Tossing three chips into the pot, I open the first round of betting.
There’s no way I’m talking about Heather in front of these jokers. They’ll never let it go. And I’d much rather allow what we have to grow in private than risk it being tainted by these jerks.
I shoot Marcus a look that clearly says payback is a bitch. I may not know when, but I’ll return the favor.
Chapter Eleven
Heather
It’s Monday, almost noon, and I’ve seen Jimmy stop by Tammy’s cube twice. I hesitate on whether to share my thoughts about the man with her. Would my negative opinion be welcome? Judging by the happy smile on her face, I’d say probably not.
If I tell her he’s a two-timing womanizer would that come across as slanderous? Or perhaps I could say he treats women poorly. Would that be enough info or would she ask me questions? More than likely, they’d be ones I don’t want to answer.
Crap, I really wish this stuff was easier. I’ve never had someone work for me before, even temporarily. Maybe I should invite her out to lunch and attempt a girls chat then. That might work. Ugh.
I know putting it off isn’t the wisest choice… but really, I don’t know the woman all that well and she might resent my interference. Surely a woman with half a brain would see through his charming veneer?
Uh, yeah. Like you did?
Okay, good point. I’ll talk it over with Carla at lunch. Hopefully she has better ideas than I’ve been able to come up with.
I gather up my cell and purse and head out the door. I catch a glimpse of Tammy leaving with two women and a tight band of pressure I was unaware of loosens in my chest. At least she’s not having lunch with him. Yet.
In a few minutes I’m striding down the sidewalk, letting the mid-day spring sun warm me. My cheeks heat as I recall the sunlight coloring Tony on Friday in my new studio. Geez, he’s incredible. I wander to my destination, content with the glow of memories from that night. Oh, and then Saturday. Yum.
“Heather! Over here!” Carla’s booming voice carries across our favorite lunch place.
I weave through the crowded establishment and settle into a chair across from her.
“Have you been waiting long?” I ask.
“Nah, just got here a few minutes ago. The place filled up fast.”
“How have you been?”
“Not bad, busy. Traveling again next week, I think.”
“Where to this time?”
“Probably upstate, not too far. Oh hey, I just saw—”
She stops as our waitress arrives. The college-aged woman fills our water glasses and takes our orders. As she bustles away, I look to Carla with raised eyebrows. “What were you about to say? Something you saw?”
“You said Tony left Apollo, right?”
I nod, wondering where she’s going with this. “Yeah, beginning of last week.”
“Well, I saw him near my office building getting into a taxi with a brown-haired woman.” She looks concerned, possibly remembering my issue with Jimmy cheating on me and the subsequent fallout of picking up the pieces of my heart again. “Could he be going on a job interview?” Her tone rises with hope.
My stomach drops, fear making me wonder if her un-voiced worry might be accurate. He could be going on a lunch date. After all, Tony and I never said we’d be exclusive. “What did she look like?”
Dammit! I can’t believe I asked that. What could her looks possibly matter?
Maybe you want your best friend to reassure you you’re more attractive than her. Pathetic.
I saw some of the skanks Jimmy cheated on me with, I doubt looks had anything to do with his decision. More like they were female and said yes.
“I didn’t get a good look at her besides her hair—shiny brown and chin length. My vague first impression was one of put-together and fashionable. But not Tony. That’s another story.”
“What do you mean?”
“He looked angry or really unhappy. Had a nasty grimace on his face. Like he was ready to scream in frustration. I thought maybe she was an annoying client or co-worker, and then I remembered he left Apollo. That’s what made me think of the interview idea—but his face didn’t match.”
“At least it doesn’t sound like a mid-day tryst.” I release a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
Carla’s eyes widen in alarm. “Cheating on you? You really thought that was an issue? Tony might have appeared like a ladies man when we first met him, but I never pegged him as the cheating type.”
I shrug, twisting my napkin in both hands. “Aren’t they kind of the same?”
