Just a Number (Downtown #1) (19 page)

In my teakwood accented office, sat Rex on my couch with his computer open on his lap. I closed the door, plopped down next to him, and kicked my feet up onto my coffee table. Leaning my head back, I shut my eyes.

“What’s got you in a funk?” My friend elbowed me in the side of my ribcage.

I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Willow.”

“I knew you had it bad. Dude, just let me put you out of your misery. I know where she lives. Not the exact address. But I know where she is…”

Not moving from my position. Behind closed eyelids I could see her in her office. Her corporate attire, back in place. Her hair smoothed and precisely organized. Her icy-blue eyes still glazed over. Her red lipstick taunted me. I imagined them whispering, begging me to stay before I turned and exited. “Yeah. I know where she is too. Across the building… she’s my employee.”

“Oh fuck! Now. That. I. Didn’t. Know. What are you going to do? What happens now?” I could feel him staring at me.

I was just wondering that myself. As I was pretty sure she was, too. Her facial expression was one of pure confusion. I hoped it wasn’t regret. “What have you got there?” I asked as I raised my head and opened my eyes. I nodded at a sexy image of a couple embracing with some kind of wording visible on Rex’s computer. He passed the laptop over to me. A closer look revealed a book teaser; I was getting used to viewing them:

His Words.

Her Words.

In the end, their passion entwined.

Rex Holden – Kitten Tomsin

This graphic was not what I expected. “What is this?” I pointed in a circular motion. “Who is Kitten Tomsin?” Not sure I needed that last question answered.

“For our book signing event. TomKat.” He was still using her nickname.

“You’re what?” I wondered if Willow was aware of this pending book relationship.

“We’re collaborating,” his tone was nonchalant with a hint of sarcasm.

Hmmm, I thought. “Code for fucking?”

“No. The only fucking going on between us has been on the pages we’ve been exchanging.” I eyed him curiously. “Through emails. I haven’t seen her in the flesh since the book convention. Kitten’s a good author. Filthy mind.”

Kitten
. Suddenly, it all made sense. I thought he had a new chick. One that he was really hooked on. Maybe even
the one.
It was only Thumblina.

What more could I endure? I didn’t know if Willow and I would make it through our wine dealings. If her event was bigger, featured a more prominent client… Maybe not a different client, but rather a more enticing location. I didn’t know if I could give her what she wanted in the best interest of my connection with Pinard Vineyard. They were in the market for expansion of their boutique wines, but it had to be the right avenue. I wasn’t sure a showroom on Ninth Street was the correct one.

I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. We had already had a bit of a battle with the island account: Katie’s Swim Shack. The proposal she had emailed to Suze, along with the contract she had outlined and signed in the matter of one afternoon was impressive. There she was, shopping while on vacation, and obtained a deal that had the potential to make millions. As good as it all looked, the named bothered me. I had her graphic designer create web pages with suggested names I deemed more suitable. She vetoed every last one of them, and vehemently stated her case that the existing name was totally logical. I was even emailed a Hawaiian hula song with the words Katie’s Swim Shack standing in for a little grass shack. The more I thought it over, I conceded—the name was cute and fitting as was the location.
Confession, I visited it before leaving the island.

Newest to our plate: Romance authors Rex Holden and Kitten Tomsin? Another connection between our clients. If they were going to write a book or more together,
would it go smoothly? Would we be able to work together? Would we be able to make comprises? Or would it be a constant fight between us?
Really, what did I expect—her clients, after all, were my clients. Reminding myself that I owned the company, I knew we were destined to knock heads. She had strong opinions as I had found out before I even knew her. W. Dane. W could have stood for William… Winston… Wendy… not Willow. I had never encountered an account manager like her. So detailed.

Ironic!
For a woman who resisted details in her personal life, she was overboard with them in her professional dealings. I respected that, truthfully; I wished that all of my colleagues were like her. My real problem was the fact that I had the found the woman that was in my every thought within my reach, literally. Yet, she was farther away from me than before. While she was geographically desirable, she was ethically undesirable.

“You’re thinking too much, dude.” Rex’s word brought me back from my wandering mind of negativity. I was usually a positive person. He was right, I didn’t need to dwell on it or even think about it. I knew what I had to do even though it might kill me.

After wrapping up my last meeting, I was ready to call it a day. As if serendipity hadn’t intervened enough, there was Willow in the lobby as I emerged from the elevator. She was standing with a good looking young man, chatting and laughing.
One of her walkers? I hoped so.

Approaching the two of them before they could walk out the door, I asked Willow to join me for dinner. I may have been a bit rude, but I wanted to get rid of him. Looking at me strangely—possibly perturbed—she introduced me to her friend, and let me know that he was an art student at Otis College in downtown.
Her way of informing me that he was one of her walkers; had she sensed my jealousy?
I shook his hand and thanked him for coming to her aide. Then, I let him know I was going to be the one walking her home that night and handed him a couple of crisp twenty dollar bills. He tried to object, but I insisted, “Treat yourself to dinner on me,” adding, “Thank you, again.”

Of course Willow scrambled into her oversized purse while trying to push my money out of his hand. Lightly grasping her elbow, I guided her toward the front door, stopping her digging. Pulling her body backward, before I could get her completely out on the sidewalk, she turned her chin over her shoulder to address her friend, “I’m truly sorry you came all this way to walk me. I’ll call you soon, thank you so much.” He told her it was okay, and we continued one.

