Preservation (18 page)

Ryan emerged from the bedroom in fresh clothes with dripping wet hair, smiling wide when he caught sight of my topless state. I returned his enthusiasm with a faint grin, but all I could focus on were the raven tattoos etched onto his forearm.

15. SHOW AND TELL

Monday morning rolled around and I shooed Ryan off to work so I could get ready. It was my fourth meeting with Mark, and I was getting more nervous each time I had to meet him. He hadn’t offered me anything yet, just kept discussing my manuscript and how we could polish it, make it more commercially appealing. Truthfully, it was starting to piss me off. I wasn’t about to gut the whole thing just so he could sell it. Then it would be unrecognizable. Not at all what I had in mind. Ryan encouraged me to be patient and stand my ground, but my temper was beginning to flare with each new meeting, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to hold my tongue.

Mark wanted to meet in person since he worked here in the city, but I was secretly wishing for a decision via e-mail or a phone call. I’d arranged to take the morning off from work, and was starting to think I should cut back to part time. The financial help from Ryan and the fact that I wasn’t paying tuition or my mom’s bills anymore really had made a difference with my financial situation, and I did want to focus more on my writing now that I had the opportunity. But part of me was waiting on Mark’s decision, to see whether or not it was time to devote more attention to my works in progress.

I’d just finished applying the last touches of my makeup when there was a knock at the door.

“Hi Kate, may I?” Mark asked when I opened the door. I was surprised to see him standing there with two coffees and a newspaper in his hands.

“Oh, hi, sure. Come on in.” I stepped aside to let him by. “How did you know where we live?” I let out a nervous laugh.
How awkward.

“Your address is listed on your manuscript, hope you don’t mind. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace.” He glanced around, eyeing the bedroom. “You said ‘we.’ You don’t live alone?”

“Oh, well sort of,” I started straightening up the kitchen counter, embarrassed by the mess. “Ryan lives here, too. We kind of hop back and forth between his place and mine. Um, is that for me?” I pointed at the extra coffee in his hand.

Glancing at the bedroom again, he nodded and handed me the cup. “Hope you like decaf.” His fingers grazed mine and his artificial smile seemed to adopt a flirtatious glint, lingering for a second before settling back into its generic mask. That was starting to piss me off, too. Each time we’d met, he’d managed to somehow wink or call me “beautiful,” apparently his favorite pet name. It sure as hell wasn’t professional and it always managed to make me uncomfortable.

“Please, have a seat,” I quickly gestured to the sofa behind him. Sitting down next to him, I crossed my legs.
Thank God I wasn’t still in my robe when he arrived.
I surveyed the rest of the room for any other mess that might embarrass me.

“I suppose I should start by discussing the elephant in the room,” Mark began, opening his briefcase. “You must be tired of waiting for my decision, and for that, I do apologize. I’m sold on your work, Kate. Otherwise I wouldn’t be investing so much time in meeting with you. I’d love to represent you and feel confident it would benefit us both greatly. However, the bottom line is this particular manuscript might not be the novel we want to tote as your debut piece.” He pulled the hard copy onto his lap and sipped his coffee. “It’s fantastic, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like to see you direct some of this rawness, this spunk, into something a little more commercial. Right now, it’s a bit too edgy. I’m not sure readers would warm to it easily.”

Before I had time to mull over his words, my mouth jumped gears, already on the defense. “Mark, I’ll say this in the most respectful, professional way I can, because I really do understand you might have certain marketing needs that this manuscript can’t meet. But we keep meeting over and over again and I’m not sure what your expectations are—”

“Haha, hold up, Kate, slow down.” He placed his hand on my knee, chuckling. My eyes rested on the contact. “You really are a firecracker, aren’t you?” Shifting my knee, I discreetly bumped his fingers from it, pulling my skirt down to cover as much bare skin as possible. “That’s the conclusion I’ve come to,” he continued, recoiling his hand, “that it might not be the best piece to sell for your debut. But a partner of mine, Eric, seems to feel different, and when he talks, I listen. I’ve allowed him to read over the draft and he thinks you’re just what the industry needs right now—a truly fearless voice. So,” he removed a business card from his wallet and wrote something on the back, “I’d like for you to come to this gala with me on Friday night and meet him. I think if the three of us get together, we can find a way to make that edginess your trademark, work it to our advantage somehow. He’s much more familiar with the PR aspect of the industry, having been a publicist himself. Can you be there?”

Examining the time and date written on the back of the card, my response was interrupted by the sound of the door’s lock clicking open.

Ryan flew through the door, fumbling with his keys. “Babe, do you believe I made it all the way to the station and—” He looked up and froze. “Mark?” His face turned cold, his tone glacial. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Uh, Ryan,” I kept my tone calm and even, alarmed by his harsh greeting, “Mark stopped by to have our meeting here instead.” My eyes locked on his, but he was too busy staring down Mark, his stance still and cautious. His entire posture and demeanor shifted. He was almost unrecognizable.

Sneaking a glance at our guest, I stood when I noticed him looking around the coffee table as if he’d misplaced something. He slid the manuscript into his briefcase and snapped it shut, clearly shaken.

“Hello, Ryan,” he stammered. “Actually, Kate and I were just finishing up here, so I’ll be on my way.”
Finishing up? What?

“Wait a minute.” Ryan stalked toward him, stopping inches from his face.

“Whoa, Ryan.” I reached for his arm, but he pulled away.

“Do you make a habit of this? Visiting your clients at home? Who the hell do you think you are coming over here like this?”

Holy shit.