“Hell no! There’s flirty and appreciative and then there’s slimy, underhanded, and two-timing. Very different beasts and they shouldn’t be confused as the same.”
“You’re right. I think I’m projecting.” I straighten in my chair, eager to get it off my chest. “Jimmy, my ex, was hired at Parkerson. I think he has designs on me, somehow—but I don’t know why, or even how.”
“What?!? When the hell did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me right away? Damn girl, I bow out of yoga one week because of cramps and I miss everything!”
I smile at her reaction. “I still think you should have come anyway. Yoga would have helped. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t have said anything in front of Katrina anyway. She doesn’t know about what I went through back then and I’d rather not re-hash it all.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Let past issues stay in the past, I understand. I always admired how you never let Jimmy’s infidelities color how you approached relationships with other men. That could have messed up a lesser woman for years. But holy cow, what are you going to do? And of course you’re right. He’s there for a reason. Slimy prick. You should have let me spray paint ‘CHEATER’ on his apartment door. Hah! Bet that would have put a crimp in his whoring.”
I smile. God, it’s good to have friends like Carla. “That would have been fitting. I should have agreed.” At the time I wanted to be free of him and lick my wounds. Now I wish I’d retaliated in some way. Childish? Yup, but there it is.
I fill her in on everything that’s occurred with Jimmy, limited though it may be. She listens in silence, our food arriving near the end of my recounting.
Carla grabs the pepper churn for her salad. “Are you going to say anything to your assistant Tammy? I think she deserves a warning.”
“And what would I say? ‘Hey, you might want to avoid that asshole. I dated him and he cheated on me. Oh, he also systematically broke down my confidence, leaving me a shattered woman.’ That’s a great thing for me to have spread through the office.”
“Okay, I agree. That doesn’t sound like the best phrasing to start with. And besides, who’s being dramatic now? You weren’t shattered, just bent a little. Come on—man up, buttercup. You’ve got to say something. Wouldn’t you want someone to have told you about him?”
I’ve never been a fan of confrontation, especially in the workplace. I mentally back-pedal. “Maybe I’m over-reacting to the situation.”
Coward.
Carla forks in a mouthful of salad, an indignant expression crossing her face. After chewing and swallowing she says, “No. You’re not. Trust your gut. How did you and Jimmy finally end things?”
I push my salad around with a fork. “I went home from work sick and walked in on him screwing someone from his office in my new bed. Threatened to call the cops and then managed to chase them both into the hall, semi-naked, while I was waving the phone like a madwoman. Packed up all his personal stuff— and their clothes— tossed everything into the hall. He yelled at me the whole time, shouting about all the other women— geez, even my hairstylist— he’d screwed during our relationship. Blaming me for being so bad in bed he had to turn elsewhere.”
“I could never forget that incident. We commiserated about it for weeks. Polished off a lot of wine and tequila if I’m recalling correctly. We threw out the whole sheet set and went shopping for new stuff—even pillows and a mattress cover.�
� She smiles and takes a sip of water. “At least I convinced you not to burn the mattress.” Carla reaches across the table and touches my arm briefly. “What I meant was, did you ever see or talk to him after that day?”
I shake my head. “He tried. I refused. What more was there to say?”
“Hmmm… and now over a year later—”
I interrupt, “Eighteen months.”
She glares at me with a look that says yeah, but who’s counting before continuing, “He takes a job at your office. I dunno. It doesn’t feel right. And the whole misdirection with asking about Tammy’s relationship status? I have no idea what he’s up to.”
“Me either. Could he have changed? Maybe he’s really interested in her. Should I give him the benefit of the doubt and stay out of it?”
“You can do whatever you want. But me? I’d be ready for the worst. Guys like him don’t ever really change. I wouldn’t put it past the asshole to either try and get you back or set out to ruin your relationships at work.”
