by Val Tobin
You Again
Copyright 2020 Val Tobin
Published by Val Tobin
ISBN: 978-1-988609-13-3
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sample Chapter: Injury
About Val Tobin
Other books by Val Tobin
Connect with Val Tobin
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Jenn Cunningham; members of the Legal Fiction group; Carol Frank; Melanie Smith; Kelly Tomlinson; Alis B. Kennedy; Wendy Quirion; Val Cseh; John Erwin; Michelle Legere; Pat Folliott; and Diane King for beta reading, professional advice, and suggestions.
Editing by Kelly Hartigan (XterraWeb) editing.xterraweb.com. Thank you, Kelly.
Thanks to Patti Roberts of Paradox (paradoxbooktrailerproductions.blogspot.com.au/) for the amazing cover and for the series idea.
DEDICATIONS
To my readers who keep asking for the next story. To Bob, Jenn, Mark, Chanelle, Savannah, and Jack, always.
Chapter One
Gretchen Brown, the personnel manager at By the Books Accounting, poked her head into Ellen Haddigan’s cubicle. Without stepping inside, she reached in and set a small, wrapped package on Ellen’s desk.
“Happy birthday. Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered and disappeared again.
Ellen took a moment to bury her head in her hands and groan silently.
Birthdays. They revealed so much: age, size of social circle, and obligations. The age part didn’t bother Ellen, who, on her thirtieth birthday, sat at her desk working on a client’s financials. What did she care if people knew her age? She heartily believed in the saying that age is just a number.
The size of her social circle wasn’t important either. She preferred a smaller group to call good friends but also enjoyed large crowds of strangers. Rhonda Miller, who owned an art gallery in Yorkville, fulfilled the role of best friend, and Ellen loved having only one close female friend. She could depend on Rhonda, and Rhonda could depend on Ellen. So, no, age and a small social circle didn’t bother her.
The obligations associated with birthdays—and Christmas, Easter, and Valentine’s Day—were what made her cringe. She’d have to remember every person who wished her a happy birthday today, every person who gave her a gift, and every person who made a thoughtful gesture. Each show of generosity meant she’d have to reciprocate on their special day, and that took too much work and thought. Why couldn’t people be practical and refuse to participate in these meaningless traditions? They’d save thousands of dollars and megatons of stress.
Yet, the closer it got to lunchtime in the small accounting company for which she worked, the closer it came to Cake Time. This tradition impacted everyone equally, and there was a strict no-gifts rule.
Whenever an employee had a birthday, the company sprang for a cake. She supposed it boosted morale, but for her, it brought the dreaded obligations. And despite the rule, someone always bought her a gift and slipped it to her before the end of the day—as Gretchen most recently evidenced. The personnel manager had broken her own rule.
During the almost three years Ellen had worked here, the single gift she’d received after the first birthday celebration they’d held for her had exploded into three gifts received so far today, and the day wasn’t anywhere near over yet. The gifts brought the obligations. The sense of obligation brought guilt.
No one else she knew had a problem with this stuff. Sometimes, she considered talking to a therapist about it, but she’d never followed through on the impulse. If this was her only neurosis, she could live with it. No one else knew she was so petty and selfish. No one else knew she was so logical and practical. She hid it well, except from Rhonda, who’d heard numerous tipsy diatribes from Ellen on the stupidity of gift-giving and silly social obligations.
The time at the bottom right of her computer changed to 12:00 p.m., and chairs shifted away from desks in the cubicles around her. Ellen sighed and rose from her chair. She pasted a smile on her face as her head popped prairie dog-like above the partition, and coworkers straggled past her to the kitchen. Cake Time had arrived.
They gathered in the company kitchen. Gretchen, the official cake lady, already stood next to the kitchen table. The cake, a vanilla sheet cake with vanilla buttercream frosting and guaranteed nut-free, sat atop the table. Two candles, one shaped like the number three and the other a zero, stuck out of the middle of the cake. Around them scrawled the words Happy Birthday Ellen in a fancy curlicue script.
The group huddled around the table, leaving the middle spot, the place of honour in front of the cake, vacant for Ellen. She dutifully assumed the position. Gretchen lit the candles, sucked in a breath, and led them all in a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.”
When that was done, Ellen picked up the knife Gretchen had set next to the cake and carefully cut the large block into pieces. She scooped enough pieces onto the paper plates provided so that everyone who wanted a piece received one. The kitchen slowly cleared out as each employee went about their lunchtime business, taking slices of cake back to their desks to eat at their leisure.
Ellen poured herself coffee from the urn, doctored it with milk and sugar, and carried her coffee and cake back to her desk. What remained of the cake she left on the kitchen table for anyone who wanted seconds.
