The Offer (11 page)

“Go fuck
yourself,” I tell him, opening my door and quickly jetting inside,
shutting the door hard behind me.

As my cheeks
flame, I can hear him say on the other side, “There’s the girl I
wanted to see.” Then the sound of his own door shutting.

What an
asshat. I mean, I know he’s fucking with me like that kid in grade
school, only pulling more than just my hair. But man, does he know
how to get under my skin. Just because I’m not fucking everything
that walks – or him – doesn’t mean I’m some uptight, virginal
prude.

Unfortunately,
I also know he’s kind of right. Because in the last few years, I’ve
been heading in that direction. Even though I’m not fat, I used to
be way thinner and toned. Now, I’ve got cellulite on my thighs, an
ass that won’t stop growing and stretch marks and a C-section scar
on my poochy stomach. I’m sure I could make it work for me if I
wanted to, it’s just that it’s so hard to look back on the person I
was – happier, better – and be okay with what I am now. It’s like
admitting defeat.

The last thing
I want is to strip naked with a guy and it’s unfortunate that the
last guy I wanted to do that for was Bram.

Crap. Maybe I
really should go hook up with some random just to get Bram’s legacy
out of my damn head.

“Mommy.”

I look over
and see Ava on the couch, staring at me curiously. I realize I’m
leaning back against the door as if Bram’s going to burst inside at
any moment. I straighten up and shoot her a bashful look. “I’m
okay,” I tell her.

“
Was
that
Bram
?” She
pronounces his name with extra care now, wanting to get that “R” in
there.

“Yes,” I say
cautiously. I don’t like how she still continues to stay gaga over
him. I don’t want to have to be nice for her sake and with him
being the only male she really sees, the last thing I want is for
her to see him as a father figure.

“Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!” she sings loudly, popping Snuffy up and
down. “Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!”

Ding
dong
is
right.

“All right
that’s enough,” I tell her. “How about we use our quiet voices,
okay?”

“Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!” she yells, running to her room and
giggling.

I exhale,
unfold the newspaper at the kitchen table and start searching for a
job.

***

It’s about two
in the afternoon and I’ve circled every job I’ve seen fit in the
paper, even those I have no experience in like waitressing. I’ve
sent out every résumé and cover letter and crossed my fingers a
million times. Now Ava is racing around the couch, stir-crazy from
boredom and I feel like I need a dozen espressos to even get
through the rest of the day. At least she’s stopped singing her
Bram song.

A knock at the
door. I feel like I’ve spoken too soon.

I get up to
answer it, giving myself a once over in the vintage mirror on the
wall. I don’t look half-bad. I guess it helps that after our
earlier altercation, I had a long shower and made a full-hearted
attempt to make myself look prettier. My hair is wavy with just the
right amount of product. I’ve shaded in my brows more (apparently
one of my better features according to most women), put on a few
strokes of mascara and a plum lip stain. My skin started going
crazy during pregnancy but thankfully it’s calmed down and I don’t
have to wear foundation much. I also skipped the blush since I have
my cheeks to thank for that.

I open the
door and am not surprised at all to find Bram on the other side.
Once he sees me his eyes widen appreciatively at my face and then
at the rest of my body. I’m just in leggings and a long sleeveless
tunic, but it’s a step up from pajamas.

“Well, hello
there,” he says. He holds out a bottle of wine. “Peace
offering.”

I purse my
lips. “Peace offering?”

“Yes,” he
says, shaking the bottle at me. “Have you had the Don Melcher
before? It’s brilliant.”

“It looks
expensive.”

“It is,” he
says and smiles. “But I feel I need it make it up to you.”

“For what?” I
want him to say it.

“For being a
right prick,” he says. “And for standing there with my dick on
display. I shouldn’t tease you with it.”

My eyes narrow
momentarily.

He catches
himself. “Sorry, sorry. I will behave from now on, I promise.”

“Yeah,
right.”

He crosses his
heart. “I swear. The minute I say the wrong thing, you can kick me
out.”

“Don’t bet I
won’t.” I sigh and step out of the way, letting him come inside.
That fresh and woodsy scent, reminiscent of something I can’t
place, but something that once made me happy, wafts past and I
can’t stop myself from closing my eyes briefly and breathing it
in.

