Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
WILL
Y ou know you have to move on from her eventually, right?
Rachel’s words play on repeat in my head, bouncing from one corner to the other. Ever since yesterday, our conversation is all I have thought about. I’m not sure which part is taking up the most bandwidth: her comments about Océane or about my love life?
Before I can figure it out, a gruff voice brings me back to reality. “Hey, you listening?”
I jerk myself upright and make eye contact with Ryan, who has one eyebrow raised. He knows I was distracted. “Sorry about that.” I straighten my tie and give him a quick nod. “Just thinking about the Tremblay project.” I’m not thinking about the Tremblay project.
From the other side of the meeting table, Rob nods in understanding. “Who isn’t?”
Me. I’m not. I’m thinking of someone I shouldn’t.
Once again, I’m reminded of how much is at stake here. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s my job. I can’t let the other crumbling facets of my life take that away from me.
Because right now, money is all I can bring myself to give Océane. Screw that up, and I’ve got nothing.
Ryan’s thick eyebrows raise again. Against the backdrop of the huge glass window, he’s an intimidating sight. But he doesn’t say anything else to me. Instead, he keeps on talking about … shit, what is this meeting about, again?
I focus my attention on Ryan and attempt to fall back into the flow of the meeting. Ah, yes. We’re talking about our rocks—a fancy way of saying our focus and responsibility for the next quarter. Right.
The rest of the meeting goes by without a hitch. But when Ryan dismisses the others, he stops me with an open palm. “Let me take you out to lunch.”
I gulp.
At thirty-five, Ryan is only a year older than I am. But while I spent the better part of my twenties partying and dipping my nose in various elicit substances, Ryan instead put his nose to the grindstone and diligently completed his reps. Before too long, he had the cash he needed to start his own business, and now here we are.
Ryan was happy to give me a chance once I cleaned up my act and presented myself as a professional who was ready to hustle. Now I’m somewhat of a protégé for him, although he’d never admit it in front of the other guys.
I can’t let him down.
I walk in silence as we head to lunch together. Even though I tower over him, Ryan Dorias’s presence is powerful. It’s in the way he confidently owns the sidewalk, but not in an asshole kind of way, like those guys who don’t move aside for women and take up the whole space. No, it’s something about his energy. His aura.
I used to secretly loathe men like him. When I spent my nights drinking—or snorting—away my problems at Matt’s side, we mocked these types of men, feeling superior to them. Every moment I focused on bringing someone else down distracted me from what was going on in the house I grew up in, where Océane remained trapped.
Before I know it, Ryan and I are seated at his favourite restaurant, La Petite Maison. He greets the waiter with a smile. “How’s your old man?” he asks the waiter, who looks to be about the same age as us.
“Still unstoppable.” The waiter chuckles. I think I recognize him as the owner’s son. Ryan has brought me here so often that I’m starting to recognize the Iraqi owners more than some of my own coworkers. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”
“Please do.” Ryan doesn’t even look at the menu, instead focusing his attention on me when the waiter leaves. He always orders the same thing—the dolma.
Before he has a chance to talk, I speak up first. “I know my performance has been dropping. And I want to let you know I’m going to fix it.”
Ryan squints. “Will.” He only calls me that when we’re alone. Everyone at the office calls me Bill. “What’s going on?” There’s real concern in his expression. “I’m worried about you. Not about your performance. I just feel like your morale’s been dropping.” He leans closer and softens his gaze. “You know I actually care about you, man.”
I sigh and look away. The last thing I want right now is to get into everything with him. I’ve always done my best to keep my relationship with Ryan strictly professional, even as he’s become a mentor for me.
But maybe it would help. Just to share a little bit.
“Family drama,” I explain. Ryan gives me a tired look. He’s expecting me to say more. But instead of volunteering any more info, I test out the terrain. “You still talk to your parents, right?”
Ryan laughs out loud, deep from his belly. “My baba would cross the ocean and rattle me senseless if I didn’t. What of it?”
“How would you deal with it if your parents didn’t treat you and your siblings the same?” From what I know, Ryan is the middle child in a family of five.
He shrugs. “They didn’t. Baba doted on my sisters. Gave me and the other guys a bit of a rougher time. But nothing I haven’t gotten over. Why?”
I open my mouth but decide against what I was going to ask. “Never mind.”
“No.” His face gets serious. “You were about to say something. Come on, Will. Don’t you trust me by now?”
I do. With a deep sigh, I propel myself into my question: “What if they abused your sisters instead of doting on them?”
Ryan’s expression darkens. “Then there is no place on this Earth where they’d be safe.”
I let his words wash through me. Before I can reply, the waiter comes to take our order. When we’re alone again, Ryan looks at me inquisitively. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. But I’m going to guess you asked me this for a reason.”
