by Kim Karr
After my father died, though, I found myself so caught up in trying to get ahead, in trying to prove to him that I was the man he knew I could be, that she fell by the wayside. I’m not proud of the way I treated her, and I do owe her a call.
“You sure I can’t interest you in any?” Austin asks, pointing to the bowl of steaming clams.
I hold my palms up. “No, I’m fine, but thank you.”
Squeezing another lemon off the pile, he begins to talk again.
Unable to focus, I return my gaze to my phone. First I type a text to Maggie.
Me: I’ll be at the bar at the W on time. I’d like you bare under that skirt you have on by the time I arrive.
I return my attention to Austin.
“…and so, my friend, this is the long and short of it…”
Tapping my fingers on the table, I wait for a return text. And wait. And wait. And wait.
Nothing.
Austin wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Now Keen, I’ve always prided myself on being a careful man; taking unnecessary risks is not something I find attractive in business…”
Not exactly agreeing with him, I nod anyway and listen to his years of experience. Soon he’s digging into another clam, and that’s when I allow my attention to shift back to my phone.
Nothing.
My fingers hover over the keyboard on my screen as I consider sending another text, but then reconsider. She’s meeting with her mother on Simon Warren business and maybe like me, she doesn’t think it’s appropriate to have her phone out during meetings.
Unlike this meeting.
As the empty bowl in the middle of the table fills with clamshell halves, Austin never stops talking or eating.
With my concentration blown, I use this time to text Sarah back.
Me: Hi Sarah, I don’t think meeting up is a good idea. I know I’ve been a shitty friend and want to apologize for that. Hope you are doing well. Take care.
Dear John letter it is not, but I should have done that long ago. Stringing her along wasn’t exactly stand-up of me.
Before putting my phone back in my pocket, I set the alarm to notify me when it is time for me to leave, and set my attention back on Austin, who I’m not certain even noticed I’d ever taken it out.
Austin continues on about his years in the business and I find my eyes drifting to the clock over the bar.
It’s not like I’m counting down the minutes until I see her.
It’s not like I’m counting down the seconds until I taste her.
It’s not like I’m counting down the moments until I’m inside her.
Really, it’s not.
30
NEVER GROW UP
Maggie
People always accuse me of being overly dramatic.
But this is not one of those times, I swear. It’s true. I’ve been sucker-punched—twice in one day—and I’m still trying to catch my breath.
The white-clothed table is cluttered with half-drunk glasses of Chablis and littered with crumbs from a basket of hard French rolls.
The Bull & Bear at the Waldorf Astoria is filled to capacity. The lights are low. Votive candles flicker on tables, illuminating tiny bud vases of sturdy red carnations.
My palms are flat on the slick leather bench, and I wish I could fist the material to keep myself from wanting to rip the cloth from the table.
I should have known something was up when my mother suggested this restaurant. It is the very first fancy restaurant she took me to when we moved to the city and the restaurant she took me to before she moved back to California. I thought she’d selected it tonight because she knew how much I loved the Waldorf Salad and Onion Soup Gratinee.
Talk about wrong.
It was totally more of a comfort thing.
“Honey,” she reaches for my hand, “don’t look like it’s the end of the world.”
“You’re never moving back to California?” I ask, just to clarify.
Yeah, that little revelation came after the one that Cam is closing the women’s division of Simon Warren. The same one my mother runs, or ran, I suppose.
She gives my hand a little squeeze. “Never is a long time, Maggie, but for now, I’m going to stay here in the city.”
I take a swig of my wine, more than ready for a shot of something much stronger, and set the glass down a little sternly. “Tell Cam to demote Keen and give you his job. You’re more experienced.”
She gives me a raised brow. “Margaret Elizabeth.”
I lift my chin, although I can feel my lip wobbling. She never calls me that. “Mom, why not? You’ve been with Simon Warren since the doors opened. Cam can’t can you just like that.”
Okay, so I do feel slightly bad for running over Keen with a bus, but in my mood right now it could have been a tractor-trailer.
My mother sets her knife down on her plate and pushes it aside. The steak only half eaten. The potatoes untouched. “Camden did not can me. I will be transitioning to the corporate level and continue to work for him in a consulting capacity.”
I’m in the middle of punching my salad with a fork until it submits to being eaten, when I jerk my head up in surprise. “Then why aren’t you moving back to West Hollywood?”
Her entire being changes. Everything about her lights up. “Maggie, I met someone. His name is Winston Trust and we’re in love.”
I jump to my feet and rush around the table to hug her. “Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”
She squeezes me tightly. “I wanted to tell you in person, about everything.”
I squeeze her right back. “What does he do?”
“He’s an international diamond broker.”
“Oh my God, diamonds! When do I get to meet him?”
“Soon, very soon.”
I pull back. “You’re in love. Really?”
She nods, and a slight blush coats her cheeks. I’ve never seen my mother blush.
