The Theory of Happily Ever After
Page 11
I yank my hand from his. “What is it you want from me, Sam Wellington?”
“Me? Not a thing. I’m simply telling you the truth. I don’t see what you saw in the guy. I think by now we’ve both established that neither one of us is great at false flattery. I’m only saying I’d never lend that guy money. He looks shifty.”
“Luckily, he won’t be asking you for money,” I say, thinking Jake probably had enough of my money to last him a good while. “So we’re all right? Truce? I can go?”
He sits back again. “I’d never keep you. I’m glad we got a chance to work things out.”
“I appreciate your interest in this future book, Sam, and the offer to help me get grant money, but I’ll work things out with your sister. I appreciate that you both believe in me, but trust me, I’m not myself right now. Getting out of this contract is the best thing for your sister as well as me.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes. I need out of this contract. This isn’t where I expected to be in life. I have to recalculate, and it’s very hard to do with everyone’s expectations on me.” I let out a weary sigh. “I’d just rather have my midlife crisis at home in front of the television. After all these years of work, aren’t I entitled to that?”
He laughs again, and I’m drawn by the sound of it. It’s genuine and from the heart, as if I truly earned his joy. “You’re a tad young to have a midlife crisis.”
I shrug. “I’m an old soul.”
His warm smile emerges and brings with it a small thrill that I can only hope is late-onset seasickness. “That makes two of us. Old souls navigating the hipsters’ singles’ cruise. Think they might make us walk the plank?”
“One can hope,” I grumble.
His eyebrows rise.
“I feel the need to set the record straight. Just so you know, I’m not unhappy because I’m educated. In fact, it’s essential that you feel all types of emotions, including sadness, to truly embrace happiness. It has very little to do with intellect.”
“So you’ve said. Can you prove to me statistically that smart women are as happy as women of average intellect?”
“I can, actually. Would it make a difference to you?”
He lifts his wide shoulders in a shrug. “Probably not. Statistics can be manipulated. The truth is, the only truth that matters to most of us is our own experiences. That’s why your second-guessing your data means nothing to my sister, who simply wants that next book.”
Touché. My experience tells me that men prefer simple women who worship the ground they walk on and keep reality at bay. I doubt that I’d believe any statistics to the contrary either.
“I’m sorry that a smart woman broke your heart.”
“I’m sorry that a self-entitled numbskull broke yours. You deserve better. Anyone who would send you that photo knowing that you might still be grieving? He’s heartless. Any grieving over him is completely wasted. It was the fantasy he sold you, not reality.”
While he’s talking, I wonder if he’s ever been married. What type of intellectual woman broke his heart? What was his part in the break?
“What do you do for a living, Sam Wellington? You know, when you’re not waiting around your suite for apologies from caustic female scientists?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Nope. I’m not going to tell you what I do for a living.”
“Why on earth not? That’s basic conversation 101.”
“Because I think you, Dr. Maguire, put people into categories and sort them like socks. I want to see your eyes light up at the sight of me the way they did when you came up with a plan to escape dinner tonight.” He loosens his tie, and it hangs haphazardly around his neck.
“I shouldn’t have done that. Haven’t we established that already?”
“Maybe sorting people into categories contributes to your current lack of happiness. So I’m going to make you figure me out with as little data as possible. Let’s see if you’re up to the task.”
“You needn’t worry yourself,” I tell him. “Nor test me.”
“It’s easier for you to assume that I dislike intelligent women and put them in the bin for Wednesday pickup, isn’t it?”
I did assume that, and everything in my heart wants him to deny it, but he seems unable to give me the satisfaction. He’d rather play this cat-and-mouse game.
“Good talk,” I say as I rise.
“You’re going to write the book?” he asks. “My sister promised that title to her sales team. The company’s stock depends upon your delivery, and she’s risked everything on this venture.”
