One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) (26 page)

Besides, if he went against his instincts,
and Marisa later regretted kissing him, she might accuse him of
taking advantage of her. It would destroy not only the possibility
of a romantic relationship, but also their friendship as well.

Bottom line: he couldn’t risk it. Once
committed to that decision, he didn’t hesitate on his way out.
Doing so would have resulted in turning back.

Alex smiled at the potential for greater
things, but since he didn’t know how Marisa felt about the other
day, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. And because she
preferred to keep her personal and professional lives separate, he
decided to remain silent, a wise decision when talking to the
biggest gossip-monger in the building.

Esther took his grin as a sign of better
things to come. She waved a finger at him. “Be good to her. I get
the feeling that men haven’t treated her well.”

His grin soured. But hoping that he might
get a chance to correct that poor history lifted his confidence. In
response, he just nodded and entered the conference room.

Marisa sat at the table alone, flipping back
and forth in her schedule-planner. She looked up, face
impenetrable. “Please close the door.” She returned to her
planner.

Feeling like he made a misstep before even
uttering a word, Alex shut the door behind him, unsure of how to
proceed. Her detached manner set his nerves on edge. Then
remembering that today was only her second day as interim-director,
he tried to set aside his doubts. She was surely facing incredible
pressure and indecision.

He decided to start out with the ordinary:
“Hi!”

She looked up, put down her pen, and
released a bright smile. “Hey.” But a moment later, as though
suspecting that she looked too enthusiastic, her mood plunged.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

He sat opposite her and placed his notebook
in front of him. “I hope you didn’t have a hangover Tuesday
morning.”

“Not at all. After you left, I felt fine,
but I took a couple aspirin just in case.”

He searched her gaze and found sincerity
there. But nothing else. No indication that she’d felt a connection
as he’d carried her into her bedroom. Or while he’d tucked her in.
Or the moment he’d almost kissed her.

His stomach plummeted. Cursing himself for
overestimating how the alcohol had affected her, Alex wished he
could go back in time to Monday night, so he could give in to his
aching heart.

Then again, did her newfound frigidity
spring from wanting him to follow through with his desires? Did she
consider him a tease? Or a coward?

She said, “The first thing I did as
interim-director was readjust the timetable on our new lending
policy. It will now begin on January first. Giving you only a few
weeks was pretty ruthless and…cold.” She paused as an apologetic
look took hold of her. “It wasn’t fair to your library. And I’m
really sorry you had to deal with that during your first week.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, “I spoke with
that annoying reporter. She sounded disappointed that we’re holding
off on the lending policy. It seems she was hoping to start a
controversy. Still, she went live with her article. I’ve fielded a
few calls, but to prevent further misunderstanding, I had Claudia
send out a press release. Needless to say, I don’t think we’ll be
hearing from Gayle Hart anytime soon.

“Anyway, two months isn’t a lot of time
before the policy takes effect, but my staff will help yours in any
way we can.” Marisa slid a document toward him. “Take a look. Let
me know what you think.” She looked up at him with a hopeful
expression. But a second later, as though admonishing herself for
appearing excited and hopeful to be in his company, she returned
her attention to the schedule-planner.

Alex took the document, and his eyes flashed
across it. He couldn’t get over the idea that Marisa was trying to
avoid him. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure. I’m just really busy.”

“About the other night—”

She looked up with a painted-on smile. She
reached out her left hand, but it only extended a few inches,
unwilling to give him the wrong impression. “I was exhausted. What
you did—that was so sweet.” Her smile dulled and vanished. She
glanced down at her planner and flipped a page.

Sweet
. The word no man wanted to hear
from a potential romantic partner. It meant disinterest. It meant
banishment. If she was attracted to him, Marisa would have said,
“what you did – that was really
special
or so
hot
.”

Alex’s heart clenched. He’d gotten close. So
close…and yet, she’d tossed him into the friend zone again. Or
rather, he’d placed himself there. He felt anger rising in the pit
of his stomach.

