The Fix Up (15 page)

Camryn

“What’s wrong?” Olivia says the second she opens the door.

I headed straight here to the apartment home of my best friend and boss after leaving the disaster of a PR event I was running.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

Her gaze drifts to the glass bottle in my hands. “Vodka for lunch is generally a bad sign, no?”

I make a sound of agreement, a sad acceptance of her truth. “Can I come in or what?”

She opens the door wider and motions me forward. “Only if you promise to tell me what’s going on.”

I nod. I showed up here in a similar fashion six months ago when David and I broke up, and while wine had been my elixir of choice for that breakup, I knew today called for something much stronger.

She leads me into the kitchen to get me a glass of ice and a can of lime soda from the fridge. I open the bottle of cheap vodka because in addition to everything else, now I won’t get my bonus, which means my money situation is fucked. The headache I’ll have later will be punishment for my stupidity. Pouring a healthy splash into the glass, I fill the rest with soda and take a long sip.

“Come on. Let’s go talk,” Olivia suggests, leading me out to the living room.

We sit down, me on the sofa and her in the leather recliner across from me. She props her feet up with a smile.

“Sorry. My feet are so swollen, they look like bear claws.”

I take another sip of my drink, wondering where I should start. Sterling’s betrayal? Anna’s? Or the fact that I’m probably going to be fired when Olivia learns what I’ve done?

“Wait a second.” Olivia’s eyebrows pull together. “Isn’t the event for Sterling today?”

I nod, looking down at my hands. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve fucked up, Liv.”

My voice cracks, and I can’t hold it in even one second longer. A bitter cry bursts from my throat, and tears began to spill down my cheeks. Setting my drink down on the table, I hug a pillow to my chest.

Then I spill all of it, every ounce of truth that I’ve kept buried in my heart. I don’t stop until I’ve told her everything—that I went and fell in love with him like a world-class idiot, that we made love, that it was the most perfect earth-shattering sex of my life, that I met his mother, all of it. And Olivia sits quietly listening, her hand on the round bump of her belly.

“It felt so real,” I whisper.

She looks at me with a sadness in her eyes. “I was worried about this.”

Then I remember her stark warning at the nail salon that day all those weeks ago. She warned me not to fall for him.

“Are you pissed about me ruining the recruiting event?” I was half-afraid to show up here and be turned away, that I’d be told I was going to be fired on Monday.

“No,” Olivia says. “Of course not. His behavior was outrageous. And besides, I should have known better than to pair you up. You two have always had amazing chemistry. It was probably a recipe for disaster from the start.”

That little admission makes me feel the tiniest bit better, like maybe falling for him somehow wasn’t my fault. It was predestined or something.

“Anna’s behavior is entirely unacceptable. I’d recommend that we let her go on Monday, if you’re on board with that,” Olivia adds.

I merely nod. There’s nothing about losing a friend and watching her get fired that I find satisfaction in.

Just then, Noah walks into the living room, a red apple raised halfway to his mouth.

I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Hey, Noah.” Taking a sip of my drink, I try to compose myself.

His gaze slides from me to Olivia, and he lowers the apple. “Is this girl talk?”

Olivia nods.

“It’s fine; you can come in. This is your house,” I say.

Noah still looks wary, like he wants to make an escape but is silently checking with his wife to be sure it’s okay.

“Actually,” Olivia says as she drums her fingers on the arm of the chair, “we might be able to use your opinion.”

I groan inwardly that my very embarrassing truth is about to become public news. This is why having married friends sucks. Nothing is sacred.

“Is it okay?” Olivia asks.

I take a large gulp of my drink, polishing it off. “As long as you keep these coming.”

Noah chuckles. “Coming right up. What is it?” he asks on his way into the kitchen.

“Vodka soda, and mix yourself one too, mister,” I shout back.

Olivia’s eyes widen.

“I’m not drinking alone, and since you’re in no condition to partake, that leaves lover boy.”

Olivia merely rolls her eyes. “You two are going to be fun to deal with later.”

I give her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get my payback one way or another.”

Noah returns with two fresh cocktails, hands one to me, and then sits down in the chair next to his wife. “Now, what in the fuck is going on that we’re drinking hard liquor at twelve . . . thirty-eight,” he says, glancing at his wristwatch.