Thankfully he
doesn’t notice as he comes in and places the wine on the kitchen
table.

Unfortunately,
that kitchen table seems to have had it and one leg breaks from
under it. Bram manages to grab the wine before it crashes to the
ground with it.

“Fuck,” I
swear and Ava comes running out of her room.

“What was
loud?” she asks and then she sees Bram. Her eyes light up like a
candle. “Bram!” she yells and runs over to him.

He stares down
at her, smiling, while I quickly close the door and assess the
damaged table.

“Bram, Bram,
Bram!” Ava shrieks.

“How are you,
little one?” he asks her, clearly enjoying her attention.

“I wrote a
song for you, Bram,” she says excitedly.

He looks over
at me. “Oh really? So, she’s written me a song, but you
haven’t?”

I roll my eyes
and put my attention back to the table. Though the leg snapped off
from the bottom, I think I can glue it back together.

“Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!” Ava starts singing at the top of her
lungs. I ignore her and pull the leg out from under it then head to
the “Drawer O’ Crap” in the kitchen to find the crazy glue.

“That’s a very
nice song, Ava,” Bram says. “Completely original.”

“Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!”

“Don’t
encourage her,” I mutter and then Bram is beside me.

“Crazy glue?”
he asks, looking over my shoulder. “You need a new table,
sweetheart.”

I push past
him and head over to it, Ava still singing her song and jumping up
and down. “If you haven’t noticed, I can’t afford a table at the
moment.”

“I’ll get you
one,” he says.

I bristle.
“You’ve done enough.” And I really need to keep my debt to him as
low as possible. But I realize I’m sounding bitchy again, so I say,
“Once I get a job, I’ll head to Goodwill and see what I can
find.”

“How is that
going, by the way?” he asks. “The job search?”

“Shitty,” I
say.

“Shitty!” Ava
yells. “Shitty! Shitty! Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!”

“Now that
seems more apt,” Bram comments.

“Ava, don’t
say that word,” I scold her and then scold myself for swearing
around her again.

“Bram?” she
asks.

“No, the…you
know what, yes. Bram. Don’t say that word. It’s bad.”

“Very, very
bad,” Bram comments, his voice suddenly husky. I don’t know why but
goosebumps suddenly appear on my arms and my belly feels hot.

I glance over
to see him head into the kitchen and fish out a pair of wine
glasses. Okay, so I guess this is happening now. Before I have a
chance to tell him it’s too early to be drinking, the wine is being
opened.

“Mommy,” Ava
says while I try to open the crazy glue container.

“What?”

“Bram!” she
yells and then runs to her room, singing that song again.

“Bram’s always
been a curse word in my family,” he says, coming over with a glass
of wine and handing it to me. He then puts his hand on my shoulder,
squeezes it for one hot second, and leads me over to the couch.
“You sit here. Let me fix your table.”

“But,” I
protest.

“Sit!” he
says, pointing at me. “Relax for once, will ya?”

Relax? He’d
laugh at the notion if he tried to live my life for even a
second.

But still, I
sit. I take a sip of my wine (it’s damn good). And I watch him as
he glues the end of the leg, hoists up the table and sticks it back
in place. Actually, I’m watching his muscles as he’s doing so. He’s
in blue jeans with a tear at the knee and a grey V-neck t-shirt
that looks really thin and really soft. His casual style is just as
enticing as his suits, just in a different way.

“Are you
checking out the goods?” he asks, not looking at me. “Because you
had more than a chance this morning.”

“I’m checking
out the table,” I tell him, turning around in my seat and focusing
on the wine. “It looks good, thank you.”

He plops down
on the armchair beside me. “You’re welcome. That’s what good
neighbors are for.”

“Have you
always been this helpful with them?”

“Only the
right ones,” he says then his expression dampens. “Back in
Manhattan, I think all my neighbors hated me. Actually, I know they
all hated me. Too many parties and none of them were ever
invited.”

“Do you miss
it?”