This was another small resentment Ellen held: these cake days destroyed her diet. Not only would she have to skip lunch to eat this dessert, but she’d have seconds, and that would pile calories on to whatever she’d have for dinner. She could skip the cake, but who could resist cake? No, she’d eat it, and she’d hate herself for it. Cake days, and other days where treats appeared in the office, made the last ten pounds she wanted to lose impossible.
Back at her desk, she set her travel mug and plate next to her monitor. While most of her coworkers left the building for lunch, Ellen preferred to eat at her desk. She savoured the peace and quiet of an empty office and took this time to read or surf the net.
Today, she poked around on her favourite online fashion site, her cart filled with a hot pair of fashion boots, a cape—who couldn’t use a cape?—and a flouncy sk
irt she could see herself wearing with the boots.
As her hand hovered over the “Checkout” button, her office email alert dinged, and she couldn’t resist peeking at who sent the message: Carol Frank, the accounting director and Ellen’s boss. The subject read Morning Meeting. The pit of Ellen’s stomach knotted. There’d been no meeting this morning, so the message referred to the following morning. Ellen opened the email, and sure enough, Carol requested her presence in her office first thing next morning.
Ellen scowled. This could only be about a new client. Her caseload was already full. One more would squeeze her, especially at tax time.
I can use the overtime, she consoled herself, clicking “Checkout” and shoving a large forkful of cake into her mouth.
***
The rest of the day passed both quickly and uneventfully. More relieved than usual when five o’clock arrived, Ellen packed the three small gifts she’d received that day into her purse and headed to the elevator. Rhonda had already texted to say she was waiting at the tavern down the street.
By the Books was located in a twenty-storey office building on Bloor Street in the Bloor-Yorkville area. Surrounded by upscale shops, boutiques, restaurants, hotels, and galleries, the location provided easy access to public transportation and anything Ellen wanted. When she arrived at the Foundation Saloon, it was already dark outside though it was only 5:40 p.m.
She stepped into the chandelier-lit warmth of the entryway, grateful to be out of the bitter November cold. It hadn’t snowed yet this year, but it was coming. The clouds and sky loomed grey and heavy. The hostess greeted her, and when Ellen gave her name, the woman nodded in recognition and directed her to follow.
Ellen spotted Rhonda’s smooth brunette cap of hair and round cherub face immediately. She sat at the bar, which replicated the bar and barstools of an old-fashioned western saloon. Double swinging doors at the bar’s entrance solidified the theme. The aroma of chicken wings and fries made Ellen’s stomach rumble, reminding her she’d had only two pieces of cake to eat all day.
When she recognized Ellen, Rhonda lifted a martini glass and its cherry-red contents in greeting. After telling the hostess she’d spotted her friend, Ellen wound her way through the crowded bar tables and high-backed chairs with quick, long-legged strides.
“We’re sitting at the bar?” she asked when she reached her destination.
“You said keep it casual,” Rhonda replied as Ellen eased onto a stool.
“Sure. This’ll be fine.” The stools had backs, and the music wasn’t so loud they had to scream at each other. She liked the ambience here. It was active and energizing.
As they chatted, her gaze drew constantly to the mirror behind the bar, which reflected both women in a flattering light. She shook her head, letting her light-brown curls cascade off her shoulders and down her back.
Rhonda laughed. “You look great. The cold put colour into those pale cheeks of yours, and your hair has that sexy windblown look.”
Ellen blushed. “It’s silly. I’ve been feeling as if I should be somewhere else in my life right now.”
“You mean other than out for drinks with me?”
“No. I mean ... I don’t know what I mean.” But she did, so that was a lie. She’d thrown away three good years by jumping ship from her last workplace, but it hadn’t been her fault. She’d had to get away from that place. After what happened with Gabriel Duncan—no, she wouldn’t think about that now. The whole debacle had cost her a job, an apartment ...
Rhonda interrupted Ellen’s musings. “I have something for you.”
When Ellen’s head snapped around and her eyes blazed, Rhonda chuckled. “Relax. It doesn’t mean you have to get me anything for my birthday. I saw it and thought of you. I’d have bought it regardless.” She handed Ellen a small, wrapped box.
Ellen accepted it with a smile and a thanks and peeled off the paper. She removed the lid from what was obviously a jewellery box and peered inside to find a bracelet with pink stones in a silver setting.
“It’s beautiful.” She gave Rhonda a puzzled look.
“The quartz stones represent the heart chakra, but I bought pink instead of green to encourage romantic love.”
“Why did you think of me for this? And what’s a chakra?” Ellen asked, genuinely puzzled.
Rhonda tilted her head to the side as she contemplated. “It’ll provide energetic healing, working on all levels to encourage romance—something you could use after the last few years you’ve had. And it’s pretty. I thought it would look nice on you. Chakras are energy centres in the body. Seven different chakra centres exist, but I focused on the heart.”