God, it hasn’t even been an hour since I discovered Sterling fucking his ex in the conference room. It feels like I’ve aged sixty years since that time.

While I concentrate on putting a dent in my second cocktail, Olivia fills Noah in on the basics. She spares me the embarrassment of repeating the delicate parts of my story, but Noah’s expression goes from neutral to angry, but never seems surprised.

“You knew,” I say when Olivia finishes.

“Fuck.” He pushes his hands into his hair. “I knew something was going on. But this shit with Rebecca doesn’t make sense. He likes you; he really does.”

That revelation doesn’t mean much. Sterling might have liked me, but not enough apparently.

“Has he ever been known to . . .” Olivia pauses, looking at me with concern.

“Go ahead,” I say, encouraging her.

“Has Sterling ever been known to hook up with someone like that, randomly, practically in public?”

The look on Noah’s face says it all.

“Spill it, Noah. The truth,” Olivia demands.

“In the past, yeah. There was this time several months ago when we volunteered at a soup kitchen. He banged a girl in the bathroom.”

Olivia’s face twists in disgust. “He fucked a homeless person? Does the man have any standards?”

Noah shakes his head. “No, she was another volunteer there for the day.”

“Guys, this isn’t helping.”

“Right. Sorry.” Noah rises to his feet. He returns with a bottle of vodka and a fistful of takeout menus. “We need to turn this into a proper post-breakup pity party. Pizza or Chinese?”

I laugh despite the crappy mood I’m in.

“Both,” Olivia says, grinning.

Later as we sit there, eating plates of egg rolls, lo mein, and pepperoni pizza, Noah offers a solution.

“I could just call Sterling. Find out the truth of what the fuck happened today.”

In my buzzed state, I consider it for a second. It’s not a half-bad idea.

“No way,” Olivia says. “He’ll try to talk his way out of it, then he’ll want us to put Camryn on the phone. So, no,” she repeats. “He needs some time to sit and ponder what he did wrong. There’s no redemption for him tonight. Let him suffer in silence.”

She already made me turn off my phone earlier, and then hide it somewhere in her kitchen where I won’t be tempted to see if I have any missed calls or voice mails.

Noah and I have put a hefty dent in the bottle of vodka, and I know later I’ll eventually be faced with the decision to cab it home or stay the night in their guest room. But there’s something about being inside their happy home that makes me feel out of place.

Maybe it’s just that they’re married, and their love is a real, visceral thing I can feel in the space around us, or maybe it’s just because I’m so far from anything similar in my life. It hurts when I pause to think about it. Which is why I need to just keep drinking.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I only know that I won’t be working with Sterling on his search for a wife ever again.

Camryn

I managed to keep my phone turned off all weekend, and now I’m back at work on Monday morning without knowing whether Anna or Sterling tried to contact me.

I almost caved a thousand times. Not that I would have contacted him. But I stood at the kitchen counter, my finger poised over the power button to my cell for a long time on Sunday. The pull to know if he’d tried to contact me was so strong. Would there be a text from him to say he was sorry? Would there be an explanation that, after facing all the women, he decided he wanted to get back with Rebecca after all?

It was better not knowing. For now, at least.

Navigating my way through mass department e-mails and other things of nonimportance, I stifle a yawn as I try to unclutter my in-box. The comforting morning ritual, paired with a steaming cup of coffee, makes me feel halfway human again. A long weekend spent sulking wasn’t healthy. My work gives me purpose, so at least there’s that.

I’m still wondering if Anna’s going to be brave enough to show her face here today. And I have no idea what I’ll do if she does, since I’m assuming clawing her eyes out and calling her a cunt is against the employee code of conduct.

At a few minutes before eight, Anna enters the office. Rather than the confidence she radiated on Saturday, holding her head high as she strutted past my table, today she wears a subdued expression.

“Hey,” she says sheepishly. She enters the office but stays near the door.

My gaze lifts to hers, but my fingers remain on the keyboard. My hope is that this is quick and painless, that maybe she’s just here to pick up her belongings.

“Can we talk?” she asks.

I tip my chin. “Sure. Say what you need to say.”
It’s not going to change a damn thing.

