One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (18 page)

O
liver had been
in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes before he finally emerged, pale and perspiring. Hayley watched him shuffle towards her and she picked up the tray she’d prepared and turned quickly. She knew her body language was saying ‘angry’ but, in truth, she was feeling much more than that. A small part of her was worried about him. He’d obviously been daytime drinking and that couldn’t be just down to a newspaper article, could it?

‘Sit down before you fall down,’ she ordered, nodding towards one of Dean’s couches.

‘Why does it sound like I don’t have a choice?’ he asked.

‘Because you don’t.’ She brought the coffee pot, mugs, glass of water, Advil and shortbread biscuits over to the coffee table and put the tray down. Then she sat in the nearest chair and watched him gingerly lower himself to the cushioned seat.

‘Feel rough?’ she asked, despite being able to see the answer.

‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded his head then put his hands to it.

‘Room spinning? Walls caving in? Mouth like an under-watered pot plant?’

‘OK, you can really stop now,’ he groaned.

She leant forward on her seat and reached for the glass of water and the painkillers. She held them out. ‘Here, drink this and swallow these.’ His hand shook as he took the glass and when he offered his other she tipped the pills into his hand.

She watched him put the tablets into his mouth and swallow them down with a couple of gulps of fluid.

‘So, you spent the whole afternoon in a bar and then you came round here to accuse me of speaking to the newspaper.’

He just looked at her, blinking his dark eyelashes over those full hazel eyes, nothing but vulnerability staring back at her. He looked lost.

‘Can you at least wait until the pills have kicked in?’ He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.

‘If I wait, guessing the alcohol to blood ratio, you’re probably going to fall asleep.’

He made a frustrated noise, pulled at his hair and sat back in the chair. ‘Why is it so bright in here?’

‘That’s the disco-ball side of my brother. He likes glitter and sparkles, the brighter the better.’

‘Yay.’

‘Ooo attitude. A minor recovery.’ She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a mug full. Then she sat back and nursed it in her hands. ‘So, let me be clear. I did not contact any journalist or talk to anyone about you. Either another woman did – there must be hundreds of candidates in line – or your office or apartment is bugged.’ She took a sip of the coffee. ‘This is New York after all.’

H
e felt
his lips work into a smile then. Her Englishness was coming out now. He still had no idea what she was wearing but she looked cute, even through his blurred vision. Her dark hair framed her heart-shaped face and those clear intense eyes did something to him. He drank a little more of the water. She hadn’t sold him out. He should have known that. If she was going to tell a story it would have had far more embellishment and a mention of Superman.

‘Is that what you think about New York? That it’s all espionage and underhand dealings?’ he asked.

‘After the day I’ve had I’m thinking it’s a cross between that and the
Gilmore Girls
.’ She let out a sigh. ‘But
I
didn’t drown my sorrows in the nearest glass.’

‘No?’ Oliver said, indicating the wine glass still sat on the breakfast bar behind them.

‘That wasn’t because I had a bad day. That was just because I like wine.’ She put her lips to the mug. ‘And anytime you want to apologise for accusing me of being a grass I’m ready to take it.’

‘A grass?’ he asked, looking blankly at her.

‘Spilling my guts. Being a snitch, an informant, you know, telling, ratting you out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, his voice soft.

‘Yes, you should be.’

‘And I am.’

‘Quite rightly.’

‘Do you ever let anyone else have the last word?’

‘Only my daughter, and we really fight like hell for it.’

He laughed then, unable to help himself, despite how terrible he felt. He pulled himself forward and put his water back on the table.

‘So what made you ditch work for beer?’ Hayley asked.

‘Bad meeting.’

‘Not the Globe? ’

He shook his head. ‘No, not the Globe. It was more of a personal thing.’

Should he tell her? About his mother and Andrew Regis? It wouldn’t mean anything unless he explained. His head was pounding now. He opened his mouth to speak.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Hayley interrupted. ‘It’s none of my business.’

He nodded. ‘I deserve that.’

‘What?’ she asked, looking confused.

‘I came here drunk, yelling like some immature jerk off. I shouldn’t expect you to be my counsellor.’

