Professional Boundaries (5 page)

He looked down at me. I had forgotten how tall he was, or how short I was. I had also forgotten how much I loved the way his eyes darkened the closer I got to them and how good he smelled.

“I’m sorry. Please sit down,” he implored.

He let go of me and watched me as I slowly sat back down. He picked up my money and handed it back to me. “I insist on paying for dinner.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why do you have to be so obstinate?”

“I don’t need your charity. I may not be a multi-millionaire, but I’ve done well for myself, and I’ll be fine without this job.”

He rubbed his chin. “Kelli, this isn’t charity. I know you’ve done well for yourself. Look at it like two old friends catching up.”

“Ian, if that’s the case, you’re the worst friend I’ve ever had,” I tried to say it kindly.

He lowered his eyes. “I suppose I deserve that.” But then he sat up taller and all business-like. “Kelli, professionally speaking, today is going down as one of the most unpleasant of my career. I apologize for not being as forthcoming as I should have been with Gary. I didn’t realize the personal and professional relationship that existed between the two of you. Let’s just say he wasn’t very impressed when I told him how I knew you and that I hadn’t disclosed it.”

I tried not to smile.

“Honestly, I think if there wasn’t an iron clad contract in place, he may have fired me today. I’ve never seen anyone so upset about losing an employee, and then there was the executive secretary.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is admin assistant, or you could just call her Delfia. She hates to be called a secretary.”

“Thanks for the heads up, but she already detests me.”

 Ok. I couldn’t help but smile.

He raised his eyebrow at me. “So, I’m sure you’re going to assume that I only want you to come back to make my life easier, but honestly Kelli, I would be a fool to let such a talented employee go. I know what you bring to the table. I’ve been very impressed. So name your terms.” After his groveling, or as close as he ever came to groveling, he sat back against the booth and looked at me like he was daring me.

As I thought about what to say and do, Jose came and brought our check. He handed it to Ian. I pushed my money back over to him.

“Please, Kelli.”

I reluctantly took it back.

“Are you ready to dance?” Jose asked. I grabbed my bag and scooted out of the booth. “Yes.” I looked at Ian again. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Kelli, will you come back?”

I took another moment to look at him. “I need the weekend to think about it.”

“I understand, but I hope you’ll change your mind.”

Chapter 4

On my drive home, I just couldn’t get over the day I’d had. To think it had started off so hopeful, only to end with my ex-boyfriend and would-be boss staring at me on the dance floor. It was odd. I thought he would have just left after he paid for dinner, but he stayed and watched me dance with Jose. Then, as soon as the dance was over, he just walked out. Afterward Jose and Alicia both questioned me about him. I didn’t give them all the gory details, just a very brief overview.

“He looks like a man that knows regret,” Alicia remarked.

Don’t we all know regret? Like me. I regretted going to work today, and a little of me regretted my snotty attitude. So much so, I called Amanda as soon as I got home. I needed her to make me feel better. I told her the whole crazy dinner story, and I asked her if I was out of line and why I couldn’t control my snarkiness.

She laughed hard. “Oh honey, don’t be so hard on yourself. He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. It’s his own fault for leaving you with so much pent up anger. He’s the one that chose to walk away without even giving you a reason.”

“Manda, he didn’t love me. End of story. What better reason is there than that?”

“Kelli, that’s just malarkey. Real men don’t walk away and never speak to you again just because you say you love them, Ok.  And they don’t just show up out of the blue thirteen years later for no reason either.”

“Ok, wise one, what possible reason could there be?”

“Did you find out if he’s married?”

 It drove me nuts when she responded with a question not an answer. She did that more often than I liked.

“I didn’t ask, but he didn’t have a ring on. But hold on, I wanted to google him. Let me put you on speaker.”

I set my phone down and typed in Ian Greyson on my laptop. The first listing was for an attractive actor that shared his name, but I didn’t have time to ogle handsome men online. I scrolled down the page and found an article about the sale of his software company, IAG Inc. It sold for a cool thirty million.
Wow!
I scrolled a bit further down as I listened to my sister bark commands at my nieces, who were balking at going to bed. One of them yelled, “Come save us, Aunt Kelli!”

I laughed.