“I think we’re done here, Mr. Wellington.” I’m reaching for the main door when the kitchen door to my right opens suddenly, and I’m met by Marcus with a tray hoisted on his shoulder.
“Dinner is served,” Sam says casually, and I’m trapped. He knows I’m famished. Haley will ask why I’m back so soon if I head to the room. I’m like a POW at this point, and the enemy who threatens to unravel my career plans and force me to write a book whose data does not exist is at the table. I’d be eating with the wolves.
“I’ll just find a buffet. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Just sit down, Dr. Maguire. Where am I going to go? We’re on a boat. You can practice your speech for tomorrow on me.”
I look at Marcus with the silver tray and then back to Sam. I’m always running from my problems. Maybe this is God’s way of telling me to sit still and deal with them.
“I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of me, Dr. Maguire. I only want what’s best for you and your career. Same as your friends.”
He sounds sincere, but then again, so did Jake.
“I’m currently thinking early retirement might be best for my scientific writing career,” I tell him. “Resting on my laurels or going out with a bang, as they say.” I turn toward the door again when he motions toward the tray that Marcus has just placed on the table. It would be more than rude to leave now, and the only reason I’m here in the first place is to apologize. If I walk out now, I’ll have to come right back and apologize again.
He lifts off the silver cover. “Marcus is going to tempt you with some nutritious”—he looks closer at the plate—“turkey?”
“Miss Kathleen told me that Miss Maggie would need the turkey for a good night’s sleep,” Marcus says.
“I’m starting to feel as if I have a personal nanny.” I smile at Sam. I have to admit, he affects me in ways I can’t explain. He feels like the antithesis of Jake, and that fascinates me so that I want to go deeper. Jake said all the right things and didn’t back it up with his actions. Sam says all the wrong things, but his actions are straight out of one of my movies.
“So Kathleen got a hold of you first and I’m having the healthy blue plate special.” I start to laugh. What else can I do?
“I actually ordered dinner before you got here, with Kathleen as my counsel.”
“That was your first mistake. She eats a lot of things that come in some form of pressed sawdust.”
Sam holds the chair out for me and I sit. “We had a nice dinner. I wish you’d stayed.” He takes a breadstick from the basket on the table and crunches the end of it.
I suddenly wish I’d stayed too.
“I know it was uncomfortable, but you’re going to have to get tougher in business. Especially if you plan to work for the esteemed Dr. Ernie Hamilton.”
My eyes narrow. “How do you know about Dr. Hamilton?”
He ignores my question. “Kathleen ordered you turkey with a side of roasted vegetables because she says you eat too much red meat. So start eating. I’m not taking no for an answer. My sister would have my head if I didn’t take care of her best author. Besides, you’ve already choked tonight, so you can’t embarrass yourself further.” His face has a hint of mirth, but he doesn’t laugh.
The butler covers the meal back up while we bicker, but at Sam’s firm tone, he takes the silver cover and whisks it away.
“Really? No
mashed potatoes? I’m on a cruise and she still expects me to eat roasted vegetables?”
“Tomorrow night I’ll make sure you have your mashed potatoes, and I’ll even get you a steak if you’re up to it. We’ll celebrate your triumph of another great speech here. Say, 8:00?”
I want to be incensed, upset by his obvious harassment, exasperated. What is his endgame exactly—that I agree to write six more books I don’t have for his sister? I mean, I could get Jules fired for less. Well, maybe not. Regardless, I decide to threaten all this after I’ve eaten.
The butler lays a napkin across my lap as though I’m suddenly a fine lady. He sets a warm, moist towel in a bowl in front of me, and I press it to my face and emerge refreshed before wiping my hands.
Sam is beside me, and I can almost feel his gaze upon me. He doesn’t seem at home in a suit, yet he looks made for this one. He’s rugged by nature with a wide, square jaw. Though he’s clean-shaven, he has a day’s shadow. He’s not a mountain man, but he’s probably been a Boy Scout and could survive in the wilderness—maybe a professional snow skier?
