See Me (16 page)

Ken.
 

With a jolt of panic, she looked through the open doorway; across the hall, Lynn was no longer at her desk. Barney’s office was dark, and she couldn’t hear anyone else in the hallway.

“I noticed that your lights were still on,” he said, stepping into her office. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“I was just finishing up,” she improvised, hearing a trace of uncertainty in her tone. “I must have lost track of time.”

“I’m glad I caught you then,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled. “I wanted to finish the conversation we started last week.”

Maria felt a thud in her chest and began collecting the pages on her desk before slipping them back into their folders. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. She swallowed. “Is there any way we could do this tomorrow? I’m already late and I’m supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight.”

“It won’t take long,” he said, ignoring her excuse as he came around her desk. He stood near the window and she noted the sky had darkened beyond the glass. “It might be easier for you this way, since we’re away from prying eyes. There’s no reason for everyone to know what happened with Barney’s clients.”

Not knowing what to say, she stayed quiet.

He glanced out the window, seemingly focused on something in the distance. “How do you like working with Barney?” he finally asked.

“I’m learning a lot from him,” Maria began, choosing her words carefully. “He has great strategic instincts, the clients trust him, and as a colleague, he’s good at explaining his thinking.”

“You respect him, then.”

“Of course.”

“It’s important to work with people that you respect. It’s important that the two of you can work together as a team.” Ken adjusted the venetian blinds, closing them slightly, then returning them to their original position. “Would you consider yourself a team player?”

The question hung in the air before she was able to answer. “I try to be,” she said.

Ken waited a beat before going on. “I spoke to Barney again on Friday about the situation, and I must say that I was a bit surprised at how angry he still was over what happened. That’s why I asked you about being a team player. Because I went to bat for you in that meeting, and I think I’ve been able to defuse the situation. I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing.”

Maria swallowed, wondering why Barney hadn’t talked to her himself if he was still so upset. “Thank you,” she finally murmured.

He turned from the window and took a step toward her. “I did it because I want you to have a long and successful tenure at the firm. You’re going to need someone who’s able to advocate for you in these kinds of situations, and I’m here to help you when I can.” By then, he was standing over her, and she felt him place a hand on her shoulder.
Kind of.
His fingertips skimmed the area below her collarbone. “You should consider me a friend, albeit a friend in a high place.”

Recoiling from his touch, she suddenly knew that all of this – the Monday cold shoulder, the dressing-down on Thursday, and now this
you and me against the world
show – was simply part of his latest plan to get her in bed, and she wondered why she hadn’t been able to see it coming.

“We should go to lunch tomorrow,” he said, his fingertips still brushing the exposed skin above her scoop-necked shirt. “We can talk about other ways that I can help you navigate the ins and outs of the office, especially if you hope to become a partner one day. I think you and I will be able to work together really well. Don’t you think so, Maria?”

It was the sound of her name that brought her back, his words finally registering.
Not in this lifetime
, she suddenly thought. “I can’t go to lunch tomorrow,” she said, trying to hold her voice steady. “I already have plans.”

A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “With Jill?”

That was usually the case, and Ken of course knew that. No doubt he’d suggest that she change the plan. For her own good.

“Actually, I’m going to lunch with my boyfriend.”

She felt his hand slowly slip off her shoulder. “You have a boyfriend?”

“I told you about Colin, didn’t I? When we were at the conference?”

“No,” he answered. “You didn’t mention him.”

Sensing her chance, Maria rose from her seat and stepped away, continuing to collect documents, stuffing them into files, not caring where they ended up. She could sort them out later. “That’s strange,” she remarked. “I thought I did.”

She could tell by his plastic smile that he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. “Tell me about him,” he said.

“He’s an MMA fighter,” she answered. “You know those guys in the cage? I think it’s crazy, but he’s really into it. He works out and trains for hours every day and he loves to fight, so I kind of feel like I have to support him.”

She could imagine the wheels in his mind continuing to turn as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “While I can’t meet for lunch, do you want to talk in your office tomorrow? I’m sure I can clear part of my morning or afternoon.”
When there are others around
, she didn’t bother adding.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary.”

“Maybe I should talk to Barney?”

He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. “It’s probably best to let it go for now.”

Of course you’d say that. Because this whole thing was a ruse and you never talked to Barney at all.
“All right. I guess I’ll say good night, then.”

She reached the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she made her escape. The whole boyfriend thing had been inspired, but that card had now been played. It wouldn’t surprise him again; he’d be ready for it. In the long run – or maybe even in the short run – she doubted it would stop Ken’s advances, even if it had been true.

Or became true?
 

Still reeling from her encounter, she wondered if she wanted it to be true. All she knew for certain was that when Colin had kissed her, she’d felt something electric, and the realization was both exhilarating and frightening – at exactly the same time.

 

 

Though she’d been lying when she told Ken that she was having dinner with her parents, she wasn’t in the mood to be alone and found herself driving the familiar roads to the place she’d grown up.

