Finding Holly

by B. E. Baker

“You’re a womanizer,” I say. “I just couldn’t take it.”

  He scowls. “Something else. That’s definitely not true.”

  I giggle. “My shoe obsession, then.”

  “You could buy out Nordstrom’s, and I wouldn’t care.”

  My heart soars.

  “Try again.”

  “Okay.” I tap my lip. “Oh I know!” I point at my face. “You finally saw me without makeup on and my hair was a mess, and you didn’t even recognize me. Game over.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You look exactly the same.”

  “Oh no. It’s really sad now. It’s your debilitating blindness that ended us.”

  “I see you just fine,” James says.

  “Fine. Then you figure it out.”

  He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t break up at all.”

  “Fine.” In a fit of daring, I say, “Then we won’t break up at all.”

  “Okay,” James says.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Well, I have a conference call in two minutes.” James glances behind his phone and nods at someone. “Check in with me later?”

  “Right,” I say. “As soon as I talk to Paul.”

  He’s smiling when he hits end, but I feel surprisingly bad once the call is over. Because as much as I like this little game, and I’m glad we’re not through yet, it feels more temporary than ever.

  14

  James

  I’m sick of work.

  I’ve never had that thought before, not ever. But when I finally finish for the day, and I fight my way through the crowd of über dedicated reporters still waiting, I don’t want to go home to my apartment and look over case files. I don’t want to watch CSPAN. I don’t want to read the Wall Street Journal. I drive home anyway. And I make polite chit chat with my doorman. And I mash the button for the penthouse in the elevator.

  But what I really want to do is call Paisley. Or better yet, FaceTime her again.

  What I really want is to have her show up at my front door with Chinese food. I want to sit next to her, talk to her, and maybe stroke her hair. I want her to poke at me, and pelt me with questions.

  When my phone bings, I’m altogether too excited. When it’s from her, my heart lurches in an unacceptable way. PAUL SAYS HE STILL HAS PULL!! HE SAYS TO PREPARE A BID.

  I drop my keys, but I don’t even bother picking them up. I’m too excited about texting her back to think about anything else. DOES THAT MEAN TRUDY AND MARY ARE FINE?

  Laughing emoji.

  What the heck does that even mean?

  Dots. More dots. Finally, GEO TOTALLY UNDERSTOOD, ALL OF IT. SHE CALLED THEM AND, FROM WHAT I CAN TELL, YELLED AT THEM BOTH UNTIL THEY CAPITULATED.

  Who uses the world capitulated? I pick up my keys with a grin on my face and open my door. THAT’S GOOD, I finally text back.

  ARE YOU DISAPPOINTED? The face with all the teeth.

  I’ve never really understood that smiley face. Is he looking at his dentist? Is he worried there’s something in his mouth? WHY WOULD I BE SAD?

  NOT SAD. DISAPPOINTED.

  That’s so much longer to type. Good grief. I call her.

  “Hello?” she asks.

  “Hey, look, not everyone can type seven hundred words a minute.”

  “What does that mean?” I can tell from her tone that her right eyebrow is cocked.

  “Disappointed is like a triple word score in Scrabble.”

  “Have you ever played Scrabble?” she asks. “Because the word doesn’t determine the triple. . . Never mind.”

  “Why in the world would your good news make me disappointed?”

  “Oh.” She goes completely quiet.

  “Or is this something boyfriends have to guess?”

  She clears her throat. “If you want to buy that other company, maybe you were hoping this would just die on the vine.”

  She’s so cute I want to scoop her up and squeeze her. “No. I wasn’t upset. I’m happy that we might save your do-gooder bankroll company. And all those cute little Liechtensteiny jobs, and all that firewood has to come from somewhere.”

  Her words come out in a whoosh, like a little kid shooting out of a water slide. “Oh good, I’m so relieved.”

  “Oh no,” I say. “It’s late there. Like really late.”

  “It’s okay,” she says.

  “You were awake at. . .” I do the math in my head. “One thirty in the morning?”

  “Well.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I was asleep. But Paul texted me, and I was so excited that I texted you about it right away. But I texted you, so I can’t really be annoyed that you called.”

  “I really should have FaceTimed,” I say.

  “What does that mean?” I hear her yawn through the receiver.

  “It means, I bet your pajamas are absolutely adorable.”

  “Shaddup.”

  “That’s a very un-princess like thing to say.”

  “Don’t forget it,” she says.

  “I have a theory about that,” I say.

  “Which is?”

  “I think it’s all because of the crown.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If your grandma whoozit hadn’t sold it, or hadn’t made it into seventeen pendants, I bet you’d have been brought up wearing a crown, and then you’d be much more royal.”

  “So if only I had a crown, I’d act like I ought?”

  “Your life would be totally different.”

  “I’ll consider that.” She makes a whingey, whooshing sound and I realize she’s yawning again.

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I do, yes.”

  I wish I was there to kiss her goodnight. But I’m not. I’m here, in stinky, loud, bustling New York. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “This is where you hang up.”

