Chapter 12
Kate
After Ian left the café, I had stood there and gaped after him like an idiot. I couldn’t believe what he said. Not that he called my dad an asshole—that part I could believe. I actually agreed with him, there. What I couldn’t believe was the fact that he had completely ignored everything I’d ever said about my dad, myself. I knew my dad was an asshole. So why should his perception of my dad make him not want to see me anymore? How could he just break it all off without even giving it a chance?
Hell, had he not had a pretty shitty perception of my dad before he knew who he was? I mean, the whole time we’d been talking, had he not once thought, “Wow, that guy’s an asshole”?
If he hadn’t, then I wasn’t even sure about what to say to him at that point.
My dad was an asshole.
I just couldn’t believe that he was judging me because of that.
“Kate!” the barista called out, and I sighed. I knew there was only black coffee in that cup, so it wasn’t even enough to perk me up.
“Thanks,” I managed, accepting the drink and taking a sleeve to put over it.
Angry and flustered, I grabbed a handful of sugars, ripped them open and poured one after another, after another. I did the same with packages and packages of creamer. I couldn’t believe I’d ordered plain coffee.
“What a morning,” I whispered as I stirred the sugar and cream into my drink.
I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Just like I hadn’t liked the possibility of Ian stereotyping Claire, I couldn’t stand the fact that he wanted to judge me based on my dad. Based on BioResearch. I had nothing to do with that world. I had chosen to leave that world for a reason—I didn’t want any part of it.
The only thing I’d ever wanted was to be kind, to surround myself with people who were kind — and to leave the cutthroat business world behind me. Business had never been my calling.
Coming to get a coffee was supposed to be a little treat—something to get me out of the house and away from all of the conflict I was facing with Claire. It had done just the opposite, though—now there was a whole new conflict in my life, and apparently I was no longer seeing the guy who had been the one bit of happiness in the nightmare of yesterday.
My stomach growled as soon as the door of Starbucks closed behind me and immediately my nose was flooded with scents of restaurant foods all around. The aroma was intoxicating. When was the last time I’d eaten?
“Why the hell didn’t I get any food?” I moaned, glancing over my shoulder back at the Starbucks. But I didn’t want to go back in, not after the entire restaurant had just witnessed my argument and “break up” — if you could call it that — with Ian. I craned my neck to look around, desperate to find an easy meal nearby.
A little sandwich shop caught my eye. Tucked away, barely noticeable. I hugged my coat closer to me, and walked toward it. There was a huge window, where I could see in from the street. People were crowded in, packed tightly like sardines. I smiled. This place must be good.
I walked in. Immediately to my side, a hefty man was gulping down the best looking sandwich I’d ever seen. I looked at him — and the sandwich — and instantly started salivating. I wanted to ask him what kind of sandwich it was, but with the way that he was biting into it, devouring it without even taking a breath, I was a little scared.
“He’s eating a pastrami on wheat, with lettuce, tomato, sautéed onions, pickles, oil and vinegar drizzle, topped off with avocado chipotle mayonnaise,” a female voice whispered into my ear. A small-framed body nudged against my shoulder.
I jumped from the contact. People never got so close to me — and when they did, I questioned their motives. This was New York. If someone was that close, they were either about to mug you, pick your pocket, or turn on their creep factor to above ten.
I clutched my wallet and turned, slowly, to look over just enough to see who had leaned in so close. Only I wasn’t met with a stranger, exactly. It was a familiar blonde-haired woman, with gorgeous blue eyes and a warm smile.
“I wondered what he was eating, too. I made the mistake of asking, and almost got sprayed by food,” she winced a little at the thought. “You’re Kate Murphy, right?”
I squinted. I felt like I should know her from somewhere. I just couldn’t place it.
She smiled as if she understood my confusion, and said, “Amelia Markewicz. I’m part of the legal team working for your father, Michael Murphy.”
“Oh!” I said, still trying to recall when I might have met her. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a hell of a day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, swiping at the air with her hand. “We haven’t actually officially met. I’ve seen the pictures in your dad’s office. He seems very proud of you,” she informed me.
I gave her a strange look. Surely, she couldn’t be talking about my father. If he were proud of me, he’d never said so. No doubt she was just being polite.
“Do you live on this side of town?”
“As I’m sure you know, my dad does,” I said simply. I didn’t want to go into the whole I-live-with-my-tyrannical-dad-and-absolutely-hate-it story. Especially since she knew the man and worked with him. She could infer what she wanted to. “What about you?”