“Well, thanks again. It’s lovely.” Ellen wasn’t into all the new age stuff Rhonda loved, but the bracelet was unique and pretty, so she’d wear it happily. She set the box on the bar and picked up the trinket. She wrapped the bracelet around her left wrist. After gently snapping the clasp closed, she held her arm out so she could admire the pink and silver decorating the soft cotton of her shirtsleeve.
“It’s gorgeous against this black,” she commented.
The bartender, who’d been fixing two cocktails in front of them, handed the drinks to the women. He nodded his head at a nearby table. “Compliments of the two gentlemen over there.”
Rhonda’s face broke into a bright smile. She turned toward the men, held up her hand, and wiggled her fingers at them. Ellen motioned to do the same but reined in her enthusiasm as thoughts of her one passionate night with Gabriel Duncan intruded. More to the point, she flashed back to what came after that one night, and she cringed. She acknowledged the men’s gesture with a polite nod.
Both men waved the women over.
Chapter Two
“See? Your bracelet is working already. Let’s join them.” Rhonda started to slide off her barstool.
Ellen caught her arm. “We’re here to celebrate my birthday.”
“How better than to have drinks with two good-looking men?”
Rhonda was right: both men were attractive, and they appeared successful. Each wore a tailored suit and oozed confidence. The dark one sported a rugged hint of scruff under his nose and on his chin. The pale blond was clean-shaven but with a nicely contoured face and bright blue eyes.
“They look as if they visit the spa more than I do,” Ellen said, “and that’s tough to beat. I go at least once a month.”
“So what? I like a guy who cares about his looks. I like a woman who cares about her looks—that’s why we’re friends. Come on. They’re waiting.”
When Ellen slipped from her chair, Rhonda, carrying her drink, went ahead and sat at the table with the two men. Ellen followed more slowly, sipping from her drink as she walked. It helped brace her, and by the time she arrived at the seat they’d pulled out for her, her nerves had steadied. Thoughts of Gabriel Duncan evaporated, and she smiled at the men as she introduced herself and Rhonda.
The blond led the conversation. He introduced himself as John Aylmer and his friend as Max Gorham. Both worked as lawyers and had offices in Yorkville. John handled labour-related cases, and Max was a prosecuting attorney. They seemed nice, and though Ellen kept one hand over her drink while she had anything in her glass, she relaxed enough to enjoy herself. Perhaps she’d start dating again, give men another chance. The prospect of that terrified her, but she had to get over this fear of getting hurt.
Yet she had such good reason. Gabriel had made her believe—it didn’t matter. He was out of her life and had been for the last three years. Ever since that night. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on the past tonight. Then again, tonight was supposed to be about celebrating with her friend, not with men.
Rhonda, at least, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself, and sparks were evident between her and Max. They’d drawn their chairs closer together and bantered and flirted outrageously. Each laughed at the other’s little jokes as if they’d known one another for years.
Ellen watched Max closely, making
sure he didn’t slip anything into Rhonda’s drink while she wasn’t looking, but he never even glanced at her glass. His gaze remained fixed on Rhonda’s eyes, her lips, and occasionally her breasts.
Of course he’s watching her boobs. He’s a guy and her boobs are spectacular. Even I glance at them when I talk to her.
“So, you’re a bookkeeper.” John at least sounded interested when he said it, but he was just making polite small talk.
“Accounting tech. Not an exciting job, but it keeps me employed. Do you live around here?”
“I’ve got a condo on Lake Shore. You?”
She regretted asking him now. Lake Shore Boulevard was an impressive location. His condo would overlook Lake Ontario, and many of the properties there were pricey and coveted. Now that he’d asked, she’d have to tell him she lived with her parents. Or did she? Why? He was a stranger, and she didn’t plan to see him again.
“I live in Rosedale.” There. That was a compromise. She gave the chichi location without telling him it wasn’t hers.
“Nice.” He glanced at her empty glass. “Care for another?”
“Sure.” She glanced at Rhonda and Max, who now sat so close to one another they might have fused together. Obviously, her friend had settled in for the evening. “How ’bout I order some wings or something?” she suggested. “Have you eaten?”
“I’ll get it.”
“No, please, allow me.” No way would she let him pay for everything. He’d bought the drinks. She refused to let him pay for anything else.
He accepted her offer with a grin, and the rest of the night passed pleasantly enough for Ellen to leave the restaurant happy she’d accepted the drinks and the company. Rhonda left with Max’s phone number, and she’d given him hers as well—her real one. Ellen and John simply bid one another goodnight and nice meeting you.
On their cab ride home, Ellen gave her friend a sly grin. “You and Max got along well.”
“We did, didn’t we?” Rhonda replied.