The proposal, p.5
The Proposal, page 5
The doors opened and the guy sprinted into the hallway with his briefcase clutched against his chest with a single look back, like he wanted to be sure I hadn’t followed him to carry out my plans of homicide.
He jumped at my apologetic smile as the doors closed.
Ha! Welcome to feeling like a woman, buddy.
Trusting Leo to help me pull this off would end up like every group project I’d ever been involved in. Never trust someone else when your ass was on the line, or you’d get burned. A lesson I’d learned early and often.
The ding for my floor zapped the energy out of me. My apartment had never been a refuge and now it sucked my will to live like living on the edge of a hell mouth or with a succubus.
“Zara!”
I jumped at my name shouted in the previously vacant hallway. Her Spidey sense tingled the second I stepped off the elevator and, no matter what, she always grabbed me. It probably wasn’t the worst thing to know someone who always seemed happy to see me, but did she always have to be so excited?
“Hey, Stella.” I stood in front of my door with my key in the lock, not opening it. I’d stand out here until I grew cobwebs, rather than let her catch even a glimpse inside.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” In her plush ducky slippers and matching robe, she waved me into her apartment. With a quick glance down the hallway, she widened the door for me to come in, while keeping her gaze locked onto the elevator like we were about to do a drug deal.
“What’s up, Stella?”
“Your shirt’s different from this morning.”
I squeezed my forehead, warding off the pounding headache threatening to send me into lights-out territory. A dark, quiet space was what I needed. And sleep. “It’s been a day.” The words leapt from my mouth, sharper than I had meant them to.
Her shoulders dropped.
Fuck. Stella was the nicest, sweetest person ever and I was an asshole. “I’m sor—”
“I think Adam’s cheating on me.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d walloped me with a thirty-pound tuna. At least my snapping hadn’t been the sunny mood killer.
But then my brain cycled back through her words.
“Adam? As in your boyfriend, Adam? The one who learned to braid your hair when you sprained your wrist?”
She toyed with the end of the French braids hanging down over her shoulders and nodded.
“The Adam who nearly got frostbite when he went out in last winter’s blizzard to get you a box of Butterscotch Krimpets and hot chocolate because you ran out?”
She bit her bottom lip. “He’s being so weird lately. And he flies out this weekend.”
“For his first residency interviews. The same ones you forced him to take since he only wanted to apply to schools in the tristate area to be near you.”
Ducking her head, she crossed one foot over the other, smoothing the poor plush duck head under foot. “I know, but he’s been so off lately.”
“Maybe he’s nervous about the interviews. They determine whether he’ll get a residency placement and become a doctor. He’s the sweetest guy ever. Don’t work yourself up over something that’s most likely nothing.”
She released the knot she’d been twisting in her sweatshirt, worry swirling in her eyes. “You think I’m being silly?”
“I get being nervous. You have a good thing with Adam—you’re afraid of losing it because you value the relationship. Don’t let your worries ruin it.” The words rang hollow to my ears, but she didn’t seem to notice. Everyone always let you down. The only person I could count on not letting me down was me and, hell, even I sucked. “He’d never cheat. Talk to him, if you’re worried, and let him know how you feel.”
Her smile brightened. “You’re right, I’m being stupid. Did you want to come in and watch some TV?” She pulled the remote out of her robe pocket and waved it at me like she’d hand over control and we could watch whatever I wanted. Another reason Adam was a saint. Her bloodthirsty love for WrestleMania knew no bounds, and he never complained once, even though he was more of a nature documentary kind of guy.
“It’s been a long day. I’m headed to bed.”
“Okay, goodnight.” She waved the remote at me again.
I turned the door knob and stepped into the hall. Seconds from freedom.
“Any leads on a new roommate?”
So close. I turned as she opened the door wider. “Nothing yet. You know how hard it can be to find a good one.” More like impossible, and letting someone back into my place wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do right now.
“I don’t blame you. Jeannie was a fucking mess.”
My jaw dropped and a laugh escaped me. “Language, Stella.”
“She was. Get some rest, Zara. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Will do.”
She closed the door.
I took my chance and rushed across the hall to my apartment before she changed her mind. Kicking the door behind me, I dropped my stuff. The absolute stillness and silence should’ve filled me with joy, but instead a creeping dread about what hid in the dark tightened my throat. I didn’t turn on the lights. Why blind myself with the horror show after the day I’d had?
This is what I got when I let other people help—a kick in the teeth.
No. Shower, bed, sleep. Tomorrow, I’d do it again. Three more days until we presented to Winthorpe.
This was my life now. I had one chance to pull this off and I wasn’t letting Leo steal even an ounce more of my sanity. I’d be calm, professional, and double and triple check everything he did until the account was mine.
Tomorrow the war was on. And I knew one thing for sure.
Leo Wilder wasn’t screwing me.
7
Leo
The mountain of extra spicy buffalo wings sat in the middle of the table. The flats versus mini drumstick battle had begun, with everyone staking their claim to a section of the pile. “She screamed at me like I was trying to mug her, spilled coffee all over herself and blamed me.”
