ACCIDENTAL TRYST

by Natasha Boyd

  His admissions about his family, and his mother, and everything he was facing this week suddenly felt terribly important—beyond the fact he'd actually shared them with me at all. I had a horrible feeling I had just done what everyone close to Trystan had always done.

  Rejected him.

  Trystan Montgomery, maybe unbeknownst to himself, was a man in desperate need of a relationship.

  The last thing he'd said before I closed the door on him was “Please don't leave.”

  "Shit," I said aloud and had to steer the car to the side of the highway. I couldn't tell if I was nauseatingly hungry from skipping breakfast and lunch or the thought of hurting Trystan was actually making me sick all by itself. I laid my head on the steering wheel and counted to ten.

  "Okay," I said to myself and took a deep breath.

  First? I needed food to function and think clearly. Chic-fil-A fries and a lemonade. Then counsel from friends while I figured out how to fix this colossal mistake I'd made.

  I had to fix it, but I couldn't date him. To start with, we lived in different cities and he'd already broken my trust once by sticking me in his harem hotel and lining me up with all his other women. If I closed my eyes and pictured Trystan Montgomery, he was wearing a crisp, dark suit, arrogant eyes, and a starched white shirt that had my splattered pride all over it. If I didn't walk away from this, he'd likely also end up sponging the mangled remains of my exploded heart off his arctic blue tie.

  What I would definitely do, however, after I made him understand my reasons for leaving this morning had more to do with me than him, was date more. Even if I had to get on those horrible apps. It could take me a long while to find someone who made my girl parts all swoony like Trystan Montgomery did, but I had to start somewhere and the sooner I got started, the sooner I might find someone.

  * * *

  "Do I call him?" I asked.

  "No!" said Annie.

  "Yes, of course," said Armand at the same time.

  It was Sunday, and the three of us had driven out to Sullivan’s Island to have brunch at The Obstinate Daughter. Annie had left my sweet godson with his daddy, but she kept wincing and pressing her boobs.

  "Damn it." She shook her dark curls. “This is like nature's way of trying to make sure you don't abandon your baby. My boobs are about to explode."

  "Por favor . . ." Armand complained.

  "Go pump," I said. "We'll be here." I was currently enjoying a bottomless mimosa on the house as a result of all the social media I'd done for them.

  She maneuvered out of the booth with her bag, and then I got the update from Armand about how business was going and his plans for expansion of the café.

  "Oh, don't look now," whispered Armand, suddenly agitated. "There's a famous actor behind you."

  "Where?" I turned.

  "Ugh, I said don't look."

  "Sorry." I scanned the area but didn't see anyone. Oh wait, someone looked familiar. "He was in Prometheus." And he kind of reminded me of Trystan. Or maybe Trystan was all I could think about. "The guy who becomes infected and gets his girlfriend pregnant with the alien baby?"

  "That's the one. He's muy caliente."

  And I had unprotected sex with a self-proclaimed serial dater not once but twice. An alien baby might be a blessing. I was on the pill of course, but . . .

  "You are thinking about sex," Armand observed.

  My eyes snapped to his, mortified. "How did you know that?"

  He shrugged. And waved his fingers in the direction of my face. “You bite your lip and your cheeks go all red. But you didn't look happy. Was it bad sex? Is this why you are all crazy and sad?"

  "Ugh. It was good. Amazing."

  "And?"

  "And I . . . nothing." I picked up the champagne glass and had another sip of orange juice and sparkling wine. "There's nothing."

  "Maybe you should let it go then?"

  "Exactly what I said." Annie slid back into the booth.

  "That was quick," I said.

  "Yeah, they were ready if you know what I mean."

  Armand shook his head.

  Annie smirked at him, always enjoying his discomfort with female workings. "All I'm saying is," she turned back to me, "don't breadcrumb the guy if you have no intention of seeing him again."

  "Breadcrumb?" asked Armand. "Is this another sexual thing only women know?"

  Annie laughed. "No. I mean, if he was hurt by your rejection, let him get over it. Don't message him and call him to make him feel better. It could lead him on again. It's selfish, it's only about making you feel better."

  "Huh," said Armand. "That makes sense."

  "But—" But I wanted to call him. I missed him. Goddamn it, I missed him. How was that even possible? I hadn't known him a week.

  "Look, I'm not an expert on relationships," Annie qualified. "I'm only an expert in how to complicate one by getting pregnant."

  "She speaks truth." Armand nodded.

  "Unless of course, you want to see him again?" Annie asked.

  I folded my arms. "He lives in New York."

  "And will be running a business down here." Annie cocked an eyebrow. "Visiting a lot."

  Armand pursed his lips. "Again. She speaks truth."

  * * *

  I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon back in my little cottage, finishing up a few custom drapery orders and then organizing my meeting schedule for the week. I rolled out my yoga mat and went through my workout until I was sweaty and empty-headed.

  But my clear mind didn't last long. Despite the fact there was absolutely no evidence Trystan Montgomery had inhabited my life and home the last few days, there he was in my head again. I never asked him how his dinner with his family had gone on Friday night. It must have been hard. And then we'd slept together and I'd bolted. I never asked him what the L stood for in his name. I never—

  My phone rang and I startled. I normally turned it to silent when I did yoga; I must have forgotten. I got up and looked at the screen.