Within seconds, it turned to a boil. He
didn’t blame Marisa. He blamed himself. Damon would have gone for
it – alcohol or not. He would’ve taken Marisa without apprehension,
without a second thought.

Alex considered the last few weeks: learning
to ride in such a short time, following Cassandra back to her
apartment, only to turn her down because she wasn’t the woman he
loved. And when he finally got a chance with Marisa, what did he
do? Shun the possibility for happiness. What was he waiting for? A
signed invitation? Pleading and begging?

His frustration gave way to nausea. He sat
there, stewing with regret, unable to control his anger and
disappointment. True, if he hadn’t picked up those skills, he never
would have felt Marisa in his arms in the first place.

But now, recalling the night she’d looked up
at him with…yes, actual longing, how had he overlooked that? It
seemed he gave himself too much credit for having confidence that
he failed to act upon.

Put another way, he deceived himself. While
he felt more assured, it didn’t matter – if he never put his
thoughts into action. Even now, he sat across from Marisa, thinking
of what he should have done and how he should have acted.

The queasiness morphed back into agitation.
He refused to let Marisa see how her stoic, icy demeanor affected
him, refused to let her know he felt anything but in control.

In fact, as he read through the press
release, he could barely contain his anger. He concentrated on one
word at a time, trying to make sense of it all, but the words fell
into incomprehension. He gave it another pass, but once again, the
words failed to coalesce.

Alex looked up at her. “This looks good to
you?”

She didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

That simple word, so different in context
and tone than a couple days ago when she said it breathlessly, made
him grit his teeth to keep from lashing out in resentment. Not at
her. But at himself.

“Good,” he said, getting to his feet. He
picked up the document, forcing himself to smile. “Seems I could
have just asked you to fax this over.”

She raised her head a bit, but once again
looking like she shouldn’t show any emotion, Marisa kept her
attention on the document before her. “I…guess so.”

“All right then. I’ll see you.”

“Bye.”

He took measured strides toward the door,
knowing that he should respond to her frigid demeanor. And then
Damon’s words came to him:
Women test men…They have an inner
contempt for men who are weak
.

How did these statements relate to his
current situation? He didn’t think Marisa was testing him. Not now.
She was clearly upset. And unwilling to discuss why. And although
she stated otherwise, he knew that she blamed him for the way she
was treating him.

Just as he reached the door, Alex turned
around. “Hey,” he said, lowering his voice and speaking from deep
in his sternum.

Caught off guard by the interruption, Marisa
instantly met his gaze.

“This whole thing,” he said, pointing to
her, then to himself. “You’re acting like your mother. Cold.
Distant. Unfeeling.”

Astonished, she held his gaze. Then her
eyebrows knitted together and her lips formed a frown, making it
obvious that she hated the comparison.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one
hiding from your feelings. And it pisses me off. Because you’re
nothing like your mother.”

The way she looked at him, surprised yet
thankful, brought to mind Damon’s comment about why Marisa never
believed Alex when he complimented her. Now, seeing her face
flicker with hope put things into perspective.

That glimmer of faith told him that she was
beginning to trust him. And that slight change sent a rush of
excitement flowing through him.

So he said, “The next time you’re pissed off
at me, tell me why, because I’m done with this sulking thing you’ve
got going on.”

Her demeanor changed. Rather than appearing
offended, she now looked appreciative.

Unwilling to give her a chance to reply, he
turned his back on her, opened the door and shut it behind him. He
smiled at Esther, who wanted to corral him in conversation, but he
shook his head, pointing at the press release. “Sorry, Esther. Got
a lot of work ahead of me.”

A couple hours later, after working
alongside his leadership team to ensure that his library shared the
same message with its patrons as Bedford Falls did, Alex left Damon
a voicemail about how he’d botched things with Marisa and hoped
that he had time to meet him at
Apocalyptica
to discuss the
situation. It would also give him a chance to salvage their
relationship.

