4. Maureen
Chapter four
Maureen
W aking up only hours after Billy brought me home felt like coming out of a fever dream, the time-out-of-mind sensation so acute I could easily convince myself last night hadn’t happened. Except, brushing my hair in the mirror, my fingers drew to that place in front of my ear where he’d grazed his nose. My breath caught with the memory.
Bren was home from Chase’s and eating grapes at our small kitchen table when I came out of my bedroom. She asked how my night had gone.
“Fine. We got some food, and then he brought me home.” I gave a bored shrug, snapping a grape from the bunch in front of her.
Letting her think my date with Billy had been unremarkable kept me from having to answer a bunch of questions I wasn’t ready to deal with. I’d been so indifferent toward romance my whole life. And now, without trying, I’d gotten a taste of the type of connection I’d always scoffed at. With a chuckle, I remembered that I’d forgotten to give Billy my real name at the end of our night. Hopefully, he’d have a laugh about that.
I went to work at the big box store I’d been at for over a year. My manager had been accommodating during my time there, so I’d given three weeks’ notice, other than the few days off for Thanksgiving. It was tough waiting to start my new job, but I wanted to be professional.
As I folded merchandise and inwardly cursed the teens making a mess of the displays, my thoughts drifted. I didn’t want to jinx it, but it felt like things were finally coming together for me—a career and possibly a relationship.
I waited for Billy’s text.
One of my coworkers grinned at me the hundredth time I pulled my phone out to check it. I narrowed my eyes at him and made myself focus on helping customers. Never in my twenty-six years had I waited on a guy. But I was excited, dammit. Last night was good .
When Billy asked to text me, I’d assumed he meant as soon as possible.
But he didn’t text that day.
Or the next.
I went through the motions at work, trying to ignore the lack of buzzing in my back pocket. That night, sitting next to Bren on the couch and pretending to watch the Christmas movie she’d put on, a knot began to form in my stomach.
A third day passed, still with no word.
I couldn’t have read him wrong, right? I mean, he hadn’t tried to sleep with me, so what would have been the point of him messing with me if that was what it was?
No. I felt positive he’d been sincere.
A few more days passed. I went through the motions of holiday shopping and decorating our little apartment. Played the third wheel at the movies with Bren and Chase. The pit in my stomach grew, but my pride kept me from reaching out to Billy first.
Finally, one week after we’d met, just before I was about to break and message him myself, he texted me.
Two words.
BILLY: I’m sorry.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
A million thoughts ran through my head . He was sorry? Sorry for what? Not texting? Leading me on? Our whole night? Something else?
I waited for another text that would provide clarification, but none came.
He’d been right there with me. I hadn’t hallucinated him at Musicbox. Or Denny’s. Discussing his art, listening to me talk about my mom. And at the end of the night, he’d wanted to kiss me. Hell, I was sure he’d wanted to pull me into the back seat.
I’m sorry .
Apparently, I wasn’t worthy of details. I waited an hour, but as the minutes ticked by, it became obvious no further messages were coming.
I thought about texting back. Insisting he explain. Ripping him a new one for playing with me. But I didn’t run hot like that. When it came to someone screwing me over, I ran very, very cold.
I thought there’d been meaning behind meeting Billy, how he’d made me feel things I never had before. And, clearly, it was significant. Just not in the way I’d envisioned.
Whelp, lesson learned. I should have just taken backward baseball cap home for a forgettable lay and a see-ya-never.
Billy had backed away from me initially in the club, held himself in check during our conversation, told me flat-out things were complicated, and didn’t go for more than a cheek graze even though our chemistry was lethal. I’d known something was off. What a stupid, stupid mistake I’d made.
Letting him in.
He could take his lame-ass I’m sorry and shove it.
Starting a new job in retail less than a month before Christmas demanded my full attention. I channeled my rage at Billy into relentless focus on my work and a desire to be the best damn buyer Kolya’s had ever had. For the first few months, I’d be shadowing the store’s current buyer and vowed to learn everything I could. Luckily, Krissy was a lovely woman, eager to take me under her wing.
On my third day, she told me as gently as possible that I’d need to elevate my personal style to be taken seriously at work. “It’s fine to be a little different, but you want people to think of you as bold, not quirky. Betsey Johnson can get away with pigtails in old age, just like Anna Wintour can wear sunglasses indoors. But until you make a name for yourself in the industry, it’s important to only stand out in the best ways, at least at first.”
The advice came at an excellent time. My goth-meets-thrift-store college wardrobe and makeup had grown tiresome. I’d never be a loud colors or cheerleader type, but my deep skepticism and world-weariness didn’t need to manifest in an all-black wardrobe and thick eyeliner. I could keep my combat boots, as long as they were clean and polished, and pair them with sheath dresses and wide-legged slacks. Krissy advised me to lean into my boyish frame, clucking her envy that I possessed a body type that lent itself to boat necks and pleated pants. She espoused the value of tailoring and having quality staple pieces as the foundation of my wardrobe, no matter my budget.
The first two weeks on the job were a whirlwind of absorbing new information and experiences. My feet ached from being on the ladder, working on store displays. The pads on my thumbs went numb from pinpricks. I arrived home exhausted every night. Cereal became my go-to dinner.
Bren was my champion, offering to pick up the slack with the house chores so I could focus on my new gig, and she kept the pantry stocked with my favorite drinks and snacks.
I knew I was lucky to have such a supportive best friend, which was why I felt bad about retreating to my bedroom whenever Chase came over. But watching him make cow eyes at her as she fought their inevitable coupling was not something I needed to witness.