“I happened to be on this side of town to talk with someone about one of the cases I’m working on.” she said. “I recall your dad saying you’d just finished your Master’s degree. How has the job hunt been for you?”
“I’m actually starting a job in special education on the West coast soon.”
“Wow, that’s pretty far from home!” she stated with a smile that told me she was a little surprised. “I’m not sure I could do it,” she continued. “I would miss being close to my family and friends too much.”
I nodded without saying anything. I didn’t really want to go into the fact that I didn’t have a lot of friends left after graduation, since everyone had pretty much moved on with their lives. Nor did I want to bring into play the fact that my family was absolutely dysfunctional. The biggest thing I wanted to keep to myself was that my prospect of a boyfriend had recently—minutes ago, in fact—dwindled down to non-existent.
I had no ties at all to New York City. None except Claire, and I knew that we’d make it work out somehow. She knew I cared and I’d still be with her, no matter how far apart we were. I just hoped more than anything that Dad would make sure she stayed in therapy. I didn’t even expect it to stay long-distance with us. She knew that I’d welcome her with open arms. Whether she graduated this year or not, whether she ever got her shit together or not— I’d welcome her always. If she asked to finish high school in California and live with me, I probably wouldn’t object.
As Amelia settled in front of me in line, I couldn’t help but look around and watch everyone in the crowded deli. My eyes scanned everyone, but they actually fell and hesitated on a beautiful man with rich chocolate brown hair. He had gorgeous, luminescent skin.
He walked toward a woman who looked equally perfect. She had chestnut hair that shone brightly against the light blaring in from the large window to the shop, and wore a gorgeous long gray pea coat and oversized purple scarf. They looked like they were a match made in heaven.
He bent his arm and held his elbow out as he looked at her and smiled. He was gesturing for her to loop her arm inside his, in the most perfectly gentlemanly fashion that I’d ever seen. I couldn’t believe that sort of behavior existed at all — let alone in New York City.
She smiled back and I couldn’t help but wonder how far they were in their relationship. Was it young, passionate, puppy-love stage? Or had they been together for a while? Would it even be possible to be so happy after being together for so long?
She accepted his arm and leaned against his shoulder. I heard a faint giggle even through the crowd of people, as they walked in looped-arm-bliss.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and scowl. Not just because it was so cute it was disgusting, but also because the man was so damned gentlemanly as he walked her to the seat. They weren't in a five-star restaurant. They were in a sandwich shop, and yet he was still kind enough to pull a chair back for her and gesture for her sit down, but not before taking her coat and folding it gently over his arm. He didn’t even toss it over the back of her chair. After he helped scoot her in, he made his way around to the other side of the table.
“Serious gentleman alert,” Amelia said, clearly having followed my gaze over to the couple. With a scorned chuckle, she said, “It’s nearly impossible to find a man who will do stuff like that. I had one, but I let him get away. I’m working on remedying that, though.”
I smiled in response, but couldn’t take my eyes off the couple. The guy reminded me too much of Ian. Gentlemanly, with an aura of honesty. Hell, it almost made me wonder if this guy was as full of shit as Ian was — as full of shit as all men seemed to be.
I knew for sure it’s what my ex, Jonathan, was like. He was the biggest asshole ever. But Ian was starting to give him a run for his money, after today.
When I got up to the counter, just after Amber placed her order, I realized that what I really wanted was to eat away at my feelings. I excelled at this. It’d always resulted in weeks in the gym afterwards, but I didn’t mind. Both provided some sort of euphoric release away from my thoughts. So I just took it as one whole process — stuffing my face, gaining a few pounds, working out until I wanted to throw up, and then losing the weight that I’d put on.
“Give me the biggest burger you can make,” I said to the older man behind the counter.
He looked like Santa without the beard. His eyes widened and he looked me up and down. “We have a monster burger, but it’s something we usually give for the challenge. Eat it all in an hour and your meal is free and picture goes up on the wall.” He gestured to a wall just beside the register with only twenty or thirty photos plastered on it, in no particular special layout.
I smiled. “The biggest you have. No challenge. I just want a burger. With the works. And onion rings,” I added.
He looked at me, unsure, as if he wanted to somehow come up with a way to talk me out of it. Like I was about to go on some crazy suicide mission, involving guns, parachutes and explosive planes. Then he shrugged and grabbed a pen to jot down the order
After placing my order, I stepped to the side and followed the long glass counter, where I could literally watch my food being made on the other side. There were hot steaming grills, toasters, and lots and lots of sandwich toppings.