Hunter waved over the waitress. “We’re going to need more blue cheese. A lot more. Put what you think is an excessive number of cups on your tray, and then double it. Not telling you how to do your job, just trying to save you a few trips.” He winked and she laughed, winking right back.
She walked away like she knew he was looking—and he absolutely was.
The bar with live music had become our go-to after games. Not only was there killer food, but the owner didn’t care when we showed up sweaty and barely presentable.
Using the muscles I hadn’t worked out in a while kept me focused and as close to sane as possible. I was an event planner now. It hadn’t been what I’d seen for myself when I’d been carted off the field on a stretcher, but neither had walking and talking, so I counted myself lucky.
Jameson slid his almost finished cup of blue cheese closer. “Leo is telling us his story and there are wings on the table. Can you concentrate and not flirt for a whole twenty seconds?”
Hunter leaned back with his patented smart-ass smile. “No, it’s genetically impossible. I’ve been tested. Do you want to see my doctor’s note?
August leaned closer to cut through the squabble. “And now you’re working with her?”
I threw down my wing. “For the next month. If I don’t get this account and more work, Felix’s company is gone. It’s all Sam has left of him. I can’t let that happen.”
Everest butted in with his ever-helpful commentary. “Weren’t you going on and on about looking for a sportscaster job? Trying to get Hunter to set you up with connections to get in there. Something about the financial well drying up?”
“I’m working on it. Hunter’s working on it.”
Hunter gave me a wing salute. “Pulling strings as we speak.” He moved his fingers through the air like a puppet master. “Is she at least cute?”
Cute. I rolled the word over in my mind. The way her skirt skimmed across her thighs, the shoes with the high thin heels. Those were legs a guy couldn’t not notice. “She’s got great legs, but she’s also got a serious shrew vibe.” No longer bathed in a cloud of annoyance at her presence, I could see how someone might think she was cute. Faintly red hair, mossy green eyes. If it weren’t for her inability to drop the scowl, someone might even confuse her for pretty. Maybe even more, but I couldn’t afford distractions right now.
August stole some fries. “Does that mean you get to tame her?”
Hunter leaned back in the booth opposite me, trying to get the server’s attention by “subtly” flexing his biceps. “I’m sure those legs will look wonderful when she’s standing over your charred body after she figures out you have no experience whatsoever.”
“I planned killer parties in high school. What about the day before spring break senior year?” If you gave people good food—and even better, alcohol—no one was complaining about anything.
Jameson clutched his stomach. “Killer was right. I had my head out the window the whole drive down the shore the next morning.”
August blew the paper off his straw in Jameson’s direction. No one walking by would mistake us for guys only halfway to thirty, but something about hanging with old friends made reverting to those childhood roles so easy. “What are you moaning about? I was the one who had to clean the puke up before it peeled the paint off the walls.”
The server came back with a tray practically swimming in blue cheese.
“Thanks, darling,” Hunter’s slight drawl amped up whenever he got his way.
I’d seen women punch guys for less than a darling, but the server was practically glowing. Her cheeks turned red and none of us missed the neatly folded napkin shoved into Hunter’s hand.
August shook his head. “Do you emit a pheromone? Or have hypnosis skills we don’t know about?”
“It’s called game. And I’ve got a football field’s worth of it.”
Everest’s head popped up. “Is that where Leo’s went?”
My fingers tightened around my beer bottle. His perfect white teeth wouldn’t be so straight when he picked them up off the floor.
“Everest…” Jameson went full-on Dad Mode with his chiding, which made me feel a hair better. “Everyone will eat their wings, drink their beer, and have a great night, dammit. I only get one of these a week. Don’t make me find new friends.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and served up a searing sigh.
We all buried our faces in those wings or beer bottles, trying to hold back the laughs. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.
My eyes connected with August. Tears swam in his eyes and he choked back his laugh. That broke the dam, and we were rewarded with a spray of beer from Hunter, who’d tried and failed to drink his way past laughter.
The forks and knife jangled as Hunter pounded his hand on the table.
Jameson slammed Hunter on the back. “It’s what you all get for stressing me out on my night out.”
Hunter coughed into his napkin. “If this is the best evening entertainment you’re getting, we need to find you a date. I’ve never been able to pin down your type.”
Jameson dragged his fingers through his hair. “It wasn’t an invitation to matchmake.”
“Who said anything about matchmaking? I’m talking straight up.” He grabbed an onion ring and slipped his finger inside, knowing all Jameson’s buttons.
Jameson slapped the onion ring out of his hand, sending it flying into Everest’s lap. “Stop it.”
“These are cashmere.” Everest jumped up, knocking the greasy onion ring from his lap—and sending a full bottle of beer onto its side. It spun, facing his legs. He froze, staring straight ahead. The pitter-patter of ice cold beer splattering all over the floor, his pants, and shoes, warmed my cold heart.
Keeping his laughter-filled mouth hidden behind his fist, August righted the bottle and handed Everest a stack of napkins, which he snatched and dabbed at his pants.
