CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Margo

 

I stared at the letter.

“Am I dreaming?”

I checked the letter again, pinched myself. No, I was awake.

“I got the job!”

I jumped up and down where I stood in my hallway. It was Monday and the post had just arrived and I was amazed.

It was a letter from the Human Resources people at Realtone. I was the face of the brand.

Oh my God. I felt like a kid as I ran to the kitchen, putting on the kettle to make a celebratory coffee. I dug out the best coffee I had from the back of the cupboard. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was wearing a long bathrobe; my hair was curly and loose and my eyes shone.

“The new face of Realtone. Oh wow.”

I read the letter again as I drank my coffee. It really was happening.

“Please report to our offices as soon as you receive this to fill out the forms.”

“Oh!”

I put the letter on the tabletop and ran into my bedroom. What to wear? And I still needed to put on makeup!

“Calm, Margo,” I told myself. “Calm is of the essence.”

I grinned at myself in the mirror. In the end I settled on my black leggings, a long white shirt and a duster that matched the leggings. My makeup was just the dressy side of nude look. My hair I did in a knot on the top of my head, some strands escaping.

“There. I look the part.”

I liked the brand—it had a mix of ultrasophisticated and city grit. And my outfit kind of hit the right note. I giggled.

“I’m so happy.”

I did a little turn in front of the mirror, grinned at myself and floated downstairs.

I arrived at the offices at midday and headed up to the HR section.

“Ms. Lawrence?” an older, kind-looking woman greeted me at the desk.

“Yes. That’s me. I got the contract!”

I was grinning madly and she laughed. “You look happy.”

“I do. I am.”

I was happy.

We went over the papers together and I signed all of them. It felt like a signature practice class, and by the time we’d finished, my wrist was sore and my eyes crossed from all the fine print. It was lunchtime.

“Thanks so much, Ms. Reynolds,” I said as I left.

“No worries,” she called. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

I was looking the other way when I walked through the door, which was why, as I entered the hallway, I walked into him.

“Oh!”

Mr. Burnes smiled at me.

“Hello. Congratulations!”

“Oh?” I pulled myself together fast. Why did this guy make me feel so disconcerted? Damn him. “You heard?”

He smiled. “My dear lady. I knew all along.”

“Oh.”

I felt my heart sink a bit. Was he suggesting it was his idea I got the contract right away?

“Yes.” He nodded. “And now that you’re here, I’d like to invite you to lunch. To celebrate.”

“Oh.”

I frowned. I knew he was just being nice, but something in me flared a warning.

“Well, it was me who recommended you to the manager,” he said smoothly. “So I guess it’s my pleasure to welcome you.”

I felt my heart thump. “Oh.”

“Of course, if you don’t want to be friends…” He made a little shrug.

Dammit! What was my problem. The guy did me a favor. I could just go for lunch. It was lunch, after all. I should be friendlier.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d like that.”

“See?” he smiled. “Wasn’t that easy?”

I chuckled. “Well, I’d have to be silly to say no.”

“Yes,” he said.

I smiled, though his remark was confusing.

“Well, then,” he said lightly. “At Halton’s at two?”

“Okay,” I said. It was a restaurant I didn’t know, but if he recommended it, I guess I was open to new things.

“Great,” he said. “It’s around the corner of Jefferson street. I can give you a lift?”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll walk.”

He shrugged. “If you like.”

I thanked him and left, heading down to the bathroom. It was still half an hour away. I guessed I should start walking.

I managed to find the restaurant. When I went in, I blinked. All Norwegian wood and glass, the place was modern, stylish and high-end. I looked around and spotted him at the table in the corner. He stood.

“Margo! Great to see you.”

“Hi,” I said. He pulled out my chair and I sat down, wondering why he was being familiar. It wasn’t like I really knew him properly.

I chided myself. He was a polite guy—hell, why was I so unfair?

“The menu, ma’am.”

A waiter in a suit passed me two menus—one for drinks, one for lunch. I perused them and across the table, I felt his eyes on me.

“You know, I am glad you’re with the company,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” I said. I had no idea why, but his very presence made me feel awkward.

“I couldn’t think of a better face for the brand. The moment I saw you, I knew.”

“Thanks,” I said. I tried to focus on the words on the page, but my mind was unfocused. I couldn’t have said why, but something about the way he was with me, felt off.

“I think I’ll have the soup,” I said, noticing they had a wild mushroom potage with artisan loaf that sounded really good.

“Oh, come on, Margo,” he said chidingly. “You don’t want that. Have the pasta.”