“You got the monster burger?” the young clerk asked, staring at me in shock.
I nodded.
“It’s going to be about a ten-minute wait. It’s really big. They’re pattying it out now.” He glanced over, and I followed his gaze. Holy shit. My burger was as big as an adult’s head.
“I really should have listened to the man at the order station,” I said.
We had a good laugh, and I paid for my order. I glanced around at the diversity that filled the sandwich shop. When my eyes fell on Amelia, she really seemed out of place in her expensive designer dress and perfectly styled hair. She was as near to a living Barbie as I had ever seen. She motioned me over, inviting me to sit with her. Considering how crowded the place was, I decided to take her up on the offer.
Naturally, she was sitting in perfect view of the couple we had envied earlier in line. I watched them while I waited for my order to be ready.
“It’s almost stomach-turning, isn’t it?” Amelia sniped.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I realized I was staring at them again. It hadn’t been intentional; I just couldn’t get over the resemblance the guy had to Ian.
Amelia watched them for a brief moment with a forlorn gaze then shook her head as if clearing it of a thought she wanted to be rid of. “It’s a little uncanny how much that guy reminds me of my ex, too. Same build, same impeccable taste in suits, and his facial features . . . it’s just so much like Ian,” she sighed.
I immediately perked up. Did she just say Ian? I realize New York is a big city, but the odds of the both of us thinking this guy looked like someone we knew who also happened to be named Ian couldn’t have possibly been that good. I tilted my head and asked her to repeat what I thought I’d just heard. “Like who?” I leaned in, listening intently this time.
“Ian,” she repeated. “My ex. He’s the one I was referring to a moment ago in line. The one I said always did those sweet things for me like he was doing. Holding the door, pulling out my chair, offering his arm when we walked anywhere.”
Amelia had my full attention. I was hanging on every word. “So, how long have you guys been broken up?” I asked.
“Too long,” she said with a hint of disappointment. “But, I have a feeling it won’t be for much longer.” Her ruby red lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Oh? Why is that?” I asked, still not completely sure if she was talking about the same Ian I’d just had a heated discussion with in the middle of Starbucks. But, if she was talking about the same Ian, I wanted to know everything I could find out. Call it morbid curiosity. “Are you guys trying to work things out?” I inquired further.
Her smile beamed across the table at me. “As a matter of fact, we are. He’s still a little reluctant because right now he’s on the opposite side of a case I’m working on, but I could see it in his eyes when we had lunch this past weekend. I know him so well. He’s ready to come around.”
I didn’t want to come straight out and ask if she had been talking about the same Ian, and the entire time I’d been listening to her speak, my mind had also been trying to think of a way to find out without giving it away that I had feelings for the guy . . . the guy my father was battling in a court case. The guy who looked like Mr. Manners at the table across the shop. The guy that I was almost positive she was talking about.
“You know, it’s funny you mention that guy reminds you of your ex. I saw a guy a few days ago at a Starbucks who he looks a lot like too. That was one of the reasons I kept staring at him. I was trying to decide if it was him or not. I don’t know the guy’s first name, but the man he was talking to called him Mr. Cross when they parted ways,” I spilled, trying to keep any emotion from my expression.
“Really?” Amelia looked at me, stunned. “That’s Ian’s last name. Was it the Starbucks just down around the corner? He goes there all the time,” she gushed as if she was familiar with his current routine. And maybe she was. Maybe Ian Cross was nothing more than a playboy douchebag.
“Actually, it was that Starbucks. Yes. I go there early in the mornings after I drop my sister off at school.” I was about to launch in to a hundred more questions I had about the conniving Mr. Cross when Amelia’s phone rang.
She held up one perfectly manicured finger to keep me from speaking as she answered the phone. Thirty seconds later she sputtered out, “I’ll be right there.” Then she ended the call and stuck the phone neatly into her designer purse. “I am so sorry, Kate, but I have to get back to the office. It has been so nice to meet you. I really enjoyed our chat. Maybe we can do it again sometime,” she offered as she placed the uneaten portion of her BLT in the bag it had been given to her in.
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Amelia. I assure you,” I said with a forced smile. And in so many ways, I meant every word. Hearing her gush about Ian Cross only made me realize that he had most likely been playing me all along. What I didn’t understand was what exactly he had to gain from doing so.