I have too much respect for myself to be like
Hey, you betrayed me? That’s cool.
I may forgive her in time, but the trust is gone. And friendships without trust are like bachelorette parties without alcohol—they’re not something I want any part of.

“I got caught up in the excitement of the event. I mean, really, that’s a compliment to your skills as a publicist.”

When she gives me an awkward smile, I think I throw up in my mouth a little, but I keep my expression neutral, still willing to hear her out.

Since I don’t say anything, she presses on.

“The idea of marrying a multimillionaire, and not to mention that he’s hot and British, I just couldn’t let all that pass without at least trying. I hope you understand that.”

Now I’m just starting to get mad. Not once has she said she’s sorry. These are all flimsy excuses.

I take a deep breath, making sure my voice is calm and in control. “I have work to get done, Anna. Is there a point to all of this?”

She shifts her weight from one high-heeled foot to the other. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not mad.”

At this, I almost laugh. And not because it’s funny, no. I’m talking a full-on maniacal Disney-villain laugh, because she’s clearly insane.

“Mad?” I rise from my desk. “Let’s see. You deserted me at a work event to try and pick up a guy. A guy, despite all the mitigating factors, you knew I had feelings for. So, no. Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Her mouth opens and she takes a step back.

“I’m not simply mad. I’m furious at your behavior, disappointed at your lack of apology, and quite honestly, floored that you had the gall to show up here today asking if I was mad. We’re done, Anna. And not only that, but we’re done working together too.”

“You’re firing me!” she cries, her voice rising in disbelief.

“No, I’m not firing you. That was Olivia’s call. It turns out, when you want to keep a job, you should, I don’t know, do what you were hired for and not flake out on the people who are counting on you.” I’ve crossed the room so I’m now standing directly in front of her with my hands on my hips. “Good-bye, Anna.”

With an annoyed huff, she spins on her heel and storms away, making a disgruntled noise as she goes.

I heave in a breath, my knees trembling despite how composed I might have seemed.

Just then Sterling rounds the corner, his hands moving lazily together and apart in a slow clap. “That was bloody brilliant.”

My mouth twitches in a smile. It actually felt damn good standing up for myself. I don’t relish the idea of losing a friend, but as the saying goes, with friends like that, who needs enemies?

Anna and I have been close since elementary school, though these last few years we’ve grown apart. Somehow, I know life will go on and we’ll each lick our wounds and eventually get over it. Hell, maybe we’ll even laugh over this someday over cocktails, but I doubt it.

But I don’t have time to reflect on what just went down with Anna. Because Sterling is standing before me in a tailored black suit looking mouthwateringly, soul-crushingly, chest-achingly beautiful.

Stay strong, Camryn.

“Did you need something?”

“Aye. I came by to speak with you about Saturday.” He’s breathless like he ran the whole way here. And maybe he did. His office is across town.

My gaze drifts down to the red and green folders he’s holding at his side.

Unlike Anna, he’s not here to make amends. He’s simply trying to follow up on our project—the shared goal we had of getting him married off. It seems he’s made his selections. The green folder is for those women he’d like another date with, and the red one holds the turndowns. It seems he followed directions well.

As hard as the words are to say, I force them out. “Come on in.”

I head back to my desk, sliding into the rolling leather chair while Sterling takes the seat across from me. He sets both folders on my desk. The red one is about five inches thick, bursting with head shots. The green folder looks like it could be empty for all I know.

“I tried to reach you all weekend,” he says, his voice soft.

I press my lips together, trying not to say something that involves the words
fuck
and
you
.
Be professional, Camryn. Just get through this
.

“I’ll get this handled.” I reach for the green folder but Sterling flattens his palm against it, holding it in place.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” he says.

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I try to calm down. But after dealing with Anna, my tolerance for bullshit is practically nonexistent.

“What happened was I’m an idiot. I have a job to do, and I let my emotions get in the way of that. It won’t happen again.” My tone is cold, and if I could pat myself on the back for sounding so aloof, I would.

Sterling’s eyes are dark, stormy, and conflicted. “I was falling for you.”

“And see, that’s where I call bullshit. I saw you and that girl Rebecca. Your ex.”

