CHAPTER EIGHT
Macy
I sat at my desk, trying to concentrate on the presentation I was preparing for the board meeting. It wasn’t easy.
All my thoughts were crowded with thoughts and memories of the previous night. Thoughts and memories of Maddox, to be accurate, and of our intimacy.
I smiled to myself, thinking of how he had touched me, his fingers gently exploring me in that wonderful way. The feel of his mouth on mine. The sweetness of him moving in me and kissing me.
“Hello?”
I blinked. Jess, the secretary, was at the door. I had no idea how long she’d even been there. I shook my head to clear it.
“Jess! Hi. Something urgent?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just these forms…the visa application for the China trip.”
“Oh.” I raised my brows in surprise. I’d actually forgotten about the fact that I was supposed to be flying to Beijing in December. Part of my father’s expansion as a major freight provider for the Dandong port. I had been really excited about it, but now it had slipped my mind. “Thanks,” I said.
“Of course, Ms. Trent.”
Jessica left the pages on the desk and I read them idly, unable to concentrate on anything except the drifting haze of joy inside me. I still felt deliciously bruised inside and I wished I could just spend the whole day enjoying the calm tranquility that filled me.
“Describe the reason for your trip…” I read aloud. I thought about my reply, but pictures of Maddox kept intruding on my thoughts. I felt almost exasperated. Go on, get outta my head. I smiled just imagining saying that to the images that filtered through my happy, peaceful mind. I didn’t actually want them to stop, of course. I never wanted them to stop.
I couldn’t believe we were finally back together.
I filled out the forms and sent them to Jess. Then I checked my phone. My dad had messaged me with more pictures and a small note.
Hi, sweetheart. Things going great here. Hope you’re having a good time. Looking forward to being back! Maybe we can go out with the yacht club when I come home.
I read the message with some surprise. The yacht club. I’d forgotten. Daddy, bless his heart, had been trying to make me get into the yacht scene, with the very transparent hope that I would meet someone there. I knew he worried about me being lonely. He and mom had a happy marriage and seemed to believe everyone wanted nothing more than to be similarly settled.
I don’t know what I want.
I did know who I wanted. I wanted Maddox. I giggled. I couldn’t exactly ask him myself, or I would have by now. I was marginally upset by the fact that I hadn’t heard anything from him yet.
He’s probably busy.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I should text him myself. Something stayed my hand: I knew what it was too. I didn’t know whether Maddox was actually single or not.
We hadn’t talked about anything about the recent past. I hadn’t told him about my last, disastrous, relationship. He hadn’t told me anything either.
For all I know, there’s someone in his life already.
I sighed. We had a lovely evening together—it was magical, in fact. So magical. But was it just that: the magic and the memories intruding on our current every day?
I started typing a message. Hi, Maddox. How’s life? It was a great evening with you last night.
I didn’t send it. It sounded weird. How was I supposed to thank him for such a thing? And, by rights, I had invited him. Protocol meant he was supposed to message me first. I chuckled.
You really stick to protocol? You’re chronic, Ms. Trent, really you are.
But the uncertainty remained. Why hadn’t he told me about his previous relationships? Why had he stayed silent? And why did he leave me in the beginning?
“Come on, Macy,” I sighed.
I didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. All I knew was that I was tired of thinking so hard. I was going to set aside my memories of last night for the moment and concentrate on the present tasks. I was twenty-six, not sixteen anymore. I had to be mature. I couldn’t let my feelings get the better of me, now could I?
I finished the presentation and flicked through the slides. I needed some more data for one of them, one about increased employee number. I mailed the head of HR and sat back with a sigh.
One o’ clock. Lunch hour.
I dug out my phone to message Harper. We sometimes met at Eat Green, a vegetarian café that was roughly midway between our two workplaces.
Hey! I wrote. Thanks for an awesome evening. Time for lunch? M.
To my evident surprise and pleasure, her reply flashed back quickly. Sure. See you in fifteen minutes.
I headed out.
At the café, the room was already full of people—well-dressed executives talking about their work or journalists, checking their phones, stock traders in animated discussions about the future of different shares. I walked quickly across the table to the corner where I spotted brassy blond curls.
“Harper!”
“Hi, Macy!” she smiled up at me from over her cappuccino. “So. A good evening?” she gave me a wide-eyed anticipatory smile. I frowned.
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “The party was good. Why?”
She giggled. “Macy! I saw you! It was so cute! Tell me all about him…”
I sighed. “Harper, my friend…can we just avoid that topic? It’s, well, complicated.”
“Okay,” she said. Her eyes were wide and she was clearly interested, but she made no comment. I was grateful for that.
“Now,” she continued as I finished placing my order, “what did you think of the place? I think I chose well for the venue. What would you say?”