Amelia shrugged her wool coat back over her dress and buttoned up. “You have a lovely day, Kate, and I’ll see you around. Call me if you’d like to grab lunch again sometime. Your dad has my number.” And with that and a smile, she hurried out the door, leaving me with the stewing thoughts of Ian Cross.
Not long after she’d disappeared, my name was called from behind the counter. They handed me a brown paper sack. As I sat down at the table and pulled it out of the bag, I could have sworn it weighed nearly ten pounds.
I glanced at the small clock on the back wall before taking a shaky bite of the giant ass burger I’d stupidly ordered. The size of it astounded me the more I looked at it. And hell, the more bites I took, the more bites I felt like I had left — and my stomach was filling up quickly. I wasn’t sure what was pushing me at that point to keep eating it, the hurt from how Ian had ended things, or the anger from knowing he’d been lying to me the whole time.
Regardless of the motivation, the clock on the wall kept reminding me that I needed to get back to Claire. I was honestly mad at myself for leaving in the first place, especially for so long. Sure, we’d gotten into a fight. We often did—but she needed me now more than ever. My dad had always gotten pissed at me for giving her “attention” when she acted out, but the truth was, she needed it. Maybe not so much “attention,” but she definitely needed support.
Part of me didn’t really want to go back home, though. Part of me wanted to stay away. It wasn’t because I was still pissed at her—that had quickly been smoothed over, and replaced with anger for Ian. It was because I knew that as soon as I saw her, she’d know something was up, and I didn’t want to deal with explaining things. I didn’t want to talk about it and become even more confused and pissed off than I already was.
I let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed at my temples, trying to will the incoming headache to go away before it really got started. I couldn’t deal with a headache on top of everything else.
I was still so damn mad about everything that I didn’t even realize how much of the burger I’d eaten. I hadn’t eaten it all, I knew that much, because I held part of it in my paper bag as leftovers. But as I walked through the streets toward home, I noticed my stomach basically felt like it was full of lead.
“Fuck,” I groaned, holding my tummy as I walked. The exercise was honestly good. It was a good introduction to the week in the gym I was going to have to hit after eating such a ridiculously huge burger.
At least it got my mind off Ian. At least for a moment I wasn’t so mad. Right then, I realized how often I seemed angry on my walks to and from home, and I couldn’t wait to get a fresh start in California. It’d be nice. New surroundings, new feelings. But it couldn’t come quickly enough, because while I was in New York, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ian. He was there, constantly, the memory of him tormenting me on my way home. The questions I had now that I didn’t have before meeting Amelia Markewicz.
I would just have to forget him. That was all there was to it. It’s what I had to do for my own sanity.
The nagging thoughts of him just leaving me standing there in the middle of Starbucks like an idiot, without hardly any sort of explanation other than “our daddies didn’t get along” really irked me. Who gave a damn what our dads did?
I sure as hell didn’t.
Once I got upstairs, I took a huge huffed breath and barreled into our apartment, only to trip over a purple backpack. My legs flew behind me, face went forward, my brown paper sack of food went flying, and I felt impact with the hard floor.
“Goddamn it, Claire!" I yelled as I punched the floor with balled fists.
She skidded on the floor as she ran into the living room. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I sighed sarcastically and kicked her book bag away from my feet to make a point. I then bent to pick the brown bag off the floor before walking it to the kitchen, holding it close, as if I should have been whispering “my precious,” in an overly creepy voice. It was silly, but even though I was already incredibly full, I just wanted to stuff my face, sit on the couch, and forget about the shitty day I’d had.
I slammed the paper bag down on the counter and pulled out the burger. I needed something to drink, and it was going to be a party. I reached up above me to look for the glasses, only I didn’t find any. Nor did I find them in any of the other cabinets I tried. The only thing I found was wine. Lots and lots of wine. And some scotch.
With every cabinet I opened, I grew more irate.
Claire was watching me as I slammed the cabinet doors shut. “Jesus, what are you doing?”
I whipped around to look at her, even though I knew that I probably had one of the nastiest looks I’d ever have on my face. “I’m looking for a glass,” I said. “Why are there no damned glasses?”
Tears were starting to form in the brims of my eyes, burning, aching to fall.
“Just go grab one out of Dad’s bar cart,” she said.
I moved across the room to the bar cart and tried to pull one of the glasses from a shelf. When it got stuck, I lost it. It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I screamed. Kicked the bar cart over and over. Then pounded the top of it with my fist and just collapsed over the top of it sobbing.