‘Is that what you need?’

‘Probably,’ he admitted.

D
espite the smart
suit that probably cost hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, Oliver looked so far removed from her idea of one of the world’s richest men. He was less confident here, hungover, his demeanour slightly crumpled. Seeing him like this, his defences down, human, made her shift a little in her seat.
An eligible bachelor
,
her brain added all by itself. She put her cup on the table. ‘I can listen.’

He shook his head quickly. ‘No. There’s no point.’

‘What d’you mean, there’s no point?’

‘I’ll just end up sounding like the selfish asshole I am and you don’t need that hassle.’

‘I don’t like people making judgement calls for me.’ She sniffed.

‘No?’

‘I thought I’d made that clear last night.’

‘When I insulted your wish.’

‘I’m over that. I thought I made that clear too.’

She swallowed. Despite his dishevelled appearance and the fact he reeked of booze, she was dipping her toe into dangerous waters here. The memory of their kiss in the snow was pushing its way into her frontal lobe. If she let her brain pull her back to that place, she could still recall the texture of his lips on hers, the weight and urgency of his mouth …

‘My mother’s dating.’ He nodded. ‘My father’s best friend.’

‘A little
Dear Deirdre
I guess.’

‘It’s been over a year. Things move on.’

‘But it doesn’t sound like you’re happy about it.’

‘It isn’t about her moving on necessarily. It’s who it’s with.’

She watched him grit his teeth and rock forward on the sofa.

‘And I know how that sounds. Like I’m a kid with issues,’ he added.

Hayley held her hands up. ‘I wish my mother would date anyone, just to stop her watching gardening programmes. No judgement here.’

‘Andrew Regis was my father’s best friend since school,’ Oliver began. ‘We’ve been in discussions about Drummond Global taking over his company and now I know why.’

‘You think it’s because he’s dating your mother?’

‘Yeah I think that.’ He reached for the coffee pot with a shaking hand. ‘And I’m also thinking a lot of other stuff too. Like what are his other motives for this merger. Like whether this relationship started before or after my father died.’

‘Oh, Oliver,’ Hayley said. She watched him pour himself a coffee then warm his hands with the mug.

‘Don’t sympathise. A counsellor would just sit and listen and quietly think about bringing the appointment to an end as soon as was reasonable.’

‘Shall I yawn and look at my watch?’ she suggested.

She saw him smile. ‘That might work,’ he replied.

‘So have you spoken to your mum about it?’

He shook his head. ‘There’s other things going on with us right now.’

‘Like what?’

‘You’re good at this.’

‘Good at what? Conversation? Yeah, I have to admit I do like to talk. Particularly that last word.’

He took a sip of his coffee and settled back into the sofa.

‘And that was a highly proficient swerve from the topic,’ she said.

‘Let’s just say she wants me to do something I just don’t want to do.’

‘Mothers do that.
I
do that with Angel.’

‘I don’t expect you’d make her stand up in a room full of people and talk about a dead relative.’

‘Your father?’

‘No, my brother.’

A
nd there was
Ben sweeping into his mind again. His short dark hair, his engaging smile, the perfect American-dream poster boy. His jealousy and grief always intertwined so freely, both jarring, both painful to recapture. He’d loved his brother, desperately. He recalled the first time he’d thought they’d lost him. They were out on the ocean just a few hundred yards away from their summer beachside retreat, larking about on the boat when the weather had taken a turn for the worse. He’d done everything his father had taught him to get the boat to shore, Ben had taken charge, tried to quell both their panic. But they just seemed to be drifting further and further out to sea. And then a wave had rocked the vessel so hard it had flipped his brother overboard. He still remembered the waves, smashing against the side of the hull, angry white crests, hiding his brother. He had stared into the water, eyes straining, looking for the bright orange of Ben’s lifejacket. What seemed like minutes had ticked by until finally he’d surfaced, spitting, coughing, his arms flailing against the current. Oliver had strained over the side of the yacht, uncaring for himself, holding the wooden oar at arm’s length and praying for Ben to reach it. He had and they’d lain on the deck knowing if the elements took them they would be going together. Less than five minutes later, Richard had turned up on a speedboat and they were safe.