“All right,” I say, a hint of determination creeping back in, “I’ll be on the look-out for slimy, underhanded tactics from the ex-boyfriend in the workplace. Now what do I do about Tony? Do I say anything about the woman you saw him with? It could be nothing… it could be something.”
“It’ll be hard to bring up without mentioning me. Not that I mind, but accusations—as well as polite inquiries—are best done with first-hand knowledge. What if I’m wrong and it wasn’t him?”
“I guess you’re right. It would sound really odd saying you saw him with a strange woman. And very high-schoolish. Like I didn’t trust him. After all, he is a grown man. He doesn’t need to report his everyday actions to me.”
“And he’s given you no reason to doubt him, has he?”
I hesitate, my mind immediately going back to that phone call when he was refilling our wine. “Well, he did get a call from a woman named Portia last Friday night. He was out of the room and didn’t know she called.”
“Girl! Why didn’t you tell me that before? Of course that’s important. Did you answer it?” Carla asks, brows raised in curiosity.
“No! I just happened to lean over casually… and quickly read the name on his screen. You know, before he came back and caught me.”
She chuckles. “I bet that would have been funny to see. Did Tony check his phone later or leave to return the call? Don’t jump to conclusions because of Jimmy.”
“Nope. As a matter of fact, he didn’t pick up his cell at all. It was refreshing. Just the two of us with no distractions. All night. All day Saturday. And even into Sunday.”
“That doesn’t sound like a guy who’s got a girl on the side. You told me Jimmy used to get texts at all hours, and he’d take ‘business’ calls out of earshot all the time. I think Tony’s on the up and up.” She pauses, considering. “But… I know you. If it doesn’t resolve, you’re going to let it stew and eat away at your new found self-confidence.” She smiles to ease the harsh appraisal. “Hell, we can’t let that happen. I really like the new you. Sassy and sexy.” She winks. “A little like me, only with a steady guy instead of playing the field.”
Her remark is the perfect opening to mention my own concerns about her casual approach to relationships, but I refrain. The timing isn’t right and I’m still unsure if saying anything to her would help or not. But I will, soon. I owe it to her as a friend, despite how I feel about confrontations.
We finish our lunches and say our goodbyes, the whole situation weighing on me more than it should. Could the woman Tony met be Portia? And if yes, what do I do about it?
Chapter Twelve
Tony
The upscale restaurant Portia picked for lunch was the same place I took her on our first date. A fact I didn’t remember until she pointed it out to me. She’s dressed to entice in a low cut blouse and snug riding pants to show off her curves. No trace of pregnancy mars her flat middle. Yet.
The initial flirting in the cab ended when I removed her hand from my arm and now she’s settled on behaving more business-like. No trace of the sad, confused woman who left me a message, implying she might do something drastic.
I knew I couldn’t be so lucky as to have her decide to terminate the pregnancy on her own. Inwardly I cringe at my own selfishness. I admit, with my Catholic background, the mere idea of ending an unwanted pregnancy when you’re healthy, have the means to support the child, and are over the age of twenty had me picturing all my aunts and Mom screeching and spouting their pro-life opinions at me again. That was certainly the dumbest discussion I ever brought up over dinner—and one I will never attempt again.
Unable to eat while listening to Portia’s plans and demands, I stare at the food on my plate, wondering what the hell I’ve done to deserve this situation. Was it dating too much? Living life a little too carefree? Treating women like temporary adornments, meant to be exchanged on a whim?
Yeah, that might be it.
“Don’t you think setting up a trust fund would be the easiest?” Portia’s voice pulls me out of my musings. “I could be the executor and make sure all the child’s needs are met.”
Acid roils in my gut. I can’t say what’s on my mind. It would be too crass and rude to yell what a greedy bitch she sounds like.
“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little bit, Portia? You’ve got a positive test result confirmed. That’s it. There’s still no scientific proof the child is mine.”
The slim woman smiles, her dark blue eyes tightening at the corners. “Yet. It’s yours, Tony. Might as well start planning for it.”
