Definitely Naughty

by Jo Leigh

  But what did it matter when she didn’t have a theme?

  Or Liam.

  No, no, no. She couldn’t think about him. Or the message she’d left. Or…

  God.

  She needed coffee. And not that crap from the break room. A trip to the coffee shop meant she would have to make herself look less like a before photo for a facelift. Screw it. She shoved on a pair of sunglasses. Just before she reached the back exit her cell rang. She dropped her purse in her haste to see if it was… “Hey, Caro.”

  “Don’t tell me you have a cold.”

  “Just stuffed up.”

  “We’re in line at the falafel place. You want anything?”

  “No! I mean, don’t come by. I’m really, really busy.” Aubrey had meant to sound anything but hysterical. Ha.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m meeting with Yvonne tonight.”

  “Oh, crap. Well, you’ve got to eat, right?”

  “I’m not hungry. I have to work, that’s all.”

  Caro didn’t say anything for too long. “Aubrey, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Aside from the fact that I’ll never see Liam again and that I’m going to be fired, and you’ll have to find a new roommate because I’ll never work in New York again, I’m fine. I’m just peachy.”

  “Stay put. We’ll be there in ten.”

  Before Aubrey could say anything, the call disconnected. She hit speed dial three, determined to convince her friends to leave her alone, but when Caro answered, she only managed to say, “Bring me a big coffee please?”

  Instead of heading out to the street, Aubrey got two new boxes of tissues from the restroom cabinet and holed up in her drawing room.

  “I understand,” Sanjula said, folding up her napkin after Aubrey had whined her way through the whole story, “that you’re scared. And what you do when you’re scared is run.”

  “It’s not running if you’ve actually been fired.”

  “It is,” Caro said, “if you’re the one who’s setting yourself up to be fired.”

  Aubrey couldn’t stand looking at the stupid sketch of the scary Christmas idea another second. She got her thickest black marker and slashed an X over the whole damn thing. “I wouldn’t cross the street for any of these,” she said. “I’ll have to move back to Utah. Get a job at the drugstore. Mortify my parents until they kick me out. Again.”

  “Shut up.” Caro got off the folding chair and into Aubrey’s face. “Stop it. Work with what you have. They’re great ideas, and Yvonne’s going to tell you what works and what doesn’t. That’s the easy part. What the hell were you thinking kicking Liam to the curb? Are you insane?”

  “It was always a matter of time, Caro. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t. You guys are fantastic together.” She turned to Sanjula, still sitting on the edge of Aubrey’s desk. “Tell her.”

  “I love you, Aubrey, you know I do, but you’re a fool to let him go.”

  “Thanks. Both of you. As if it’s my decision.”

  “Of course it’s your decision.” Caro rolled her eyes very expressively. “Unless you’ve suddenly decided to follow the runes or something.”

  “Yeah, because I’m exactly the woman he needs at his side when he runs for police commissioner.”

  “Why not you?”

  Aubrey wanted to strangle both of them. “Are you guys purposely being dense? I never even got my degree. I’m a flake. You guys just said that. Not two seconds ago. You said I run when I’m afraid. That’s not the kind of woman Liam deserves.” All the air seemed to leave her body, as if she’d been popped like a balloon. “He’s better than that.”

  “Don’t you even,” Caro said, taking her hand. “He’s not better than you.”

  “Even if he weren’t, I still couldn’t see him anymore.”

  Sanjula hopped down, and grabbed Aubrey’s other hand. “Why not?”

  “I let him get to me. It’s why I don’t have the design yet. Why I’m in this mess. I got so caught up in him, I forgot to do my job. God, last night he kept looking at my college artwork…he thought my paintings were gallery worthy, and when I said I was already a sure thing, he got pissed. ”

  “How awful,” Sanjula said. “That bastard.”

  “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

  Caro finally looked at her with some sympathy. “Well, then, you’d better get to work. Because once this stupid window is done, you’re going to call him, and he’ll come running.”

