The Gift of Love (3 page)

And he’d neglected—her word, not his—Allison, the woman he’d been dating for the past year, while he slaved away, first on the research and then on the report he’d just presented, while also juggling his other projects and responsibilities. Even though he thought Allison understood he was doing it for them, to ensure their future together, he had a sense she was getting tired of being alone on the weekends, conducting way too much of their relationship by text and e-mail supplemented by the occasional late night phone call and dinner when he could squeeze it in.

However, now that he’d presented his report, he was ready to make up for lost time. He had a surprise for her that he was sure would fix things.

The idea had come to him one night after he’d gone home so wound up from working on the CloudCo project he couldn’t sleep. Wired for sound after too much coffee and the adrenaline surge he got from writing the perfect introductory chapter for his report, he’d found himself at his laptop writing out a “to do” list for the weekend he was planning for Allison after he did the final client presentation. As he typed, he got an idea. Why not make it perfectly clear to Allison what he had in mind for them as a couple? And what better way to show her he’d researched all the important things they’d need to consider than to give her a report on his ideas.

He began with a cover letter telling Allison how much he cared for her and how happy he would be to partner with her as her husband. Then he Googled “engagement rings” and uploaded images of rings he could afford—without including the price, of course—and asked her to select the one she liked the best.

Next he researched honeymoon sites and added his pick of what he found to the report, complete with pictures of beaches, restaurants, and tourist activities at each location. For good measure he listed Zillow links for half a dozen houses around the Puget Sound as examples of the home they’d buy when they got back to Seattle. He even had a list of proposed groomsmen and a few open dates for their wedding the following summer.

Thinking it would be fun to make it look like a real consultant’s proposal, he had it printed and bound with a bright red cover and their names inside a heart on the front. The guy at the FedEx Office store looked at him a little oddly when he explained what it was but he knew Allison would love it when he presented the finished product to her sometime during their long weekend at the coast. He’d known from the first time he’d met her how perfectly she fit into his plans for his life. All he had to do was show her, with his research and report, the logic of their being together permanently as a married couple.

Ever since high school, Taylor had planned each step of his life with the same care he gave each client report. He was determined not to end up like his father had, making and losing several fortunes with asinine business decisions and harebrained investments. Only too aware his childhood could hardly be called stable, Taylor had done everything within his power to minimize the risks of things going wrong in his adult life.

For example, to ensure he’d get into the right college, he participated only in high school activities that looked good on his college applications or gave him experiences he deemed important to his goals. He researched classes, teachers, and colleges with a thoroughness astounding to his advisor in high school. She gave up trying to give him advice when she discovered all the groundwork he’d already done before he came into her office.

In college he never put a foot wrong. No stupid drunken parties. No bad grades. No careless relationships with inappropriate women. Grad school was the same.

His plan included work for a high-tech firm in some capacity for a short time then a switchover to a management-consulting firm where he would focus on helping high-tech businesses start up, grow, and succeed. No one associated with any business he helped would ever end up the way his father and his family had.

When he left grad school, he had offers from a dozen or more firms in his field of choice. He carefully vetted each one and chose a small company where he worked for two years. Then he signed on with MBA Consulting. It had been the right move. He was challenged by the variety of clients he worked with, able to use his extensive education in business management, and was considered an asset to the company. He would only miss one goal. He set out to be a partner by the age of thirty-five. If he made it this year, as it now looked like he might, he would only be thirty-four.

Part of his plan had been to find a woman sometime in his middle thirties who could appreciate his commitment to his career as well as to his future with her. Of course he hoped they’d care for each other, but love wasn’t at the top of the list of things he was looking for. Love hadn’t played much part in his parents’ relationship. It never could if there was no financial security, in his opinion.

He was sure he’d found everything he wanted in Allison. An engineer with the Bellevue office of a big international firm, she was as much a professional as he was. She worked hard, knew what it took to get ahead. Craig, an old college friend of hers and an acquaintance of his, had introduced them at a business-after-hours cocktail thing, and she’d impressed the hell out of him. They had so much in common it was astonishing—even having attended Stanford at about the same time and on full-ride scholarships, although they’d never run into each other on campus in the year they’d overlapped. Both were Seattle born and bred; both were enthusiastic fans of their hometown and everything in it (although her favorite sports team was the Mariners baseball team and his, the Seahawks football team).

She was smart and ambitious. She dressed professionally for work and attractively when they went to dinner. In heels, she was only a couple inches shorter than his six feet four. And her blond hair and blue eyes, which almost perfectly matched his, would guarantee, genetically, children who would be tall, fair, and good looking.

All the signs were there. This was the relationship he needed for the next stage of his life because Allison Lindberg was, in short, the girl of his—and any other ambitious man’s—dreams.

Everything was falling in place. The perfect job and the perfect woman added up to the perfect life. He had it all under his capable control. He’d never have a life like his father’s.