He looks
surprised at that. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I suppose I had
more of a routine over there, a scene. I knew who my friends were,
even though deep down I knew they weren’t really my friends. In New
York, it’s easy to find people who will follow you around like a
bloody puppy dog as long as you’re the one that fills their
bowl.”

“Sounds like a
pain in the ass,” I tell him.

“Is that
right?” he asks. “I would have thought somewhere in your past, you
were somewhat the same. Not the puppy, but the big dog.”

I don’t
appreciate how personal he’s getting. In some ways he’s right,
though. In high school and even in college, I had money, I had
style and I had followers. Seems like a different lifetime now. In
some ways it is. My life is split into Before Ava and After Ava.
That’s not to say I’m angry about it, but it’s just a fact of life
when you have a child. Your life changes, for better or for worse,
but it changes. Nothing looks the same anymore.

“I’ve hit a
nerve,” he muses when I’ve said nothing. He can see it on my face,
I’m sure. “Sorry.”

I shrug but
busy my mouth with more wine.

“Well,” he
says, resigned, and lightly slaps his leg, “back to the job search.
Not going well?”

“Nope,” I say.
“I had one interview for a clothing store but they never called me
back. I guess there was just something about my face they didn’t
like.”

“But it’s a
beautiful face,” he says softly and I look to him, surprised. He
smiles gently. “It’s true.”

I swallow and
look away, not used to compliments. “Anyway,” I go on, clearing my
throat. “I’m starting to lose my nerve a bit.”

“Are you just
applying for certain positions, certain fields? You’re in fashion,
right?” I nod. He goes on, “No one likes to lower their standards,
believe me, but maybe you should start going for something that’s
just a bit beneath you.”

“Beneath
me?”

“Pride can be
a dangerous thing,” he says. “I know this. I know this so
well.”

There’s a
graveness to his voice that makes me wonder what’s happened to him
and his pride in the past.

“Well, like
what? I’ve already started to look into waitressing.”

“Good,” he
says. “Though that’s a tough job, too. There’s a reason there is
such a high turnover rate in the industry. I have no doubt you can
handle it – you’re a mum after all, you can handle anything, but
its…”

“But the
problem is that the lower I go, the more I won’t be hired for being
overqualified.”

“Aye,” he
agrees, scratching his chin. “I wish I had some contacts here, but
I don’t.” He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for
a moment. Then he turns his head to look at me. “What about
you?”

I shake my
head no.

“No, you do,”
he says. “What about James? You know, the pierced fella that runs
the Burgundy Lion. Do you think he’d hire you?”

“To be what, a
bartender?”

He shrugs. “I
know my brother used to work there. So did Stephanie, that’s how
they met. What’s wrong with bartending? You’re fucking hot too, so
you’ll make a lot of tips. If you show off your nice tits a bit,
you could make even more.”

I ignore the
“nice tits” comment (even though a terrible part of me is kind of
flattered) but I still immediately want to dismiss the idea.

“I don’t think
so.”

“Give me one
reason why not.”

I chew on my
lip. “I don’t know how.”

“They train
you, you’d learn in a second.” He snaps his fingers.

“They might
not hire me.”

“But they
might. And they probably will. I can be very persuasive.”

“I don’t need
you to fight my battles,” I tell him quickly.

“No, you
don’t. But you do need to know the difference between fighting
someone’s battles and trying to help them. James will help you. All
you have to do is ask.”

And that’s the
problem. I don’t want to ask.

I can feel
Bram’s eyes on me and I know he’s reading me. I know he’s figured
out some way to get inside my head. “Everyone has to put their
pride away sometimes,” he says quietly.

I exhale and
close my eyes. He’s right. I don’t want to ask, because I don’t
want to admit to someone I know that I need help. But I do need
help. And a job at the Lion, as much as it’s something I never
planned on, would make a world of difference in my life. It might
just put me back on my feet.

“Okay,” I say
and when I open my eyes, Bram has my cell phone and is holding it
out for me.

“Call him,” he
says.

And so I do.
With Bram there, I ask James if I can have a job bartending at the
Burgundy Lion. I only get so far starting to explain my situation
and he tells me not to worry, he’s going to make it happen
somehow.