Beautiful and Broken (9 page)

"Listen. We're cool. I accept your apology, but you need to go, all right? I'm waiting for a client."

"A client, huh? What kind of work is it that you do?”

I glance around the room. I have no idea who I’m looking for. Dina said the client would find me. "Real estate."

"Really. Well now that’s a coincidence, because I'm in the market for a new house."

I spin back to face him and my eyes narrow. Celebrity client. Now it's clear. No wonder she wouldn't give me a name. He had to have told her I wouldn't accept her offer, and she would have been right. Fuming silently, I stare him down. His smile grows. He knew.
 

Is there a big, black cloud above my head? “
You're
my client?"

He dips his head, just once. A single nod to acknowledge and infuriate me.
 

"Why?"

"I wanted to make amends and I heard you needed some big clients. I’m as big as they come right now.”

"Ugh." His cockiness makes me want to vomit. Forgiving him doesn’t mean I want to spend any more time with him than I have to. And now I
have
to. At least all afternoon and probably several more days after this.
 

"Wait. Who told you I need a big client?"

He leans back in his chair and signals to the waitress. She comes over immediately. Bright eyed. Practically licking her lips. Let's face it, Sawyer Davis is hot, in this bend-me-over-bad-boy kind of way. Even I can't deny that. He has a body to kill for, of course—it’s his job to stay fit.
 

He’s giving off the stink of sex and charisma, and she’s eating it up with a silver spoon. It makes me want to run to the bathroom and vomit up the raspberry square I scoffed down minutes before he arrived.
 

He orders. "Coffee. Black. House brand. Whatever."

"Sure thing." The girl smiles shyly and fidgets, swaying back and forth before breaking away from his spell and hurrying away. All I can do is roll my eyes.
 

"Do I repulse you?" he asks, clearly finding my response amusing.
 

"Why would you think that?" My voice is even, unaffected. I try hard to keep it this way.
 

He laughs at me, low and hard. "I've never had anyone find me so completely unattractive before. Makes for a bit of a challenge, and I'll admit I like challenges."

Now I know he doesn’t remember me. Fine. It’s better that way. I can forget all about it too. “I have no interest in you outside of selling you a house. I've sworn off men, particularly men like you, so don't waste your time—or mine."

"The challenge grows.”

The challenge? I just screwed him a week ago. I hardly think I’m challenging.
 

“Does this mean you’re into chicks now?” he asks.
 

I roll my eyes at him. "You didn't answer my question. Who told you I need a big client?" I don't even know why I ask. Clearly Amy ratted me out. I don’t care what he thinks of me—mostly—but I don't want him thinking I’m some pathetic girl in need of a handout.
 

"I can't reveal my sources."

"And what exactly did your source tell you?"
 

His smile thickens until a slight dimple forms in his right cheek. His teeth are perfect. Probably capped. A faint shadow covers his chin, like he might not have been paying particular attention to it while shaving this morning. I stare at it a little longer that I should and immediately decide I need to get away from this guy sooner rather than later. Something tells me if he decides to turn on the charm, I might be in trouble.
 

The barrista skips over and hands Sawyer the coffee. He winks at her as he takes a gentle sip from the edge of his cup. Her cheeks blaze and her smile goes ear to ear before she backs away and almost stumbles over a chair.
 

"Oh, brother." I rise to my feet. "I don't think we'd work well together."

"Really? Try me."
 

Already have.
 

My eyes flash to his thick, muscular arms. Down girl. I only have eyes for Jason. Sawyer was a mistake, a big, beautiful mistake. One I don't intend to repeat. And the fact that he doesn't remember meeting me at all completely blasts my confidence. Plus, this guy is trouble. Amy said he'd been in and out of said trouble since he was a kid. I have enough problems without adding him to the mix.
 

"No. I'm good."

I start to walk away, but turn on my heel and walk back. I lay a five on the table. I’ll be damned if he's going to pay for my coffee.
 

He smiles up at me. "So that's the way it's going to be, is it?"