“Just wait until you have your own,” Amanda retorted.

“I can’t wait,” I said sadly.

“Kelli, you’re going to have your own.”

I hope so
, I thought to myself. It was then I found a very interesting article. Well, well, it looked like Ian married Denver socialite, Marissa Randall, eight years ago. Their engagement photo was pretty hoity toity. Ian was in a black tuxedo and she was in some silver evening gown. She was what I would call a buxom blonde with overdone make-up and hair. I was just about ready to tell my sister he was married when another article caught my eye from two years ago.

Amanda was now yelling for Zane to come deal with his offspring.

 “Hey, sis, looks like he’s divorced.” I chimed in before she really raised her voice. “Or at least he was a couple of years ago.”

“Does he have kids?”

I scrolled down the article. It was a gossip column from the Denver Post. I couldn’t believe Ian was popular enough to get mentioned in the society pages. No wonder he looked like a runway model now. I honestly preferred the Clark Kent version. Don’t get me wrong, he was way easy on the eyes, but there was something sweet and innocent about the man I knew so long ago. Now he looked like he lived in a boardroom.

“Ok, here we go. ‘There were no children from the union.’ There you go, no kids, at least not from Ms. I-May-Tip-Over-Because-My-Hair-And-Boobs-Are-So-Big.”

Amanda laughed. “Send me a picture of her.” I snapped a picture like a thirteen year old girl and texted it to her.

“My, my …” Amanda responded.

“I know, right.”

“You’re way prettier.”

“Thanks, sis, but I don’t care.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Really, I don’t. Why would I?”

“Every woman cares about who their ex-boyfriends end up with, even if there are no longer any feelings there.”

“Well, I don’t. It was a long time ago.”

“Don’t get your panties in wad, Missy.”

I set my laptop down and lay down on my couch. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. I just thought I would never see him again. It was something I had come to terms with. And now here he is, and not only that, but I could be working for him. What do I do?”

“Honey, I think you need to be honest with yourself about why you don’t want to work with him, and if you can come to terms with that, then I think you should go back and show him what Kelli Bryant’s made of.”

“What you mean, be honest with myself?”

“I think you know. Goodnight, Kelli Jelly.”

“If you say so. Goodnight, Manda Panda.”

I set my phone down and sighed. Charlie took that as his invitation to come and pounce on me. For some reason, he loved lying on my abdomen. As I lazily stroked Charlie, I tried to process the day, especially what my sister had just said. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but it did make me think about why I had such a strong reaction to working with him. The obvious reason was that I wanted that job and I felt like I deserved it, but I knew if someone besides him had been given the job, I wouldn’t have quit today. Sure, I would have been drowning myself in a hot fudge sundae out of disappointment, but I wouldn’t have been unemployed. I also would have been civil and put on my game face.

Speaking of hot fudge sundaes, I got up and traded my clothes for a night shirt and then made my way to my gourmet kitchen and pulled out my dad’s recipe for hot fudge. I needed my dad’s lawyer mind, or just his arms. A good hug would do nicely right now. I missed him so much. His life had been cut too short by a brain aneurysm. We were told he died in a matter of minutes. Our only consolation was that he died doing what he loved, defending the weak and the innocent. My dad was my hero. He could have been a wealthy man if he had wanted to be because he was a brilliant attorney, but he only took paying cases so he could take more pro bono ones. Don’t get me wrong, we lived a good life, but we weren’t spoiled, except in the ways that mattered most.

As I stirred my hot fudge on the stove to the perfect consistency, I tried to self-diagnose. What was it about Ian Greyson that I couldn’t come to terms with? I had come to terms with the fact that he didn’t love me. I knew when I told him, so many years ago, he probably wouldn’t reciprocate. His favorite line was, “I’m crazy for you, Kelli.” Or sometimes, “You drive me crazy, Kelli.” Sometimes he meant that endearingly, but I knew I did drive him crazy. We were very different people, but at the time, that was one of the things I loved about our relationship. He helped me enjoy quiet, simple pleasures, like nature hikes and art museums; he even took me fishing once. And I managed to get him to be loud and crazy once in a while, like when I drug him to the festival of colors and we threw colored chalk at each other, or when I pulled him up on one of the campus benches and made him slow dance with me for everyone to see, just because I liked the song playing on my iPod. He used to give me that look that said, I can’t believe I’m doing this, and then he would kiss me as if to say, “I’d do anything for you.” Maybe that’s why I thought he might return the sentiment.