“Forgive me if I don’t go willingly to slaughter.”
Her light laughter tinkles on the air between us. “Slaughter? Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic? I thought women were the ones to hold the corner on such rantings.”
My hands fist on my thighs. She’s right. I am being a wuss about all of it. But at the same time, I refuse to be pushed into discussing details of child support until the DNA results come back.
“Let’s call a truce, Portia.”
She raises an elegant eyebrow. “Isn’t that what we’re doing here?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, not really. The past week you’ve vacillated from cajoling, to seducing, to even sounding vaguely threatening during our minimal exchanges. And now, here you are, ready to sit down and plan out this baby and my financial involvement—way before we should.” I relax my hands and reach across the table to take one of her tiny hands in mine. “I know it’s hard to hear, and I do promise to respond more maturely when you call or when you want to discuss things in person—but only after we have proof the baby is mine.”
Her face hardens, but she nods briefly, once. “I understand. I don’t like it. But I understand.” Her eyes moisten but thankfully no tears fall. “Can you at least tell me why you won’t give us a second chance?”
Not wanting to mention Heather, I stick to the truth without her in it. “After our fling ran its course, I realized I didn’t have deeper feelings for you.” A tear slides down her face and I rush to soften the blow. “We had a great time. But we didn’t really click.” I glance away, realizing I’m still not helping her feel better. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, me, or a baby, to continue. We’d wind up hating each other. Which would be an awful situation for a child to grow up in.”
She turns her hand over and grips mine tightly, her voice broken and teary. “We could have made it work. Lots of people do.”
I sigh and squeeze her hand back. “You deserve better in life than settling for less than real love. And so do I.”
She pulls her hand from mine and wipes her eyes on the edge of her cloth napkin. “Okay. We’ll try it your way.” A glint of the old Portia shines in her eyes, perhaps drowned out temporarily by all the added hormones. “For now.”
After lunch, I’m unsure where to go and wander the streets, seemingly aimless, until I find myself near Central Park. I enter at the south end, meander to the pond ne
ar West 59th and Fifth Avenue, and lower myself to a bench, content to stare across the water and think.
When I look back on how I’ve handled things with Portia, I’m appalled. It was like I was so angry to be put in the situation that common decency escaped me entirely. Could she have been after my money? Well, yes, and she still could be, but did I have to react the way I did? Accusatory and defensive. Nice.
Gandhi once said you could learn a lot about a civilized society by how they treat their animals, and yet here I’ve been treating a woman I slept with, with less respect than I would a pregnant cat.
Talk about humbling. And shitty.
I need to tell Heather. Tonight. No more excuses.
My phone rings and I dig it out of my pants pocket, unsure if I feel like talking to anyone. I recognize the number and answer.
“Mr. Carmine? It’s Joseph, from J&R Investigations.”
“Hi, Joseph. Good to hear from you. What do you have for me?”
“Not a lot, sir. We were able to dig up public information from the time frame you indicated. From it, we’ve confirmed at least two other single men she was seen with in public. But that’s not proof she slept with them.”
I grunt, the sound non-committal. “Go on.”
“That’s about it so far. Your situation is unique. Most cases we investigate are for people looking for current proof of an affair, not unsubstantiated possibilities from months prior.”
“Did you find anything on men she might be seeing now?”
“No, sir. She dropped out of her normal social scene about two weeks ago— not going to clubs, charity galas, or lavish private parties.”
“Okay, thanks. I want you to dig into her financials and report on her spending habits, too. Might lead to something we can use down the line.”
We end the call and a part of me feels dirty. It seems underhanded to investigate Portia when there’s no proof the baby is even mine. But on the other hand, being prepared for any merger—even one that’s not between companies, but two hostile people—is logical. It’s the only way I can go into this pregnancy negotiation and hold onto my sanity.
Vanilla Twist: A Walk on the Wild Side Novel (Heather and Tony, Book 2) Page 8