  D'Andre.

  I answered immediately, my first thought being it was something about David.

  "What's up, Emmy?"

  "I'm good, D'Andre. All okay up there?"

  "Good, good. David's good. Talking up a storm today. Got a visitor actually."

  "He did?"

  "Trystan Montgomery."

  My stomach dropped. "God. Really?"

  D'Andre chuckled. "Yep, knew you'd be surprised."

  "What did he say?"

  "I don't know, he just signed in and asked where to find him."

  "H—How did David do?" What did they talk about? And why? God, I had so many questions. But also, I was never sure how David would react to new people and new situations. "Was David okay?"

  "Good. He was a little scattered, but they chatted for a while. Couldn't stay and eavesdrop. Wish I could have."

  "Me too." I breathed deeply. "How weird."

  "Yeah, I guess. That's why I thought I should tell you."

  "Well, thanks. Let me know if David says anything about it. And how are you?"

  "Good, good. Thanks to you, I think Xanderr is going to produce a short piece from me to put on his YouTube channel."

  "That's great, D'Andre."

  "It really is. Already been gettin' more hits since he talked about going with me to see Logic. Which was awesome, by the way. You missed a great show."

  "I bet I did." Instead I'd had phone sex with Trystan.

  "All right, girl. I'll let you know if I hear more."

  "Thanks, D'Andre."

  "Later."

  I pressed end and went back to my yoga mat to lie down.

  Huh.

  37

  Emmy

  It was Tuesday morning. This time last week I'd been on my way to the airport. Now I marched along the sidewalk on my way to work, a cup of Armand's strong Colombian cappuccino in hand, and tried not to think about Trystan.

  I actually wished we hadn't slept together. It had been incredible, of course, b
ut if we hadn't, I'd still be texting him. Right now I'd probably send him some kind of one-week anniversary of losing his phone to a crazy girl text message. Heck, I might even get really wordy and write him an email. We'd laugh. And flirt. Who knew? We might have even had a few more sexy phone calls. And I would have thought they were mind-blowing because I would be in blissful ignorance of how much more life-altering actually being with him in the flesh was.

  But instead my phone was dead silent.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and entered my office.

  Steven, my boss, was standing at the railing, looking over the lobby. "Nice of you to make it in."

  Looking at the clock on my phone, I noticed I was exactly on time, so I ignored him and nodded to the new receptionist we hired a few weeks after our last one, Trina, lost her job. She handed me a couple of leads who'd called in and pinged our website. Then in an instant I decided something. "Steven, do you have a moment?" I asked, looking up at him. "I'd like to talk to you."

  He looked annoyed and checked his own watch. "I think I can spare a few."

  "Great." I tossed my empty coffee in the recycling can and trotted up the stairs, heading past him into his office. He had a lovely big window overlooking the old courthouse on East Bay Street. The room was far too big for the little amount of work he actually did.

  I took a seat before he could offer. He pulled the door closed and headed around his desk. "Everything all right?" he asked, looking wary.

  "Not really." I shook my head and made an unimpressed moue with my mouth. "You see, I've come to the realization I'm pretty indispensable around here. I love my job, and I really enjoy getting to know the clients." I tilted my head to the side. "Their needs, their wants," I listed. "Trying to get them on the map of the Charleston scene within their budget. I live and breathe my job, and I'm good at it."

  Steven was quiet.

  "Right?" I asked.

  "Yes, you are," he allowed. "But, I have to say—"

  "And you know I get approached all the time by recruiters from larger holding companies looking for someone to run the face of their hotels and restaurants?"

  Steven sat upright but seemed to pretend to be shifting in his chair. He straightened a pen on his desk, and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  I waited him out to see what he had to say to that. But it looked as if he wasn't going to say anything. My earlier bravado that prompted me to seek this conversation began to fade. Why had I felt strong again? Oh, because I was thinking of my text chats with Trystan and remembering when he said he thought my boss didn't seem to be able to run his company without me.

  I swallowed.

  But Trystan said a lot of things. And a lot of them were probably simply meant to flatter and flirt.

  "Are you resigning?" Steven asked.

  Oops. This wasn't the outcome I foresaw at all. What had I done? How could I move David if I'd lost my job? Had I played chicken and lost? I needed to hedge. If I said yes, he could accept. No and I lost all my power. "Well—"

  "Look, Emmaline . . ." Steven scrubbed a hand down his face. "I was waiting to tell you this until after we won the work on Friday, but obviously that didn't happen because the client cancelled. But no matter, you have certainly earned your reputation around here. I wanted to offer you the position of vice president . . . it would come with a pay raise. Modest, but a raise nonetheless."

  I thought my mouth dropped open, I wasn't sure. So I made an effort to close it, and it snapped shut. I hadn't even had to ask for a pay raise yet. I'd been busy debating in my head whether this had been a bad idea. Then I thought he was going to usher me out the door with a pat on the back. And now he was offering me a promotion? He was definitely thinking fast.