I frowned. I was twenty-eight, and I was fairly sure I knew I wanted soup. But I couldn’t understand why that felt wrong to me. It would be really ungracious to say I wanted something else, wouldn’t it?

“Okay,” I said. “Why not?”

He laughed. “Exactly. Why not, indeed?”

I let him talk me into ordering the spinach and ricotta pasta, and then a glass of wine. It always made me feel weird to drink wine in the middle of the day, but if he was offering…why not?

The meal arrived speedily.

“So,” he said as the plates were put down in front of us. “I’ve told you about me. Tell me about yourself.”

I frowned. He hadn’t really told me about him—just a few scattered facts about his career. And I had a reluctance to reveal much about myself to him—there was this funny suspicion inside me that he would use it against me.

He’s not an FBI agent, for pity’s sake, I told myself harshly. And this isn’t a thriller movie.

“Well, I was born here in Milwaukee, and I’ve lived here all my life,” I began. “I guess it’s a bit boring, isn’t it? I mean, I might look all sophisticated in the shoots, but really, I’m a down-to-earth girl.”

He smiled. “Well, we all have our boring sides.”

I blinked. “Thanks, I think.”

He chuckled.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell,” I conceded, trying some of the pasta. It was delicious, I had to admit. “I went to tech and studied photography, actually. It’s a passion of mine. I sometimes wish I could be a better photographer myself…” I trailed off. Why was I telling him all this? I felt as if he was focused on me, drinking it all in. It made me feel interesting, when normally I thought of myself as just a pretty face.

“Well, that’s a great course, photography,” he said. “I belong to the Milwaukee Photography society. You should see my pictures sometime.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was nominated for an award.”

“Oh.” I blinked. I was impressed. I’d never gotten an award for anything—not unless you counted some small ones at school.

“I’d like to share them with you,” he said. “We’re both just amateurs, I guess, but still.”

I frowned. Part of my mind felt that was off. I did have a diploma in photography. But I guess I was an amateur. And I’d never gotten an award for my pictures.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“It could be fun,” he added. “For when you get boring, my Milwaukee native.”

I laughed. I actually felt hurt, but he was just teasing. I pulled a face.

“Fine,” I said. “We have your pictures to look at when I’m boring.”

“Exactly.”

We chatted a while longer and the bill arrived.

“Let me…” I began, reaching for cash. He rolled his eyes.

“Margo, do try and be sophisticated?” he said in a loud whisper. “It’s my job to pay. Sorry,” he added to the waiter. “We often have these moments.”

I looked at my hands, whole body burning with shame. How had I done something so basic, such a stupid gaffe? I was sure that everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. I just wanted to run.

“There,” he said, handing the waiter a generous tip. “Thanks a lot.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He headed off. I felt as if I didn’t want to look up. But Durrell Burnes spoke gently.

“Come on, my Milwaukee rose,” he said gently. “Let’s go home. Don’t worry about them,” he said, flipping a hand at the rest of the restaurant goers.

I sighed and smiled at him. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry I can be so…awkward.”

“You are awkward,” he conceded generously. “But in a nice way.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling genuinely grateful.

We stood and walked out together.

At the car—his car, he hesitated.

“You’re so beautiful.” he breathed. “I’m sorry, but…forgive me?”

He leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was gentle on mine, his tongue slow and exploring. I didn’t know what to do. He was so nice—he’d taken me out to lunch and I’d been so awkward. I owed him my contract. I couldn’t dream of embarrassing myself in front of him, or him in front of the people going past.

I let him kiss me.

“Margo,” he sighed. “Wow.”

I felt my cheeks flame. I was desperately uncomfortable. His hand was on my arm, and he looked into my eyes. He narrowed his gaze, and I felt my pulse jump.

“I should…I should go,” I said quickly. “Th…thanks for lunch.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said.

I turned on my heel and walked quickly away. My head was spinning and I was confused. I felt as if I had been violated, but I couldn’t have said exactly why.

It’s just a kiss, Margo. So, the guy was a bit friendly after the wine. Anyone could have been Get over yourself.

I sighed. Who was I to object, anyway. He had given me this contract. As he said, I was a plain, unsophisticated and direct Milwaukee girl with very little to recommend me. He was my hope for a secure future.

How could I even think of denying him a silly kiss?

I headed back to the offices, feeling a bit unsteady. Then I drove home. When I reached my apartment, I headed upstairs and had a shower.

Then, abruptly, I lay on my bed and cried.

I looked at the clock. It was five pm. I didn’t want to do anything. Just sleep. If I slept, I would forget. If I forgot, I wouldn’t have to think. I was so confused, I would do almost anything to avoid having to make any kind of choice.