Chapter Eleven

 

Shane

 

My body is still humming from Julie the next morning when I wake up. Before I even open my eyes, I reach over for her. She isn't in my arms, and I want to remedy that as soon as possible. The sheet beside me is still warm, but she isn’t on it. I move over slightly, and finally, my fingertips touch her. Opening my eyes, I see Julie sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to tie the strings on the back of her gown.

"Don't do that," I say.

"I have to," she says.

"Why? If you tie your dress back on, you won't be naked, and I want you to be naked."

"That's a bit of a problem since I can't exactly go to work naked. People frown on that."

"It's Saturday," I protest. "You shouldn't be working."

"Summer is too short for me to take days off," she says.

I don't really understand what she's saying, but a second later it occurs to me she's referencing the end of her agreement with Mr. Slidell and the cut deadline. It's an unpleasant push back into the reality I've wanted to avoid since getting her into bed with me.

"At least stay for breakfast. And you can't possibly go home looking like that. It's not exactly subtle."

"I don't have any clothes with me," she says.

"That's fine. I'll have something delivered for you."

"You already paid for my gown, shoes, and new work clothes. Isn’t that enough?"

"I happen to have it on good authority that you barely scratched the surface of the amount I thought you'd spend. You barely bought anything."

"Would that good authority happen to be Sue?"

I smile at the name of the woman who owns the boutique where I sent Julie, and who also happens to be the older sister of one of my teammates.

"Maybe," I say. "We've been friends for a few years now."

"I didn't know it was possible for you to be friends with a woman," she teases.

"Another vote of confidence," I say. "Like I said. Think of it as an expense account. You deserve it for everything you're doing. I'll get something brought up to you, and I'll order room service for breakfast. Unless you're still full from last night."

"No, I'm hungry."

I'm not sure if Julie catches the double meaning, but my cock jumps in response to it.

"What are you in the mood for?" I ask.

"Pancakes."

Damn. Not the answer I was looking for.

She continues, "If I'm going to be here for a little bit, I'm going to take a fast shower."

She sweeps out of the room still in her gown, and I groan as I roll onto my back. Grabbing my phone from the bedside table, I dial Sue. I hadn't planned on getting Julie into clothes this early in the day, but the protectiveness I've started to feel for her won't let me just send her out to do the most formal walk of shame I’ve ever heard of.

Not walk of shame. There is nothing about last night she should be ashamed of.

I explain the situation to Sue, and she assures me a courier will be at the hotel within the next hour. Thanking her, I end the call and then dial room service. Halfway through ordering her pancakes, I hear the shower turn off. By the time I am sliding my phone back onto the table, Julie is walking out of the bathroom wearing one of the hotel bathrobes and drying her hair with a plush towel.

"You change clothes like a superhero, and you shower like a superhero," I say.

"It's usually faster than that," she tells me. "But it took me a little longer to jackhammer off the layers of makeup Bindi put on me."

"I'm just a little disappointed. I was hoping to join you when I got off the phone."

Julie looks at me for a few, strained seconds.

"Look, Shane. Last night was great. I had an amazing time. I'm not saying I regret anything, but I think we should put it behind us and pretend that it didn't happen."

Am I really going to get the morning-after 'this really shouldn't have happened' talk?

"Why?" I ask, pulling myself up to a sitting position.

"Because it's a distraction from what we're supposed to be doing. Remember how angry Mr. Slidell was when he thought we had a conflict of interest because we knew each other when we were younger? Well, I'm sure he would consider this a disaster."

"Is this about Joe?"

Julie cringes.

"Why would it be about my brother? He never crossed my mind."

"Even though he can't stand me, and has probably never done anything but trash talk me?"

"I'm an adult, Shane. What my brother thinks isn't really any of my concern. And the fact that you would even suggest that perfectly illustrates how much more work we have left to do. You are so incredibly arrogant that you have to believe there's something else going on behind the scenes to make me say no. It's not possible that I made the decision myself. No, it has to be because I don't want to upset my brother, which is creepy as hell, by the way."

I can see she's getting angry, and my chest tightens. The last thing I wanted to do this morning was upset her.

"I shouldn't have brought him up. I'm going to grab a shower."