Walking down the hill, we entered the first restaurant we came to that was open. Rather than sitting at a table or in a secluded booth, we slipped onto a couple stools at the seafood bar. Alongside other business suit attired people, grabbing an end-to-hectic-day drink before going home; we fit right in, looking like fellow colleagues. That’s what we needed to be. No sex… no more sex. Better to keep things sane between us. Having office sex on my first day in the new office, even if it was over the top incredible, was not a good idea. I was the boss, like it or not, I had to set a good example. Abide by office policies.
What were the policies? Was there a fraternization clause?
Those questions didn’t matter. My mind was made up.

Once we started talking, I realized that going out with her… being this close was not as easy as I hoped it would be. I wanted her so badly, clearly. Instead of going with the flow, I became ridged. I was feeling so unlike myself, acting differently. I had never been short with her in all of the times we had been together. I was a complete asshole. The only nice thing I did, after we finished a strained dining experience, was offer to walk her to her apartment. However, she was quite adamant she could go it alone. She said she was only a block or so away. Being an even bigger jackass than I had been, I let her go.

I had already made my decision at the office. What did I hope to accomplish taking her to eat? What could I say? How could I explain? My resolution was: step away from Willow. Back to the rules. The restrictions. No details. Only work.

Willow

T
hings were different with the new CEO installed in an office on the other side of the building. Opposing views; his windows looked out toward the mountain range, while mine looked out over the city.
Why did I mention that?
Because like the environment that surrounded us, we had two very strong views. And I began to wonder if my career was doomed.
Would we be able to continue working together? Or would I be leaving my dream office?

We had seen each other every day over the past few weeks. We had attended meetings. We had walked to have lunch together several times. We had met up twice at Runyon Canyon for Amy’s Sunset Yoga; he wanted to see what attracted me to the location. We had been civil to each other, just two typical colleagues. We had not been intimate in any way, shape, or form since his first official day at the company, in my office. He had offered to walk me home one night. I declined, and he never brought it up again. Our interaction was all business.

It was fine, alright with me. No, I lie; it was anything but okay with me. I couldn’t stop the thoughts of
us
. A foreign feeling for me, but ever present, from the moment I woke up each morning until my head hit the pillow, and my eyes finally closed every night. As time ticked on, my emotions were getting the best of me. I was not myself.

Sitting at my desk, working one late Saturday afternoon on an urgent matter, unable to concentrate on a new contract I was going over, I decided to see what my mother had sent me. When I opened my tablet that morning, after a terrible night of my tossing and turning, the last thing I wanted to hear was
the
truth;
a confession, it sounded like, by the words typed in the subject line.

From: Marian Dane

To: Willow Dane

The truth

Today at 5:00 AM

Hello Dear,

Your father has been having trouble remembering things. He has always been a proud man. He was embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. He turned the dealerships over to your brothers. Divided it between them and stepped away from the company. Had I not learned to work the computer from book club, I never would’ve seen all of the things your father has done for you. I wish he could see just how successful you have become. I’ve asked the boys to keep our life private, even from you. Maybe I was wrong. I’ve tried to protect your father. I’m not sure how much longer I can do it. He asks to go out in public. He tries to go places by himself. He made it to the dealership one day. Luckily, Shawn saw him before anyone else.

Love,

Your Mother

Reading her email had not helped me, it had only deterred my work dilemma thoughts, briefly. However, it did make me think about another man in my life. One I worked so hard to prove wrong, that I could be a success. That I could work in a man’s world.
Damn it! It wasn’t a man’s world.
I refused to believe that. We were all in this world equally. We each had our own strengths. Suddenly, I was angry. I was angry all over again at my father, and at Dash. I would fight him, too.
I will not fail!

And just like that, the man—also working on the weekend—that was in my head way too often, knocked on my open door. Looking up, I waved him in as he had just stood leaning again the door jamb, gazing at me. Pushing off the entrance, he entered slowly, casually. “Let’s grab some dinner. I want to talk to you.”

Without hesitance, I accepted, “Sounds good.” He could’ve been anyone at that point and I would’ve said
yes
. After reading my mother’s email and assessing my own worth in the corporate world, I needed a drink and a diversion. As for answering my mother, I would email her the beginning of next week. I had the rest of my weekend to comprehend—to weigh my feelings. Part of me wanted to feel sympathetic and sad for her, for him. But those weren’t the first thoughts that came to mind. Bad karma, what goes around comes around. Revenge for his mistreatment of me. I couldn’t get past those words, and I couldn’t come up with ones to comfort my mother. “Let me shut down,” I said closing my laptop. Then, I stood to grab my handbag and coat off the rack.

Dash, standing in front of me, the ever handsome gentleman, looking amazing in his business casual attire, helped me into my coat. Then ushering me out of the building, we walked down Bunker Hill and over a couple blocks to The Perch, a French bistro. The rooftop restaurant was a favorite of mine. It had the best views of downtown, not to mention their offerings were delicious.

Seated outside, along a glass partition near an outdoor heater, we ordered a couple glasses of wine, not Pinard, but good. “Cheers,” I toasted tilting my glass to his. Then, I nearly downed the whole thing in one unladylike gulp. I anticipated a comment, but he didn’t say a word about my abusive behavior to a nice Cabaret Sauvignon.

Instead, he talked to me about a whole lot of nothing. The tone of his voice told me he was weighing my reactions. Plying me with many compliments. Not of a personal nature, but on my work performance. He didn’t sound like he was letting me go, but I had the feeling I was about to be let down.
What rug was he about to pull out from under me?
Something was about to happen. Of that, I was certain.