Oliver hid his face in his mug of coffee, drinking some of the liquid down and hoping it would settle his intoxication as well as his thoughts.

‘Ben died five years ago this week.’ He took in a breath. ‘My mother likes to ramp up the emotion at this time of year, as if we don’t acknowledge it somehow we’ll forget about him. I have a different opinion,’ Oliver stated.

‘What do
you
think?’ Hayley asked.

‘I don’t want to forget him, but sometimes I feel he’s hanging over me like something out of
A Christmas Carol
.’

‘And your mother thinks you’d be perfectly cast as Scrooge?’

‘You got it.’

He looked to her then, watching her shift in her seat, wrapping her fleece-encased legs under herself. Did she understand? Perhaps now, with just the vague outline. But if he told her what he was really, ultimately, afraid of, what would she think then? He swallowed.

‘Well, if it’s any consolation at all, I’m pretty sure my mother hates me.’

Her voice came out so matter-of-fact, it took him a second to realise fully what she’d said.

‘Hates you?’ he queried.

‘Too strong?’

‘I don’t know. Do you think it is?’

‘She
adores
Dean, but then he’s the handsome, intelligent, not-pregnant-at-eighteen one.’

‘And you are?’

‘I’m the one who does everything wrong. I’m the one who threw away her dreams to have a baby. I’m the one she glosses over talking about at bingo.’

‘And that hurts.’ He watched her expression. She seemed to mull over his sentence. She brushed her hair back off her face and leant an elbow on the chair, propping up her head with her hand.

‘I don’t know if it hurts anymore. I’ve got used to it.’

‘
H
ave
you talked to her about it?’

‘No. We don’t do that sort of talking in our family.’ She sighed. ‘But seeing as I left my ten-year diary at her house, full of angst and issues and referring to her as Grotbags … well, if she finds it it probably won’t be long before she reads what I could never say.’ A chill ran through her. She didn’t want her mother finding the diary. She shouldn’t have left it unsupervised behind the Gonks. The trouble was it was just as dangerous here in New York where Angel could come across it as it was at Rita’s home. She unfolded her legs. ‘I see what you did there. Nice moves but
I’m
the counsellor here.’

‘Who said it had to be a one way street?’

‘You’re intoxicated. Everyone knows you never take advice from a drunk guy.’

‘Everyone knows you always tell the truth when you’re drunk.’

‘Well then, if that’s the case … why did you kiss me last night?’

Hayley’s cheeks caught alight and straight away she wished she had a way of filtering her thoughts instead of letting them blurt out of her lips. She should say something else, lighten the mood. But nothing was forthcoming.

She couldn’t stop looking at him and his eyes were locked on hers. And again, his proximity was doing strange things to her insides.

‘I kissed you because I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away thinking I was the biggest jerk in the city.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘It was a PR exercise.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I just … didn’t want to never see you again.’

She swallowed, seeing the truth in his eyes, feeling the sincerity flowing from him. Oliver Drummond, superficial, serial-dating Superman, was as complex as they came and now he was looking at her like he might want to rip her clothes off. How did she feel about that? Crazy excited was the truth of it. But in reality, her stakes were high and she couldn’t throw any sort of caution to the wind.

She smiled, trying to dampen down the passion. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

He shook his head. ‘No, actually, you’re the first I’ve ever said that too.’

‘Wow,’ she said quickly. ‘What was that beer the bar served you?’

‘Now who’s swerving the topic?’ He smiled.

‘I’m sober.’

‘Pity.’

She smiled and let out a breath. ‘You don’t want to get mixed up with me.’ She stood up. ‘I’m here looking for another man.’ She sighed. ‘There’s too many complications.’

‘I’m already mixed up with you, Hayley.’ He rose to his feet.

They were still a couple of feet away from each other but her body was reacting like a raging inferno was about to burn her to the ground. This couldn’t happen. Her mission to find Michel was paramount. Getting involved with anyone was not on her agenda.