I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. I usually didn’t let things affect me this much. I’d been used to having arguments. My dad and I had a good argument about every damn day. I barely even knew Ian, so why was I so upset?
“Stop freaking out!” Claire’s eyes flashed in panic.
I wanted to ask her what the hell she was going to do about me freaking out. After all, this was the kind of shit that she made me deal with on a daily basis. Hell, she’d sworn at me just earlier this morning. I glared. “Then don’t talk to me right now!”
It didn’t seem to matter how counterproductive my outburst was. I wasn't in a place to comfort her even when I saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, no matter how bad it immediately made me feel. Instead, I just pulled out my burger and laughed at how much I’d eaten — and even more when I saw what was left. So, I went from screaming at a bar cart to laughing at a monstrous burger. I officially felt like I had snapped.
“What the hell?” Claire asked, her face contorted as she looked down at the monstrosity of a burger.
“What?” I asked, as I grabbed it up and took a giant bite.
“Did they slaughter a whole cow to make that thing?” she asked, as she came closer to see what I had.
“I think it’s possible. I accidentally ordered a burger the size of six burgers,” I said with my mouth full. My voice was muffled, and I really couldn’t help myself from laughing at how much of a pig I’d been.
“And you’ve eaten half of it.” She looked disgusted. “That’s three burgers!”
“Want some?” I asked, trying to entice her.
“Not even a little bit.” She still looked disgusted, but instead of leaving, she walked closer to me and leaned against the countertop.
“So, really, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Claire asked.
I still wasn’t ready to talk about it. That’s why I was stuffing my face so much, because I was trying to avoid it all together.
“You know, you’re acting crazy,” she pointed out as I stuffed another large bite into my mouth. “Do I need to share my meds with you?”
I grabbed the bottle of wine, instead of the glass that I’d assaulted the bar cart for and already poured wine into, and I started to chug. She was right. I was acting crazy.
If I were an onlooker, I would have sworn that I was the sister with the personality disorder.
“I just want to go up to him and kick him square in the balls,” I said.
“Who?” she asked, and that’s all it took. From there, I let the whole story pour out, divulging everything that’d happened today with Ian. And then with Amelia.
“You said you want to kick him in the balls?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I laughed. “Honestly, I’d prefer to do a lot more than that now.”
“Well, go upstairs and do just that, then,” she said with a laugh.
“What? I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s the joke?”
“I mean go upstairs and kick in him the gonads,” she replied, as if what she was saying made the most sense in the entire world.
“What the hell do you mean, Claire?”
“Well, if that Ian guy is John Cross’s son, then he lives upstairs in the penthouse,” she said in the most matter of fact tone possible.
“What?”
“You don’t know that?” She laughed as she turned around and headed out of the kitchen, toward the living room.
Confused, and completely interested in what she was saying, I left the food and wine behind and followed.
“Explain, please,” I insisted.
“I mean, I overheard Ben and Dad talking about being so close to the competition or whatever.” She rolled her eyes.
“Wait, what?” I asked, still unable to understand exactly what was going on. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Ian. Upstairs? In this apartment building?
“They were rattling on and on about it and finally just chilled out after saying something about ‘keeping enemies closer.’ I don’t know.”
“Claire, focus. Which penthouse is his?”
“I don’t know which penthouse he lives in,” she said. “There are like four of them up there, right? All I know is that he’s definitely up there.”
It clicked. Every time I thought I’d seen him around — there might have actually been a few times where I’d actually seen him—I wasn’t just imagining things. If he lived right here in my building, then it was entirely possible.
I couldn’t believe we’d been so close. How could I not have realized it? I zoned out, thinking about him and the entire situation. Suddenly, Claire was snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“I swear,” she huffed. “How could you not know this? You say that I don’t listen. You must never listen to Dad. He complained constantly—bitterly as hell—when Ian first moved in after his dad died. Just go downstairs and sweet talk the security guard to figure out which one he’s in,” she said diabolically. “I’m not allowed to ask him for favors anymore. The manager told Dad I was into too much ‘mischief.’”
She cackled, proud of herself. But all I was able to think about was the fact that I needed to talk to the security guard. Maybe Ian thought he could just drop me without hearing from me again, but I needed closure. I needed to tell him exactly what a dipshit I thought he was. I may or may not have been planning to use the word “assfunk” again. Repeatedly.