We were so happy together. I mean, truly happy together. As different as we were, we never fought, and there was never any drama. That’s why it took me so long to get over him. When he walked away, I felt like someone had removed all the oxygen from the air, but foolishly I thought he just needed to come to terms with it and he would realize it didn’t change anything. I expected him to come back that night, or at least the next day, because surely he missed me like I missed him. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t even answer my phone calls or his door when I went to talk to him. He had removed me from his life permanently, with no thought at all.

With my large bowl of vanilla ice cream, topped with the best hot fudge sauce ever in hand, I sat back down on the couch and did a little bit more digging into Ian’s past. It probably wasn’t a healthy thing to do. I had never had any desire to research old boyfriends, and I had tried very hard to never know anything more of Ian. That’s why I let my relationship with his sister fade away. I’d always regretted that, though, because we really were like two peas in a pod, but I just couldn’t stand the reminder of Ian. Even if we didn’t talk about him, she was a reminder of that pain. Oh, well, he was here now, so I guess it wasn’t going to hurt to pry.

First I started with IAG, Inc. I assumed that was for his initials, Ian Anthony Greyson. His dad’s name was Anthony, but he went by Tony, because Anthony was too formal for a cattle rancher. It looked like he started IAG ten years ago. Initially it started with a free web-based project management tool. From the sounds of it, it became quite well used and garnered the attention of investors. Interestingly enough, Miles Randall, Miss Big Boob’s daddy, was one of those investors. From there, it looked like IAG developed several web-based business solution products, ranging from project management to accounting and even marketing. I always knew he was borderline genius and he would make it big.

I wondered if he’d met the socialite first or the daddy. I had to say, I really was surprised by his choice of wife. Of course, the timing was right on his schedule. He thought he should be married somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty. That was the optimal age in his mind. He figured he would be enough into his career, but not too far in. That was important because he didn’t want a woman who was only attracted to his paycheck. Looks like he got his wish as his ex-wife came from money. I used to laugh at him and tell him not to overthink things. I would also tease him that I would never marry him for his paycheck. He would just look at me funny, but he would never acknowledge it. I should have known then that he never thought I’d be the one he would marry.

I, on the other hand, thought it was perfect. When he was twenty-nine, I would just have graduated from college. He would never have to worry about me marrying him for his money because I fell in love with him as a poor grad student. Too bad he wanted big boobs and a wealthy wife. I looked down at my smallish chest and lamented, “Thanks a lot, girls.”

It looked like the only part of his plan that hadn’t happened as he planned was children. He wanted two children, maybe three, and they were to be spaced out two and half years apart; he read somewhere this was most optimal for the children and the mother’s health. He wanted to be done having children by the time he was forty.

 I laughed at myself.

Why I remembered all this nonsense, I had no idea. Ok, I had an idea … It was because I had pictured myself as Mrs. Ian Greyson, wife and mother extraordinaire, so many times. Obviously, I had been young and delusional.

As I kept scrolling through pages, I wondered why he was divorced. I couldn’t find any additional information other than he filed for divorce and sited the catch all: irreconcilable differences. The only thing I found of interest was Miss Boobs was already remarried to a guy named Timothy Oberman. I wondered if that bothered Ian and if he was still in love with his ex-wife. I don’t know why I wondered.

I practically licked my bowl clean before I called it a night and turned off my laptop. It had been a long and very weird day. It felt very surreal as I lay in bed and waited for the sleep to come; all I could think about was Ian. The old Ian, the Ian I used to love. The Ian that made me study charts for finals and supplied me with diet Pepsi during said finals, even though he thought it wasn’t good for me. The Ian who would call me in the middle of the night because he had a brilliant idea and he just wanted to share it with me. The Ian that had worked extra hours just so he had enough money to buy me a birthday gift, an expensive perfume I adored. It was a small bottle, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have cared if he had bought me anything at all. His homemade cupcakes alone were perfect.