The Dysfunctional Test (33 page)

“I’m from a large, crazy Serbian family, and most of the time I think I’m adopted. I’m single, but I’d like to get married someday. I swear I’m not obsessive about that, though. No bridal magazines stashed away. I like to read, watch very little TV, and hate long walks on the beach.”

He stared back at her long enough for Camryn to know she blew it. What was wrong with her? She’d never said things like this, especially in an interview. It was so unprofessional. Any chance of employment now was…

Trevor threw his head back and laughed. Her jaw dropped.

“I like you. You’re funny.”

No one ever called her funny before. At least, not in a favorable way.

He leaned forward. “I started this company three years ago from my apartment. Last year, I had to expand I had so many clients. We do mostly Web design and maintenance, but lately we’ve had questions about marketing and long-term layouts. That’s where you would come in. I need someone to do projections. Get some bigger clients in. Research the industries for the sites we manage. Occasionally you’d meet with clients, possibly travel, but that’s minimal. You’d also be responsible for our advertising, such as social media sites, handling commercial shoots, that kind of thing.”

These duties were the more pleasurable aspects of her old job. This was too good to be true. She waited for the punch line.

He stood and gestured for her to follow him out of the office. He pointed out several offices lining the south wall. Two young women and a man her age occupied each.

“These are our graphic designers, Ashley and Susan, and our techie, Ben.” They waved. She waved back.

She followed him across the suite to the north wall. “This is our conference room, and over here’s the break room.”

The conference room was a cheery yellow, and had a large, black oval table. A projector and an iPad station were set up in the corner next to a fifty-inch flat screen TV. The break room was a spring green. Two cafe tables adorned a corner. On the counter were a cappuccino machine, a coffee maker, a microwave and a toaster. A fridge plastered with Post-it notes stood next to the sink.

Impressed, and jealous, she nodded, following him back to his area on the east wall. Instead of going in his office, they entered another office close to the size of his.

“A lot of this job is also human resources. I’ve been doing that until now. I hate it. We have an accountant, but he’s part time and really only handles the books. You’d have to do payroll when he’s on vacation. This would be your office.”

Her jaw dropped for the second time. A corner office? Overlooking Lake Michigan? Floor-to-ceiling maple shelves lined the entire area behind a matching desk. There was a closet. The room was painted a cornflower blue. A navy leather loveseat was positioned in the corner under the window. Her old office barely had room for her computer chair, and she nearly ran the department.

“Does this all sound reasonable to you?”

She looked at him and cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.”

They walked back to his office and sat down. “This is a very laid-back environment. Instead of casual Fridays, we have casual Mondays. Mondays stink, it makes the day better. Otherwise we have informal business dress, except when meeting clients.”

That explained the jeans. And the hair.

He picked up her resume and glanced over it. “It looks like you’re familiar with all the responsibilities. I already checked your references. You come highly recommended. Salary-wise, I can match what you’re making now. I can’t really offer more until we get more clients, which I can’t do without filling the position.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “So, you want the job?”

She felt her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Was he serious? “When do I start?”

“First, I have to tell you something. Something very serious.”

She knew it. It was too good to be true. Though she had thoroughly researched the company before coming in, having seen a solid rise in business and good judgment, she wondered what the catch was. “And what’s that?”

He frowned. “I’m Croatian. It could be a conflict with you being Serbian.” A slow, easy grin spread over his face.

A laugh bubbled out before she could hold back. “As long as you don’t tell my mother, we should be fine.”

“Good,” he said, rising. “You can start next Monday. See the secretary on the way out. She’ll get your papers in order.”

Grinning, she shook his hand and walked to the doorway. Yet a nagging doubt resounded through her head. She turned.

“This may sound dense, but can I ask why me? You must have had several interviews for the position.”

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “You’re a mature presence with experience. You’re also the first person who didn’t give me a carbon-copy answer when I requested to know more about you. I need a personality.”

He thought she had personality?

She stared at him, feeling a lump in her throat. A week ago, she would have been dismissed for the job. A week ago, she’d been a statue. A robot like Maxwell said. Troy changed all that. Opened her. Showed her who she was underneath and allowed her to be that person again.

And damn. She missed him already.

Nodding, she left.

Camryn used her spare key to open the door to Maxwell’s condo. Knowing he’d be home from the office any second, she poured herself a glass of water and sat on the sofa to wait.

Maxwell’s two-bedroom condo was on the eighteenth floor near the north side of Chicago, and cost more than five years of her salary. He’d hired a decorator when he first bought it. A few weeks ago she thought it modern, but now it just felt cold. Gray walls, black and white abstract art. Not like Troy’s house. His was masculine, but showed individuality. Style. Taste.

Maxwell only had one bookshelf. That was a crime in itself. Worse yet, the shelves were lined with non-fiction money-making accounts. Not a single fiction title. She’d bet she’d find a plethora of fiction at Troy’s. She grinned. Including romance.

There were also no pictures at Maxwell’s. Not of her, his mother, nor friends. If he had any. This could’ve been her life. Had he not broken off the relationship, they might be sitting together now, probably discussing the fuss of Heather’s wedding and how tacky he thought it was.

She wondered if Maxwell really did want her back. She wondered what she ever saw in him in the first place.

The door opened and she rose, setting down her water on a coaster.

“You’re here,” he said with all the enthusiasm of a slug. He dropped his keys on the counter and walked over to her, running his hands up and down her arms. No kiss on the cheek, no smile.

