I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (17 page)

“People
will be exhausted on Thursday! The last day of Fashion Week? Please!”

“Truly
inspired. And you’re bringing that boy from HR?”

 
“Of course! He wasn’t sure he could make
it… death in the family, you know. So sad. But just before the show, he said
he’d love to come. The dead don’t notice when you’re not at their funeral, am I
right?”

They both
laugh. My smile vanishes. First, they are disgusting. Second, what just
happened?

Grand-boss
announces, “James has his priorities in the right place. Maybe he’ll be taking
your job, someday.”

The
Bitch’s smile falters for a millisecond. She recovers, but I saw it. They say
their goodbyes and he strolls off in his Louis Vuitton shoes and
greater-than-thou attitude. I am silent.

“I hate
that man. You’re coming to the party tonight,” she tells me under her breath.
Further off, he turns around. She waves and we both smile at him. He just nods
and continues on.

My mouth
is dry. “I don’t know if…”

“It
wasn’t a question.” She leaves without ceremony.

And there
went my serenity.

Seven Minutes
Later

Time to
head home to change, I guess. I walk very slowly up 40
^th
Street to
the subway entrance. This day has beaten me up. Literally and figuratively.
Have I ever been this tired? When I’m almost to the staircase, my phone rings.
It’s James. I stop walking and stare at it. It rings and rings. I watch it,
numb, as it goes through to voicemail. When I see his name disappear, I text
Amber.

Me: Don’t
ever have a work fling.

Amber: I
told you.

This is
why I don’t tell Amber when she’s right. She gloats. How come some people know
how to do this whole life thing, and others get punched by Misty?
 
I shove the phone deeply into my bag.
Down the stairs and through the tunnels I go, walking to the platform to catch
the B, D, F, or M to 14
^th
Street, so I can transfer to the L and go
home. I remember, when it’s too late – there’s no signal down here
– that I’ve yet to email Mark. Why haven’t I written him back? Is
something stopping me? Every time I’ve gone to reply, something distracts me.
It seems like
 
more than just the
long distance thing. It’s like I’m not supposed to go on the date.

While I
wait for the train, I let the melody of a violin performer soothe my mind. I
can’t think anymore about my boss, Brittany, Fashion, or being punched in the face
for the first time in my life (hopefully the last). Most of all, I can’t think
about James. When a woman is done, she is done. I read that in a poem once.

The train
arrives and I walk on, with all the enthusiasm of a fed zombie. I take a seat
opposite some young guys who look like dancers. I wish I could watch
So You Think You Can Dance
tonight. That
would pick up my mood. A little wine. A little Fik Shun doing what he does.
Sounds perfect. Fik Shun…he’s so great. And Amy…love her. She can do every dance
they throw at her, and I wasn’t even paying attention to her, at first. All the
dancers are so incredible. How is it possible that they can
all
do the splits?

A
familiar voice breaks through my delirious inner-ramblings. “Mind if I sit
here?” I look up to see Chris standing above me with his usual warm smile.

“Oh! Not
at all.” I scoot over to make room for him.

He sits
beside me and we ride along, not talking for a whole stop. I stare forward,
exhausted. It doesn’t feel weird to not talk to him, though. It’s a tangible
feeling I have, that he doesn’t
need
anything
from me. After that first stop and the car starts moving again, I look at him
and he looks at me.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”
I shrug and look at my lap. His leg is so much bigger than mine.

“What
happened to your face?” He reaches over and gently touches where there must be
a gross bruise, its dull ache forgotten.

“I got
punched.” I say simply.

“Did you
deserve it?” he asks with a small laugh.

I nod and
look back at my lap. “Maybe I did.”

“Did you
punch him back?” he asks, nudging my arm with his.

“It was a
girl who punched me.”

“Yeah, I
figured. It’s only a small bruise.”

“It hurt
when she did it!” I cry out, wanting sympathy.

“I’m sure
it did!” His eyes are dancing and he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh
again. This breaks my mood and I lose it. We ride along, laughing, and it
reminds me of when he made me laugh in yoga class, when I was doing Happy Baby
pose.