I don't bother to cover up as I walk toward the bathroom, and I notice Julie's eyes trailing after me as I go. Maybe I'll be able to change her mind after all.

Turning the hot water up until it stings my skin, I stand with my back to the stream and dip my head back into it. I relax under the water until I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in," I call out to Julie.

I look around the curtain and see the bathroom door open just a few inches.

"Breakfast is here," she says.

"OK. I'll be out in a minute."

When I'm finished, I walk out into the living area of the suite and see Julie eating. She's curled into a chair by the balcony doors, the sunlight coming through the open blinds surrounding her. Her legs are tucked under her, and she's twirling a piece of her wet hair around her fingers, just like in the recliner all those years ago. Without taking her eyes away from her phone, she reaches for the fork on a plate perched on the arm of the chair and takes a bite.

"Is it good?" I ask.

I make my way toward the silver cart sitting in the middle of the room, and down half a cup of coffee in one swig.

"It is," she says. "How's the coffee?"

"Not as good as when you make it."

She rolls her eyes, but I see a hint of a smile on her lips.

"I'm still not making your coffee. That career trajectory has officially ended."

"That's a shame." I top off the cup from the carafe sitting on the tray, pick up my food, and sit down in the chair across from her. "You decided to quit?"

"No, they decided to fire me. It seems trying to take a month of personal time when you've only been working there a few weeks makes you no longer welcome.” She takes another bite of her pancakes.

"What are you reading?"

"Morning news."

My muscles tighten involuntarily.

"Anything about our escapade last night?" She peers at me over the top of her phone. "I mean, us being late to the gala?"

Julie shakes her head.

"No. There's a mention that you were there, though. It's brief but positive, so that's good. At least there aren't any pictures from our run-in with Edna."

"I think there was probably enough going on at that party to keep her amused. Who knows who was under some of those masks?"

Julie laughs, and our eyes meet. The questioning in them is gone, but the heat remains. She starts to say something, but a hard knock on the door cuts her off. We both look toward it, and I stand to look through the peephole. A bellhop is on the other side, holding a large box in one hand and a bag in the other. I open the door, and he steps inside to put everything down on the counter in the entryway before accepting the bills I offer him and leaving.

"What was that?" Julie asks.

"I believe your delivery from Sue has arrived."

"I thought I told you I didn't want you to buy me any more clothes."

"And I thought I told you to think of it as an expense account. It's just a perk. You like to talk about how much money I make all the time. So, let me do something good with it."

"I guess I can look and see what she picked out for me."

"OK. Making progress. I can work with that."

I set the packages on the table in the center of the room and Julie puts her breakfast plate aside before reaching for the bag. I watch her open it, and her face drops.

"This is interesting," she says, reaching into the bag. "How much weight does she think I can gain at one party?"

She pulls out a pair of jeans, and it's obvious they aren't her size. Reaching into the bag again, she pulls out a folded piece of paper and opens it.

"What's that?"

"A note from Sue. 'In case you didn't pack anything, either.' I think this bag is for you."

She hands the bag and the jeans over to me and places the box on her lap. Lifting off the top, she looks inside.

"Better?"

"Definitely. I'm going to go change."

Julie goes into the bathroom, so I change in the bedroom. She's finished before I even get a chance to put my belt on.

"How do you do that?" I ask as she comes into the room in a blue sundress and sandals. "Most women take forever to get ready."

"I have my moments," she says.

I watch her fold her gown from the night before carefully over one arm, and a thought occurs to me.

"I thought you said you never wear sundresses," I say.

"I said I don't spend my weekends in pink sundresses," she responds. "I don't know, though. Maybe I'll add a few more of these into my rotation."

"You should," I tell her. "They look great on you."

I take a step toward her, but Julie starts for the door.

"I'm going to go," she says. "Thank you, again, for everything."

"You don't have to rush off," I say.

"These contacts are really bothering me," she says. "And I don't have my glasses here. I just need to get home and start planning our strategy for the next couple of weeks. I'll call you when I figure it out."

The words rush out of her mouth, as if she's trying to force them out as fast as she can, so she can leave. I walk her to the door, and she smiles up at me for a second.