Sam certainly isn’t hard on the eyes, so I plan to focus on that aspect rather than whatever drivel came out of his mouth earlier. Maybe I’m too hard on people and expect them to be perfect like my parents expected me to be.
The sparse turkey plate with vegetables seems like a meal fit for a king after my day. But it’s not what I was expecting after a long day of starving myself and a stealth round of speed dating. So much for the glories of cruise food—Kathleen and her “I hate myself” diet have been here and put their stamp on my evening.
Still, I wolf down everything on my plate, and I’m mortified to see that it looks as though I’ve licked it clean. When I look up, Sam is leaning on his fist and grinning at me.
“You made short work of that. I had to keep my fingers out of the way.”
He’s so blasted handsome. I want to drink in his inviting eyes and linger in his expansive suite. Because I’m not in any hurry to leave his side, this is the main reason that I should run out of here without turning back. It’s only been two months since Jake and I parted, and Sam is too hot to be anyone’s rebound. Not that he’d be interested in me if I didn’t work for his sister.
“I guess you were right. I was famished, and I do appreciate you taking care of that.” This comes out sounding more condescending than grateful. Maybe I need voice lessons to work on my tone.
“Kathleen may have ordered your dinner, but in my defense, she told me you were on a special diet for focus. I didn’t want to screw up my sister’s cash cow—I mean, best author.”
I give him a side eye. “You believed her? I have a bigger appetite than Kathleen gives me credit for. Trust me, I could have focused after a steak. Just sayin’.”
“I believed Kathleen until I saw you eat. How on earth are you so slim?”
“God gave me other issues to contend with, I guess. Weight is not one of them.” I knock on the wooden table just for luck. Social etiquette, however . . .
“We had baked Alaska for dessert at the table, and it was delectable. The whole time you were missing it, Kathleen and Haley went on and on about how much you would have enjoyed it.”
I pout.
“I didn’t think it was fair for you to go without, so I managed to sneak you some dessert in the order.” He nods at Marcus, who disappears behind the door again. When he returns, he sets down a banana split with three scoops of ice cream—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry—and a mountain of whipped cream shaped like a luscious, edible Matterhorn.
“I think I love you!” I say without thinking, and this makes him laugh. His laugh is obviously a rare occurrence and, though I’m loath to admit it, all too precious to me.
11
Up to 90 percent of our happiness is based on our inner thoughts. Knowing oneself intimately, without judgment, both reduces stress and increases positive emotions.
The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire
I DON’T SLEEP A WINK WORRYING ABOUT SPEAKING. Granted, I might have a sugar hangover from the banana split, but I’ll never admit to that. I have a right to be nervous because I haven’t had the proper time to prepare for such an event. Data states that people are supposedly more afraid of public speaking than dying—which is stupid. But if you die, someone else has to speak at your funeral and you’re off the hook.
Actually, I’m not afraid of speaking. It’s simply not my best form of communication. My brain works faster than my edit button, and the results can be horrifying. The TED Talk was perfect because I had all of my data there to spill and there were no questions from my colleagues. I knew my audience—other brain nerds like me. No infernal interruptions by people asking for the definition of a mirror neuron. If I’d known that “normals” would watch it on YouTube while searching for the secret to happiness, I would have never pulled off that calm, scientific demeanor. I would have instantly turned into that awkward girl in high school who thought cardigans were the height of teenage fashion and watching The Bachelor on Monday nights was the most scandalous thing I could do.
“I miss Jake,” I say to Kathleen before I catch my error. You can imagine how this goes over.
“You miss the guy who has tried to steal your research and pawn it off as his own? You miss giving him that opportunity? The slouch who doesn’t even have his doctorate? Maggie, when are you going to face the truth? Why are you so naive about people? Sometimes they’re no good!”