“It was
one of the models who punched me!” I confess, knowing it’s nuts.

“A model?
I didn’t know they had that kind of passion in them. Huh. Makes them attractive
all of a sudden,” he adds thoughtfully. Our legs touch each other and rest
there.

I
play-hit him, and he laughs. “You don’t find models attractive?”

He
shrugs, picks a piece of lint off my sleeve and answers, “Nah.”

“Oh, come
ON.”

“They’re
beautiful to look at, yeah, but I don’t seek out that kind of beauty,” he says
simply, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“Huh. You
know, when I first saw you, I gave you a nickname,” I smile.

He turns
his body slightly towards me. “You did? What was it?”

“’Mr.
Natural.’ Where are you from?”

“The Bay
Area. California. I moved here for work. I like building skyscrapers.”

“Which
doesn’t gel with your nickname,” I point out. It’s so easy to talk to him.

“Yes, it
does, if you think about it. Skyscrapers don’t take up land. We build up,
making room for the population without damaging the earth. There’s lots of room
in the sky,” he explains.

“I never
thought of it that way. Huh.” I look forward again, and adjust my skirt so that
it’s not riding up too much. I feel modest around Chris, which is a new
feeling. “What’s your nationality?”

“Why do
you ask?”

“Your
skin is so golden and beautiful.” I admit, and meet his eyes frankly.

My
compliment takes him off guard. Is he blushing? “My father was Brazilian and my
mother was American – a mix of English and French. They met when she went
there on vacation. They had a passionate affair – he was already married,
but they were separated, he and his first wife – and when my mother was
supposed to go home…she didn’t. I was raised in Brazil for the first five years
of my life.”

“What a
romantic story! Are they still together?” I ask, standing up. This is my stop
to change trains. Is it time to say goodbye, I wonder?

I’m
relieved when he stands, too. “They are, but they fight a lot.”

“Oh,
that’s sad. I’m sorry.” I touch his arm to console him.

“It’s
okay. I think people have a hard time communicating, from that generation.”

When the
doors open, we get off the train and walk together. My feet were killing me
earlier, but I don’t notice it now.

“You
think we have an easier time, with our generation?” I laugh, as we stroll
through the tunnels. We pass a young kid playing guitar, and stop for Chris to
reach into his pocket and pull out a five. He leans down and places it in the
open guitar case, as the kid nods to thank to him. We walk on.

“I think
we’ve got a larger vocabulary for it now. We talk more about the spiritual
aspects of humanity. And therapy has become sociably acceptable, so more people
are learning to remove the blocks they have.” He steps back, to let me ahead of
him on the next set of stairs.

“Oh
right… I met you at yoga.” I say, almost to myself.

“What do
you mean?”

“Well,
you’re speaking about things a lot of guys don’t talk about,” I explain.

“That’s
not true. I know a lot of men who are talking like this, now.”

Waiting
for the eastbound L Train, we stand next to one another. He might be an inch
taller than I originally thought. Maybe 6’1”?

“Not the
men I’ve dated,” I tell him.

“Like
James?” We meet eyes and I’m as much surprised by his remembering James’ name,
as I am by him calling out that he knows we had something more than friendship
between us.

“Yes,
like James. But James and I aren’t dating, now. But my ex, too,” I add, rolling
my eyes, “I didn’t know about
his
feelings
until he voiced them into another woman’s vagina.”

Chris
laughs really hard at that, which makes me smile. He gathers himself to
apologize, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you… but man, you are funny.”

“Yeah?” I
ask, happy for the compliment. “It’s okay. I’m over the David thing. I was a
mess for a while, but something happened and I let it go. I’m a survivor. I’ll
be fine.”

“I have
no doubt.”

The train
arrives and we both step on it, with him behind me, lightly touching my lower
back as he guides me through the disembarking crowd of people. We find two
seats next to each other and relax into them.

“Do you
speak Portuguese?” I ask, adjusting my bag on my lap.

“I did
when I was little, but I’ve lost it since then.”