I don’t know if I should spill my guts to Ryan. I know he wishes I would, but he’s not a therapist. He’s my boss. And I have to uphold somewhat of an illusion that I’m holding it together. Plus, I now know he won’t understand. He won’t have the answer to the question that has gnawed at me from the inside over the last decade: How do you reconcile love for the ones who gave you life when you also hate them more than anyone on this Earth?
“I just hope that you know I’m here for you,” Ryan continues. “You know I want nothing more than for you to succeed. But these things …” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “When left alone, they can completely unravel a person.”
“I know.”
“If you’re not going to talk to me about it, have you considered therapy?”
I groan inwardly. Rachel has been harping me about going to therapy for a while now. “Not you, too.” I sigh. I just don’t get how talking to a stranger about my problems is going to get me anywhere. And that’s if I could even bring myself to open up to said stranger.
“No, seriously,” Ryan insists. “Consider it. I think it would do you some good to talk to somebody, at least.”
I’ve got Rachel. Despite me being the big brother, I can’t deny she’s been a lifeline for me our entire adult life. Her husband Karan, too.
Thankfully, Ryan drops the topic, and we enjoy a nice, casual lunch together. Only when I’m eating the last bite of my falafel do I remember something important: I have a meeting this afternoon. Shit.
I lean over the table to spy Ryan’s Rolex and see I’m going to be late, even if I leave now.
Shit, shit, shit.
So much for doing my job.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan pipes up.
“I forgot about a meeting I have with Rob and a potential client.” I jerk up from my seat and gather my jacket. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”
“Don’t. It’s my fault for distracting you. Go.” He waves me away with a hand and an encouraging smile.
I rush out the door, hoping I’m lucky with the metro schedules.
I’m not.
At lunchtime, there’s a metro every three to five minutes, but I still miss it by a few seconds, wasting precious time. And when I transfer from the Green line to the Orange line, the same thing happens.
By the time I rush onto Mont-Royal Street toward the café where we’re supposed to meet this new client, there’s a sheen of sweat on my brow. I do my best to slow my breathing so I can steady my heartbeat and arrive on the scene without being too frazzled. First impressions matter. I’m wearing one of my best suits—a dark charcoal that makes my tan skin pop—and my chestnut hair is neatly trimmed, not a hair out of place.
I try to recall all the information I can about this potential client. Rob was initially assigned to this inquiry, but he invited me to the meeting because he thinks I’d be a better fit to help them. Most of my experience is with businesses in the events industry, so it may have something to do with that.
Finally, I arrive at the café. As I step inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee envelops me, calming my nerves. With the gentle glow of Edison bulb lighting and walls adorned with local art, the space feels both intimate and vibrant. Quiet conversations, the clinking of cups, and the occasional hiss and whistle from the espresso machine create a soundtrack that’s both lively and soothing.
I look around and spot Rob sitting at a table in one of the corners of the café. As usual, the bags under his eyes hang heavy. My eyes shift to the person seated in front of him, and my heart stops in my chest.
Sophie’s golden hair falls in silky waves across her collarbones. Even though she’s wearing a pale beigy rose turtleneck, it can’t hide the graceful curve of her long neck, against which shines a sophisticated pair of golden hooped earrings. Her lean legs are tucked away in brown flared pants, but I know all too well what the soft skin underneath looks like.
And those damned ocean-blue eyes are staring straight at me with fiery anger.
I’m sprung back to the last time our gazes crossed. I haven’t seen her since that horrible night. I can still remember the vitriol in those beautiful eyes when she ran past me in the hallway. She was never my biggest fan, but at that moment, I knew she hated me.
And I understand why she did. Moments later, I had walked into the same room she’d just run out of and seen Matthew for myself. By then she was long gone already. I didn’t get a chance to explain to her that I didn’t know.
If I’d known about Matt’s cheating, I would have told her immediately.
I push the intrusive thoughts aside and put on my professional face. Sophie does the same; her jaw slackens, but that fiery look in her eyes doesn’t leave.
“Ah, there you are, Bill! I was just telling Miss C?té about you.” Rob greets me just as I take a seat next to him. Of course Sophie looks surprised. No one outside of work calls me Bill. She wouldn’t have made the connection.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. Sophie narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t say anything. Despite this, she’s just as beautiful as ever.
Breathe, Will.
Rob continues: “Bill, we were just discussing how your expertise would be a great fit for Sophie’s goals. I’ll let you introduce yourself a bit more thoroughly.”
“Actually,” I begin, feeling a rush of courage, “that won’t be necessary.” I need this to go well. I need to show her I’m not the asshole she thinks I am. I lift a corner of my lips to offer her a smile. “Sophie and I are well acquainted.”
Rob’s eyes go wide. “Is that so? Well, that’s fantastic! How do you two know each other?”
Sophie opens her mouth to speak, but something possesses me to speak before I can stop myself: “Old friends.”
And from the look on her face, I know I’ve said the wrong thing.