by Hayes, Lane
A well of emotion pooled inside my chest. The weight of it made it impossible to speak…or beg. Wes pulled me into his arms and held me for a moment. Then he kissed the corner of my mouth and stepped back, brushing moisture from my eyelashes with his thumb before turning away. I watched him cross the street and disappear into the shadows between the buildings. I stood there staring into the void, wondering if I’d imagined the last twenty minutes of my life. This couldn’t be real. I wasn’t sure how tonight had gone so incredibly wrong. I’d miscalculated or maybe I’d just fucked up. I leaned against the brick façade and tried to get my breathing under control. And hopefully, think of a way out of the mess I’d made.
The irony was astounding. A perfect twist of fate. I’d wanted to expose one man’s deceitfulness, but I pushed too far and had ended up exposing myself. And losing myself.
Chapter 12
The days after that disastrous dinner were a mystery. I think I went to work, but I wasn’t sure what I did. Mostly, I stared at a computer monitor and nodded aimlessly if anyone spoke to me. I wasn’t quite a zombie, but I certainly wasn’t human. Barb gave me worried looks. I overheard Eric telling her not to fuss because they all knew I needed a little downtime after I completed a project. I smiled weakly and gave them a thumbs-up as I shuffled back to my office the following Thursday. I was grateful he hadn’t cornered me yet to ask what the hell was wrong with me, but I was on borrowed time. He’d be on my back the second he dealt with whatever was stressing him out. I wondered idly if I’d forgotten an important meeting but I couldn’t find the energy to ask or pretend I cared.
I paused inside my doorway and turned back to Barb’s desk when I heard a low, evil sounding chuckle nearby. There was no one in the reception area or in the wide corridor. And nothing out of the ordinary.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Barb glanced up from her computer and pushed her stylish reading glasses down her nose before answering. “Norm, Finn, and Franz Van de Velde from Byzantine are meeting with Er—”
“Where?”
“In the small conference room.”
I was down the hall and around the corner before she could call me back. On a normal day I might have coached myself to remember my manners…be cordial, diplomatic and professional. But I’d given up on normal. People had been telling me I was weird since I was a kid. It seemed pointless to waste the energy being something I wasn’t and never would be. And though I knew I should exercise restraint with Franz, the puffed-up businessman with the smarmy grin shaking Eric’s hand certainly wasn’t worth the effort. Nor was his good buddy, Finn.
“Am I late?” I asked with an overly cheerful grin that went nowhere near my eyes.
Eric narrowed his eyes and shook his head meaningfully. “Uh no. You’re welcome to join us.”
“We’ve come to an agreement of sorts. Have you seen the revised contract?” Norm asked gleefully as he slid a document on the conference table toward me.
I turned it upside down and was about to push it away, but something in Eric’s careful mannerisms set off alarm bells. What the hell was going on here? I tuned out the four men seated around the table and picked up the piece of paper.
“Is this a joke? Fifty, thirty, twenty?”
“One moment, please. Nick, will you come with me?” Eric asked.
He pulled me into a larger conference room down the hall and shut the door. Then he bit his bottom lip and shoved his hand through his hair. A sure sign he was at his wit’s end.
“What’s going on?”
“They changed the contract again. We’re being weaseled out of the more lucrative portion. Thirty percent is still decent but—”
“Bullshit. Use the new product, Er. Crush him. There’s no fucking way Norm’s beating us at this. Thirty percent? That’s nuts.” I threw my hands in the air in agitation and heaved a sigh.
“No, I think we call their bluff and walk away.”
“From three hundred mil? If you use our new stuff, we can win the whole thing but…I don’t know. Even keeping it for later and using the old—”
“This is with your new product.”
My mouth dropped open. I felt like I’d been slapped. They were being given access to a Ferrari and choosing a Fiat. It made no fucking sense. I didn’t know what to say.
I settled for, “That’s crazy.”