The waiter returns to our table and I scurry to get out of his way. Once we tell him we are done and the check is taken care of, I look over to my mother. “Have you ever been in love before?”
She waves a hand. “Oh Maggie, I’m an old lady. It’s not like I’m drawing X’s and O’s all over the pad of paper at my desk.”
Picking up a clean knife in front of me, I find myself doing just that. XOXO, I spell out and then look up. “First of all, you are not old. And second, that doesn’t answer my question.”
Her smile fades. “I was in love with your father, and after how badly that ended, I never thought I’d be able to love again.”
Visions of those damned white horses blind my sight for a moment. But that’s my sorrow, not hers. I refocus. There’s a deep sadness in my heart and a happiness at the same time, so I focus on that. “So tell me, when exactly do I get to meet this Winston of yours?”
Role reversal is so fun.
She puts her napkin on the table. “Tomorrow night. Bring Keen over to my apartment.”
“You’re not coming to the hotel for drinks?”
Bending over, she puts her purse in her lap and digs around in it. “Winston is waiting for me, and I don’t want to be too late.” Then she looks up. “I hope you don’t mind?”
I wave a hand. “No, not at all.”
“I’ll have my driver drop you at your hotel,” she says, standing up and smoothing her skirt.
I stand too. “You know what, Mom, I think I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”
“You sure? It’s cold.”
I nod and glance down at my phone on the table, at the text Keen sent me a while ago.
The one I refuse to answer.
31
HOW YOU GET THE GIRL
Maggie
Peacock Alley is such a gem.
While I sip on my whiskey at the bar in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, I consider getting a room at this hotel. It’s just that the whole moving-my-things-from-the-W-to-here seems like a real pain in the ass.
Sure, I wouldn
’t get to see Keen’s clean-shaven face, which by the way is just as hot as his unshaven look. And I wouldn’t get to gawk at his gray slim-fit three-piece suit that looks every bit as hot as those jeans he wore last night. Still, neither is why I don’t change hotels.
Honest.
It’s not.
Like I said, it would be a pain in the ass.
Don’t believe me.
Refusing to think about him, I set my sights on the tuxedo-clad man in the corner. Admiring the piano player here at Peacock Alley has occupied my time for at least fifteen minutes. It’s not his good looks that caught my attention, but rather the songs he has been crooning.
“Can I buy you another?”
Surprised by the closeness of the voice, I jump a little in my seat, and when my heel gets caught in the rung, I almost slide right off the bar stool.
These damn boots!
A good-looking younger man with shoulder-length blond hair catches me before I fall.
“Thank you,” I say, bracing the bar for stability.
With a smile, he sits beside me on the empty stool and unbuttons his suit jacket. “I don’t usually have that effect on women.”
I take him in, feeling a little buzzed, and full of a lot of bad judgment. “You mean you don’t usually sweep them off their bar stool with a few words?”
The sparkle of good humor remains in his eyes. “So may I buy you another?”
I look down at my glass with only a few drops left and lift it. “Sure, why not.”
He motions for the bartender, and when he arrives, Blondie looks over at me. “What will it be?”
“Whiskey, neat.”
Those brows of his shoot up. “Make it two,” he tells the bartender.
The bartender nods.
“Drowning your sorrows?” Blondie asks me.
I lean an elbow on the polished wood of the bar. “Something like that.”
“Boyfriend problems?”
I sigh. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t like to label relationships, but yes.”
“Care to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
I shake my head no. “Nothing to talk about. He wants other women.”
Blondie looks me up and down. “Damn shame.”
I give him a smile. At least he’s making me feel better.
The bartender sets two glasses in front of us, and Blondie picks his up and lifts it. “Here’s to moving on.”
Wrapping my hand around my glass of amber liquid, I lift it and clink his glass. “To moving on.”
But what if I don’t want to?
Blondie sets his glass down and holds out his hand. “I’m Kyle Langston.”
I take his offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Kyle. I’m Maggie May. And if you even breathe a word about the famous Rod Stewart song, I’ll shove you right off that stool.”
He gives me a quizzical look and it makes me wonder just how young he is.
“Never mind.”
Kyle smiles and leans closer. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this all alone?”
I practically spit out my drink. “You did not just say that!”
“Yeah, I did. Do you have a better suggestion for a line to pick up a beautiful woman?”
I give him a little snap of my tongue. “Considering I just told you why I was here, I think you need to concentrate more on the conversations you are having and less on the boobs you think you are having them with.”
Embarrassed, he bows his head. “My bad.”
Yeah, I’m not only empathetic, but I like the attention, so I don’t kick him to the curb. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you wouldn’t feel the same in my situation. I point my finger at him. “You’re in luck because I am willing to help you out. My roommate is a screenwriter and I feel like all we do is watch movies and discuss the best lines. How about this one? ‘Now on the one hand, it’s very difficult for a man to even speak to someone who looks like you. But on the other, shouldn’t that be your problem?’”
“Hitch,” he calls out.
