Figures. I end the call, but just as quick as I do that, it rings back.
“Hey,” I say to Nol.
“What’s up, Perfect?” He sounds beat. No doubt trying to recover from some crazy weekend.
“Um,” I say. Why did I call? Advice? From Nolan Delaney? Please. He might have had more girls in one week than I’ve had the whole last year, but Mr. Romantic he is not. He got that nickname back in college when the press had to call us something and the gag order prevented anyone from using our real names.
“Girl problems?”
“No. Asshole. Why do you ask that?”
“Dude, you always call when you’ve got girl problems. And I always tell you the same thing. Just ignore them, man. That’s the ticket to catching that elusive fish. You gotta ignore them and they come running.”
“That never works, Nol.”
“Works for me every time, Mac. You’re doing it wrong. You gotta be firm. Be pissed off.”
“Pissed off over what?”
“Whatever it is she’s doing that’s got you calling me, dumbass. What did she do?”
“I didn’t call for a girl, Nol. I just wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Right,” he mumbles, then sounds like he’s taking a long drink of something. Probably whiskey. “Well, I’m in Vegas.”
“Figures. You get lucky?”
He laughs. “With girls or with gambling?”
“Whichever.”
“Well, I didn’t get lucky with either because I’m here on business. You ever hear of Andrew Manco?”
“Why?” I growl, instantly pissed off at the mention of that jerk’s name.
“Oh, he’s got this fucking fabulous piece of tech, right? He was on one of your shows last week—”
Yeah. That’s why he was here. Asshole.
“—and he was demonstrating this virtual reality vacation thing. Amazing, dude. Just amazing. So I got the new club slash resort going up out near Borrego Springs and I was thinking of putting in one of his systems.”
“Like virtual sex?” I can’t even imagine what he is talking about.
“No, but that’s a great fucking idea. I’m gonna ask him about it the next time I see him.”
“You know him?”
“Oh, I guess. I saw him Friday night. Here in Vegas.”
“Vegas. That fucker took her to Vegas?”
“Took who?”
“Ellie. The girl I’m calling about.”
“I knew you were calling about a girl. Dumbass. She’s dating Andrew Manco? How old is she? He’s kinda young, right? Got that whole college start-up thing going these days.”
“Right? And she’s twenty-seven.”
“Cougar action. Huh.”
“Did you see her? She’s medium height, cute as fuck, shoulder-length blonde hair, and she might’ve been wearing a very tight pink pencil dress that I bought her.”
“Nah, he was alone on Friday. I didn’t talk to him Saturday or Sunday, too many people around his booth—”
“What booth?”
“At the tech convention. He was keynote and they had this great demo afterward. Don’t you watch your own shows? That’s why he was on last week. Big tech convo in Vegas. All the latest shit. And I swear, I’m putting in an order for that VR setup on Monday. I got big plans, Mac. Big, big plans. Hey, you know anyone who might be a good candidate to manage a new place in the desert? My main chick just quit. Says I’m, quote, ‘Incorrigible, have ineradicably deviant sexual tendencies, and a personality akin to American Psycho.’ Unquote. Bitch. She should meet Mr. Mysterious. Then she’d really know what all those fancy words mean. Don’t ever have an office fling, Mac. They always fuck you over in the end.”
Jesus. Why did I call him? Who the hell would take girl advice from Nolan Delaney? “Who would I know?” I say, ignoring his weird outburst about sexual tendencies as well as his ‘advice’. “I’ve been out of the loop for ten years. Call Mr. Corporate.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to, I think. I haven’t talked to him in over a year, but he’s got all the connections I need right now. Mr. Fucking Corporate.”
“So no Ellie, huh? Not even hanging around the periphery?”
“Nah, no girls in his booth. Just nerdy tech guys. And definitely no hot little blondes hanging near the virtual reality shit.”
“Hmmm.”
“Was she supposed to be there?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “OK, well, it was great catching up. I’ll talk to you soon. And good luck with the… whatever it is.”
“Sure. And remember, ignore the fuck out of her. It gets them every time.”
“Right.”
“Later, man.”
I tab end and then look down at the phone. Should I call and ask her what the hell? Clearly she was not with Andrew this weekend. On the other hand, she never actually said she was going with him. She evaded the questions like a pro.
No. I’m not calling her. She blew me off. One hundred percent blew me off.
Was I a dick? Did I insult her with the sex? It was fun, right?
Maybe that’s all it was. Just a quickie before she quits. Just something safe. Something she can walk away from in a week and never look back.
Maybe Nol is right. Maybe she’s not interested. Maybe I need to ignore her. Maybe I need to cut her loose before she cuts me.
Maybe I need to cut this whole goddamned company loose before I get lost in some life-sucking corporate existence like the rest of my friends.
I open the message stream she’s been sending to Heath and shake my head. She seemed so nice. So damn cute. A perfect change from the women I occasionally date.
But I guess it’s fake. I guess she’s nothing but a fake.
Chapter Twenty
ELLIE
I have never so looked forward to a Monday morning like I did this one. All weekend I thought about Mac. What’s he doing? Did he take someone else out after I said no? Take them to dinner? Fuck them afterward?
