The Anti-Honeymoon

by Bethany Michaels

  “I know,” Jenna said, her eyes suddenly tearing up. “Thank you.”

  “Excuse me,” a voice over her shoulder said.

  Jenna quickly wiped away the stupid tears as a well-dressed woman stopped a short distance away from the table.

  “Can I help you?” Tommy asked, staring at her.

  She was maybe ten years younger than Tommy with dark auburn hair pulled back into a professional-looking chignon. She wore a gray pencil shirt, white blouse, and matching blazer. Stylish red-rimmed glasses and red lipstick completed her look. On her feet were heels that could only be described as sex kitten chic. They were a jarring addition to the buttoned-up impression she gave.

  “I’m looking for Miss Jenna Taylor.”

  Tommy was fixated on those heels, there was no two ways about it, but when she said Jenna’s name, his expression became guarded. “What do you want with Miss Taylor?” he asked, crossing his arms. Her protector. Always.

  “I’m Jenna,” she said, touching Tommy’s arm to let him know he could stand down.

  “Can we…talk a moment?” the woman asked.

  Tommy looked at Jenna, waiting. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Tommy looked at the woman again like she was about to break out some ninja moves then took Aggie’s arm.

  “We’ll be right over there,” he said, pointing to a pair of easy chairs a short distance away.

  “Thanks, Tommy.”

  “Your father?” the woman asked, watching him walk away.

  “No—well, yes, kind of,” Jenna said, realizing that’s exactly what he was. She smiled.

  “That’s not his wife,” the woman said. It wasn’t really a question.

  “No, his mother. I’m sorry, who are you?”

  The woman tore her gaze away from Tommy and turned to face her. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, I’m Marcy Walker. From Zach Ruiz’s office.”

  Instantly, Jenna tensed up.

  Marcy examined Jenna’s face, and she was sure she saw what Jenna saw in the mirror that morning. Red eyes, puffy face. Messy hair. Yoga pants and an old T-shirt that were the most effort she could muster in dressing herself.

  “Was there something you needed? Some other piece of information he didn’t get from me the first time?” Jenna asked, an edge to her voice. She scooted out the chair, ready to walk away.

  Marcy’s hand on her arm stilled her.

  “Just a second,” she said. “Please.”

  Something in her voice made Jenna pause and sit down again. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “It’s a plane crash, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, not that I care if his plane crashed or a bus hit him or anything but…”

  Jenna opened her eyes to see a small smile on Marcy’s lips. “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined that scenario,” she said. “Especially in the last few days. But no, he’s fine.”

  Jenna exhaled softly, relieved. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”

  She paused, looking at Jenna for a second. “I’ve been out of town for the past two weeks,” she said.

  “Closing the Tower deal?” she asked snippily. “That’s great. I’ll take my part of the commission in cash, please.”

  “We didn’t close the deal,” she said. “I was on vacation. With my nephew.”

  So after all that, Zach hadn’t closed the deal with Tower Media. Jenna wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad. She was just…nothing. And so she just stared at Marcy blankly, wondering what the hell she was doing here. What she wanted.

  “I’d never been on a real vacation,” she said. “And since I adopted my nephew last year, there wasn’t time. I needed to work, and Mr. Ruiz is very good at keeping me busy.”

  Jenna thought of just a few of the things Zach had asked of Marcy when she’d known him. He relied on her a lot. Jenna was sure he was not the easiest man to work for.

  “I can imagine.”

  “Mr. Ruiz can be challenging to work for and to know. He gets very involved in his work. He forgets to eat. Forgets to sleep. Forgets that other people have lives and families and things outside working for him to do. Forgets to appreciate them. I don’t know if you noticed that sometimes he’s not much of a people person.”

  “Yeah.” His business was everything. The only thing. People were only a vehicle to get what he wanted for his business.

  “But a few weeks ago, something happened to him, Miss Taylor.” She clutched her purse, looking away for a moment then back. “It’s as if he woke up. All of a sudden, like lightning hit him. Or…love.”

  Jenna shook her head. This woman was unbelievable. “Is this in your job description? Coming to try to sell that tired line to me on his behalf? You get paid extra for that?” She was disgusted.

  “I know it’s, well, hard to believe given the way he’s behaved.” She frowned as if she was talking about a naughty charge. She did kind of have that nanny vibe.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jenna said. “And he told me that on the day I left.” It hurt, even now, to know that he’d looked at Jenna with such earnestness, looked right into her eyes, and lied to her.

  “He…told you that he loved you?”

  “He was desperate for his little sham not to fall apart,” she said.

  “I wasn’t sure he even knew,” Marcy said under her breath to herself. And she smiled a little.

  “What is it he wanted you to accomplish by telling me this?” Jenna asked.

  “He doesn’t know I’m here,” she said. “And he’s not going to be happy if he finds out. I’ve been instructed not to meddle.”

  “You should listen to the boss,” Jenna said. “Or he’s going to be hiring a new assistant.”

  She smiled tightly. “He already has. To take my old position.” She handed Jenna her business card.