“I know. And I know you’ve worked your ass off and you want to go in there and tear into those assholes for being greedy fucking bastards, but…if you come back in there with me, I need you to let me do the talking. I need you trust me.”
Trust. The word taunted me. It felt like a test. Like the one I’d failed mere days ago. I gulped then nodded.
“I trust you.”
“Then let’s do this.”
We walked back into the conference room as a united front. We were college buddies, business partners and once upon a time, we were a little more. The bond between us was strong. I trusted it and I trusted Eric implicitly.
“Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen. But we’ve decided to bow out at this time,” Eric said in a calm, friendly voice as I shut the conference room door.
I seethed unhappily beside him and stuck my hands in my pockets when they began to tremble. Standing in front of these self-important men who had the gall to come into our building and suggest our product was inferior was the epitome of disrespect. The encounter was strangely reminiscent of darker days when run-ins with childhood bullies and a difficult father were a daily occurrence. I’d been hopelessly mismatched and unable to communicate. I wasn’t that kid anymore, though.
Sure, I was angry and disappointed, but as I listened to Eric’s professional tone assuring these dumb fucks we’d be happy to work with them another time, I was struck by a vague notion that none of this really mattered at all. It was exactly what Wes said it was…a vicious cycle of the thrill of the chase, the win if you were lucky and then nothing. A clean slate. A start from zero. Again. It was fucking depressing.
“You’re sure you won’t reconsider?” Franz asked with obvious confusion. No doubt he wondered who in their right mind walked away from a three hundred million dollar deal.
“Positive,” Eric replied politely.
Norm could hardly contain his glee. I couldn’t help thinking Franz and Finn weren’t as ecstatic, but what the hell did I know? I’d done the work. I knew it was superior and worth the lion’s share of any contract if not the whole damn thing. My job was to go back to the lab and work on the next big thing. Eric could handle the rest without my interference. I excused myself with as much civility as I could muster and made my way back to my office.
I slathered my hands in Purell the second I closed my door. Then I kicked one of the chairs across from my desk. It wobbled but didn’t move. So I did it again and again until it fell sideways and bumped into the chair next to it. It wasn’t destructive enough to be satisfying but I didn’t feel attached to the cause now. That deal didn’t matter. Another one would come and yeah, there’d be money and success and all kinds of things…but things didn’t matter.
Fuck, I missed Wes.
I glanced up at the short knock on my door. Eric entered a moment later and raised his brow at the jumble of office chairs.
“I thought that went well, but something tells me you might not agree. Are you okay?”
“I’m awesome,” I said sarcastically.
“I get it. It sucks but it’s a temporary setback. We’ll win the next one and it’ll be twice the size,” he assured me with a boyish grin.
“Hmm. I trust you.”
“I know. Thank you. I—you look a little pasty. Are you ill?”
I lifted my shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s possible.”
“This isn’t about the contract. Did something happen with Wes?”
I gave him a sideways glance but I didn’t answer. If I knew Eric, he’d figure it out on his own while I sat here wishing like crazy I could have loved him the way Zane did. Life
would have been so much easier. We’d probably be an old married couple now with a second house in Carmel. Eric would be talking about kids and we’d—
“Nick, talk to me. Did you break up?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, he broke up with me. But he did it so nicely, I couldn’t really be sure. He made it sound temporary, like a ‘we need time apart’ or—”
“It’s not you, it’s me?”
“Oh no, it was definitely me. It usually is. I can’t sort my thoughts out in my head before I say them out loud. I’m…broken and I can’t be fixed.”
“You aren’t broken. You’re impetuous and you have a big fucking mouth, which you miraculously kept shut back there, but you’re not broken. You’re actually pretty incredible.”
“That’s what nice ex-boyfriends say when they’re happily married and no longer have to wonder what the hell they were thinking with the last guy,” I said.