I nodded. “It was an awesome venue, Harper. You did everything excellently.”
She smiled contentedly. “Thank you, Macy.” she took a sip of her cappuccino, the foam clinging momentarily to her top lip. She wiped it off. “How’s the work treating you?”
I sighed. “Not so badly, actually…” As I described the presentation I’d be giving next Monday and the plans for the Beijing trip, I noticed her covertly watching me. Her eyes were thoughtful and speculative. I guessed she was trying to figure out what happened last night. I smiled secretively to myself. That was my secret.
“That sounds awesome,” she said, smiling at me as her lunch arrived—a salad with artisan-style bread. Mine arrived simultaneously; a vegetarian wrap with Thai dressing.
“Mm,” I smiled, chewing contentedly. “So…who was that guy you were with last night?”
Her grin was spectacular. “Guy?” she asked, batting long, mascara-loaded lashes. “What guy?”
“I saw you,” I teased. “That guy with the hair and the big smile. Who is that?”
She blushed superbly, a shade of pink I didn’t know was on the human-skin spectrum. “His name’s Gareth,” she explained. “He’s an attorney.”
“Oh!” I smiled at her. “Well! Persuasive, is he?”
She flipped a hand at me. “Macy! Stop teasing now.” She was laughing and blushing, though, and I felt the happiness that was flowing through her fill me too. I laughed with her.
“Okay, I’ll stop,” I promised. “But you have to tell me where you bought those stunning earrings you’re wearing.” She was wearing round earrings with faceted green stones in them; olivine, I guessed.
“Oh! These?” she smiled, complimented, clearly. “I bought these at Guess.”
“They’re stunning.”
“Thanks.”
We chatted for a bit longer and then she took out her phone and jumped. “Oh! Hell. Time to go!”
I nodded. It was twenty to two—time I went too.
“Okay.” I nodded, following her example and heading to the door. “See you tomorrow, maybe?”
“Yes! Tomorrow would be great,” she agreed. “Looking forward.”
“Me too!”
As I settled the bill—we took it in turns—and headed out of the restaurant, I found myself wondering why I had been so resistant to tell my best friend about my evening. About Maddox. Was it because I wasn’t sure about the relationship? Or was it because I really was ashamed of him?
I sighed. On the way back to work, I thought back to when I was sixteen. I remembered talking to my aunt, Grady’s mother. Aunt Sherri was a small, earnest woman who lived for propriety. She didn’t approve of her son’s friendship with the boy from Vermont.
“Macy,” she’d said with some concern during a dinner for the Trent Foundation members—a charity my father had established. “I’m so worried about my son.”
“Yes?” I’d asked, frowning.
“You see…he’s associating with some—unsuitable types. What should I do? I know he would listen to you. Maybe you could talk to him.”
I had raised a brow. “Unsuitable types?” My heart had twisted in my chest. By then I was already seeing Maddox and knew that my parents didn’t exactly approve of him.
“Yes. Boys from backgrounds very different to his. I’m worried that they’ll affect his grades. They don’t have the same, well, priorities he does.” she’d said fairly.
I remembered wanting to laugh. All Maddox cared about was football. If she meant him, she was right.
“I don’t think I can really help, Aunt,” I’d said fairly. “You see, I don’t think Grady would listen to me. Not about this subject, anyway.”
I knew he wouldn’t listen to me because it’d be blatantly hypocritical of me to say anything about Maddox. Grady knew about our closeness. Why would it make any sense for me to tell him that they weren’t appropriate friends?
My aunt had seemed to visibly shrink. But she’d accepted my word. “Very well,” she’d said sorrowfully. “I can just hope he’ll grow out of it.”
It was almost a decade ago, but the words were still fresh in my mind. I think it had made a profound impact on me. It was the first time I’d had to confront what my family would think of Maddox.
I slipped into my office and sat at my desk. I had a conference call in an hour and I needed to prepare for it, but my thoughts were with Maddox and my future. It only occurred to me after my memory of the conversation that I’d always worried about what my family would think of Maddox. Was I still worried now?
Well, I sighed. Grady never had a problem with him. I wonder what he’d say, if he knew we were back together?
As I read over the material for the talk, I wondered if I should tell my cousin. He was a high-powered corporate lawyer now, angling for a career in government if he could get involved somehow. But he had a good heart. He always had.
If I find myself thinking seriously about Maddox, I think I might just contact Grady after all.
I just had to decide, in my heart, whether or not I was serious.
“Actually, I already know,” I said aloud as I reached for a folder of documents to peruse quickly.
I knew how I felt about him. I just had no idea how he felt about me. Or how he had ever felt, for that matter. He had decided to shut me out of his life, after all, all those years ago. Was there any chance now of getting let in—really let in—again? I sighed. I still had absolutely no real clue.