“You asked me to come.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“I’ll order from that Thai place you like,” he said, as if not hearing a thing she said. He did that a lot, but until two weeks ago, she never cared.

“I said I ate. And I hate Thai food. You’re the one who loves it.”

He turned, cell in hand, with an expression of shock. It’s not like she slapped the guy!

“Okay.” He pocketed his cell, smoothing out his features. “I have some interesting news. The firm may be calling you to come back. Fenzer Footwear pulled out when they found out you were gone. The president is coming down on Alicia for letting you go. They want her to shuffle things and…”

“I have a job,” she said calmly. Oh, but it felt so good knowing they messed up. Knowing Alicia got reprimanded for a mistake. She wanted to do a happy dance. Instead she stared Maxwell down.

“Since when?”

“Since today. I start next week.” She sat on a bar stool by the counter and folded her hands in her lap.

He stared at her like she’d sprouted two heads and spit fire from her nostrils. “Your hair is different. And your clothes.” He had the arrogance to smile. “You heard what I said, took my opinion into account.”

She always took his opinion into account, even if it clashed with her own. In fact, over the past year and a half, she didn’t think she had opinions. She’d been a doormat too long. “Oh, I heard you, Maxwell. I didn’t do this for you.”

He rubbed his chest like he needed his fiftieth antacid of the day. “Look, I’m sorry for how things turned out. Alicia and I were a mistake. I want to work this out with you. We’re the same, you and I.”

She stared at the horns on his head, then at his glowing red eyes, noting he didn’t say he was sorry for the cruel things he said back in his office, just that he was sorry for how things turned out. He wasn’t sorry about the breakup, he was sorry Alicia dumped him. He didn’t miss her, he missed their routine.

She didn’t know why she agreed to meet with Maxwell, but part of her hoped it was for this reason. Part of her wanted to get back what she once had. To have him admit his mistake and want her back. To miss her.

It felt like a hollow victory.

Troy’s words came back to her. The way he pleaded with her to find someone else to love.
True, crazy, can’t-live-without-it kind of love
. That was not Maxwell. It had never been Maxwell. Would never be. She’d only loved one person like that, and he was gone. She’d blown that to hell.

“Camryn, you’re doing it again. Going off to la-la land and ignoring me.”

“You never call me Cam.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You never call me Cam,” she repeated. Such a simple thing really. A nickname, an abbreviation. Her family used it a lot. So did Troy. She never noticed until now, but it felt like an endearment. They cared enough to make even a name personal.

“Your name is Camryn. Why on Earth would I call you…Cam?” The last part was said with disgust.

She looked at him, feeling nothing but pity. He didn’t have a woman in his life who cared about him like Troy cared for her. Someone to show him life before it was too late. She wanted to tell him that life with him was like being stuck in coach on a twelve-hour flight. And life with Troy was skydiving to escape. She wanted to voice the spiteful thoughts in her head, like telling him he had all the flair of cardboard, while Troy made her laugh endlessly without trying.

But comparing Maxwell to Troy was unfair. She didn’t want Maxwell, and she could never have Troy. Stooping to Maxwell’s level would solve nothing, and making him feel as badly as she once did would not make anything right.

She hopped down off the stool and slid his key across the counter.

“Camryn, be reasonable.”

Unable to control herself, she smiled. “I’ve been reasonable long enough, and it’s gotten me nowhere.” She went around him and walked to the door.

“You’re making a mistake.”

She turned. “I’ve made plenty of those too. This isn’t one of them.” She turned the knob as thunder boomed overhead. She paused, remembering the feel of summer rain on her face, the smell of Troy as he held her. “Maxwell, I hope one day you’ll learn to dance in the rain.”

“What? In this suit? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her grin widened. “Good, then you can laugh until it hurts. It feels oddly refreshing. Good-bye, Maxwell.”

Camryn finished taping the last of her boxes and sat on one with a plop. The movers were coming tomorrow to take her things to storage until her new apartment in Milwaukee became available next month. Tomorrow, she’d finally say good-bye to this dreadful, noisy city and go home. Say good-bye to her old life and start a new one.

Sad, because her old life wasn’t a life at all.

She stared out the window at the rising sun, remembering the sunrise in Colorado. So beautiful it was. So ordinary this one seemed.

Troy had wanted her to fall in love. To believe, he’d said.

She had. With him.

The pain erupted inside her chest, like it had every second since they returned home. An ache so deep nothing suppressed it. A can’t-live-without-him need.

He’d tried to tell her something back in Colorado before Fisher interrupted. Her mind kept playing the conversation over and over again in her head. For a second, the little girl inside her hoped he would sweep in and declare his undying love. It had sounded like he was leading up to it.

Instead of some silly fairy tale, the man had stood before her, just trying to rationalize the illogical something between them. She wondered what was in his heart. If he did love her in return. She still had trouble trusting herself, and if his possible feelings were genuine. How long would they last in the real world if she had responded to what he said?

She feared the connection Troy felt with her was due to their family. The passion they shared an illusion. Was it something more for him? It felt like more to her. Except when she was alone, with no distractions, she was forced to think over every clause in his words, and was forced to face
her
true feelings.

She loved him more than anything in the world.

Her cell rang, jolting her. Rising, she walked to the counter and checked the caller ID. Fisher. Her mood deflated, not that it should have. Troy hadn’t tried to call once in the four days they’d been back.