“Ryan, calm down, what’s the matter with you?” I grabbed hold of his arm this time, not budging when he tried to shake my grip. “This is
my
house. Mark,” I turned to him, pleading, “please forgive him for acting like this, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—”

“Don’t apologize for me, Kate. I’m standing right here and I’m not fucking apologizing. Come on, Mark, let’s hear it.”
He did not just drop the f-bomb in front of my new agent. He did not just drop the f-bomb in front of my new agent. He did not just—

“Get the fuck
out
. Now.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Morphing from nervous to appalled, Mark picked up his briefcase and sheepishly slipped past him toward the door. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Ryan? What the hell is your problem, man? Is this how you treat an old friend?”

“No. This is how I treat someone who comes to my home and makes a move on my wife.”

Holy Mother. He’s officially lost it. The Shining’s Jack Torrance has taken over his body and the Ryan I know has gone AWOL.
I glanced around for anything sharp and shiny.

“What?” Mark shook his head, squinting in confusion, “you’re married? Making a move on your wife?” His eyes darted to mine for a second. “Ryan, there’s been some confusion here. I don’t know why you’re acting like this or what’s going on, but I don’t want any part of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” His tone brusque, he exited, slamming the door behind him.

“I can’t believe you just...” I couldn’t find the words. My mouth was dry, feet glued to the floor, hands limp at my sides. Sweat broke out across my forehead and I started to feel dizzy. Before I passed out or risked strangling Ryan, I darted for the door and out into the hall, catching Mark at the elevator. “Mark, I have no idea what to say...I can’t believe he just...please accept my apology.”

The elevator doors opened and he hesitated, keeping his gaze on the empty space in front of him. “Well, I think it’s safe to say he’s embarrassed the both of us, Kate. No apology necessary. I won’t be holding this against you. I still hope to see you Friday night, just be sure to come alone.” With a firm nod, he stepped inside the elevator and it whisked him away. I gripped the wall with one hand to steady myself before returning to the apartment.

Ryan was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, still as stone. No sound in the room but the soft patter of rain hitting the windows. Slowly lifting his jacket from the table, he stood and walked past me and to the front door.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened here?” I asked quietly over my shoulder.

“I’m late for work,” he murmured, the door shutting behind him.

***

My calves were aching, my clothes and face damp from the rain. I jogged all the way to Benaroya Hall and then headed back to 1st Ave toward the market. Kicking my sneakers off when I walked into the apartment, I let out a huff and tried to catch my breath. He was standing there in the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring down at the floor.

“How was work?” He asked quietly.

“Peachy. How were classes?” I replied tersely, tossing my iPod on the counter and reaching next to him to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

“Kate,” his hand shot out and grabbed my elbow as I closed the fridge door. I stopped cold, both of us facing one another but unable to make eye contact. “I’ll make this right. I promise you, I’ll make it right.”

“It’s irreversible, Ryan. You can apologize all you want to him, but you can’t take it back. I’m lucky he’s still willing to see me Friday night, still offering me representation by some token of a miracle.”

He dropped my elbow. “I’m not apologizing to him.”

I stepped back, looking at him now.

“What?”

“He shouldn’t have come into this apartment, I don’t care whether I knew him back in college or not.”

“What if I told you I invited him here? This is my house.”

“Yeah, you made that perfectly clear.”

“What in God’s name is
wrong
with you?” I’d caught my breath after returning from my run, but now my heartbeat was racing again and I found myself panting, in disbelief at what I was hearing.

“Did you? Invite him in?”

“No, but that’s beside the point.”

“Either way, I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what? He’s my agent and a professional acquaintance of yours. What about that could possibly be enough for you to curse at him and kick him out of the apartment this morning?”

“What part of ‘Either way, I don’t like it,’ don’t you understand?” His tone was biting, the words seething from his lips. I was gripping my water bottle so tightly, it would surely bust any second. “I was fond of the guy back in college, but from the moment he met you, he’s been checking you out. I tried to ignore it at first, but it’s fucking obvious as hell now.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this right now.” My lunch meeting with Mark at the Irish pub suddenly came to mind, the day Ryan unexpectedly showed up.
Damn it, that was him staking his claim, wasn’t it?
“Here I am thinking you’re about to apologize—because you absolutely owe me that—and instead you’re trying to justify your behavior? Are you out of your damn mind? You just said you’re going to make this right...how can you expect to do that if you don’t even seen what the hell you did wrong?”

“I said I won’t apologize to him. I’m apologizing to
you
...for nearly blowing your chance. I’ll make this right, whatever I have to do.”

“Apologize to the man!”

“Anything but that.”

I let all my weight fall onto my hip, leaning on the side of the counter, absolutely exasperated. “Ryan. Please. Help me understand this. Is this seriously a matter of jealousy? My two best friends are straight, hot-blooded males my age with massive crushes on me, and I spend time with them. Alone. When you’re not around. They’re here, in this apartment, with me. Often. You’re telling me I can’t have a male acquaintance in my own home?”

“Carter and Dean are different. For the most part, I trust them.” Breezing past me, he walked around to the other side of the kitchen counter and pulled his shirt off, rubbing his hands across his unshaven jaw. He looked exhausted. Conflicted.

“You called me your wife,” I said, my voice softer now. “You were enraged, I barely recognized you.”

“I know.” He tilted his head back and shut his eyes.

“Does this have something to do with her?” Reaching over the counter, I slid his manuscript toward him. “I read the dedication. You knew I’d see it when I helped you with the revisions, so what’s the deal?”

“Yes.”

“Say her name.”

He let out a low, quick breath. “Jamie.”

“And what did she do to you?” I eased my weight off the counter, taking a small step forward.