by Monroe, Max
“That’s ridiculous,” I challenge. “If the person is so right for you, like you guys say, why in the hell would you always be doing shit they don’t like?”
“Because that’s part of the fun,” Kline says. “You’re with the same woman, but if you’re with the right one like I am, you’ll never really fully figure them out.”
Thatch nods. “Cassie keeps me on my fluffing toes every G-D day.”
“That’s why it’s imperative that you know how to apologize,” Milo chimes in again and starts to tick his points off on his fingers like we’re imbeciles. “Own your shit, explain your bit, compliment.”
“Fluff yeah!” Thatch yells. “I love a motto that rhymes. It gives it a little something extra.”
I roll my eyes for what has to be the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes—it’s hard not to with this group—but in the end, I somehow manage to leave Billionaire Book Club with something to consider.
Always know how to apologize.
Ruby
The streets are packed with the end of the week rush, and the bars and restaurants all spill their contents of people out onto the sidewalk.
People are eager to blow off steam, to settle into the weekend, and to answer to themselves instead of their bosses.
My week has been interesting, to say the least, as I’ve had to learn to juggle school, recording, and my hot-but-cocky boss and his special brand of humor.
I haven’t slept all that much, and there aren’t enough hours in the day to serve as Cap’s assistant with complete efficiency, but all in all, I’ve survived.
Plus, after getting a real feel for my schedule, Cap’s entrusted me with the authority to find a secondary assistant—someone to fill in the hours I can’t and concentrate on the more menial tasks of the office while I learn actual skills that will help me become a good lawyer. I’m not saying I’m awesome, but, I mean, it is like getting a promotion in the first week.
A cool breeze whips my hair up and over my shoulders as I round the final corner on my way to Suds, one of our favorite pub-style restaurants in the city.
I clench my arms tighter around my body and tuck my chin to my chest to make myself as aerodynamic as possible.
During the daytime hours, New York is wonderful in the fall.
But at night, after the sun has gone down, all of those concrete structures seem to serve only as a conduit for the cold.
And, unfortunately for me, my phone starts to ring just as I’m settling into the perfect position.
“Ah, fracking hell,” I groan, maneuvering one arm down and around to dig in the pocket of my coat.
When I see that it’s my mother, I seriously consider the ramifications of both answering the call and/or not. And honestly, I’ll save myself a lot of heartache if I just take the call now.
I risk a numb, half-dead hand by the time I get inside the bar, but that’s just the sacrifice I have to make for my mental health.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet, putting the phone to my ear and slowing my walk to a speed I can maintain without her thinking I’m strapped to the wing of a sexual predator’s aircraft.
“Ruby! Thank God! I left you a message last night, and you never called back. If you didn’t answer the phone now, I was going to hang up and dial the FBI.”
“I didn’t have a voice mail,” I say, ignoring the crazy part of her commentary and focusing on the facts. “Are you sure you left a message?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Your father had the dang PBR on, and I could barely hear a thing, but I waited for the beep and left you explicit instructions to call me back.”
“Well, I didn’t get it.”
“Maybe your phone is defective.”
I sigh heavily. “I’m talking to you on it now, Mom.”
“Well, maybe—”
“Does it really matter?” I interrupt. “Can we just talk now? I’m on my way to Kevin and Julie’s engagement party, so I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Ooh, give them kisses from me!”
I laugh a little. “You want me to give kisses to Kevin and Julie? My friends you’ve never actually met?”
“Yes! They’re young and in love, and I’m sending my congratulations, Ruby. Don’t make fun of your mother.”
“I’m not making fun,” I argue. “Just commenting.”
“Snidely,” she corrects. “You’re just commenting snidely.”
“Sorry,” I apologize as I come to a stop in front of Suds. The inside looks warm and inviting, and I frown longingly at its respite. I’d better work on wrapping up this conversation, or I’m going to be out here all night.
“You don’t sound sorry. But you will be one day when you get kidnapped and I’m not around to start a search party.”
“I’m hoping to avoid getting kidnapped altogether.”
“Then you’re going to have to start being more careful.”
I roll my eyes and shiver before switching hands, so I can tuck the numb one into my pocket.
“I’ll try.”
“Good. If you make it a month, your father and I will be there to visit.”
“I feel like you’re very pessimistic about my chances for survival. Did you buy refundable tickets?”
“No! Your father said it was an unnecessary expense.”
I bite back my laugh. Mark Rockford, always the penny-pincher. “Well, I guess I’ll put you in my calendar for a month from now, and we’ll just chance it. Do you have specific dates?”
“I don’t remember them. Let me find the tickets.”
I see Kevin through the window, ordering a beer, and a tiny tear forms in the inside corner of my eye. So close, but so damn far away at the same time.
“Just get back to me with the dates later, Mom. I really have to run.”
“Why? Is someone chasing you?” she shrieks, and I sigh.
“Just an expression, Mom. Nobody is chasing me.”
“Oh,” she breathes. “Good, good.”
“Mom, I have to go.”