  Aubrey winced. “Don’t say that. It’s already so hard, I can’t afford to set myself up like that.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk about it another time. Now, can we do anything to help?”

  She hugged each of them in turn, trying not to get tears and snot on their clothes. “No. I’m on my own.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” Sanjula hugged her back, hard. “We’re with you. Yvonne’s with you. There are a lot of people in your corner, and we all have faith that you’ll knock this out of the park.”

  The whole ride over to Le Muse, Liam couldn’t get over her voice mail. Voice mail. Who the fuck breaks up over voice mail? After all they’d been through?

  Oh, he was pissed. Not just at that message, but at the fact that he’d been so shaken he’d left his meeting with the ADA.

  Aubrey had sounded like hell, and utterly desperate, but lots of people were desperate around a big deadline, and Jesus, they didn’t just cut out the people who cared about them.

  Shit. He should never have left. It was irresponsible and he’d have to do some major damage control once he got back to the office. Just when he was really making headway with the crew, with the boss.

  Damn it all to hell, what had Aubrey done to him?

  Once inside the store, Liam almost barged into the back room, ready to have it out with her, but the closed door gave him a second to think. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to be angry. She was bone-deep scared; he needed to remember that. She probably didn’t even mean what she’d said. After the window went up, they’d just go back to normal. But for now, she needed him calm, so he would help her calm down.

  Aubrey didn’t jump when he walked in. Didn’t even look up. Of course, employees walked in and out of there all day. Which would be very inconvenient now, so he locked up. If anyone knocked, he’d deal with it.

  God, she was tense. And just as miserable as she’d sounded. The steel of her spine had morphed into something brittle, bringing her shoulders forward, her dark curls tumbling over her cheeks. The grip on her pencil would break it soon. She’d slapped a few of her sketches on the whiteboard, but two of them had angry black X’s from corner to corner.

  “Aubrey?”

  Her head jerked up, her eyes swollen and red, but wide and wild. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got your message.”

  “And you didn’t understand the part where I said I couldn’t see you again?”

  “I understood the words. But the explanation sucked.”

  She pressed her lips together before she looked down, away. “Please don’t, Liam. I said I was sorry, but I can’t deal with this. Not today.”

  “I know. You have that meeting with Yvonne.” He walked to her desk. “That’s also why I’m here.”

  “To dig my grave deeper? Gee, thanks.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “Please, Liam. I meant what I said. I can’t be with you.”

  Her fear was palpable, her face pale, her hands shaking. She was twisted into knots, but that wasn’t news—he’d heard it in her voice mail. Looking at the misery in her swollen eyes, he wasn’t feeling so hot himself. This had to be about the window, right?.

  She needed perspective. That’s all. “I think you’re expecting so much from yourself that your view of what you’ve already done is skewed.” He looked at the whiteboard. “That one, the sleepover. That’s great. It’s creative and different. I’ve never seen the theme done that way before.
And Yvonne’s already said she liked it.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then sniffed before she said, “I know you think I’m terrific, and that’s really sweet, but I’m sorry, you’re not exactly an expert. Or a blogger, or a journalist. I’ve got to wow this city, Liam. In pictures, on YouTube, on television and all over the internet. Nothing about a sleepover is in any way going to impress the media.”

  “If you’d drawn teenagers and sleeping bags, I’d agree, but that’s a Manhattan penthouse, and what they’re wearing is as close to X-rated as you can get on a public street. It’s sophisticated and witty. Like a Norman Rockwell painting after a few martinis.”

  She smiled. Shook her head.

  Her condescension would have pissed him off any other time. “Okay, then tell me this. Why did you keep that drawing when you’ve thrown out so many others?”

  “I don’t know. I was drunk? Distracted?”

  He went around the desk and crouched next to her. It hurt when she scooted her chair back, frustrated the hell out of him, too, but he stopped her. “I think you’re forgetting something pretty important.”

  “What would that be, Yoda?”