"I had fun last night," I tell her.

"Me, too."

She slips out of the suite into the hallway, and I reluctantly close the door. Last night wasn't supposed to happen. Not that I haven't been thinking about it. I understand what Julie said about not getting distracted and focusing on the job in front of us. It makes sense, but I don't like it. I can't pretend I don't realize my attraction to her, or that my feelings toward her grow stronger every time I see her, but I also can't deny her resistance. Spending one night with her in my arms will have to be enough.

For now.

 

Julie

 

"Don't look at me like that. It's not like I planned it. It just kind of… happened. No, I'm not saying it was an accident. I knew what I was doing. But that doesn't mean it can ever happen again."

Rubber Duckie continues to stare at me blankly.

"I already told Shane to pretend last night never happened, and that we need to focus on the job. That's what's important. There's only a month left. That's it. I can get through a month of pretending that nothing has changed between us, and then move on."

R.D.’s wide-eyed expression mocks me.

"You have absolutely no faith in me, you know that?"

Before I can continue accusing a piece of adhesive rubber of being a bad friend, my phone rings. Shaking the bubbles off my hand, I dry it on the towel sitting and waiting for me on the toilet lid and reach for my phone. Shane's name glows on the caller ID, and I don't know if I should answer it. Hearing his voice while I'm naked might not be the best thing for my resolve, even if we're nowhere near each other. Not answering it, though, will make me look like I'm overthinking everything.

Which I am.

"Hello?"

"Did you get a lot done today?" Shane asks.

"Yes. It was a really productive day."

If by productive, I mean cleaning my apartment and trying not to think about Shane, while waiting for a brilliant idea to appear in my head.

"Are you still working?"

"No. I wrapped it up for the night an hour or so ago."

"Can I come over?"

I sit up straighter in the tub, my heart suddenly pounding.

"Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"No. Everything's fine. I just thought if you’re done with work for the evening, and don't have any other plans, we could eat some pizza and try to prove Jessica Fletcher is the one murdering everyone."

I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it incredulously. Is he trying to hit some sort of reset button? When I said we need to pretend like last night never happened, did he take that literally and decide we should go back to before the flirting began – when Mrs. Livingston butted into our first meeting with cover-pizza and a need for a mystery marathon?

Suddenly I feel the idea I've been waiting for burst into my mind.

"Oh, my god," I mutter.

"It doesn't have to be pizza."

"No, pizza's fine. I mean, it's not fine. I mean…. I’ll call you back."

Ending the call, I slide my phone across the floor, so it won't get wet as I scramble out of the bath. I dry off as I run across the hall and dress as fast as I can. On my way back to the bathroom to try to create an only slightly toned-down version of the makeup from the gala, I scoop my phone off the floor and start doing some digging. My social media mining skills have improved dramatically over the last few weeks, which I fully intend to add to the skills section of my resume. Once I get the information I want, I finish my makeup, blast my hair with a blow-dryer, and rush out of the apartment.

Twenty minutes later, I'm pushing my way through a sea of humanity in a crowded bar filled with flashing lights, multi-layered clouds of smoke, and several hundred drunk people. This might be slightly more difficult than I anticipated. I stop and look around. My eyes fall on a woman with a thick ponytail and half a shirt. Could it be that easy?

She turns around, and I don't recognize her. Nope. Not that easy.

I take a few steps, and another familiar-looking girl walks between two of the tables scattered beside the expansive dance floor.

Yes?

No.

A few minutes later, it happens again. This is turning into the hardest Easter egg hunt ever. Finally, I hear an unmistakable voice. I've had to listen to it in sound clips since I first started working with Shane. I make my way through a wall of people toward the bar and see Vanessa perched on a stool like she's holding court. The smug smile on her face tells me she is delighted with herself like she's already won against Shane.

Not on my watch.

Reaching back into my high school days, I muster up all the emotion I can, dust off the improv skills I learned in two semesters of theater and approach her.

"Vanessa?" I say in a shy, teary voice.

Her expression fades slightly as she turns to look at me.

"Yes," she says. "Do I know you?"

I don't know how her relationship with Shane didn't work out. She's such a peach.