A short time later, when he stepped up to
the bar, Alex was glad to find his friend already waiting there, a
bottle of Miller Light a few inches from his fingers. He took that
as a sign that Damon also wanted to make peace.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Alex said.

Damon nodded, looking at the mirror behind
the bar to check out the action (women) in the room behind him.

“I didn’t mean to be such a…” Alex cocked
his head to the side, unwilling to finish the sentence. “You’ve
helped me more than I want to admit.”

A smirk lifted Damon’s lips. “Apology
accepted.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Now what’s this about
messing up with Marisa?”

Alex recounted the details from earlier this
week at Marisa’s house as well as this afternoon at Bedford Falls
and waited for Damon’s analysis and suggestions.

“Dude,” he said, taking a swig from his
bottle of beer. He lowered the bottle, looked at Alex, and shook
his head, disappointed. “Dude…”

Alex hung his head. “I didn’t know if she
was drunk. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“Okay, there’s a time for being a
gentleman—like opening a door for a lady. Lying beside her on a bed
is not the time to be a gentleman. I’m not trying to make you feel
bad here, but think about it: how does a gentleman act in that
situation?

“Ask if it’s acceptable to remove her
clothing like you’re in a Victorian novel? She’d lose all respect
for you…and all that attraction you’ve built up between you.” He
put the bottle of beer on the countertop, looking defeated. “And
based on her reaction this afternoon, I hate to say it, but I think
you have to throw in the towel.”

Filled with dread, Alex refused give up now,
not after finally seeing Marisa respond to him in a romantic way.
“There has to be something I can do.”

Damon gave it further thought but looked
doubtful.

“What? You have an idea? Tell me.”

“It’s not gentlemanly,” he said, chuckling.
“That’s for
damn
sure.”

“Try me.”

“Calling it sneaky is an understatement.” He
gave it further consideration. “Nah, I don’t recommend it.”

“Can it give me a second chance?”

“How do you see your relationship with
Marisa at this point? And where do you see it going in the
future?”

“Right now? Awkward. I’m pretty sure we can
recover. But it’s going to be a while before that happens.” He
recalled her reluctance to meet his gaze this afternoon. “I don’t
think I’ll get another shot at anything more than that.”

“So it’s time to pull out the bazooka. Is
that what you’re telling me? Because if this doesn’t work, you
won’t get another chance. And you can say goodbye to your
friendship. If you do this, there’s no turning back. Ever. Are you
sure you want to give this a shot?”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything
in my life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

After finishing a hectic week brimming with
inner turmoil and tremendous self-doubt, Marisa left work on Friday
and felt a sensation similar to that of facing a two-day reprieve
from middle school. Never before had she considered her career as
actual work, but her new job became more pressure-filled than she
could have ever imagined. But in a good way.

She felt like she was making an impact, like
her contributions could transform lives and shape her community.
And having only half of her leadership team working alongside her
reinforced the uphill battle she faced, making each small success
that much sweeter.

Just as she finished applying some blush to
her cheeks to complete her Cleopatra costume, the doorbell rang.
Excitement flashed through her. Marisa took a final look at the
lone-shouldered red gown that emphasized the figure she worked so
hard to attain. Then she adjusted the golden tiara that allowed a
mass of curls to spill down her back.

When it came to Cleopatra, she didn’t want
to rely on black and white drawings, so she turned to Hollywood for
inspiration; she preferred Angelina Jolie’s elegant yet simple
attire and modest make-up, compared to Elizabeth Taylor’s
embroidered gowns, thick braids, and heavy cosmetics.

She hurried to the door, eager to see Brad,
so she could finally figure out what they meant to each other. Not
only that, but she couldn’t wait to see his costume, and she looked
forward to seeing everyone’s reaction upon watching Cleopatra and
Mark Antony enter the party. She opened the door…and saw Freddy
Krueger standing before her.