  Marcy L. Walker, Vice President

  “So you got a promotion out of all of this,” she said. “Even though you two didn’t close the deal. Congratulations.”

  She ignored Jenna’s sarcasm. “As I said, Zach has changed. He didn’t want to spend as much time in the office, he said.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Zach.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “What…what’s he been doing, then?”

  “Pretty much what you appear to have been doing,” she said, eyeing the questionable cleanliness of Jenna’s T-shirt and yoga pants. “Wallowing.”

  “Wallowing?” Zach was not a wallower. He was a doer. A burier of self in work. That’s what he’d told her and what she’d seen with her own eyes.

  “Well, wallowing at first. Now he’s…painting.”

  “Like, walls?”

  “No. Like landscapes. On canvas. Ocean scenes, mostly. A few starfish. A deformed hummingbird. They’re terrible.” She shook her head in dismay. “It’s very disconcerting for all of us.”

  Painting. Huh.

  “I never knew he was an artist.”

  “‘Art’ is an optimistic description for what he’s producing. But it’s out of the ordinary for him. And that’s how I know.”

  “Know?”

  “That he’s in love with you.”

  Jenna shook her head. “You can’t really believe that,” she said. “He was using me. Pumping me for information about a client.”

  “A client he cancelled a meeting with.”

  “Wait, he cancelled? I saw the presentation folder that morning…”

  “After he posted bail, he—”

  “Bail? He was arrested? For what?” Jenna pictured insider trading or embezzlement or something.

  “Assault and battery,” she said. “Mr. Hansen pressed charges when Mr. Ruiz punched him out in Florida.”

  “Wait.” Jenna shook her head. She’d either entered a portal into some kind of alternate universe or had finally cracked. �
�Zach punched Elliot?”

  She nodded. “Your cousin, Niki, called the cops and told them Zach had just seen red and punched him in the face. Broke his nose.”

  Jenna sat back, stunned. It must have happened while she was hiding in the shower that morning at the spa.

  “Why?”

  “I believe it was when Mr. Hansen offered to trade you for the Tower Media account.”

  Jenna didn’t know what to say. None of it made any sense.

  “Mr. Hansen dropped the case,” she said. “Didn’t want the negative publicity.”

  “No, that would be the last thing he wanted.”

  “He even offered to do a partnership on the deal. Zach would provide the data services and Mr. Hansen would handle the account.”

  “Sounds exactly up Zach’s alley,” she said. “All the data, no peopling.”

  “That’s what I thought. Then he told Elliot to go to hell, handed me two tickets to Disney World, promoted me to Vice President, and turned into Bob Ross. Only without the perm. Or artistic skills.”

  Jenna just sat and stared at Marcy, unsure how to process things and not sure what any of it meant.

  But Jenna wasn’t the same person she’d been even a couple of months before.

  “I know you care for Zach, Marcy. And I think it’s nice that you’re trying to help him. But this isn’t my problem. I didn’t cause any of this, and it’s not up to me to solve it. It’s not up to me to make him feel better. He made his choice. And I’ve made mine.”

  Jenna stood, the message that she was done with the conversation loud and clear.

  Marcy stood. “I see,” she said. “And you’re not wrong. About any of it.” She grinned at Jenna. “You’re not the woman I thought you were. And I mean that in the best possible way.”

  Jenna nodded. “I’m just done dealing with everyone else’s bullshit.”

  “I understand completely. Believe me.”

  Jenna softened a little. Marcy was tough and independent. And maybe Jenna was, too.

  Hell yeah, she was.

  And she was going to be fine. She was going to live her life the way she wanted to live it. Say what she wanted to say. Do what she wanted to do. No explanations, no apologies. Just like Aggie. Only she wasn’t going to wait until she was eighty to start. She was starting right now.

  “Regardless, please consider calling him. His personal cell number is on the back of the card. And his home address. And here’s an extra key to his apartment.”

  She placed the key on the table next to her card. “I can’t even begin to imagine the state of his apartment or his shower status, but he should be home. Any day of the week. Any time.” She shuddered slightly. “Just call. Or better yet, drop by.”

  Jenna managed a nod before Marcy walked away, her high heels clicking smartly on the tile.

  “Are you okay?” Tommy asked, rushing over as soon as Jenna was alone.

  “Yes,” she said, putting her hand over the card and the key to Zach’s place. “I totally am.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Zach put the finishing touches on the ocean sunset and cocked his head to the side. The color was close, but it just wasn’t…right. Maybe the sky needed a little more blue. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how the sky looked over the ocean. The exact shade of blue. The shape of the clouds in the sky. But behind his lids, all he could see was Jenna. And the expression on her face when she thought he’d betrayed her.

  He swirled his brush through a darker blue and was working on the horizon line when he heard a knock at the door.

  “Go away,” he said irritably under his breath. He hadn’t ordered any food, and anyway, all the usual delivery people had to know by now to leave it by the door.

  Another knock came a moment later, and he tossed down his brush, wiping his paint-covered hands on his T-shirt before heading to the door.