  "I can see that wasn't quite enough." He sighed, looking more disturbed at my silence than I'd ever seen him. "We can't afford to lose you. Your salary was going to increase by five percent. I'll make it ten?"

  I sucked my lips between my teeth as I pretended to believe he'd really been planning on giving me a raise.

  "Fifteen," Steven said, outbidding himself. He stood up and paced to the window.

  His action jerked me into the moment. "Twenty," I said. "And my own office. I can wear what I want and no high heels. And five additional personal days off a year, no questions asked."

  Steven crossed his arms as he turned. "Okay."

  What? That was easy. "As a company-wide policy," I tacked on, gaining even more confidence. "We all need days we don't account for to deal with sick family members or unexpected appointments." Trina, the receptionist, could have done with those.

  "Don't push it. You can have five extra. Anyone below VP level can have three extra."

  Elation was ballooning up inside me, making me want to shout and scream in happiness, but with all my might I tried to keep a straight face. "Deal," I croaked and stood.

  Steven's shoulders slumped. "I don't know where I can carve out an office."

  "This one could probably be divided into two." I smiled broadly. "I do love the view." I nodded out the window to the courthouse. "Justice and fairness and all that. It's inspiring."

  My phone that I still had clutched in my hand began ringing. It was David's facility number in Rockaway. "Sorry, I have to take this," I told Steven hurriedly. "And yes, it's a personal call." I turned and left. "Hello?"

  "Emmy, it's Penny from Rockaway Nursing and Rehabilitation." My insides always lurched when I got a call like this, expecting bad news. If it was Penny who called and not D'Andre it usually wasn't good.

  "Penny. Hi, is everything okay?"

  "It's wonderful," she said. "Have you had a call from the facility in Summerville?"

  I frowned. "No?"

  "They're making room for David."

  "What?" I covered my mouth with my hand. My eyes stung as relief swamped me, making me feel weak. I closed my eyes. "For real?"

  "Yes. For real. They may be able to accept him as soon as next week."

  "Oh my goodness. How . . .?"

  "No idea. But let us know as soon as you speak to them because we'll have to officially stop his Medicaid here in order for you to apply for it there. There's no overlap."

  "That's the scary part," I said. But oh my God, I'd just gotten a raise. I might be able to do this.

  "Yes," she agreed. "But just think how happy David'll be to see you more often. It'll all work out. I made sure to let the administrator in Summerville know we needed to file the paperwork as quickly as possible."

  My phone beeped with an incoming call. A quick check told me it was a South Carolina number. "This might be them on the other line, Penny."

  "Okay, honey, call me back later."

  "Thank you. Thank you so much." I switched over. "Hello?"

  "Miss Dubois? I'm calling from Magnolia Meadows in Summerville."

  * * *

  To: tmontgomery

  From: edubois

  Subject: L?

  * * *

  Dear Trystan L. Montgomery

  . . .

  . . .

  * * *

  I clicked the small red X in the upper corner of the email. A pop-up box appeared. Did I want to delete this message? No. But I didn't know what the hell to say. Asking what the L stood for in his name was probably not the most appropriate way to start. I clicked Cancel and tried again.

  * * *

  To: tmontgomery

  From: edubois

  Subject: Thank you

  * * *

  Dear Trystan

  . . .

  . . .

  * * *

  Oh my God. Why was this so hard?

  38

  Trystan

  Nobody should do anything that feels like base jumping. Ever. It may be exhilarating, an adrenaline rush like no other, but it's the world's most dangerous sport for a reason. Not many people can make a safe landing after that kind of jump.

  In contrast to the highs I've woken up with the last couple of mornings, I have definitely
miscalculated my landing. When I wake up in my apartment in New York on Sunday morning, alone, I feel hollow. Emotionally I’m lying at the bottom of a cliff.

  And to be honest, waking up in my old life feels like waking from a dream where my whole life was thrown into a blender and I'm not sure if I really woke up because I feel so . . . shit.

  I have no work to do to keep my mind occupied because my company is selling in four days and every single i is dotted and t crossed. Montgomery Homes & Facilities. That's something I can focus on.

  I get up, make coffee, and shower then pull out all the financials I was given last week. After two hours I'm on the phone to Robert who's on the way out of mass.

  "There's a discrepancy. . ." I begin when he answers.

  * * *

  I thought maybe I made the decision to go out to Rockaway and meet David in person almost to convince myself the previous week hadn't been some elaborate dive into the Matrix. But then it turned out I needed to anyway.

  After finding the discrepancy on our available Medicaid beds and bothering not only Robert, but our two accountants, on a Sunday morning, they somehow miraculously found additional space at the facility in Summerville.

  Robert told me the facility needed a personal assessment or recommendation if they were going to make a place for David. I used that as my excuse when I texted Bobby and asked him to drive me out of the city.

  * * *

  "She seems like a lovely lady," Bobby says out of the blue after about twenty minutes.

  "I'm sorry. What?"

  "Emmy," he says. "You meeting up with Emmy?"

  My shoulders lower. "No."

  "Oh. My apologies."

  "It's fine." I sigh and stare out the window.