  “I don’t want to hang up,” she says.

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope.” She yawns a third time.

  Which makes me yawn, and I’m not even that tired. “Well, you need to, so I’m going to do it for both of us.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I need to, because I have to get some information nailed down so we can put together our bid.”

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “The cost of our new equipment, and Paul should send over some schematics.”

  “He did,” she says. “And I forwarded them to you.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Then I need to look over that, and come up with some projections. Then I need to review your personnel data and figure out our costs.”

  “Okay.”

  “Look, this is probably better than counting sheep, listening to me talk business, but I doubt from the sound of your jaw cracking with yawns that you need a sleep aid.”

  “Listening to you talking smart is actually kind of hot,” she says.

  Talking to me about work stuff is hot, she thinks. My brain blanks. I blink several times. I clear my throat.

  “Hello?” she asks.

  “Uh, well, I better get on this,” I say. “And then I can send you some figures to look over tomorrow with a list of things we don’t know.”

  “All business and no play makes James a dull boy.”

  “It’s Jack,” I say.

  “Wait, I thought your name was James,” she purrs. “Or is it James to your friends, and Jack to your girlfriend?”

  My mouth goes dry. What has gotten into her? “That’s a line from The Shining. Or, actually, an old proverb quoted in The Shining. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Look, we have a lot of work to do.”

  “I know we do.” All playfulness is gone from her voice, and it’s my fault.

  Which is probably for the best, but it also makes me want to punch the wall. “So, once I get you this list, you can work on it tomorrow.”

  “Right,” she says. “I have two more days here before I fly home.�
�

  Back to America. A short flight away from me.

  “So figure out what you need, and let me know.”

  “I will. And if this thing actually works,” I say.

  “Then we definitely need to celebrate.”

  “Exactly.” With champagne. And strawberries. And kissing. A lot of kissing. “Maybe. . . we can talk details later.”

  “Totally. We can.”

  “But to do that, I need to hang up.”

  “Do it.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  Her laugh is chocolate silk pie, a leveraged buy out, and the pulse of my Ferrari’s engine. “Me either.”

  “What do we do?” she asks.

  Well, she could move to New York. Then we wouldn’t need to talk on the phone. “Not sure.”

  “On the count of three,” she says. “I won’t be fifteen years old anymore, and then we can hang up.”

  I chuckle. “Good plan. Now that you mention it, this is kind of pathetic. Grown men don’t struggle to get off the phone with their girlfriends, real or fake.”

  “It doesn’t feel so fake to me,” she says softly.

  My heart stops.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here,” I say.

  “Well, I really should go.” She hangs up.

  I’m an idiot. I wish my grandma was still alive. Gigi always had the best advice, and I clearly need help. My dad’s more right than he knows. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m messing it all up.

  But one thing I do know how to do is run numbers and compile lists of missing data. I’m up until three a.m., but I send Paisley a pretty comprehensive list of what I need before I drop into bed and pass out.

  The next morning, I work out before even checking my phone to give her some time. But after I shower, she still hasn’t texted, called, or emailed.

  Because I didn’t know what to say, and I said nothing.

  It’s all I do—I knock over blocks. I’ve been fine with that my entire life, right up until now. After all, there’s a place for demolition, there’s room in this world for destruction, but guys like me do not get the princess. I’m not suitable for someone like her, someone who cares so much for everyone around her that people on two continents are vying for her attention.

  When my parents both called, shocked by the news article, that should have been my first sign that I’m operating way above my pay grade.

  My phone rings, and I hate how hopeful I am when I look at the screen. It’s not Paisley, but it’s the next best thing.

  “Hey Luke,” I say. “How’s my favorite married man?”

  “Better every day,” Luke says.

  “That’s encouraging.”

  “I loved being married the first time, but Mary is something else. She’s driven, and organized, and hilarious, and she makes me absolutely insane.”

  “Well, that’s a girl thing, I think,” I say. “Or that’s what I hear.”

  “What I hear, from just about everyone, is that you’ve been holding out on me, old man.”

  “Um, you’re several years older than me. I don’t think you get to call me old man.”

  “I do when you’re finally growing up. Putting on some big boy britches at last.”

  Stupid Luke. “Well, I don’t know what you heard,” I say. “But it’s more a sequence of odd events than anything else.”

  “She told her family her boyfriend was named James Fulton.” Luke pauses, probably for emphasis. I do have a pretty thick skull and things take time to sink in. “She told them that before you showed up in all your stupid, muscly, glory.”

  “I was the last guy she felt a connection to, she said.”

  “Right. And did you know that she called you Hawk Guy? Trudy volunteered that information.”

  “We did hit it off at your wedding,” I admit.

  “And then?”

  “I didn’t call her.”

  “Why not?” Luke asks. “I mean, really, when you asked about her, you seemed interested enough, so why didn’t you?”

  “She’s too good for me, for one thing.”

  “That’s in your head,” Luke says. “Put there by your miserable parents.”