  “Yvonne hired you because she knew you were amazing. She didn’t hire you as an apprentice, or expect you to work your way up to the front window. She saw you, and knew you were the right person for the job. You’ve thrown away more great ideas than most of the window dressers in this town will ever come up with. Of course it’s scary, but those ideas on that board? Yvonne would be thrilled with any one of them.”

  Aubrey sighed as she looked at him. Long enough for him to see her poor red eyes well with tears, and even though she tried hard to blink them away, a few fell. He wanted to kiss her so badly. Hold her tight, help her believe in her own talent.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice as tight as a corset. “I love that you’d come here and say that. I wish it were true, but art isn’t like that. Every piece stands on its own.”

  “No, I get that. And you’re right. But remember, I was a beat cop. I walked through half a dozen pairs of shoes on the streets of Manhattan. Each one of those ideas on the board is better than anything I’ve seen. Even the ones you’ve crossed out.”

  He leaned in and kissed her quivering lips. “Look, we both know I’m not really a muse. The thing is, you never needed one. You’ve already got all the discipline, the bravery and the talent. But I don’t regret a minute of pretending I made a difference.”

  Knees popping as he got to his feet, he tried to come up with another reason to stay, but that was just selfishness. Sure, she needed some distance until this was over, but she’d realize the time limit was just part of the game. “Once we get through this next week, things’ll go back to normal. I promise. You’ll feel better about everything. About us.”

  The change that came over her made his gut tighten and his jaw tense. The panic was gone, replaced with a sadness that was painful to look at. “Liam. I know you don’t want to hear this but please listen to me. This was never meant to be anything more. I should have ended it earlier, but it was always going to end. I don’t want things to go back to normal between us. I’m sorry.”

  All the air left the room. The dagger in his chest made it impossible to breathe. She meant it. Every broken word on that voice mail. She didn’t want him. Want them. The end.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said. “A lot.”

  She sniffed, nodded, couldn’t meet his gaze. And she didn’t ask him to stay.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aubrey had chosen the thick red marker because it was the only color that felt right. Black made her spiral into darkness, purple made her throat tight, and forget about blue. Red was the answer.

  Now if she only knew the right question.

  So she let her arm and her hand and her fingers take over, let them make scrawls and circles and wavy lines on the biggest of her sketch pads. Unfettered, not thinking at all, just doing.

  Only that wasn’t true. She was thinking. Not about the window, though. Not about anything useful.

  Caro telling her she’d set herself up for failure. Sanjula calling her out for running. Liam.

  Her hand stopped.

  Caro’s voice in her head. “Work with what you have.”

  The marker moved, jagged shapes, no symmetry, ugly, harsh.

  Caro’s disappointment. In her eyes and the crease in her forehead, in the tilt of her blond fauxhawk.

  Sanjula’s pronouncement. “You’re a moron.”

  It was true, but not for the reasons they suspected. Not for facing the truth. Aubrey’s hand shook, but she kept on going as she thought about exactly how stupid she’d been for letting him get to her. Letting herself fall for him. She’d always known she’d end up with someone in the arts. A musician, a sculptor. God help her, an actor. Someone temperamental and selfish and as full of himself as she was. It would be stormy and dramatic and eventually tragic. Worse, it would whither into nothing when they both realized their talent was marginal, their achievements minor.

  Shortly before Aubrey had left home, she’d confided in her mother that very picture of her future. It wasn’t often that they shared such things. Mostly, they argued or her mother despaired. Aubrey had waited for a disagreement, a denial. Instead, her mother had looked at her with deep sadness in her dark eyes.

  The marker had stopped again. She let it drop to the paper, saw the horrible red stains on her arm. Like a rash.

  She tore the page off the pad and wadded the thing up until it was a tightly packed ball, all the while staring at the whiteboard.

  And it hit her. The sleepover. The cocktail party. Neither one worked as singular ideas, but together? She tossed the wad behind her on the pile of other wads, and began again. This time with pencils. With purpose. It wasn’t caffeine that got her blood pumping this time. It was adrenaline and magic.

