To See You (11 page)
He ignored me.
“Can I get you guys anything?”
A scantily clad waitress with long red hair sidled up next to Adam. He was the good-looking one of our gang. By day, he was a lawyer at one of the studios, and by night he was our resident manwhore.
His words, not mine. Seriously.
“Wings, mild with bleu cheese, coupla orders, doll,” Peter yelled.
The ginger glared at him.
“Ignore him, honey.” Adam stood close to her, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair as he winked at her. “We’ll have some wings, please, and how about another bucket of beers?”
“Anything for you,” she said, swinging her hips from side to side as she headed back to the kitchen.
“Guess who’s going home with her tonight?” Adam asked us, then turned both of his thumbs toward his cashmere-clad chest and declared, “This dude.”
His eyes damn near sparkled at the prospect, and I wondered what it felt like to have women be such an easy conquest for you.
Once the waitress was out of sight, Adam turned his gaze back on me. “So, if a Hollywood superstar isn’t enough for you, does that mean you met someone else? A better woman?”
“Nah. Thought I might have, but nope.”
“Interesting. I notice your hair’s all styled. Was she there tonight?”
“Adam, what are we . . . two girls trading secrets over coffee? Shut the fuck up and get ready to play pool. Hopefully the funny guy is almost warmed up.”
He held his palms up in the air in mock surrender. “Okay, tough guy. Don’t shoot me for asking.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Shut the fuck up.”
I didn’t need any crap from Mr. Wonderful. All I wanted to do was eat some wings (because I was still hungry), play pool, and forget about earlier.
I wasn’t having much success, though. The reel of Charli running out on me was stuck on replay in my head.
L
ike a fool, I hid in my hotel room after running out of the restaurant. I had to order room service because as it turned out, sushi wasn’t filling.
The next morning, I took the first flight out, rushing back to the Big Apple as if something incredible was waiting for me. In fact, nothing but work was waiting.
The premiere was on a Thursday and I was originally scheduled to stay in California until Saturday, so when I slipped back into the office late Friday afternoon, I was greeted by a lot of raised eyebrows.
I didn’t let it bother me. Grabbing my messages and the proofs waiting for me on my desk, I turned right around and headed home for a lonely weekend, intending to fill it with work and exercise.
When I got home that night and checked my messages like I usually do, I had an e-mail from him.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Did you get home safely?
Charli –
I want to believe it was merely bad luck our evening was interrupted. Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
Can’t wait to read your review of the movie.
—Layton
P.S. Look what my dog did to my tuxedo loafers.
Attached was a picture of a big, fuzzy golden retriever holding a half-chewed Ferragamo loafer in his or her mouth.
I didn’t even know Layton had a dog. How could this mean anything between us if I didn’t know something like that?
Well, for starters, you didn’t even give him a chance to say he had a dog.
Janie had wanted to hang out that night, but I refused. Instead, I worked out and ate a quick dinner, then went through the rest of my work e-mails.
For the rest of the weekend, I ran myself ragged, collapsing into bed each evening, crossing my fingers I was exhausted enough to ignore the e-mail sitting so innocently in my in-box.
The one I didn’t respond to.
Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
That sentence played on repeat in my head, plaguing me for five days until I finally gave in. By Tuesday, I couldn’t outrun or outspin my demons anymore.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT:
I’m back. Thanks.
Thank you
Thank you so much for your concern.
Thanks for asking. I did get home in one piece, and have been swamped with deadlines.
It’s been raining here all week and I miss the LA sun, but it’s good for my workload.
Fondly,
Charli
P.S. Hope you made your dog pay for your shoes.
I’d returned to hitting the backspace key more than any other, so I hit
SEND
before I mentioned anything but the weather or my work, and especially not the reason why I fled.
He knew it was an excuse.
Either way, I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.
He definitely knew. My leaving was the proverbial elephant in the room, a big one growing by the minute.
I went to bed that night without checking my e-mail again—an occupational hazard but an emotional safeguard.
Ever since I got back to New York, when I thought back to our moments in the car or seated at Zao’s, I felt myself smiling, my chest warming, and my defense mechanisms melting. There was something about this guy. I liked him, but I shouldn’t.
My mind ticked off all the reasons I shouldn’t like him as I slipped into a hot bath on Wednesday night, wanting to wash myself of my guilt and maybe relax a little while I was at it.
First, I was a fitness editor in New York City. And Layton . . . well, he was anything but fit.
Second, I had a big career ahead of me, something my mom never did after meeting my dad. Wasn’t that why I became so convinced I needed the career first . . . from watching her? Now she’d changed her tune, but I wasn’t changing.
Third, I couldn’t chase around this earth for a dude, something my mom did for my dad. I hadn’t graduated from high school a year early and college three semesters too soon for this . . . to be saddled to the fun-loving guy. When I finally got hitched, it would be to some corporate bigshot, just like Janie said I should.
Wallowing in remorse, I covered my face with my hands, splashing soapy water all over the place.
I’m a bitch. And I’m not even happy being one. I’m allowing my friend to lead me around, telling me what to do.
In the short time I’d known this huggable guy, Layton Griffin, did he ever make me feel like he’d want a woman to sacrifice her dreams for him?
No, but we were certainly nowhere near that stage.
That stupid night.
Actually, it was a beautiful night, and I was the stupid one.
“Ugh,” I muttered and sank deeper in the water.
When my phone dinged on the side of the tub, I shook my hand free of water and picked it up. It had been a few hours since I’d checked my messages, and I couldn’t stand not checking anymore.
My in-box was flooded with work e-mails. Some women’s-only marathon was coming to Central Park, and the magazine was going to be a sponsor. Larissa knew I was close with Janie, and of course, she wanted me to ask the Royal to put us all up for the event, plus a few contest winners. I hated when she made me do that—I was a writer, not a concierge—but this was New York and it was all about who you knew.
There were a few more e-mails, all regarding July’s posts, which were already almost filled. We had two more spotlights open, and the pit of writers under me were all clawing to get a feature. So-and-so wanted to interview Katie on her fitness routine.
No to that . . . nothing to do with Katie
.
Another writer wanted to do a feature on dangerous hikes in Colorado.
Could be interesting, but would he travel or only do research?
And of course, Layton replied.
What the heck?
I squinted and read the subject twice.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Harriette is getting a job
Charli –
Glad you got back to me. I was beginning to wonder if you’d been sold to Mexico.
Weather has been nice here, but the smog gets to you after a while, so don’t be too envious.
And yes, Harriette—my golden—is scouring LA for temp work to reimburse me for my shoes. In the meantime, she’s working her way through a few bones.
She’s a good girl, for the most part. Not much of a guard dog and a bit mouthy, but she’s dependable.
—Layton
There was no PS or funny video, not even a “Lay” for his signature.
Deciding I’d successfully blown off the guy, I sank deeper in shame and the tub.
Although I didn’t feel one bit relaxed.
A
t the crack of dawn, I climbed onto a spinning bike at the gym, connected my heart-rate monitor, and went the fuck after it. My legs spun as if my life depended on it.
Actually, my sanity did. I was going out of my mind with regret and self-loathing. My only peace came when I was dripping sweat and physically exhausted. My normal once-a-day exercise routine turned out to be completely unsatisfying in the week since I returned from LA, and I’d upped the ante in response.