The neighborhood was more blue collar than white, with homes showing signs of deferred maintenance and a few sporting
FOR
SALE
signs. Older-model cars and trucks were parked in virtually every driveway. Their neighbors had always been plumbers and carpenters, clerical workers and secretaries. It was the kind of community where kids played in the front yards and young couples pushed strollers, where people would collect the mail for each other when they were out of town. Though her parents never talked about it, Maria had heard rumors growing up that when her dad had first bought the house, more than a few neighbors living at this end of the block had been upset. The Sanchezes were the first nonwhite family on the street, and people had quietly speculated about declining property values and rising crime, as though everyone who’d been born in Mexico was somehow connected to the drug cartels.

She supposed it was one of the reasons that her dad had always kept the yard immaculate and the bushes trimmed; he repainted the exterior in the same color every fifth year, always parked his cars in the garage instead of the driveway, and kept an American flag mounted on a pole on the front porch. He decorated the house for both Halloween and Christmas and in their first years would hand out restaurant coupons to any neighbor who happened to be outside, allowing them to eat at half price. Her mom regularly made trays of food on the weekend afternoons when she wasn’t at the restaurant – burritos and enchiladas, tacos or carnitas – which she would serve to any of the kids who were out playing kickball or soccer. Little by little, they’d been accepted in the neighborhood. Since then, most of the surrounding homes had been sold more than once, and in every instance, her parents showed up to welcome the new owners with a housewarming gift in the hopes of preventing future whispers.

Maria sometimes had trouble imagining how hard it had been, though in school, there’d been more than a couple of years when she’d been the only Mexican in her classroom. Because she’d been a good student, albeit a quiet one, she couldn’t remember feeling the sting of discrimination in the same way her parents had experienced it, but even if she had, her parents would have told her to do what they had done. They would have told her to be herself, to be kind and welcoming to everyone, and they would have warned her that she should never sink to others’ level. And then, she thought with a smile, they would have told her to study.

Unlike Serena, who was still reveling in finally being out from under her parents’ thumbs, Maria enjoyed coming home. She loved the old place: the green and orange walls; the wildly playful ceramic tile in the kitchen; the eclectic furniture her mother had collected over the years; a refrigerator door that was endlessly decorated with photos and information relating to the family, anything that had made Carmen particularly proud. She loved the way her mother hummed whenever she was happy and especially when she was cooking. Growing up, Maria had taken these things for granted, but beginning in college, she could remember a feeling of comfort whenever she pushed through the front door, even after just a few weeks away.

Knowing her parents would be offended if she knocked, she went straight in, moving through the living room and into the kitchen. She set her bag on the counter.

“Mom? Dad? Where are you?” she called out.

As always when at home, she spoke Spanish, the shift from English as simple as breathing and just as unconscious.

“Out here!” she heard her mom answer.

Maria turned toward the back porch, where she saw her mom and dad rising from the table. Happy she was here and leaning in for hugs, they both spoke at once.

“We didn’t know you were coming
…
”
 

“What a nice surprise
…
”
 

“You look wonderful
…
”
 

“You’re so skinny
…
”
 

“Are you hungry?”
 

Maria greeted her mom, then her dad, then her mom again, then her dad a second time. In her parents’ minds,
Maria would
always be their little girl. And though there’d been a period for a few teenage years when the idea had mortified her – especially when apparent in public – these days she had to admit that she kind of liked it.

“I’m okay. I can grab something later.”

“I’ll make you something,” her mom said decisively, moving toward the refrigerator. Her dad watched her go with obvious appreciation. He had always been a hopeless romantic.

In his midfifties, he was neither thin nor fat. He had little gray in his hair, but Maria noticed a lingering, almost constant weariness, the effect of too much work for too many years. Tonight he seemed even less energetic than usual.

“Making you dinner makes her feel like she’s still important to you,” he said.

“Of course she’s still important to me. Why would she think otherwise?”

“Because you don’t need her the way you once did.”

“I’m not a child.”

“But she’ll always be your mother,” he said firmly. He motioned toward the table on the porch. “Do you want to sit outside and enjoy some wine? Your mom and I were having a glass.”

“I can get it,” she said. “Let me talk to Mom for a bit and I’ll meet you out there.”

While her dad returned to the porch, she retrieved a glass from the cupboard and poured herself some wine before sidling up to her mother. By then, Carmen had loaded up a casserole dish with pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a biscuit – enough calories for a couple of days, Maria estimated – and was sliding the dish into the oven. For whatever reason – maybe because it was something they never served at the restaurant – her dad loved pot roast and mashed potatoes.

“I’m so glad you came by,” her mom said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maria said. She leaned against the counter and took a sip of wine. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“So you say. But something must have happened,” she said. “You never visit us during the week.”

“That’s why it’s a surprise.”

Carmen evaluated her before crossing over to the counter and retrieving her own wineglass. “Is it your sister?”

“Is what my sister?”

“She didn’t get turned down for the scholarship, did she?”

“You know about that?”

Carmen motioned to a letter tacked up on the refrigerator. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? She told us about it last night. The director will be coming to dinner this Saturday.”

“Really?”

“We wanted to meet him,” she said. “The letter says that she’s one of the semifinalists. But back to your sister. What happened? If it’s not about that, then it must have something to do with a boy. She’s not in trouble, is she?”

Her mom was talking so fast that even Maria had trouble keeping up. “Serena’s fine, as far as I know.”