L.A. Fire (38 page)

 
His expression was stern and stubborn, and I realized he wasn’t receptive to
what I had to say. “My job is to take care of you,” he said. “And sometimes
that means making decisions about what is best for you.”

 
I stared at him long and hard, until a realization sunk in. This is who Julian
was. He was controlling. He was used to making decisions for others. Used to
getting his own way. I loved this man. Loved him to bits, but I had to think of
my own self-preservation. I’d fought long and hard for every bit of
professional recognition I’d gained, and I wasn’t going to let anyone mess up
my future for me. I wasn’t my mom. I wasn’t going to live in the shadow of a
man. As I stood there, looking at Julian’s strong body, his beautiful chiseled
face, I felt my heart start to rip into pieces. Everything in me was screaming
to hold on to him, to somehow make this thing work. But then reason and
self-preservation took hold again. If I was going to save my career, I was
going to have to let go of Julian. There was no other choice. My throat
constricted painfully, but I dug my nails into my palm, keeping the tears from
welling up in my eyes.

 
“I can’t do this, Julian,” I said, a slight tremble in my voice. “I can’t be
with you,” I said. “It’s too dangerous.”

 
Julian’s face contorted with pain, and he took two decisive strides toward me,
locking me in his arms. “Sarah,” he said, his tone gruff and authoritative, “I
love you. And it’s not dangerous. You’re safe with me. I’ll always keep you
safe.”

 
Heat wafted off his chest, and his warm, masculine scent enveloped me, making
my head spin. It was so easy for me to get lost in this man. Get lost in his
arms, get lost in his touch. But I couldn’t lose myself. I stiffened in his
grip, and jerked away. He refused to release me, until his saw the angry glint
in my eye. “This is over, Julian,” I said, my voice for once not betraying the
emotional turmoil raging inside of me.

 
His face registered deep hurt, and he ran his hand through his hair in deep
frustration. “No, Sarah. You’re being rash. You’re angry and you’re not
thinking straight.”

 
I shook my head, and felt pain twist my gut. “No, Julian. My thinking is clear.
It’s my emotions that are mixed up.”

 
Julian’s eyes became dark and intense. “I love you. I’m not letting you go.”

 
The tears I’d been fighting to contain finally spilled. “If you love me, you’ll
set me free,” I said. His face crumpled again with hurt, but he didn’t make
another move toward me. I wiped my eyes, then turned around and quietly left
his office.

 
The rest of the week was a nightmare. Paul was still angry at me for blowing
the Phillips account. His demeanor toward me was icy, and he worked me harder
than he ever had, giving me so much work that I was at the office till
eight-thirty almost every night. But it’s not the work that I minded. In fact,
the work was a blessing, because it kept me from thinking about Julian. During
the day, I would somehow hold it together, but every night I went home and
bawled my eyes out. My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. I
felt hollow, and everything in me ached so hard; an excruciating, throbbing
ache in my chest that hurt so much it was almost unbearable. At night, I
dreamed of being wrapped safely in Julian’s arms, only to wake up and find my
bed cold and empty.

 
Julian called several times. He texted me over and over, telling me he was
sorry. He even sent me a beautiful white orchid, with a card saying that I was
just as wild and beautiful as the flower, and that he loved me. When I read the
card, my hand started shaking, and then the tears started flowing again. I
wanted him back. I wanted him back so badly I could barely stand it. But I had
to stay strong. So I ignored him, and buried myself in my work, determined to
regain the respect from my boss that I’d feared I’d lost.

 
Thursday night I got home from work and found a voicemail message waiting for
me on our home line. From Rob. Asking me out for coffee. I debated for a long
moment, trying to decide if I was going to call him back. His timing couldn’t
have been worse. But then again, he probably knew that. Angela had told me
she’d mentioned to Ziggy that Julian and I broke up, and no doubt, Ziggy had
passed that information on to Rob. He probably figured that I was feeling
vulnerable and that my defenses were weak, so if he got to me now, it would be
easier for him to wiggle his way back into my life. Maybe he was right. Or
maybe he wasn’t. Either way, I owed it to myself to find out. I needed to
either leave him behind completely and get on with my life, or let him back in.
I fished my cell out of my purse and dialed his number. He answered on the
first ring.

 
“Hey, Ladybug,” he said in a husky voice.

 
I cringed again at his use of his pet name for me. “Hi, Rob,” I said evenly, my
voice steady and neutral. “I’m ready to take you up on that coffee.”

 
“I knew you’d come around,” he said, a slight note of triumph in his voice. He
sounded so sure of himself, so cocky, and I was suddenly hit with the contrast
between his brand of obnoxious cockiness and Julian’s brand of self-assurance.
Rob’s arrogance was self-serving and immature. Julian’s self-assurance inspired
confidence in others, and helped people put their trust in him. In other words,
Rob was self-centered, while Julian paid careful attention to others.

 
“How about at the Sidewalk Café.”

 
“Our old place,” he said. I could feel his sly smile over the line.

 
I rolled my eyes. “You got it,” I said. “How’s two-o’clock Saturday afternoon?”

 
“You got it, Ladybug.” I cringed again.

 
“See you then,” I said, and quickly ended the call.