"No," I say, managing a sniff. "But I really need to talk to you."

"Why?" she asks.

I look around dramatically, then lean closer to her.

"It's really personal," I say.

"I'm sorry, but I'm here with my friends. I'm a little busy."

"Please," I say. "It's really important. It's about Shane."

"Shane? Shane Lawson?"

I nod. My gaze flickers over to the other side of the bar, and I consider the feasibility of grabbing one of the slices of lemon out of the garnish bucket and flicking a little juice in my eye to work up some tears. That might be a bit too much dedication to my ruse. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like it's necessary. Vanessa hesitates for a moment, then nods.

"Fine," she says. "But I only have a few minutes."

"That's plenty," I say. "Thank you."

I step back, so she can get off her stool, then follow her through the bar toward the bathroom. Once inside, the blaring of the music is somewhat muffled by the door, and I feel like I can speak at a normal tone.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" she asks. "I've already made my statement about Shane to the media."

I nod again.

"I know," I say. "That's why I'm here. I want to talk about what happened to you."

"I'm not interested in doing any other interviews. Especially in the bathroom of a bar while I have friends waiting for me."

"No," I say. "I'm not here for that. I just want to talk to you about what happened, because he did the same thing to me."

I wait for her reaction. It doesn't take long. All the color from her face drains away.

"What? What did he do?" she asks.

"He was so sweet at first," I say, the story already unfolding in my head. "We've only been dating for a few weeks, and I thought I'd found this amazing man. Recently, though, I started to notice he's changing. He's so angry and yelling all the time. It seems like everything I do is wrong, and no matter how hard I try I can't make him happy. Then one night he got upset because I made him the wrong chicken for supper, and he hit me. I couldn't believe it. I didn't think something like that could ever happen. I didn't even want to tell anybody, I was so embarrassed. I felt like it was definitely my fault. But then I heard more and more about what you went through with him. I felt like I'm not alone. There's someone else who really understands what I've gone through."

"Well, I'm really sorry you had to deal with all that," Vanessa said, sounding about a thousand miles away from actual sincerity.

I crank up the desperation.

"I know you are," I say, reaching out for her. "That's why I came here to talk to you. I wanted to know how you're getting through it, and how you're able to just live a normal life. It's just so hard."

"I guess you just have to put it behind you and move on."

She tries to take a step around me to get out of the bathroom, but I shift to block her way.

"But you didn't put it behind you," I say. "You didn't just ignore it or try to pretend like it didn't happen. The two of you hadn’t dated in a really long time, but you were strong enough to come forward. I think that's what I need to do. I thought maybe the two of us could stay in touch. Maybe we could even work together to help each other heal and help others."

"Work together?" she asks.

"Yes," I explain. "The two of us together would be so much stronger than either one of us alone. We could start a blog or go on talk shows and talk about our experiences. Maybe we could even write a book. I've been thinking about talking to the police."

"The police?"

"Yes. What he did is a crime. He doesn't have the right to treat us this way, and if we let him get away with it, he's going to do it to other people. Can we live with ourselves if we let that happen?"

Vanessa takes a step back from me, shaking her head and holding her hands up to her sides.

"Look, I don't want any part of that."

"You don't have to be afraid," I tell her. "We're in this together. He can't get you anymore."

"No. We're not in this together. If you want to go through with all this, you're going to have to do it on your own."

"Why would you say that?"

I can see she's about to crack.

"Because I made it up," Vanessa finally snaps.

"You made it up?" I ask.

"Yes. OK? Yes. I made it all up. I lied about Shane mistreating me. So, you can't fucking lean on me. I don't have anything to do with this. I didn't actually think he was like that. He's an ass, but he's never been violent toward me or any other woman I knew about."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"Like I said, he can be a real asshole. And he's been making things hard for my new boyfriend. I wanted to make him miserable for a while, and maybe get him cut from the team. But I'm not about to get myself wrapped up in anything legal. You need to just back off and pretend you never talked to me."

"So, you made everything up?" I ask. "Shane never hurt you in any way?"

"No. He never hit me, and if you tried to drag me to court with you, I'd swear to that. Now it's time to leave me alone."

I can barely contain my smile.

"Gladly."