Jameson and Hunter were fascinated by something happening behind the booth. I sat grinning from ear to ear, taking another bite of my food. I leveled a chicken wing at Everest. “They make cashmere sweatpants?”
Everyone lost it. The whole place was looking at us now, trying to figure out who’d died as we all doubled over gasping for precious breath. Even Everest cracked a smile.
More wings and drinks arrived before the happy hour special ended. A kid, (I’d need to check with Harold, the bar owner, to see if he was indeed an actual child), got onto the stage with a similarly-aged girl in a bright orange shirt who was moving around the cables and cords.
“Have you heard this guy before?” Hunter asked over his shoulder, already turned towards the stage, wings forgotten.
“No, is he any good?”
“He’s phenomenal. I might have put in a word for him with some people I know.”
Hunter, always the string puller and connection maker.
The girl in orange hopped down and stood at the side of the stage with another guitar at the ready.
The guitarist would’ve fit in with the D&D mob we’d played with for a few years in middle school. He wore an Avengers t-shirt, cargo shorts, Converse sneakers and an uncertain look that disappeared the second he opened his mouth.
A shiver ran down my spine at the first note. Everyone at the table looked at one another. Was this insanely talented kid for real? Now that he’d opened his mouth, he sounded at least eighteen.
All conversation stopped. Some people were watching mid-bite. Nacho cheese slid off tortilla chips all over the place until he sang the last bar.
“He won’t be playing here much longer.” Jameson shoved two fingers into his mouth to whistle in the way that had made me jealous since middle school.
Someone on the way up. The world was his oyster and anyone could see his talent would take him far.
After four more songs, the young singer spoke to the crowd. “I want to dedicate this set to my best friend, Riley. She convinced me to ask Harold if I could perform and she always has my back.” He peered at her, still standing on the side the stage.
She gave him two thumbs up, grinning from ear to ear.
“Aww, puppy love.” Hunter laughed, clapping before cupping his hands around his mouth and joining the calls for an encore.
We paid our tab and left the bar before Harold could kick us out.
“Same time next week?” Hunter looked up from his phone.
My empty apartment called my name. That had been a shit ton more excitement than I’d had in months. “Penciling us in?”
He shrugged. “Everyone knows I’m a busy man.”
“Same time every week.”
I got back to my apartment and dragged out my laptop. Cracking my knuckles, I fired up my web browser, typing in ‘event planning’. How much could there be to this?
Tomorrow, I’d lay out all the ideas and drag Zara along if I had to, because I wasn’t losing this job, especially not to a ball busting, barely ginger with killer legs.
Scratch that last part.
I wasn’t going down without a fight.
Zara Logan had met her match.
8
Zara
We met outside on the steps to the Winthorpe’s flagship hotel. The gravel driveway led to the grand entrance with stone and marble steps and doormen in tails.
Unable to endure the stone digging itself into my arch a moment longer, I set down the portfolio and kicked off my shoe, emptying it. He’d wanted to bring the presentation, but I’d told him to leave it to me. I’d switched out the boards and put them into the still-pristine portfolio I’d never used for a client presentation before.
“Where are the boards?” Leo hissed and stared into the half-unzipped portfolio.
How hard was it to see inside a bag? Did I have to do everything, including see for him? “They’re right—” Blood drained from my face. The new car smell from the never-used portfolio was even stronger, since it was totally empty. I lifted it and turned it over, shaking it.
My lips were numb and the entryway to the hotel blurred. “I grabbed the wrong portfolio.”
It was the showing-up-to-class-and-there’s-a-pop-quiz-I-didn’t-study-for nightmare, only it was real and happening to me right now. In my stupid rush this morning, I must have left them sitting on the floor where I’d pored over them last night in my bathroom, which was the only room with a functioning light bulb where I had floor space to work.
“Go get them. I’ll stall.” He glared at me and rushed to the top of the steps of the hotel.
I’d never screwed up like this on a project before. I wanted to crawl into the empty portfolio and die.
“Zara.” Leo shook me, staring into my eyes. “Can you handle this? Get the boards and get your ass back here.”
I nodded dumbly.
His arm shot up and a taxi pulled forward. He shoved a couple twenties into the driver’s hand through the open window, and pushed me into the back of the taxi and we hauled ass to my place.
Sweat poured down my back as I jabbed the elevator button five times in a row. Of all the days to forget my stupid tablet, this had to be the day. I could see Leo’s condescendingly smug face looking down at me when I got to the meeting with minutes to spare.
Squeezing through the barely opened doors, I yanked my bag free and sprinted to my door. The telltale squeak of the door opposite mine almost had me flinging myself into my apartment, but it was too late.
“Zara,” Stella squealed.
“Hi. I’m insanely late. I’ve got a big meeting.” I blew a strand of hair out of my face, doing the dance of impatience, but trying not to snap at her. It wasn’t her fault she had bat ears and the excitement level of a six-week-old Yorkshire Terrier.