Probably. And why not? He offered the good times to me and I said no. I have no excuse to be mad if he did.
I won’t be mad. I won’t.
I look at myself in the rear-view mirror as I check my lipstick and make a face.
I will be mad. There’s no way I won’t be mad. I don’t care how stupid it is, he’s gotten under my skin. I literally know nothing about this guy except he sure can fuck—and his dick feels nice. Hell, his tongue feels nice too. And his touch.
Focus, Ellie.
I know nothing about him but that. And I’ve worked here for seven years and he never once came to the company. Why?
It’s not like I just missed him or he came in secretly. Not like he’s some kind of hands-off, behind-the-scenes kind of executive.
No. I’ve been out on that tarmac every day of those seven years and he’s never gotten off a jet. I’ve never even seen that jet. What kind of money do the Stonewalls really have? Scary amounts, that much is sure.
I guess he could’ve driven. But Mr. Stonewall Senior never drives. It’s nothing but jets for that family. Heath lived locally, so he only took the jet when he had to do business out of town.
And why isn’t Mac on the internet when I search? Stonewall Senior is famous. Hell, there’s a ton of stuff about Heath online as well. They have a sister, Camille, and she’s not as visible as Heath, but there’s lots of society photos of her in ball gowns hanging on the arms of various bachelors at charity events.
There’s just something off about a man from a famous family not having an online presence. Something strange. Like he’s hiding.
What is he hiding from?
That’s my mission this week, I decide as I grab my purse, get out of the car, and close the door. I’m going to figure out what’s up with his past.
It feels weird to walk into the Atrium this morning. Last week I parked out by the airport and went into my old office to see Ming in the mornings. But today I parked in the main parking lot.
It’s
not because of Mac, I tell myself. It’s not.
But as soon as I walk through the door and into the seven-story building, I find myself looking up. All the way up to the top floor.
I don’t see the multi-colored picnic tables filled with people leaning over laptops and chatting over coffee with co-workers. Or the six-story waterfall surrounded by palm trees. Or the monstrous slides twisting their way down the center of the lobby.
Just the tippy top of this world where Mac exists. I get in one of the glass-walled elevators and take in the scenery as we ascend. I’ve never paid much attention to the building while on the elevator before. Usually when I come up here it’s for a meeting I’d rather not be at. But now… this is my new world.
Well, for another week, anyway. I’m still quitting.
But it’s nice while it lasts. I really have to hand it to Stonewall Senior. He made Stonewall Entertainment a very nice place to work. And even though I didn’t enjoy many of the perks over the years since I was out at the airport, I appreciate the fact that he went to so much trouble to make work pleasant for his employees.
I probably could’ve walked up faster, that’s how long it takes to stop at every floor, but then I’d be all sweaty and out of breath when I saw Mac. So I stand patiently as people get on and off, and when we finally do reach the seventh floor, it’s just me getting off.
I smile at Stephanie as I approach the corner offices and she nods as she talks on the phone. Mac’s door is closed, but mine isn’t. So that’s where I go.
My office is bright and cheery. I absolutely love it. It’s so me. How did he know what style furniture I like? The white writing desk has an antique finish that complements the shabby chic feel of the place. I drop my purse on the desk and sink into the leather chair. It’s not as big as Mac’s, but it’s far better suited to a woman and this office. And it feels wonderful on my back.
I have to shake my head a little as I picture my old office down at the airport. The metal desk, the creaky chair. I never spent much time down there because it just wasn’t a place you wanted to be. Walking guests around campus was better than being in that depressing space all day.
A knock at my door pulls me back to attention and my heart flutters for a moment as I call out a cheery, “Come in!”
Mac opens the door connecting our office, walks in, closes it, and then takes a seat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk. He crosses a foot over his knee and leans back, looking a little blasé and cool as he folds his hands in his lap.
And even though I’m the one sitting behind the desk and he is the one sitting in front of it, I suddenly feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office. “Um,” I say. “Is everything OK?”
He smiles, but it’s not the charming smile I’ve come to expect from Mac. “How was your weekend?” he asks.
“It was nice,” I say, immediately suspicious. “How was yours?”
“Oh,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his light gray suit and then smoothing the fabric with a brushing motion. “Slightly boring.”
I’m relieved. “So you didn’t take anyone else out in my place?” I ask, hinting around for answers.
“No,” he says. “Nope. Sure didn’t. Just sat at home in my apartment. Looking out the window. Talked to an old friend last night though. That was enlightening.”
“Oh,” I say, getting another very weird vibe from him. “Did you learn something new?” His silence is making me uncomfortable. It’s making me feel like I did something wrong.
“I did. In fact, my friend said he was in Vegas this weekend. Were you in Vegas this weekend, Ellie?”
I shake my head with a smile. “Nope. I sure wasn’t.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Because my friend said he saw Andrew Manco there demonstrating some tech thing at a conference.”
Shit. “Mac, I never said—”
“I realize that,” he interrupts. “I absolutely realize that, Ellie. You never said it, you never confirmed it, I was the one who made up the weekend with Andrew. So not that I give a fuck anymore, but who were you with this weekend?”