I snap my finger and point to him with a wink. “Bingo.”
He downs his scotch. “But I think the line is, ‘should that be your problem?’”
Following suit, I down my drink and slam the glass down. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” I laugh.
Another drink and way too many movie lines later, I think I have little Kyle here more prepared to pick up women.
The piano player begins to play “Layla” by Eric Clapton and I start to move to the beat. “God, I love this song.”
Kyle puts his hand on my thigh. “I’ve never heard it, but do you want to dance?”
Slowly, tactfully, I put my hand over his and try to ease it off my leg. “Kyle, you’re a little young for me, don’t you think?”
He slides his hand back up my leg. “I’m twenty-two. How old are you?”
This time I let tactful fall by the wayside. “Too old for you.”
Although technically the three-to-four-year age difference probably wouldn’t have mattered before. Before Keen. The truth is I am not interested in him or anyone, except Keen.
And doesn’t that make me sigh.
The persistence is getting annoying as he slides his hand back up my thigh. “We could take this to my room?”
“Or better yet, you could take that hand of yours back up to your room and use it to jerk off, kid—now get lost.”
My head snaps around to see Keen towering over us, his dark gaze flicking between Kyle and me.
My little pupil jumps to his feet in a fit of fright. I have to admit, Keen is looking pretty damn intimidating right now, even to me.
“I’ll just be going,” Kyle says and then looks at me. “It was nice to meet you, Maggie.”
“You too, Kyle.” I smile and give him a little wave.
“Kyle,” Keen hisses.
When Kyle is out of earshot, I twist around in my seat. “What the hell was that?”
Keen’s fingers are clenching into fists at his sides and it takes him a few seconds to say anything. “That was me, with all my restraint.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you?” he huffs.
I say nothing. Suddenly pleading the fifth seems like the best course of action.
“You weren’t where you were supposed to be, Maggie.” He stresses my name as if pushing it through his teeth.
I twist back around and look at the half glass of whiskey I have left. I must be getting old, because there is no way I’m going to finish that.
As if reading my thoughts, Keen’s hand wraps around my glass and he downs it like a shot.
“Hey,” I protest, “that was mine.”
He takes hold of my elbow and gently guides me off the stool. “I need it to handle you right now, and besides, you’re done. It’s time to go back to the room.”
I jerk out of his hold. “What if I don’t want to?”
His features harden, and I swear he breathes in a deep gust of air as if to calm himself down.
Calm himself down!
What about me?
He’s the one sexting his women all over the city.
“What has your panties in such a wad?” I ask with a snicker. Okay, I might be a little buzzed.
Instead of answering, he grips my elbow again and begins marching us both right out of the Waldorf Astoria.
I’m not sure why, but I let him. Okay, I know why, and so do you. I like the feel of his skin against mine, his hard body next to mine, and I love that scent that makes me drool.
Sad, but true.
He manhandles me right out onto Park Avenue and as crazy as it sounds, I find it sexy.
As soon as the cool air of Forty-ninth Street hits my face, though, it is like sober slams right into me. Suddenly I’m aware of just how pissed I am, despite how much I really like the fact that he came to find me.
Hey, just being honest.
I whirl arou
nd. “Are you done,” and I air quote, “‘catching up’ with your little girlfriend?”
Confusion sets across his brows.
“Sar…rah.” Okay, it shouldn’t have two r’s and sounds rather childish, but I don’t care.
“What the hell, Maggie—Sarah?”
“Yes, Sarah with the hugs and kisses.”
Keen looks at me, and I mean really looks at me, and then starts laughing.
What.
The.
Hell?
I shoot him my dirtiest look. “You are an asshole,” I mutter and whip around. Luckily it isn’t that far to the hotel, and if I can get there before him, I am so locking him out of the room.
Quick footsteps behind me have me walking faster and my adrenaline pumping. But then his arm is around me and he’s whirling me around in his wool trench coat and messy hair looking like a GQ model. Gagh! And that thought makes me even madder.
“Maggie.”
Again with my name.
“What?” I snap.
“I haven’t seen Sarah in two years.”
“Well, somehow she magically got your new number, and from that text message, she also magically knows you’re in town and she is looking to …‘catch up.’” I air quote the last words—you know, for effect.
That smirk remains in place, and it infuriates me. “My brother called her looking for me last week. I’m sure she must have called him to check on me—that’s how she got my number and knew I’d be in town.”
Flabbergasted, I motorboat my lips together. “Right. A little convenient, don’t you think?”
“If you would have read the whole thing, you’d know it’s true.”
I straighten my shoulders. “I speed-read it, you know…to the ‘meet for drinks like old times’ part, and the ‘XOXO’ part.”
Clearly frustrated with me, he pulls his phone from his suit jacket and swipes the screen, taps a few buttons, and thrusts it toward me. “Read it, Maggie—this time all of it. She says she talked to my brother. And you also might want to notice, I don’t have her assigned as a contact.”