  “What?” he practically snarled when he jerked it open.

  “That’s no way to talk to your mother, son,” his dad said.

  Zach blinked, sure he was hallucinating, and looked again. “Mom? Dad?”

  “Your brothers are getting some groceries,” his mom said, walking under his arm to enter his place. Immediately, she started picking up empty food containers and half-full cans of diet soda.

  “Mary said it was bad,” his dad said, doing a slow, head-to-toe inventory of Zach. “But we had no idea.” He gestured at Zach’s shirt. “Groom?”

  Zach closed the door. “Marcy,” he corrected his father. Marcy the meddler, as he’s started calling her in his head. He’d promoted the woman, given her and her kid the vacation of a lifetime. And all he’d asked was that she not bother him. Not meddle. Stop suggesting he do things like shower and leave his apartment. And stop telling him to call Jenna. That was number one.

  “We’ll have you fixed up in no time,” his mom said, pulling a garbage bag out of her purse.

  “You carry garbage bags with you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said with a shrug.

  This was all just…crazy. And he needed to get to the bottom of what the hell was happening.

  “Mom, just…stop for a minute. Sit down.”

  His mom set the nearly full garbage bag down and went to the couch. She brushed off the cushion before sitting, and Zach gave her silent props for not pulling out a mini vacuum or a can of Lysol.

  He was so shocked to see them he didn’t know where to start. They’d never come to see him in the city. He didn’t even think they knew his address.

  “Not that I’m not happy to see you—I am,” he began. “But what are you doing here?”

  “You needed us,” his dad said simply.

  There was more gray in his hair than Zach remembered. And in the thick, black mustache he’d had all Zach’s life.

  “This is an intervention, hon,” his mom said.

  “An intervention?”

  “I was worried about you after that phone call from Florida,” she said.

  “Why? I mean, how could you tell something was wrong?”

  His mother smiled serenely and patted his cheek. “I’m your mother,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “And then Marcy called and told us what was happening. She said there was a woman and that…you’d spiraled,” she said. She glanced at the dozens of canvases and tubes of paint and brushes that littered the dining room table and floor. “She said we should definitely confiscate the paints.”

  “Marcy doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Sheesh. Give the woman a little power and now she thought she could run Zach’s life.

  “She’s worried about you, son. And so are we.”

  “Me?”

  Zach was the last one they’d always had to worry about. He was the one who took care of people. Hadn’t he bought them a place in Phoenix, made sure they had enough money, healthcare, lived in a safe place? And his siblings. He’d tried to do his best to make sure they didn’t have to struggle. That they had a good education.

  “Yes, you, Zach. Of all my children, you’ve always been the one I worried most about.” His mother reached for his hand.

  That made absolutely no sense, and Zach had the uncomfortable sensation that he’d somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming this whole bizarre conversation.

  “I don’t know why.” He had always been independent, tried not to ask for money when he knew it was scarce. Tried to handle his own stuff alone so as not to be a burden. He was fully aware his folks had three other kids and a limited income.

  “You’ve always been a loner,” his father said. “Never asked for anything.”

  “I would think that would be a good thing.”

  “But everybody needs help sometimes,” his dad said.

  “Not just money,” his mom said. “Lord knows you’ve got plenty of that, a
nd we are so, so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

  “We just feel that you’ve never really learned to ask for help,” his dad said. “You never came to us about girl issues. Problems with friends. Never asked for advice. Never asked for help with a situation you didn’t know how to handle yourself.”

  “I can’t think of any situations that ever came up I couldn’t handle on my own,” Zach said. He recognized the defensive tone in his voice.

  “Clearly,” his mom said, glancing at the filth of his apartment again, “that has changed.”

  Zach sighed and shoved a hand through his dirty hair. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just need some time.”

  “You need your family,” his dad said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And a shower.”

  Suddenly, all the air went out of Zach, and he was exhausted. Completely, bone-deep exhausted. He was tired of trying to put Jenna out of his mind and get over her while simultaneously trying to remember every moment they’d spent together, trying to get that feeling back if only for an instant. He was deep in stage four and wasn’t going to be able to climb out on his own.

  “I know,” he admitted finally.

  His mom went over and hugged him. Her familiar scent was comforting, and he squeezed her tight.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she said like Zach was fourteen years old and experiencing his first heartbreak, which he guessed he kind of was.

  “Shower first,” she said. “And burn that shirt. It reeks.”

  “And then we’ll sit down and help you come up with a plan,” his dad said. “Help you get back on your feet.”

  Zach didn’t have a better plan. No plan, actually, for the first time in his life.

  “Okay.”

  He went into his bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He had splatters of paint in various colors all over the “Groom” shirt he’d purchased in Florida, as well as flecks in his hair, under his fingernails, and all over his arms. And his mom was right. He was really pretty ripe.

  Modern society had made it easy to become a shut-in if you wanted to be. You could have absolutely anything delivered, from tuna to toilet paper. How many days had it been since Zach had gone outside?