“Okay, right. I’ll talk to you soon?”
“You bet,” I promise.
“Love you, Ruby.”
I smile then, because despite every ounce of her crazy, overprotective, helicopter tendencies, my mom is one of my favorite people. She devoted her whole life to me, and I always felt every ounce of care and thoughtfulness she put into it. And, if I’m being honest, it’s not always easy that we’re currently living on opposite coasts.
I mean, a lot of the time, it’s easy.
But, sometimes, some very rare times, I do miss my SoCal roots.
“Love you too, Mom. Talk to you soon.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, hit the end button, drop it into my purse, and shove gracelessly through the crowded sidewalk to get to the door that beckons.
A blast of heat hits my cheeks as I open it, and I sigh in relief.
Finally. A place with alcohol. And no risk of turning into a block of ice.
Kevin spots me quickly, excuses himself from his conversation with some guy I don’t recognize, and walks toward me as I pull off my coat and drape it over my arm. His eyes are assessing, and a little smirk settles into the corner of his mouth after gathering all the data.
“You look like you’ve had a long day.”
“Week,” I correct. “I’ve had a long week.”
He laughs and wraps a hand around the side of my back to walk me toward the bar. I don’t fight him at all.
Kevin leans over the bar top, grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler and hands it to me as the busy bartender works on the other end.
I know it’s not exactly the way you’re supposed to get a drink, but I promise I’ll pay for it. I’ll even tip the nonexistent labor, just so the bartender doesn’t end up short. But not waiting for her to make her way down to me seems like the best idea in the world right now.
“It really is beneficial that you’re so tall, Kev,” I say with a laugh, popping the cap off the bottle on the edge of the bar and ta
king a pull.
We’re waiting for Julie to arrive with her friend, coming to what she thinks is a simple dinner with the girls from work.
But really, she’s going to get the engagement surprise she should have gotten from her family.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, grabbing his own bottle, taking a swig, and staring at the door so hard, I’m half expecting it to open from his powers.
“She’s gonna love it, Kev. You put in the effort, you know? You treat Julie like she’s special in your actions and your words, and that’s all we women are really looking for.”
“Is that all?” he says with a laugh. “For some reason, the equation seems a whole lot more complicated than that.”
I laugh and shove him in the shoulder. “Julie doesn’t give you a hard time, does she? I thought you guys were, like, the perfect couple.”
“There’s no such thing as the perfect couple, Gem.” My eyebrows draw together, and his shoot up. “Wow. You really think that exists? Damn, maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having high standards,” I grumble.
“You’re right,” he says, pointing the mouth of his bottle toward me. “There is, however, a problem with having impossible ones.”
I scowl. I’m not that hard to please.
Am I?
Sure, I didn’t like the way my last boyfriend lacked ambition, and I don’t love the idea of spending all of my Sundays waving my arms, trying to get some guy’s attention in front of a TV, but I’m realistic.
I don’t need a six-pack and an IQ over 130. Just someone with decent morals and the ability to hold a conversation.
Kevin reaches up and shoves my forehead softly. “Uh oh. I might have broken you.”
I stick out my tongue and shake my head as a couple of Kevin’s other friends from his basketball days come up to him and start talking.
I’m not really in the mood to socialize with one million people I don’t know, but I am excited to see Julie’s face when she comes through the door.
I scoot away and settle on a stool over at the side of the bar and turn myself to the door.
I watch as a couple comes inside, giggling with each other, their arms locked together. I roll my eyes. They’ll probably break up in a month and a half, and all their friends will wonder why because they seemed so happy in public.
Wow. That was cynical.
Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me?
My phone buzzes in my small, cross-strap style purse, and I scan the front door again just to make sure Julie’s not arriving before taking it out.
There’s a text message from a newly inputted number. One I just typed in earlier today, in fact.
Cap: I just wanted to reach out to you to tell you I’m sorry. I know the women calling and faxing at the office got out of hand, and it’s my fault I didn’t put a stop to it sooner. I didn’t fully understand the extent of it, but you don’t deserve to deal with it every day. You’re a smart, respectable woman, and I’m going to make sure I start treating you that way.
I draw my eyebrows together at the unexpected apology. I like that he’s owning up to his part in it, but the fact that he thinks making changes at this point fixes everything is extremely shortsighted.
Me: Thanks. I think. But it seems a little extreme for you to make all of these changes for me after a week, when your regular assistant has been dealing with it for months.
I glance at the door again after hitting send and then chew on my bottom lip while I wait for him to respond. The bubbles are moving, and the anticipation is almost ridiculous.
Cap: I didn’t know she was dealing with it.
I snort. Puh-lease.
Me: Oh, come on. You had to know.
Cap: I didn’t.
Me: Okay, fine. Tell yourself that. But you’ve known that women approach you inappropriately for a long time. Just look at that Tess woman on the street the other day! She didn’t even act like I existed.
Cap: She didn’t act like you existed, you’re right. But I acted like you existed, did I not?
