CHAPTER 16
THE NEXT WEEK WAS EMOTIONAL TURMOIL. Bill’s anger subsided, but my guilt persisted. Gretchen and David took up a permanent place in my thoughts. Elaborate fantasies and imaginative scenarios filled my head, some fueled by jealousy, others by lustful memories. I was aroused, angry and crushed all at once. David’s rejection overwhelmed me. I knew it was irrational, I knew it wasn’t fair.
At night, I tossed and turned with memories of my mother’s senseless fits of jealousy. Was I turning into her like Bill had cruelly accused? I was never jealous with Bill, but when it came to David, it was slippery and out of my control. My sleep had suffered more than usual from the anxiety. I hadn’t heard from David in almost a week, and I wondered if my Nyquil-drunken plea for relief had come true. Only, relief was far from what I felt.
I was glad to have the diversion of the upcoming Meet & Greet. I filled the days with minutiae, double-checking with the hotel and publicity department on every last detail. With the approaching deadline, I made sure I was working on the article every chance that I wasn’t party planning. By Thursday I was already feeling much lighter as I made my way back from a nearby interview.
“Hi, Jenny,” I said into my cell phone when it rang.
“David Dylan is here to see you about the article.” She lowered her voice. “I told him I could direct him to Lisa, but he seems to want to speak with you.”
“Did you tell him I’m out?”
“Yes. He says he’ll wait.” The phone beeped in my ear, and I pulled it back to see that Bill was calling.
“Actually, I’ll be there soon.”
“Great,” she answered immediately.
I hung up and let Bill go to voicemail. My lightness began to fade. Maybe he just meant to apologize for . . . for what? I hadn’t thought of the kiss all day, purposefully. The elevator ride felt longer than usual as questions floated in my head. I wondered how I could ask about Gretchen without coming off as nosy or jealous. I considered not asking at all, but how could I not? The thought had hounded me for days.
When I exited the elevator, I smoothed an invisible wrinkle from my skirt before entering the foyer. David was glaring at Jenny from his chair while she wrote furiously.
“Oh, here she is now, one second,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s your husband. He has an emergency trip to New York tonight for work. He wants to know if you want him to book you a ticket for the weekend.”
“Tell him I’m in a meeting, and I’ll call him back,” I said shortly. “Hi, Mr. Dylan.”
“He says it’s an emergency though,” Jenny piped.
I leaned over her desk, aware that I was giving David an eyeful. “No ticket,” I whispered in a clipped tone. I turned to David then and put on an unconvincing smile. My heart thumped with the memory of our last meeting and with the questions I was afraid to ask him.
“Can we talk in your office?” he asked, getting up.
“Sure,” I agreed, leaving Jenny to look after us.
Once we were alone, I shut the door behind him. “Sorry to make you wait. I just finished up with another Bachelor,” I said, picking up a paperclip from the floor.
“Exactly how many men are you interviewing?” he asked, curling a fist into his other hand. “Never mind. I wanted to say thanks for the help with the tuxedo, I appreciate the last minute scramble.” He paused. “I returned it to Lucy already.”
“Great,” I said flatly, sitting against my desk. “How was the event?”
“Olivia, I came to find out if you need anything else from me for the article.” His expression was unreadable, but I thought he looked icier than I’d ever seen. Guarded.
“Ah,” I said, mildly confused by his brush off. “We’ll need to take a photo unless you have something of your own.”
“I can provide that if necessary.”
“I think I have good gist of what you’re about, but I need more hard details and - ”
“Can I arrange that with someone else? I think it’s best that we end our personal and professional relationship.”
I cleared my throat and looked down, wanting nothing more than to hide my face at that moment. My fingers picked at something on the edge of the desk while my mind raced. It was obvious. His attraction had waned. The game was off. Pushing me away the week before had said as much. Say something, I urged. Anything!