  Luke has always liked me far more than I deserved.

  “What else?” he asks.

  “I’m vindictive. She basically told me not to call unless I was done keeping score, and right now, I’m working on repaying my own father.”

  “So, let it go.”

  I shake my head, not that he can see me. “Can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Wow, man, where should I send your payment for this shrink session?”

  “It’s not like you’ve got anyone else to tell you when you’re being stupid,” Luke says. “Or to congratulate you when you do something right.”

  That stings.

  “Only because no one else has seen through the stupid wall you throw up. You’re a good person, deep down. If you’d let anyone in enough to see it, then you’d have people beating down the door to be your friend.”

  “And this episode of My Little Ponies is brought to you by Luke—”

  “I’m done,” Luke says. “I won’t keep badgering you when you don’t want me to, but think about this. Paisley is a once in a lifetime kind of girl. She’s a literal princess, but that doesn’t matter. I didn’t know that, and I’d have said the same thing before I found out.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious. She has always acted royal in my book. That woman runs to our house every time Mary calls. She never lets us pay her, and she’s always, always there. She’s as solid as they come.”

  “You are aware of why she’s in Atlanta?” I ask. “She ran away.”

  “I’m going to let that go,” Luke says, “because you haven’t ever lost anyone.”

  “My grandmother—”

  “Nope. Let me rephrase. You haven’t lost someone way before their time. I know Gigi meant a lot to you, but she lived her life and then some. I’ve lost someone early. I’ve lost someone under circumstances that felt like more than I could bear. Geo has, too. If you want insight, call one of us. You have no idea what you would do if your best friend died, or your sibling.”

  I think about Luke dying and I want to throw up. Even right now, even while he’s yelling at me.

  “Don’t judge her for that. Paisley is worth the effort, even if you swing and miss.” He pauses, ostensibly for emphasis. “Swing. At least you’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you tried.” Luke hangs up.

  So that night, I call her. We talk way too long.

  “It’s almost one in the morning in New York,” I finally say. “Which means it’s almost seven a.m. in Liechtenstein.”

  “What are you saying?” she asks.

  “I miss you.” I nearly choke trying to reel those words back in. “That’s what I’m saying, I guess.” We’ve been talking for hours, but we haven’t discussed anything that matters, not really.

  “I miss you, too.” I hear a tiny inhalation and I know she’s biting her lip.

  “Hey, where are we on the bid?” I finally ask.

  “Oh,” she says. “I sent you everything about five minutes before you called. I thought that was why you called.”

  Drat. Now I have a lot of work ahead of me. “I didn’t realize that.”

  “You need to go, don’t you?”

  “Paul’s email said we’re at the end of their window.”

  “I know,” she says. “That’s true.”

  “Bids are due tomorrow by midnight.”

  “You need to go.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I should try to take a nap.”

  “You should.” I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt. “Beauty sleep, I think they call it.”

  “Alright.”

  “Goodnight.” I force myself to hang up, and then I stay up almost as late as she did putting together my package. Cooper won’t be happy to get a huge package to
review on a Saturday, but that’s why he gets paid what he does. I text him and go to sleep myself.

  I’m on the phone with Paisley for two more hours going over details after I wake up, but we finish the bid.

  “Are you sure we should go with the higher number?” I ask.

  “It’s a risk,” she says. “But you’re taking a risk on us. And you said you need that figure to have the EBITDA be high enough. Right?”

  “There’s no guarantee either way,” I say.

  “Look, every company that’s bidding wants to turn a profit.” She shifts and I wonder where she’s sitting. I wonder what she’s wearing. I wonder what she’s thinking.

  “That’s true, but the lower our number, the more likely they choose us.”

  “I’m sure if we send this over now and it’s way too high, Paul will text us.”

  I hope she’s right.

  “Okay, I’m going to submit it,” I say.

  “Do it,” she says.

  “You know what?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “I slept so late today that I’m not even tired right now.”

  “Me either,” she says. “But my parents and Cole are complaining.”

  Because she goes home in a day, and she’s spent all her time talking to me. Guilt gnaws at me. “Then go,” I say. “Spend time with your family.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I’ve got Netflix here. I’m good.”

  “You have Netflix?” she asks. “You so did not tell me that before. Now I really wish I was in New York.”

  I laugh. “Well, keep that in mind.”

  “I will.” She hangs up, and it’s like the light in my room goes out. I have no interest in eating, watching TV, reading, sleeping.

  I’m like a sad panda.

  Which is not who I am. I force myself to lift, the heaviest weight I’ve lifted in a while. And then I take two Unisom and pass out. When I wake up, I have a new email. It’s not a good one.

  Our bid wasn’t selected.

  I throw my face in my hands and bend over double. I don’t want to tell Paisley. I didn’t want to sell Berg Telecom before, but now? Now that I’m swinging for her, I really don’t want to sell it. We should have used the lower number. I should never have clicked submit on the bid we sent. I don’t care about my grandfather and his billions. I don’t care about sticking it to my dad.