Eager to share with Allison the results of his successful meeting at CloudCo, Taylor called her cell as he walked back to his office. He immediately got voicemail, which he assumed meant she was on another call. But when he tried again after he returned to his office, the same thing happened. Finally he called her office number. The department’s administrative coordinator was cool, saying only that Allison was gone for the rest of the day. Which didn’t explain why she wasn’t answering her cell, but Taylor couldn’t get any more out of the adco.

By the time Taylor got back to his office, the news of his success had already made its way from one cubicle to another in his firm. It had even penetrated to the offices on the outer edge of the floor where the big girls and boys played and plotted behind their closed doors while they looked out the windows at the cityscape only they were privileged to see.

The chairman of the firm’s partnership committee, Nate Benjamin, led a parade of committee members into Taylor’s cubicle. “You won’t believe what the CloudCo guys are saying about your work. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much glowing bullshit from a client.” The grin on his face belied the backhanded compliment.

“Thanks, Nate. I was happy with what they said, even if it was B.S.”

“You earned your pay this month. Nice work.” He stuck out his hand. Taylor stood to shake it, and Nate clapped him on the back with his left hand. He’d been slapped on the back so many times since he’d returned from his meeting, he was sure his suit jacket was wearing thin from the pounding. And as he winced, he wondered if he’d even have a bruise or two in the morning. Which reminded him somewhat painfully of his need to get back to the gym. If a few slaps on the back were bothering him, it was past time to make up for the months of not working out.

“A couple members of the partnership committee and I would like to take you out for a drink after work tonight. You won’t even have to use any of the bonus you’ll be getting to pay for it. You free to join us?”

Drinks with the partnership committee? Even if he’d had plans, Taylor wouldn’t have turned that down. “I’d love to. Thanks.”

“Great. I’ll stop by about six thirty, and we can go downstairs together.”

As soon as Nate left, Taylor made one more attempt to talk to Allison but, when he got voicemail again, left a message asking her to join them at the bar on the ground floor of his office building so she could be part of the celebration, too.

This was turning out to be one of—maybe
the
best day of his life.

• • •

Taylor was a little buzzed. Three Manhattans in an hour and a half on an empty stomach will do that to a guy. Luckily, he used public transportation to get to and from work. But being a responsible transit rider didn’t help with opening the two security locks on his apartment door. Somehow the keys didn’t seem to be working right tonight. Eventually, he got the right key into the correct lock without putting a dent into either his euphoric mood or the door. He was happy. Very, very happy. Which is also what three Manhattans and the best day of his life will do.

He knew he should get something to eat, but he didn’t want to lose the glow so he plopped down in his favorite chair and replayed his personal highlight reel from the day: The look on the faces of the CloudCo management committee when he finished his presentation. The conversation he overheard between his boss and the president of CloudCo as he left the conference room. The kudos from Nate Benjamin when he got back to the office. The drinks and praise from the members of the partnership committee. The congratulations from his girlfriend.

Wait. No, he’d never talked to Allison. She hadn’t shown up at the bar to celebrate, either. He should call her again.

The doorbell ringing interrupted his fumbling for his cell. He looked out the peephole and saw a guy in jeans and a sweatshirt with the words “Break Up or Make Up” and two hearts, one whole, one broken in two, splashed across the front. He was holding a large manila envelope.

When he opened the door the man said, “Are you ...” He consulted the envelope, then said, “Teej?”

Allison was the only person who called him Teej. This had to be from her. Maybe this was her way of congratulating him on his success.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes having a bit of trouble focusing on the man in front of him. “My girlfriend calls me Teej.”

“Okay, then, I have a delivery for you.” He handed over the envelope he was holding.

“What is it?” Taylor asked.

“Don’t know. Only know it’s for you. Sign here.” The delivery man held out a clipboard, and Taylor scrawled an indecipherable signature at the bottom of the form. “Thanks. Have a good one.” The young man disappeared down the hall toward the elevator.

What the hell is this all about?
Taylor stood in his doorway looking at the envelope for longer than he should have. In his half-buzzed state, it seemed important he figure it out before he opened it. But he wasn’t having any success, so he closed the front door and went back to his living room.

Returning to his favorite chair, he squeezed the envelope.
Hmm. Nothing lumpy or bumpy. So probably not a pipe bomb.
Not that he’d know what a pipe bomb felt like. Besides, if it was for Teej, it had to be from Allison and it wasn’t likely she would send a pipe bomb anyway. An exploding device wouldn’t be a good way to congratulate him, would it?

He turned the envelope around so he could see the return address.
Portland? Why would she be sending something from Portland? It must not be about my CloudCo success. She wouldn’t have had enough time to get something here from Portland in the last couple hours, would she?
Moving the envelope back and forth like a trombone slide, he tried to read the name of the company, which was slightly smeared—probably from the light rain he had noticed when he left the bar. It looked like it said “Break Up or Make Up.”
Hmm. That’s the name the delivery guy had on his sweatshirt. Weird name for a company. Wonder what they do?

Finally giving up on figuring it out, he grabbed the gadget he used to slice envelopes and opened it. Inside was a single page letter.