Not that I give a fuck anymore? What the hell is that? His tone has turned hostile and I squirm in my chair a little. “I wasn’t with anyone. I was just at home alone.”
“So you lied to me.” His manner is clipped and quick.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost growling the words. “And you know what, Ellie? Whatever the reason was that you didn’t want to see me this weekend, I would’ve been OK with it if it had been the truth. But I can’t deal with liars. I’ve had a lot of experience with lies in my life and I don’t put up with it. Not even small ones. So whatever your reason was for lying to me, I don’t care. I’m only in your office to give you this.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small gift wrapped in white paper and tied up with a pink satin ribbon. He places it on the desk and pushes it away from him with one finger. Like it’s toxic and he doesn’t want to touch it.
“Do whatever you want with it,” Mac says. “I’m done.”
He gets up, buttons his suit coat, walks through the connecting door, and then looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I want every business contact you have on that computer before you leave at the end of the day. And before this week is over, you will have brought Jennifer up to speed on your schedule and how you run things so that next week you can introduce her to all our past, present, and future guests as the most competent person to take over your job. I wish you much success, Miss Hatcher. Perhaps we’ll see each other again, but I doubt it.”
He pulls the door closed behind him and there’s the tell-tale sound of a deadbolt lock clicking into place. A deadbolt that was not even there last week.
I just stare at that door. For whole minutes. Wondering just what the hell happened. He’s mad at me for telling him the equivalent of, “I can’t go out because I have to wash my hair?”
Seriously?
I’m not the one who made up that story about Andrew. He was. I didn’t confirm or deny. So how is it my fault that he conjured up some non-existent sexy weekend between Andrew and me?
I can’t even.
And what the hell is this gift he left? I pick it up. The box is small. Only a little larger than a deck of cards. I pull on the pink satin ribbon and it falls apart, then carefully unwrap the thick white paper and remove the lid off the box.
Inside is a phone.
With a sticky note on it that says, You need professional help.
My jaw drops as I flick the screen to life and realize it’s Heath’s phone. My delusional message stream with Heath is open when it comes to life. All the things that never happened between us are on display.
The dream house, the fake interior design, the babies I imagined us having, the puppy I envisioned romping around our suburban farm, the Pinterest board links and screenshots.
All of it.
I click the links to the Pinterest board for my office gossip stuff just to see if he did have access, and nope. It says page not found.
So who the hell is he to lecture me about lying when he used that lie to blackmail me last week?
I am fuming mad.
But there is no way I will even give him the satisfaction of trying to explain my point of view.
Fuck him.
Just fuck him.
Chapter Twenty-One
ELLIE
I have a ton of guests on Mondays, so I am out of my office the entire day flitting back and forth between the airport and the studios with them as I try to do my job to the best of my ability after having McAllister Stonewall literally fuck me in the ass and hand me my walking papers.
I’m so humiliated. Again.
By the time I get back to my office on the seventh floor of the Atrium, it’s past six and I still have to transfer my contacts into the new office computer before I leave.
There is no way I’m going to give McAllister Stonewall the satis
faction of reaming me a new one tomorrow morning as well. No way.
The next morning Mr. Stonewall’s office door is open and the lights are still off when I get in. I have one hour to talk with Jennifer about my duties before I have to be back at the tarmac for guests, so I set my things down and go looking for her.
“Knock, knock,” I say at her open door. She’s busy shuffling papers and squinting at her laptop screen.
“Oh, hi, Ellie!” she says brightly. “What’s up?”
“Well, Mr. Stonewall wants me to go over all my job duties with you this week. It’s pretty busy, but I have about an hour right now to get started if you have time?”
“Oh, sure. My stuff can wait.” She pushes back from her desk and walks over to me. “Let’s go.”
We walk back to my corner of the floor in silence. I am acutely aware of everyone looking at me. Did Mac tell them something? Did he tell them we were… screwing around last week? Or maybe they are still picturing me as I ran out of the conference room last Wednesday screaming the word ‘tampon?’
Jesus Christ. Get me out of here.
Jennifer closes my office door behind her once we get there and I take a seat at my desk, pointing to the chair in front. “You can bring that around so you can see what I’m doing if you want.”
Jennifer smiles as she drags the pretty chair around to my side, then takes a seat and crosses her legs. “I’m sorry, you know.”
“Sorry for what?” I ask, trying to concentrate on bringing up my scheduling program on my laptop.
“Whatever he did. I mean, it was pretty obvious that the two of you hit it off last week and now it’s pretty obvious that he’s not speaking to you. So I’m sorry. Office romances, right? It’s difficult. Especially when you’re dating your boss.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “We weren’t dating.”
“Well,” Jennifer says. “OK. But you were doing something. Ellen told me she caught you two in the stairs right after your completely hilarious exit from the meeting. I have to say, Ellie, that was epic. Best scene ever in all my twenty years in Corporate America.” Jennifer laughs, and I don’t think it’s a making-fun laugh either. I think she really did get a kick out of my meltdown.
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