand of Viagra and why he should offer it to his patients, he gets on board. No questions asked. And while I know I do a pretty good job at selling, I'm sure my one hundred percent success rate with the good doctor has a lot to do with the fact that he's been patiently and politely asking me out for the last nine months.
"Good afternoon, Miss Pearson. Dr. Clark will be with you in a minute. He's just finishing up with a patient. He said you can wait in his office."
"Thanks, Paige."
Paige is the office manager for the practice and rarely says two words to me. From what Dr. Clark tells me, she's a huge basketball fan, which could probably be the issue between us. I think that she's one of those people who is dying to ask me about my father, but doesn't want to come off as star struck or something, so she says much of nothing instead.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks almost rhetorically. I cringe a bit, because her tone today is reminiscent of Regan's. Disinterested and dismissive.
"No, I'm fine. Thank you."
"I'm sure you know the way," she says while barely looking up from her computer. "Down the hall. Second door on your left."
"Of course. Thank you."
While I sit and wait for Dr. Clark, I get an unusual call from a blocked number, which reminds me to put my phone on vibrate. No calls during sales appointments. Then I slip it back in my handbag as soon as Clark enters the room.
"Well hello, Miss Pearson."
"Hi there, yourself."
Dr. Clark immediately looks at my eye and the bandages on my face and his face scrunches up.
"What happened to you?"
"Freak accident. I had a little disagreement with a concrete sidewalk."
"It's those heels you wear. They're too high."
He assumes I fell, so I just go with it.
"I thought about your many high heel warnings as I went tumbling to the ground, but then guess what I did the day after it happened?"
"You bought another pair of Manolo Blahniks?"
"This time it was Christian Louboutins." I laugh. "I bought them online."
He shakes his head.
"Tsk. Tsk. You really should wear flats more often. Heels are horrible for women's feet."
"Not my thing, Dr. Clark. Everyone's got their vices. Mine are lipsticks and high heels. Yours are?"
"I guess entertainment. I like to go to shows and ball games."
"Then you understand."
"Not exactly the same." He smiles. "The eye looks like it's healing pretty well, but I take it you have lots of abrasions under those bandages?"
"Pretty much. It could've been a lot worse though."
"A friend of mine from medical school is a great plastic surgeon. He has a six-month waiting list, but I could probably get you a consultation this week if you'd like. I think that you should definitely consider seeing someone, so that you won't scar permanently."
"Thanks, doc, but I'm betting that my mother has about three of the best surgeons on speed dial."
More like ten.
"No problem. The offer is always there if you need to take me up on it."
Dr. Clark smiles at me awkwardly. It's the kind of goofy smile he tends to give me right before he asks me out. He's done it enough times that I'm beginning to notice the signs. This time I decide to beat him to the punch and change the subject.
"So I've brought some great samples for you today. I told you about that new marketing push we've got going on, right? The product has awesome new packaging and information pamphlets I think you're going to like."
Dr. Clark looks somewhat disappointed by the new direction of the conversation but follows my lead.
"I'm all ears. Show me your goods."
I pull out some of my drug samples and marketing materials and spread them across Dr. Clark's desk. I make sure to point out the new question and answer section in the revised patient brochures. It was one of the things that he said he hoped would be updated in future versions of the pamphlets.
Dr. Clark is polite as he patiently goes through what I've brought, but I can tell he has something else on his mind. A date. I hate even thinking it, but I hope his desire to ask me out for what seems like the hundredth time won't distract him from making a commitment to order.
He's my biggest client. He has a large practice that spans three locations and a hospital throughout the city, and he also was listed as one of the Top Doc's in the annual Best Doctor's List in Philadelphia Magazine. In other words, he's a big deal in this town, and I need his business.
"So what do you think?" I ask.
"Well . . . I wasn't sure how to bring this up, but I already had a visit from your office."
"A visit?"
"Your coworker Regan."
What. The. Hell.
"I'm not sure I understand."
"I think it was a misunderstanding. She was following up on some old leads I think and called the office. Paige gave her the
appointment. Paige doesn't really understand about how sales territories work in your company. I didn't know a thing about it until I checked my schedule at the last minute."
There is no way in hell that Regan was following up on an "old lead" that steered her directly to one of the best doctors in the city aka my client, but I don't want to drag Dr. Clark into our internal drama.
"So she showed you all of these materials already then?"
"Yes–at first I wasn't sure what was going on. I thought that maybe you had released me as a client."
"I would never do that, Dr. Clark. Not without telling you first."
"I should have realized that, Sloan, but even though we've known each for so long, I wasn't sure. I feel as if there's so much more to learn about you."
"I'm afraid that there's not much else to learn. I'm not that interesting."
"Actually you're one of the most confident, intelligent, and beautiful women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. To say that you're interesting is probably an understatement. And don't worry. I told Regan that I'd get back to her. I didn't make any commitment one way or another."
"Thank you, doc."
Now I'm starting to feel badly that I've continually put the kibosh on any sort of romantic feelings for the doctor before giving him any sort of a real chance. On paper Dr. Clark is the ideal catch and meets all the requirements of my "perfect man" checklist.
He's an honest, attractive, successful, and most likely a one woman type of man. In other words, "a safe bet." Unlike another man I know, I doubt that he's left a lot of broken hearts in his wake. He seems to be too thoughtful and considerate to go around hurting women's feelings. In fact, he seems to embody most of the personality traits that I tragically run from in a man: respectful, kind, humble, trustworthy, and dependable.
Obviously, I realize that this is all kinds of fucked-up. But aren't we all essentially works in progress?
"So when did you decide that you were going to become a doctor?" I ask in an effort to make light conversation that doesn't make mention of anything romantic.
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