Chapter Nineteen - Mac
This is the longest weekend of my life. First of all, Friday sucked. Sucked with a capital S. The dress I gave Ellie looked like it was painted on.
Note to self. Next time I buy her a replacement outfit for work, make it the shapeless trousers she came in wearing.
Oh, that dress was a fabulous idea if she decided to spend the weekend with me. I was going to fake our way through a few more hours at work and then whisk her off to dinner, a show downtown, and then back to my place for a weekend of dirty sex, room-service breakfasts, and elegant restaurants at night.
Clearly, I am as delusional as she is.
Which brings me back to Heath’s phone.
I cannot stop reading her messages.
Look at this nursery. If we have a boy his room will be pale blue like this.
It came with seven attached pictures of a nursery filled with everything a baby might want, complete with Baby Boy Ellie and Heath combination Photoshopped in.
The girl’s nursery was light pink and yellow, and yes, she had a stand-in Heath-and-Ellie baby for those pictures too.
She can’t really have been serious about Heath. He’s such a fuckup. And even when she was messaging him normal stuff, before he got sent to China two months ago and she went off the delusional Mr. Perfect deep end, he did not show even the slightest interest in Ellie. Not like that, anyway. His messages were all business.
Can you get so-and-so on such-and-such show? Can they fly in Wednesday instead of Thursday? Can you be in the meeting I have with my father to explain what we’re doing with the airport budget?
Not even once did he thank her. And sure, it’s possible he could’ve thanked her in person, but knowing Heath the way I do, he didn’t.
And the goddamned puppies. Old English Sheepdogs. It’s like every kid’s dream dog. No one gets a sheepdog. They have all that hair, they’re big, they need… sheep. Or something. Farms. Lots of care requirements for sheepdogs.
But Ellie has her heart set on one.
I check the clock on my phone again. Eight. Sunday night. Is she home yet? I don’t want to call. I really don’t want to call her. It’s so fucking pathetic.
I tab my contacts and slide down to Nolan’s face, then press it.
It rings twice and goes to voicemail.
Figures. I end the call, but just as quick as I do that, it rings back.
“Hey,” I say to Nol.
“What’s up, Perfect?” He sounds beat. No doubt trying to recover from some crazy weekend.
“Um,” I say. Why did I call? Advice? From Nolan Delaney? Please. He might have had more girls in one week than I’ve had the whole last year, but Mr. Romantic he is not. He got that nickname back in college when the press had to call us something and the gag order prevented anyone from using our real names.
“Girl problems?”
“No. Asshole. Why do you ask that?”
“Dude, you always call when you’ve got girl problems. And I always tell you the same thing. Just ignore them, man. That’s the ticket to catching that elusive fish. You gotta ignore them and they come running.”
“That never works, Nol.”
“Works for me every time, Mac. You’re doing it wrong. You gotta be firm. Be pissed off.”
“Pissed off over what?”
“Whatever it is she’s doing that’s got you calling me, dumbass. What did she do?”
“I didn’t call for a girl, Nol. I just wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Right,” he mumbles, then sounds like he’s taking a long drink of something. Probably whiskey. “Well, I’m in Vegas.”
“Figures. You get lucky?”
He laughs. “With girls or with gambling?”
“Whichever.”
“Well, I didn’t get lucky with either because I’m here on business. You ever hear of Andrew Manco?”
“Why?” I growl, instantly pissed off at the mention of that jerk’s name.
“Oh, he’s got this fucking fabulous piece of tech, right? He was on one of your shows last week—”
Yeah. That’s why he was here. Asshole.
“—and he was demonstrating this virtual reality vacation thing. Amazing, dude. Just amazing. So I got the new club slash resort going up out near Borrego Springs and I was thinking of putting in one of his systems.”
“Like virtual sex?” I can’t even imagine what he is talking about.
“No, but that’s a great fucking idea. I’m gonna ask him about it the next time I see him.”
“You know him?”
“Oh, I guess. I saw him Friday night. Here in Vegas.”
“Vegas. That fucker took her to Vegas?”
“Took who?”
“Ellie. The girl I’m calling about.”
“I knew you were calling about a girl. Dumbass. She’s dating Andrew Manco? How old is she? He’s kinda young, right? Got that whole college start-up thing going these days.”
“Right? And she’s twenty-seven.”
“Cougar action. Huh.”
“Did you see her? She’s medium height, cute as fuck, shoulder-length blonde hair, and she might’ve been wearing a very tight pink pencil dress that I bought her.”
“Nah, he was alone on Friday. I didn’t talk to him Saturday or Sunday, too many people around his booth—”
“What booth?”
“At the tech convention. He was keynote and they had this great demo afterward. Don’t you watch your own shows? That’s why he was on last week. Big tech convo in Vegas. All the latest shit. And I swear, I’m putting in an order for that VR setup on Monday. I got big plans, Mac. Big, big plans. Hey, you know anyone who might be a good candidate to manage a new place in the desert? My main chick just quit. Says I’m, quote, ‘Incorrigible, have ineradicably deviant sexual tendencies, and a personality akin to American Psycho.’ Unquote. Bitch. She should meet Mr. Mysterious. Then she’d really know what all those fancy words mean. Don’t ever have an office fling, Mac. They always fuck you over in the end.”
Jesus. Why did I call him? Who the hell would take girl advice from Nolan Delaney? “Who would I know?” I say, ignoring his weird outburst about sexual tendencies as well as his ‘advice’. “I’ve been out of the loop for ten years. Call Mr. Corporate.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to, I think. I haven’t talked to him in over a year, but he’s got all the connections I need right now. Mr. Fucking Corporate.”
“So no Ellie, huh? Not even hanging around the periphery?”
“Nah, no girls in his booth. Just nerdy tech guys. And definitely no hot little blondes hanging near the virtual reality shit.”
“Hmmm.”
“Was she supposed to be there?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “OK, well, it was great catching up. I’ll talk to you soon. And good luck with the… whatever it is.”
“Sure. And remember, ignore the fuck out of her. It gets them every time.”
“Right.”
“Later, man.”
I tab end and then look down at the phone. Should I call and ask her what the hell? Clearly she was not with Andrew this weekend. On the other hand, she never actually said she was going with him. She evaded the questions like a pro.
No. I’m not calling her. She blew me off. One hundred percent blew me off.
Was I a dick? Did I insult her with the sex? It was fun, right?
Maybe that’s all it was. Just a quickie before she quits. Just something safe. Something she can walk away from in a week and never look back.
Maybe Nol is right. Maybe she’s not interested. Maybe I need to ignore her. Maybe I need to cut her loose before she cuts me.
Maybe I need to cut this whole goddamned company loose before I get lost in some life-sucking corporate existence like the rest of my friends.
I open the message stream she’s been sending to Heath and shake my head. She seemed so nice. So damn cute. A perfect change from the women I occasionally date.
But I guess it’s fake. I guess she’s nothing but a fake.