“Are you finished? Relax. I only meant I miss his effortless way with the crowd and the way he soothed a room with his opening joke. He eased the audience into the scientific data in a way that made them . . . happy. You know, comfortable.”
“It was comfortable because you didn’t have to do it, that’s all.” Kathleen’s harsh nature gives way to the real her. The soft one she hides most of the time. “You never needed him, Maggie. He robbed you of your self-confidence by telling you lies over and over again until you believed him. All right?”
I nod.
“Shake it off—it’s game day, baby!”
I’m speaking in one of the ship’s many theaters. This one is normally reserved for comedians and dancing reality stars. The near-capacity audience sits in the plush, navy padded seats, abuzz with happy energy and smiles all around. My job is to keep them that way. It never dawned on me that this many people would be interested in science while on vacation.
From backstage, it seems the audience is sober—as it’s only 11:00 a.m. I have to admit, I was counting on a not-fully-cognizant audience. “Don’t they know it’s five o’clock somewhere?” I ask Kathleen. “This can’t be good for me. This crowd needs some beer goggles.”
“Not everyone on a cruise is here to drink. These people are looking for love and substance. Isn’t that lovely?”
“No. No it isn’t. Not when I have to speak.” I peek through the curtains again. “Haley is working the room.”
Haley is spreading her light, which she does so easily—like the people are flowers and suddenly perk up to face the sun.
Kathleen moves me out of the way and looks through the curtain. “Hmm. All ages. Who knew?” Then she looks toward me. “Does it feel dark in here to you?”
“The lights are supposed to be low until I take the stage.”
She shudders. “I suppose you’re right. Now, don’t be nervous. Think about how you feel when you finish one of your happy movies—remember that high?”
I sigh. “I love escaping to movies.”
“I know you do, and if you finish this speech this morning, you can watch all the movies you want. Your new publisher is friends with a producer who works on them for a certain channel you love. She’s managed to gather a collection of new Valentine’s Day movies for you. They’re not even out yet, so you’ll be one of the first to screen them.”
“You’re lying!”
“I’m not. As soon as this speech is over, you can go straight up to see Sam and get a preview.”
“He’s got a theater room in his suite. Jules gave him the DVDs because she said you two got on so well last night.”
“I wouldn’t say we got on. I would say there was lots of ice cream involved.”
“That’s just as well, because I think Haley might have a crush on your publisher’s brother. If you decide to go, you should definitely invite Haley. Wouldn’t that be amazing if she met someone on this cruise?”
“Sad Sack?” I shake my head. “Haley definitely does not have a crush on Sad Sack. Have you seen our Haley?”
“Maggie! Maybe your contacts are fogging over, but Sam is hot.”
“We’re talking about the same guy, right? The hormone-deficient guy you made me apologize to last night?”
“You know exactly who I mean, and stop calling him that. Are you a medical doctor? The guy whose room you had dinner in last night, as if you were some kind of homeless person wandering around a cruise ship. Honestly, Maggie. It’s like we don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Last night I was going to be a dancer if you’d let me. I feel like you were the dad in Dirty Dancing and put Baby in a corner. Or in this case, a suite, making me apologize for something I wasn’t even sorry for. Pathetic.”
Kathleen hasn’t left my side. She’s clearly been given handler duties by Haley—as if I’m Lindsay Lohan about to fall off the wagon at any moment now.
“What is it with you and Sam? No one that tall and that buff is hormone deficient. And coming from me, that’s a professional opinion.” Kathleen places the back of her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m sorry. He just pushed my buttons, that’s all. Haley doesn’t need a guy who thinks women must be stupid to be happy. She’s not stupid, not even close.” I just don’t want to watch Haley walk off with Sam. We shared a moment, and while it may have been mostly created in that romantic, dreamy side of my brain, he’s one man Haley doesn’t need to lay claim to. Though I’d never admit it out loud, I don’t really want to see Sam with anyone. He can find love next week, and she can be as simpleminded as he pleases—once he’s out of my view for good.