“Is this about Gretchen?” I asked and then recoiled, feeling foolish.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Anything else?” he prompted. I shook my head, feeling strongly indifferent about the article suddenly and at the same time, profoundly sad over what was happening. It’s for the best, things could not continue as they were . . . . Shit. If Beman found out David was displeased, he would definitely have my head on a platter. Normally I would ask what I’d done and squash it, but I preferred to save myself the embarrassment of hearing David say it out loud.
“Should we find someone else?” I asked evenly.
“I’ve made a commitment, and I intend to see it through, but I will work with someone else going forward.”
It was the tone I’d heard him use with others, even Arnaud. But never with me. The thought made my chest contract. I put on a straight face, my practiced mask of apathy. Why I hadn’t been wearing it all along, I didn’t know. The self-preservation skills I’d been honing since I was thirteen and a half had failed me for the first time.
“Yes. I understand completely,” I managed with wary regard. It was a struggle to get the words out but I hid it behind my disguise. “I’ll make the arrangements.” I crossed my arms and waited. We were silent for a moment while he looked at me expectantly. “Anything else?” I echoed his words, but was careful not to mock him.
“No,” he said at last. “I guess that’s it then.”
I turned away so I wouldn’t have to watch him leave. After another beat I heard the door close behind him. With a heavy sigh, I dropped my head in my hands. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders; guilt, desire and confusion coursed through my body. The chaotic back-and-forth I’d been putting myself through began to wear on me. Feeling suddenly exhausted, I locked the door and lay down on the couch to think.
~
When I awoke, the office was dark, save amber dots of city light. Groggily, I tried to remember at what point I’d fallen asleep. I squinted at my watch: ten o’clock. I slipped my shoes back on and decided instead to grab the back-up flats from my desk drawer. I threw the heels in my purse and headed for the elevator. Bill must be worried, I thought in my sleepy state. Why didn’t he call the office? I closed my eyes and leaned against the elevator wall, eager to climb back into bed when it hit me that he was in New York.
Unhurriedly, I passed an empty security desk. I pushed out of the building and into an eerily quiet night. It wasn’t uncommon for me to work late, but I was never in the Loop at this time. It was a different area than it was during the day. Aside from a sporadic office light, it was dark and calm, I noticed, still feeling somewhat bleary.
I headed to the curb to flag a cab when something caught my eye across the street. A man casually leaned against a street lamp and although I couldn’t place him, something about him felt familiar. Peering closer, I watched him peel himself from the pole, and I had an acute sense of déjà vu. Mark Alvarez. My mind shuffled through our last meeting, identifying his short stature and inflated chest. I thought his lips curled into an amused smile.
I halted at once, retreating a few steps. Panic froze my feet, and the man languidly began to move toward me. No, I thought. It’s my imagination. I turned casually and started down Adams in the opposite direction. I’m overreacting, I told myself over and over. When I found myself peering down an empty road, I decided to head for the train instead. An elderly woman passed, bundled in her coat, wobbling with weighty groceries. She smiled at me.
Dread filled me as I confirmed with a backward glance that the man was following me. I broke into a sprint without warning, pushing through a surprised couple, propelled forward by fear. My heart pounded in my chest, and my feet beat the pavement as I flew across State Street, narrowly avoiding a passing car. I mentally surveyed the area as I fled, my thoughts jumbling in a panicked mess. My face burned against the cool night, and his heavy footsteps bore down on me as if he realized we were nearing the train. I physically felt the space between us closing.
“Olivia!” he cried.
Oh my God - it’s not my imagination. At the realization, I fumbled for my purse, pulling at my skirt as it inched up, reached for my purse again but it wasn’t there – where is my cell? - and, led by some supernatural force, turned a sharp corner toward Jackson instead of the train. Panic struck as I ran headlong into an alley. This is it, I thought. I’ll never make it to the other side.
“Olivia! Stop!”
A sudden burst of energy thrust me forward, but it was too late. His surprisingly strong hands caught my shoulders and lifted me from the ground.