Eric gave a half laugh and then sat on the edge of my desk and yanked me to sit beside him. Then he set his arm over my shoulder companionably and put his other hand on my knee. “You’re right, but you’re wrong too. I love Zane and I’m so grateful he’s mine, but I’m glad I loved you first. It wasn’t the same. But I still think you and I are pretty special.”
“What do you think was wrong with us?”
“We kept score. We weren’t free with our feelings. We held back. Take your pick. I didn’t like how we ended. It hurt like hell. But I wouldn’t give that time up for anything, Nick. For a short time, we were good together.”
I nodded, unsure how to ask my next question. The answer was too important. “I’m going to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth. Don’t placate me. Don’t tell me something you think I want to hear. Tell me the truth.”
“Of course.”
“Do you think my…disability…the”—I stood abruptly and swallowed the lump in my throat before trying to speak again. “I—I’ve read that people like me have a hard time connecting with others. Relationships are difficult and—”
“Don’t listen to that shit.” Eric was at my side wagging his finger in my face like an irate school teacher in seconds flat. “Don’t marginalize yourself. Ever. Don’t listen to ‘people like you’ or ‘you of all people.’ No shrink and no textbook knows the real you.”
“Don’t make it sound so fucking easy,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not easy. I know it. I can’t blame Wes for walking away. I would too. Jesus, my own mother did! I can’t even pretend anymore, and sometimes I wonder if this is what madness really is…a disconnect. Knowing what you want to say but never finding the right words.”
“You aren’t mad, Nick. You’re a genius. If Wes couldn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“He saw it right away. I didn’t have to use any scientific BS terms, he figured it out. He knows I’m weird. What he didn’t count on was selfish, irrational, and stubborn too. I fucked up.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him I didn’t trust him. I’m not sure how to unsay it now.” I filled Eric in about running into Lisa.
He didn’t ask questions; he just listened, which was all I really needed.
“Well, do you trust him?”
“Of course, I do. I don’t know why I lashed out like that. I think I do that when I’m afraid I’m about to get hurt. I’d rather walk away fighting than sit around waiting for the bottom to drop out.”
“Then what comes next?” he asked patiently. “You can’t leave it here. He sounds like the real thing. You could try skywriting or go stand outside his house with a boom box on your shoulder like the scene from that eighties movie you love.”
“Say Anything,” I replied automatically. I bumped his shoulder then moved around my desk and sat in my executive chair while Eric paced in front of me spouting ideas for winning a lover back like he’d memorized a page from a Valentine’s Day activity to-do list.
“Or you can just grovel.”
“Grovel? That sounds…scary.”
“Yeah, but if you’re afraid, it’s a good sign.”
“How?”
“It means you are connected.” Eric opened my door then stopped in his tracks. “And it means you’re going to be fine.”
* * *
I wasn’t so sure I’d be fine. Nor was I sure I was ready to grovel. But I had to do something. I called the winery on my way home from EN Tech that afternoon. Lauren told me Wes was away on business in the city. She mentioned he was expected back the next day. Then she giggled and apologized for telling me what I probably already knew. I didn’t know and I hated it. Almost as much as I hated waking up alone and coming home to a cold, dark house. The emptiness taunted me. It seeped under my skin and into my bones, making me feel utterly exhausted. I couldn’t wait another day.
My driver waited for me to purchase two dozen red roses then dropped me off half a block from Geordie’s Russian Hill residence. This was where Wes stayed when he came into the city, or it was before I gave him my key. I didn’t want to call him and take a chance he’d either agree to meet me someplace neutral or not at all. A sneak attack visit was my best bet, I mused as I traversed the steep hill to the gated entrance.
I swiped at the moisture in my hair from the misty, low-lying fog then punched in the gate code and headed toward the ornate front door. I sucked in a deep breath and said a quick prayer to a God I hadn’t checked in with in a few years and then knocked.
Nothing.