I scrunch up my face. I mean, I guess technically he’s right. But—
Another text rolls in before I can finish my thought.
Cap: I’d say it’s really only reasonable to expect that I can control MY actions, not the actions of others. Correct?
Okay. I understand what’s going on here. But if he thinks I’m going—
Cap: You wouldn’t be able to convict me of a murder my friend committed, would you?
My eyes narrow and my shoulders square. Is this freaking guy really trying to cross-examine me via text?
Cap: No. You wouldn’t.
I type quickly, my tongue hanging out of my mouth, I’m so determined to get some words in.
Me: Sure, I guess you’re right. But if you’re a witness to the crime, I WOULD be able to hold you accountable for that. Aiding and abetting.
Cap: I did not a) know about her plan to ignore you, b) intentionally encourage and/or facilitate that plan, c) aid, instigate, or promote her actions. They’d never convict me of aiding and abetting, and you know it.
Goddammit, why does this guy have to be so smart? I’ve never met someone who can keep up with me like this—especially not this consistently.
I tuck my head and lick my lips in preparation to type out another message when I hear the resounding shouts of “Surprise!” all around the bar.
I frown. Apparently, I was so involved in arguing with Cap, I missed Julie’s big entrance.
Ugh. Stupid fucking long-winded lawyer.
I put away my phone immediately and paste on a smile.
I may have missed her entrance, but I haven’t missed the party. I refuse to be distracted by Cap and his womanizing and his out-of-the-blue apologies for another single second.
I jump up from my stool as Julie wipes away a few tears, wraps her arms around Kevin’s neck, and holds on as he lifts her up and puts his lips to hers.
Internally, I scoff.
No such thing as a perfect relationship, Kevin?
I think he’s full of shit. There’s someone out there for everyone, and the waiting while you find them is the hard part.
But I’ve got patience, and I’ve got hope.
There’s someone perfect out there for me, and I’ll know it when I find him.
I bite my lip as visions of a lonely life of spinsterhood dance in my head. I’ll know when I find him. I’ll have to. Won’t I?
Cap
I head into Thatch’s Manhattan apartment with the kind of focus and concentration I usually only reserve for the courtroom.
Another Billionaire Book Club meeting with the guys, and goddamn, I need to leave here with something that will actually lead me in the direction of progress with Ruby.
It’s been four days since I apologized to her using the three steps I was assured were effective, and I’ve yet to see any tangible results.
In the office, she’s been cordial and efficient while she works, but she doesn’t compliment my wit and charm and reach out to touch me inconspicuously nearly enough.
It’s almost as though she’s impervious to me.
No, no, I think after a moment of panic. That can’t be it. All women eventually cave to the Cap-i-tain.
Thatch sweeps by me on his way out of the smoke room while I’m on my way in, and I look back over my shoulder to call out to him. “Hey! Where are you going?”
“Just getting the snacks, bro. Don’t worry, you won’t have to miss me long.”
I laugh him off and turn back to the room to find the table almost ready. I stop behind what’s become my regular seat and pull the new book out of my jacket before taking it off and draping it across the back of the chair. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I sit down. “You all got the new book I texted you about?”
Mostly “Yes” and “Yeah” are grumbled into the air, but Wes chimes in with, “How long are we going to do this?”
I roll my e
yes at their lack of enthusiasm. At some point, they’re going to get with the fucking program. It’s like none of them has ever done crazy shit to win a woman before.
“She reads fast, and she’s moved on, okay?” I explain as Thatch walks in with a tray full of mini hot dogs, warm pretzels, and assorted charcuterie. It’s like Martha Stewart in a giant man’s body. I’d love to pause long enough to make a comment about it, but the pretzel’s salty magic tastes too good in my mouth. The other guys fall on it like vultures too. As Thatch takes his seat at the table, I finish speaking. “I’m not going to waste my time on some bullshit book she doesn’t care about anymore. We need to stay relevant, for fuck’s sake, so quit your whining,” I lecture, scanning their faces around the felt-topped table.
When one spot comes up empty, I frown. “Where the hell is Quince?”
Trent sighs. “He had to stay with Hudson. Emory had plans.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
Trent laughs. “Too bad, Romeo. We can’t all just be at your beck and call all the time.”
“Sure, you fucking can. Get him on the horn. Tell him to strap that little beauty in a carrier or some shit and get his ass over here.”
“He’s not going to come over here with the baby,” Milo reasons. “Emory barely even takes her out.”
“You call him,” I say to Trent, putting a mock phone to my ear. “Or this whole operation is coming to his house. He’s got a choice, but he better make it quickly.”
“Why the fluff do you need Quince so bad?” Thatch asks. “You’ve got the rest of us.”
“And the snacks are here,” Wes remarks, dipping his pig in a blanket into the tiny decorative bowl of mustard. “And, I can’t deny, these are about the only fucking reason I keep showing up.”
Thatch grins like a goddamn old lady at a bake sale. “Glad you’re enjoying them, Whitney. I added a touch of honey to the mustard to give it a little zing.”