“That’s
so sad!” I say, meaning it. “I would love to know another language. It’s why I
love accents so much.”

“I feel
the same way. If my grandma was still alive, I’d go down to Brazil, stay with
her, and learn it again. I’m sure I could pick it back up in no time.” He leans
back in his seat.

I lean
forward so I can see him better. “I bet you could. No other family there,
then?”

“Not
there, no. My dad’s brother came to the states soon after we did. I think it’s
what killed my grandma. I think her heart broke.” He shakes his head, sad at
the memory.

I touch
my own heart, instinctually. “You’re killing me!”

He looks
over and smiles. “Sorry.”

“Seriously
though, I think it’s hard to have children! They grow up and
leave
. Your job is to show them how to
live, yes, but I’m pretty sure you hope they’ll do that living, by you.” I
stand up. Oh no. So soon? The next stop is mine. He stands up too, though, and
we wait for the door, together. I smile at him and look away to the door. I
don’t feel tired anymore.

“Yeah,
you’d hope they’d live in the same country at least,” he agrees. I realize he’s
not holding onto the pole.

“You
don’t hold on, either?”

“Never.
Not a lot of people wash their hands. I got really sick one time. Turns out,
that was probably why, so I ride hands-free now.” He shakes his head, in
disbelief.

I grin.
The doors swoosh open and we both walk out together, me with my bag over my
shoulder, him with his army-green computer case. I notice it. “Oh! How did the
meeting go?”

He smiles
and says, almost to himself, “Great. Better than I’d hoped.”

“Yeah?
Good!”

He steps
back to let me walk up the stairs first. As we near the final steps to street
level, my phone finds the satellite signal again and blows up with texts and
email alerts.

“Busy
girl.”

“Yeah.
Unfortunately, I have to check it real fast in case it’s work, if that’s okay.”

“It’s
totally okay.” We walk out of the way of the foot traffic. He leans against the
wall of a building, looking comfortable as he waits.

I check
my phone to find some work stuff that I don’t have to get back to, plus texts
from both Amber and Nicole. They’re at a bar nearby, hoping that since they’re
close to where I live, I would join them when I got done with work. They don’t
know I have the party tonight. Damn. I wish I could go see them. I wish I could
bring Chris, too, because I’m really enjoying talking with him.

Hey…
wait.

I look to
Chris, curiously, and he raises his eyebrows in response. “Do you live in the
East Village, too?”

He smiles
and shakes his head, pauses for a second and says, “No.”

“Where do
you live? I’m confused!”

“I live
in the West Village.

I’m lost.
“What are you doing here then?”

He
shrugs. “I’m here because you’re here.”

We look
at each other. I don’t want to say goodbye to him. It’s as simple as that.

“Would
you like to come with me? My girlfriends invited me out for a drink.”

“Sounds
fun.” He pushes himself off the wall and walks two steps to me, closing the
distance.

“I’m
supposed to go to a work party, but I don’t want to.” We look at each other
like we’ve known each other forever.

He gives
a little nod, a foot away from me. “I know you want the job. Will you get fired
if you don’t go?”

Hearing
it voiced aloud –
will I get fired
– I realize that I have been thinking I would be fired every day for four
years. Yet still I have my job. Maybe, just maybe, The Bitch likes me. Maybe
being a nasty, crazy weirdo is her doing the best she can with what she has.
She said to be there tonight, but I know in my heart she won’t miss me. She’ll
be too happy playing “Mommy” to her much younger lover again. Thinking of
James’ face, I wonder if he wasn’t trying to tell me he
wanted
to go to the party with her? Maybe he dashed off to save
her
feelings, so she didn’t have to
wonder why she kept seeing us together.

I smile
to myself. “You know what? I don’t think I will. I think I’m in the clear.”

He takes
my hand and says, “Then don’t go.”

We walk
in the direction of the bar, holding hands, not speaking. I feel calm and safe
for the first time since before David broke the news to me. I don’t know why I
feel safe, nor do I try to understand it. I just know that I’m in the right
place, beside this man. It feels right. I can’t wait for the girls to meet him.