I rang the doorbell. Still nothing. Fuck. I’d have to wait. Or call. I renewed my efforts, knocking and ringing while I wracked my brain for an alternate plan. I could call the winery again and ask what time he was expected tomorrow. Knock. Ring. I could claim I couldn’t get a hold of him. Knock. Or that his phone wasn’t on or—
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop it!”
I froze mid-knock and studied the rumpled, unhappy looking man on the other side of the threshold. His dark hair stood on end, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and he was wearing a ratty old blue robe that hadn’t been fashionable in a decade or more. The always fabulous, well-dressed Geordie was a mess.
“Uh…hi. I was looking for Wes. Is he here?”
“No.”
I glanced away and considered my options. Geordie and I had maintained an aloof sort of acquaintanceship over the past few months. We were friendly when we had to be, but I’d failed to get back in his good graces after my disastrous one-time-only stint as a wine pourer. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t like me or didn’t trust me, but he kept his distance and was a little stiff around me. I never asked why. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer anyway.
I sighed and looked back just as Geordie wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with his sleeve.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll tell Wes you came by. Good-bye, Nick.”
I braced my hand against the door before he closed it. “Wait—do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No. I think tonight but he might go straight to Napa. I don’t know. Nice roses,” he said, drawing a tissue from his pocket to dab at his nose.
“Uh, right. Hey, can I leave these here? He’ll either see them when he gets home or…you can have them if he doesn’t want them.” I was shamelessly stalling, but I needed a few minutes to think of another plan. I wasn’t ready to go home to my empty house.
Geordie gave me a suspicious once-over then motioned for me to come inside. I’d been here a few times with Wes since the party last October, but never when Geordie was here. I’d always thought the elegant furnishings and dramatic features fit the owner. The man who rocked velvet jackets and matching slippers on the regular would be right at home with the massive crystal chandelier in the entry, the silk-covered sofas and draperies framing the multi-million-dollar view of the Bay. Not so much now. Geordie’s shoulders were slumped in exhaustion or defeat as he shuffled into the kitchen, dragging one e
nd of his terrycloth robe belt on the hardwood floor behind him.
He grabbed a crystal vase from the pantry and set it in the sink then turned on the water. “I’ll let you take over.”
I unwrapped the roses and turned off the faucet before gently submerging them in water. “Great. Where should I put them?”
“On the entry table. That way he’ll see them when he walks in. Do you have a card?”
I followed Geordie back to the foyer and set the vase down. “Uh…no.”
“You should leave a note so he knows they’re from you. I have stationery in my home office. Come this way.”
He gathered the drooping belt and adjusted his shoulders then moved with renewed purpose down a short hallway off the living area and into a small but elegant room decorated in pale blues. One wall was lined with a built-in desk and shelves. A sofa piled high with blankets was situated on the opposite end. And a bay window with a picturesque view divided the space. Usually, I would have been drawn to the view but the collage of personal photographs on the walls and on nearly every available surface drew my attention instead.
I studied the framed gallery on the wall near the sofa. There were a few group shots, but most of the pictures were of Geordie and the older man I’d met once before. It had been a year and a half, but I still remembered the jovial, heavyset tour guide with twinkling eyes and a contagious grin. Mike. Geordie and Mike were an odd pair, but they looked good together. I picked up an ornate silver frame from the side table next to the sofa.
“Here you—oh,” Geordie whispered. “I think that one was taken at the Japanese Tea Garden last year.”
“I met Mike once. I don’t know if I told you but…Lisa and I went on his tour. We weren’t planning on it but he was persuasive. And funny. He had all these silly one-liners that made everyone laugh even though they weren’t particularly funny.”
Geordie smiled wanly. “He had a million. ‘Every box of raisins is a tragic tale of grapes that could have been wine.’ Or ‘You’ll be delighted to know that wine doesn’t make you fat. It makes you lean: against tables, chairs, floors, walls and friends you didn’t know were your friends.’ ”