Not when I was trying to keep my mind off a particular someone.
I’d been able to put my night with Billy from my mind. Mostly. But I found it harder late in the evenings when it was quiet and dark. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt, and more than that, it stung that Billy had gotten to me and made me feel something more than a passing attraction. Since I’d started dating as a teenager, I’d avoided that, and he’d broken me down in one night.
Thankfully, those thoughts disappeared with the sun. The mornings kept coming. Keeping busy helped me avoid thinking about Billy during the daytime.
An effective strategy.
Right up until I saw him.
I’d volunteered to do an early afternoon Starbucks run. The closest location to Kolya’s was on the ground floor of a hotel in our downtown neighborhood. I ordered everyone’s drinks on my app and did the five-minute walk to pick them up. As I entered, Justin Bieber’s “Mistletoe” came through the lobby speakers. I paused to admire the ornamented garland near the elevator banks. Things had been so hectic I’d practically forgotten Christmas was only a few days away.
But I was here for caffeine. Not to look at decorations.
I rushed through the lobby.
A flash of blue-black hair caught my eye.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
There had to be other men in Seattle with that hair color. Hundreds of thousands of people lived in the city. But not today. Even from behind, seeing only his head and shoulders peeking out above an armchair, I knew it.
He sat at a little table along the side of the lobby, the kind used for bar seating during other times of the day. And even though Starbucks was on the opposite side of the cavernous room, I felt myself drift toward Billy. Toward disaster. Like a magnet.
I couldn’t help it.
The chance to ask why. Or rail at him. I wasn’t sure.
A voice in my head screamed at me for this insanity. I’d held on to my pride this long. My dignity was the only thing I had left.
I’d never messaged him. Never let him know how much he’d hurt me.
How successfully he’d played me.
But my feet would not stop moving. Driven by the part of my brain that couldn’t resist, the part that couldn’t stop asking, what was the “I’m sorry” for?
He hadn’t seen me yet.
A beautiful woman with wavy blond hair and a megawatt smile sat across from him, talking and laughing elegantly. She wore cream-colored slacks with a blush-pink blouse. A gorgeous brown Birkin bag sat in the chair next to her.
The possibility existed that this woman was one of Billy’s colleagues. She certainly looked like someone who could work at Wallingford Capital. But there were tells in her soft features, something in the way she occasionally touched his hand as she spoke that told me they were more than coworkers. The smart thing to do would have been to turn around and walk away. After three weeks of hardening my heart against Billy, my instinct should have been to protect myself. He still hadn’t seen me, after all. No good could come from moving closer.
The woman noticed me as I approached. I imagined my expression looked determined. I felt the hardness in my eyes, but also the shakiness of my limbs. She stopped speaking as I came up along Billy’s side.
He looked up, not understanding what he saw at first. Then his eyes bulged comically, and he flailed in his seat, rising without thought to a standing position.
I’d been sure, of course, but at least a part of me was still surprised. It was Billy, but also…not. More like the American Psycho version of him. Gone were the jeans and T-shirt and messy curls. His suit fit perfectly, cut sharp and angled to give his compact frame maximum advantage. Product held his slicked-back hair firmly against his skull. The only thing the same was the enormous, expensive watch dominating his wrist, more at home flashing in the lobby lights than under the dull fluorescents of Denny’s.
“Mo?” he asked, disbelievingly, looking me up and down.
“Hey, Billy.” A part of me had been dying to open with something more like, “Hey, you fucking ghosting liar,” but it hadn’t felt right. Still, I narrowed my eyes.
“Billy?” the blond woman questioned, staring up at us.
“Um… It’s a nickname,” he stuttered.
“Really?” She eyed me with interest. “I’ve never heard anyone call you that.”
I coughed as my breath hitched.
He registered my response, quick to reassure me, “It’s a nickname. For William.”
“William.” It sounded rotten on my tongue.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as though I’d wandered into his living room.
“Working.” I pointed at the Starbucks sign. “Coffee run.”
Billy’s eyes burned as he studied me. I felt certain he noted my upscale outfit, along with the taming of my hair and makeup. “It’s nice to see you,” he stammered, raising his left arm before catching himself and lowering it to his side. Becoming aware he’d jumped to his feet at my approach, he took a calming breath and sat back down.
“You too,” I replied. Even though it wasn’t nice. It was the opposite of nice, running into this Wolf of Wall Street version of Billy—William—in the middle of my workday. It was disconcerting and nausea-inducing. Every wrong thing about allowing myself to imagine possibilities with him came barreling to the forefront of my mind. I was a stupid fool. A terrible thing to realize, considering I’d taken so much pride in not being foolish.
Billy didn’t dispel the uncomfortable air. He just stared at me.
If he thought I was going to smile and make small talk, he was sorely mistaken. I wasn’t going to help him out. I waited. He owed me more words.
Finally, he darted his eyes at his companion before speaking to me. “I know I should have texted more,” he began. “Except I wasn’t sure—” He looked at the blond again. “I couldn’t—”
Billy gulped audibly as his gaze raked over me again. His regard shone nakedly, the longing so unmistakable I couldn’t excuse it as anything else. I’d been right. He wanted me. The evidence of his desire should have felt like vindication. But it didn’t. It just pissed me off. Because I was more confused than ever.
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how—”
The blond huffed exasperatedly. She was done. Done with his clumsiness. Done with him looking at me like I was his favorite flavor of ice cream.
“I’m Rosalyn,” she said, tossing her hair and reaching her arm out. “William’s fiancée.”