His dark brows draw together, and his perfectly kissable lips part as his expression changes to one of confusion. “What exactly did you see?”

What did I see, exactly?
“There was a dress on the floor. And I heard moans.”

He nods, not denying it.

“Why didn’t you just admit to me from the start that you weren’t over your ex?”

“I had no idea you saw that. The only thing I knew is that your friend Anna threw herself at me, and then you were gone.”

I look down at my hands. “I saw, Sterling. And then I left, because I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Let me explain a few things to you,” he says, his tone precise. “For some strange reason, my ex, Rebecca, was allowed through the screening process, which made little sense to me because I had previously communicated to you that I had no interest in her. As in, none.”

He leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of my desk. I look up, and his dark eyes are filled with regret.

“She came in, stripped out of her dress, and turned on a porn video on her cell phone. It was a desperate and shameless attempt to get under my skin. I opened the door, wanting her to be removed, but when I found the security guard gone, I went in search of someone to help. I knew Rebecca wasn’t leaving without a fight. And the last thing I wanted was to be in the same room with my naked ex, and have you walk in on that and assume the worst. Which is apparently what happened.”

My windpipe threatens to close. Dear God . . . I thought they were in there fucking like rabbits. My eyes wouldn’t let me look.

“And that was after I’d been proposed to eight times, and asked for my credit score, my blood type, if I was into double penetration or bestiality, was willing to have my palms read, and one crazy broad wanted to check my cock for warts.”

“Holy shit. Are you serious?”

“Deadly. It was quite a fucking morning.”

“So you didn’t fuck Rebecca?”

“God, no.”

I take a deep breath. “Was there anyone nice and normal who you liked?”

“There were a few who seemed like nice girls, but no, I didn’t like any of them. It turns out, I’ve already given my heart to someone else.”

I swallow, so badly wanting to believe he’s talking about me, but I won’t let myself go there just yet.

“And to top it all off, you were gone. Nowhere to be found.”

“I’m sorry about that. I thought you were in there fucking Rebecca. And after what we shared Friday night . . .” My mouth goes dry, and I can’t continue.

“I understand. I get it. It was just a really tough weekend to get through. I thought you weren’t speaking to me because of the whole Anna thing. And I want you to know, I had no interest in her whatsoever. Even less after I realized how little she values loyalty and friendship.”

“It was a difficult weekend for me too.”

Losing Anna was unexpected. But spending all weekend mourning the loss of the fragile foundation I’d built with Sterling was worse. I recall what Noah told me about Sterling having been known in the past to engage in random hookups with women he’d just met. And even though nothing happened this time, I’m still on edge about what that could mean, what kind of man he is underneath the shiny exterior I’ve gotten to know.

“I want you to know that Friday night meant everything to me.”

I can’t look up and meet his eyes. I don’t trust myself.

Instead, I stammer, “No matter what happened between us, I vow to see this through till the end. I’ll be a professional and won’t let anything get in the way of you getting what you want—a wife.”

“You really are an amazing woman, Cami.” He smiles at me fondly with that guarded tenderness I’ve grown to love.

I motion for him to hand me the green folder. “I’ll get dates set up for this week with your finalists.”

“Sure,” he says, handing me the folder before turning to leave.

I draw in a long, slow inhale as my frayed nerves threaten to riot and send me into a tailspin. I’m thirty minutes into my Monday, and so far I’ve fired Anna and then had Sterling tell me that he didn’t lay so much as his little finger on Rebecca, let alone stuff his cock inside her. And I believe him. I just do.

I stare at that folder for a long time. Then I set it aside and attempt to finish the e-mail I was writing.

Fuck it.

Knowing I won’t be able to concentrate until I see what’s inside, I grab the folder from my desk.

Slowly, I open it and find the picture’s turned over, so only the back side of the glossy photo paper faces me. With trembling fingers, I lift one corner and flip it over.

For several seconds, I just stare at it blankly, my brain struggling to comprehend.

It’s me.

The photo is one of me. Taken when I sat across from him and his mother in the booth at that ice cream shop, a dot of whipped cream on my lower lip and a smile in my eyes. He’d snapped it with his cell phone, and I never thought anything of it.

But now it feels like everything.

Except . . . what does it mean?