"Yes. It is. Have a nice life, Sawyer Davis. I sincerely hope I don't see you again."

"You will," he says between sips of his coffee. "You will."

Seven

I PLOP DOWN in my seat and slam my tote bag onto my desk. With a sigh, I swivel in my chair. My big chance at a wealthy client and I blew him off. I must need my head examined.
 

Sophie smiles over at me. "Didn't go so well, huh?"

I smile back. "On the contrary. He wanted me to represent him, and I declined."

Her smile deepens and she leans forward onto her desk, resting her weight on her elbows. "So who was your big client?"

"Sawyer Davis. He's some big boxer guy."

Her smile drops. "Really?"

"You've heard of him?"

"We dated briefly."

Of course they did. And by
dated briefly
, I bet she means a one-night stand like the one I had. "I see. Well good for you. I’m sure that was a wonderful experience."

"It’s none of my business, and I really don't care, but out of curiosity, why did you refuse to work with him? Did you screw him?"

"No!" I answer too quickly, sure I've given myself away. Then, I point to the stitches in my head. "This is
his
work."

"He did that to your head?" Her face squishes up in disgust.
 

"No. Well, not exactly. I got in the way of him fighting with some other guy."

"And you declined him because he gave you stitches?”
 

"No. Because he's an ass. Anyway, I really don’t want to talk about this." Least of all with you. This is probably the most we've spoken to each other since I started working here.

"Like I said, I'm really not interested anyhow." She turns her attention back to her computer screen.
 

No. Of course no, Miss Twenty Questions.
 

I surf the internet for the next hour, looking at houses on our company website. I may not have clients, but I at least I know the properties we have available. Maybe it will come in handy sometime. Every now and then I meet Sophie's gaze, but we say nothing. Something has changed between us today and I'm not really sure what. Perhaps it’s the fact that I did sleep with Sawyer, and she probably did, too. I imagine he burned her before she had the chance to burn him. This thought almost makes me smile—almost. Given my situation, I almost feel bad for her. But I’m not about to get carried away.
 

Just before I leave work, I get a phone call. I pick it up on the first ring, hoping it will be the client I've been waiting for. It’s not.

"Hey, Mom."

"Oh, good. I've caught you. Your father and I are in town and want to meet you for dinner."

I tip my head back and close my eyes. Silently, I tap the phone on my temple over and over again. "Tonight’s not good for me, Mom."

"We need to talk to you. It would mean a lot to us if you could make time."

I sigh. The guilt bomb has effectively been dropped, and I’m picking it up. "Sure."

"Meet us at that Italian place you like over on Morris Street?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"An hour."

"One hour. Got it. See you there."

I finish up the little work I have—which is practically non-existent—and slide my arms through my blazer.
 

"Have fun with the fam," Sophie says with a hint of disdain. I want to chastise her for listening in on my phone calls, but I don't have the energy. Besides, it’s kind of impossible not to overhear in our maze of cubicles, and I'll need all of my energy it to tackle my mother for dinner.
 

As I leave, my boss calls out to me.
 

"Come in here, Molly."

Please
would be nice. "Yes?" I stand in the doorway, not wanting to commit to a long conversation.
 

"Come in and shut the door."

Apparently, he has other ideas.

"How was the meeting with your client? I want to know the details. Which properties they're interested in, price range, etc."

"About that…I'm not sure this client is going to work out."

"How so?" He leans back in his chair and crosses his chubby arms over his belly. One of his buttons has come undone and I can see his belly hair. Wonderful.
 

"I just don't think we clicked."

"I don't give a shit if you've
clicked
.” He says it while miming quotation marks. “Lick his ass and sell him a house."

"Sir, I don't think you understand--"

"No.
You
don't understand. When you came here, you said—and I quote—
I can sell fur to a bear. I can turn hay into gold, blah, blah, blah
, and now you're telling me that you don't click with a client. Bullshit. Sell him a house or find a new job. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Now get out of my office."