  Liam should have gone back to work, but he couldn’t seem to get up off the couch. He hadn’t even taken off his coat. A glance at his watch made him wince. For two hours he’d been staring at that preposterous Christmas tree on the table.

  Who makes a Christmas tree out of cupcake liners? He hadn’t even realized those things had a proper name. They’d always just been what wrapped cupcakes and muffins. Since Aubrey had decorated his apartment, he’d learned they came in an assortment of colors and sizes. He’d ended up buying a blueberry muffin at the coffee place just because he’d been staring at it for an uncomfortably long time.

  He also hadn’t known that companies made novelty crime scene tape.

  It had made him smile every time he looked at it. Not this time, though. Now he felt like throwing the stupid thing in the garbage, but he couldn’t rally the energy to go out to the Dumpster.

  Maybe as the new reality sunk in, he’d feel differently. All he wanted to do was have a drink. The Scotch in his cupboard was just a few feet away. Maybe that was good. Getting drunk wasn’t his thing. He’d tried it a couple of times in college, and it hadn’t ended well. In truth, the part where it was pleasant and numbing and terrific was really short, and the part where he felt like crap lasted a really long time. And hell, he already had the feeling-like-crap phase down pat.

  He’d expected her to say something before he left. To stop him. It had been tempting to try to persuade her with a dose of logic and some sweet talk, but then he’d finally gotten it, finally understood that her meltdown wasn’t just about her deadline. Her panic was about them. He knew there was nothing more he could’ve said or done.

  But damn it, he liked her. Too much, obviously. When had lots and lots of sex turned into this? An incredibly complicated mess. Next to the tree sat a pair of tickets and a confirmation. The surprise weekend trip to Oyster Bay was going to be her Christmas present. He’d been trying to decide if he should have it gift-wrapped. When had he begun to think of them as a real couple?

  Hell, he’d told his folks about her. His mother had been concerned that she was a window dresser. Aske
d him if that was a stable career. He’d stood up for Aubrey. Tried to explain that she was an artist. A real talent. There was no telling where she’d go from there.

  “Fuck,” he said loudly. He pushed himself off the couch and went to get the Scotch. He wished he could call a friend. Go to a bar, get cajoled into a better mood. But his whole life had been so wrapped up in his work, then in defending himself against that meme, against being typecast and dismissed. He’d skipped the part where he was supposed to make friends.

  He could call Alex, his college roommate, but they hadn’t spoken in too long. There was always his brother. Truth was, he didn’t much care for Ted. He could go to the White House, see if anyone was there. Maybe Tony Ricci would be itching for a fight. That had some promise.

  Or the Session House. Where he’d met Aubrey that first night. God, she’d been something. So bright and vibrant she’d seemed to dim the lights. Made everyone else in the bar feel like extras, props. She’d just been totally herself. Undiluted Aubrey, and it had made him drunk with want. He’d really liked that fedora. She’d worn it for him a few nights later, unencumbered by any other clothing so he could get the full effect.

  Every time he’d been with her it had been like Christmas. He’d unwrap her like a present, peel away the dress or the skirt or the pants until it was Aubrey neat, like a perfect Scotch straight up.

  Goddamn it, he knew what she tasted like. Smelled like. Blindfolded, he would find her in a crowd, just with his nose.

  The thought of trying to forget made him crazy.

  He poured himself a drink, shot it back with a jerk of his head. It burned like a slow match in the back of his throat and shook him out of his pathetic self-pity.

  Fuck it, fuck this. Something had been bothering him since she’d told him goodbye. Things weren’t adding up, and the hell if he wasn’t going to get to the truth. He’d always had to fight for what really mattered. Why should this be any different?

  He needed to be patient, though. Wait until the window debuted. Once the stress of her deadline ended, he’d get her to focus on them. He wasn’t asking for forever. If she was commitment-phobic, fine. He wasn’t looking to book a church. That didn’t mean they couldn’t stay the course, see how things shook out. For about the tenth time he listened to her voice mail, and there it was. Evidence.