 
On Saturday, I got to the Sidewalk Café at ten to two, and settled in at a
table on the patio. I had a clear view of the Venice Boardwalk, and I got lost
in watching tourists shop for t-shirts, a woman dressed in a hot pink bikini
get her fortune’s told by a gypsy, and a cute little blond kid lick an ice
cream cone the size of his head. At two-fifteen, Rob was still nowhere in
sight, and I was starting to feel an old, familiar irritation. Rob had always
been late whenever we had a date. It was as if he thought his time was more
important than mine. At two-thirty, I finally saw him enter the café. He was
wearing faded baggy blue jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and his trademark
motorcycle glasses. It’s like he had this raw, magnetic energy, because almost
every head turned when he stepped out onto the patio. He fixed his eyes on me,
and I waved him over. As he sauntered toward me, a crooked smile on his face, I
had to admit he looked hot. Like everyone else, I felt his pull.

 
“Hey, Ladybug,” he said, swooping his head toward mine and planting a lingering
kiss on my cheek.

 
“You’re late,” I said, matter-of-factly, my voice not betraying the irritation
I felt.

 
“Sorry,” he said, sitting down and giving me a lazy smile. “Band practice went
later than I expected.”

 
I sighed deeply. “You could have called to let me know you’d be late.”

 
He gave me a funny look, and then just shrugged his shoulders. “I guess,” he
said, looking suddenly bored with the conversation.

 
I felt another familiar twinge of something in my gut. He had just pulled a
classic Rob move. I had a legitimate reason to be pissed, and he was dismissing
me, acting as if dealing with my emotional reaction to his lateness was
tedious.

 
A waitress came by to take our orders. I asked for a latte, and Rob asked for a
rum and coke. Rob leaned across the table, and reached for my hand. “I’m so
glad you’re here, Ladybug. I’ve missed you.”

 
I looked at him long and hard. His eyes were earnest, almost pleading. Now that
he wanted something from me, he was turning on the charm. “What do you want
from me, Rob?” I asked, an edge to my voice.

 
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t be like that, babe,” he said. “I know you
still have feelings for me too. How ‘bout we try giving this another go?”

 
I tilted my head slightly, as if trying to take him in from another angle.
“What exactly do you miss about me, Rob?”

 
He sighed again, and looked like his patience was being taxed to the limit. “You’re
a good girl,” he said, winking at me. “You’re good at everything. And you were
a good girlfriend. I miss having someone I trust to lean on,” he said.

 
“Trust,” I said, emphasizing the word. “It really is an important thing. But
it’s supposed to go both ways. You betrayed my trust, Rob. You cheated on me.
And I can’t get over that.”

 
Rob looked frustrated and angry, as though things weren’t going the way he
planned. “Look,” he said. “I cheated. And you went psycho and destroyed my
guitar. Let’s call it even okay?”

 
I looked at him in disbelief. “You see them as the same thing?” I asked.

 
He confused. “Well, yeah,” he said. “That guitar was my baby.”

 
I felt a smirk creep across my face. “So your guitar was more important to you
than I was.”

 
He looked at me confused, and started scratching his head. “No. I mean, you’re
twisting my words around.” He folded his hands together, and leaned toward me.
“Look. That girl meant nothing to me. She was a groupie and I banged her. No
big deal. But that was my favorite guitar. I paid, like, ten grand for it. And
there were so many great memories attached to it.”

 
I narrowed my eyes at him, and felt my body go stiff. “Well, that girl who
meant nothing to you, meant something to me. By banging her, you broke my
trust. But apparently my trust is insignificant to you.”

 
Suddenly, a camera flashed to my right. Someone with a professional camera was
snapping pictures of us. Rob turned toward him and flashed him a mega-watt
smile. When he turned back to me, he looked slightly perplexed. “What were we
talking about again?”

 
All at once a big whoosh of recognition swept through me. Since meeting Julian,
I had changed drastically. Bit by bit, he’d changed me, opened me up,
discovered parts of me I’d kept hidden for so long. And Lisa had been so right.
Meeting up with Rob again was exactly what I needed for closure. Right now I
saw him clearly. I was no longer romanticizing our past together, no longer
clinging to it. Looking at him now, distracted, selfish, and pissed that he had
to put in so much work to get me back when girls came to him so easily, I
realized that he no longer had a hold on me. Rob was a part of my past, and
that part of my past was dead. I could move on. Sure he was hot, and talented,
and charismatic, but that wasn’t enough. I needed more.  

 
I flashed Rob a quick, tight smile, grabbed my purse, and got to my feet.
“Sorry, Rob,” I said. “I’ve got to go.”

 
He frowned. “Hey, what the hell? I took time out my day to come see you and now
you’re just taking off?”

 
I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a pointed look. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But
I’ve already wasted too much time on you. And I have better things to do.” Then
I took off quickly. He yelled my name across the patio, but I didn’t give him a
second glance.

 
The following week at work started out the same way. If I wasn’t typing up
contracts, I was busy working my way through the slush pile. Early Monday morning
I was sitting at my desk, trying to slog my way through another pathetically
constructed spy thriller when someone slapped a newspaper down on my desk. I
looked up in surprise, and locked eyes with Julian. His gaze was scorching and
deadly, and I saw a small blood vessel throbbing at his temple. “Can you
explain this to me?” he asked pointing to the newspaper, a slight tremor in his
voice.

 
I looked at the paper. It was a tabloid, and screaming across the front page
was the headline “
The Bare Essentials
heartthrob back together with old
flame?”

 
I let out a long sigh, picked up the paper, and handed it back to Julian. He
took it back slowly, never taking his eyes off me. “I met Rob for coffee,” I
said.