"Yes, sir." I almost salute him as I walk out the door. Losing this job means getting another lecture about law school. They’ll never understand that being a lawyer isn’t for me. I'm still soul-searching. Real estate is not my calling as much as I hoped it would be. But I just wanted to find something I liked and I was good at, something my parents didn’t handpick for me. Now I'm going to be fired because…because why? Because Sawyer pissed me off? Because working with a client I’ve slept with embarrasses me too much? What am I doing? Suck it up, Molly. You don’t have to like him; just sell him a house. After that fat commission check I can try another career, maybe something that actually suits me. But to do that, I have to swallow my pride first and get him to take me back.
 

***

The restaurant is quiet, only a few customers. The smell of ripe tomatoes, basil and fresh bread permeates the air, making me beyond hungry. I spy my parents in the corner, sitting at a semicircular table. Dad is on his phone and he waves to me; Mom is talking at him while he talks on the phone. The image is so familiar that it almost makes me smile, but the only thing that I can focus on when I see his face is what my mother told me: my dad cheated. Part of me doesn’t believe it. It’s easier to think my mother made it up to prove a point, but then…that’s a pretty awful thing to lie about.

I force a smile and wave at them as I approach. My dad says his goodbyes after a nudge from my mother's elbow, and snaps his phone shut.
 

When I reach the table, their jaws drop.

“What is with your hair? Did you intend for it to look like that?” My mother shakes her head in disapproval.
 

I sigh and take a seat.
 

“And your face?” my dad says as he and my mother stand.

Phew. Jason didn’t rat me out to my parents. That’s one less thing I have to worry about.
 

Mom cups my chin and rotates my head to the left and to the right. “Oh God. It’s going to scar. What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time,” my mother says.

“Mom. Stop. It was accident. No permanent damage.”

“I hardly think a scar is ‘no permanent damage.'”

“Hiliary, Molly says she's fine. Stop picking at her.”

“We didn’t even get a phone call,” my mother says, almost as if she’s talking to herself.

“Enough, Hiliary.” Dad shakes his empty glass, the ice clanking from within. A waiter nods before heading to the bar.
 

Alcohol. Good idea. When the waiter makes his way over, I order a martini and anxiously wait for it the second he walks away.
 

“Good to see you, darling." My father reaches over and kisses me on the cheek. I kiss him back and scoot over close to him. I don't see him enough. My mother…that's a different story. I feel as if she's bored with her life so she has to meddle into mine.
 

The waitress comes over and hands me a menu. "No thanks, I know what I’m having." I come here way too much.
 

She takes our orders and my mother orders a double, making me raise my eyebrows. Something is up. And it can't be good. In all my twenty-three years, I've never known my mother to drink a double. I wait until the waitress is out of earshot before I dig into whatever bomb I've stepped on.
 

"What’s going on?" I glance back and forth between them.
 

They look at each other nervously.
 

"Tell me.”

"Sorry I'm late," Mia says as she takes a seat beside my mother.
 

And there’s the reason for the dinner, standing beside the table in a pink dress and five-inch heels. My jaw falls slack. I’ve been ambushed.

“What's she doing here?” I don’t try to hide my irritation.
 

I move to stand but my father puts his hand over mine. "Sit down, Molly."

I do as he says. Growing up, my father only had to tell me things once. It’s not that he hit us or anything; he just had an angry tone that commanded respect and attention.
 

"We're going to talk this out. No one is leaving until we do. Thanksgiving will be here soon and I don't want it to be uncomfortable for our family or friends," Mom says.
 

"Yes. That's what's important, here. Let's not make it awkward with Jason's parents."

Jason's dad and my dad are partners in a law firm. They started it together over twenty years ago. To say Jason's and my family are close is an understatement.
They're
practically family—even without Jason's and my marriage. And my mother and Jason's mother are best friends. I know our breakup makes things uncomfortable for everyone, and it hurts that they’re not putting my happiness first. Any fight Jason and I ever had, our mothers pushed us back together, and I’ve always given in. That’s not to say that I didn't want to, but there were a few times, many years ago, that I wasn't sure. Still, I stayed with him because it was easier. And yes, I did love him. I love him still…I think.