Chapter 20
Chapter 20
AND THEN DISASTER STRUCK. Well, not quite disaster, more the potential to ruin my life irreparably forever. So yeah, disaster.
On Friday night, I was out on my own date, back at the club we’d had one of our first dates at all those months ago. I’d endured ninety entire minutes of incomprehensible noises coming out of the lead singer’s mouth as his bandmates seemed to play whatever they felt like on their respective instruments. The word “cacophony” didn’t even begin to describe the racket.
We were back at the jazz club.
When the final set was over and the band had mercifully left the stage, Parker wrapped his arm around my shoulders, beaming at me. “I’m so happy you like The Scat Cats, Cassie. They have such a great sound, don’t they?”
“Yes, they’re very”—I searched my brain for the right words, like a frantic mother hen looking for her lost chicks—“uniquely talented.”
Parker seemed more than happy with my response. “They are, aren’t they? I’m so pleased you’ve learned to appreciate jazz. It means a lot to me.”
I shrugged, enjoying the compliment.
“You’ve come a long way since the ‘cat’ debacle.”
“Ah, yes. A long way.” He had to go reminding me how I thought “scat” was “cat” because the people who do it sounded like cats to me, yowling and carrying on. I wouldn’t say it to his face, but I stand by my mistake. The Scat Cats front man sounded like a feline in need of emergency vet treatment, if you were to ask me.
Parker reached across and took my hand in his. He looked into my eyes. “Cassie. You’re amazing, you know that?”
My mouth went dry. Was this the moment? The moment I’d been waiting for?
“Thanks. You’re pretty amazing, too.” I smiled at him, my lips trembling, my heart hammering away like it had a couple of carpenters in there, bashing nails into floorboards.
He looked down and began to play with my fingers. “I—” he began. He cleared his throat. “That is, I wanted to say that—” he hesitated, looking up at me.
Oh, my. This was it! This was the moment he was going to say, “I love you”!
“Yes?” I encouraged, swallowing hard. I opened my mouth, ready to respond with an equally emphatic “I love you, too.” He paused.
Say it. Say it.! SAY IT!!
“Sara?”
What? Sara? Had the man lost his mind? I was about to correct him when, in one fell swoop, he abruptly pulled his hand away from mine, dropped his other hand from my shoulder, and stood bolt upright as his chair crashed to the floor behind him.
“H-hello,” Parker stammered.
Rooted to my seat, I gawped at him, dumbfounded, my mouth gaping wide. He was about to tell me he loved me—I was sure of it—and now he was standing, looking like a star-struck teen, deep in shock, staring at a woman. A woman who was not me.
With a superhuman effort, I pulled my eyes away from him to look at the object of his attention. What I saw stopped my heart for several beats, possibly more. Sara . Beautiful, elegant, slim, Sara. With her long auburn hair, chic strappy top and slim-fitting black pants, and her long string of old money pearls.
She looked like me, only better. A whole lot better. I tried to swallow down a rising lump in my throat.
“Parker.” Her face lit up, rendering her even more beautiful than before. Unlike my boyfriend, who now looked like he could throw up, Sara appeared relaxed and at ease. Bumping into him had clearly not rattled her one iota. “How lovely to see you.”
“Yes, ah, Sara. I should have known you’d be here tonight,” Parker mumbled, not taking his eyes from her.
Action was needed. And fast. I stood up and stepped next to Parker, sending a clear message: he’s mine. “Hello. I’m Cassie. It’s nice to meet you, Sara.” I stretched my hand out toward her. She took it and smiled at me.
“Hello, Cassie. It’s lovely to meet you, too. This is Justin.” Sara gestured to a man I hadn’t even noticed standing next to her. He reached out and shook my hand, then shook Parker’s.
We stood in uncomfortable silence for what felt like a week before I asked Sara, “Did you enjoy the band?”
“Oh, she would have,” Parker answered for her, smiling at me with his eyes virtually popping out of his head. “Sara always loved The Scat Cats.”
Sara lifted her long, elegant hands into the air in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”
“I haven’t been to one of their gigs in a couple of years. I really liked the block chords, didn’t you?” Justin said.
“Yes, they were brilliant.” I had no idea what block chords were—and doubted I ever would—but I wasn’t about to look like a jazz ignoramus in front of Sara. “I liked all the chords, actually.” I smiled at everyone, ignoring the tension emitting in waves from Parker’s head.
Justin shot me a look that questioned my sanity. “Yeah, great. Anyway, I thought it had integrity, great dramatic meaning, right, Sara?”
I blinked. He’d got “great dramatic meaning” from the noise we’d all just sat through?
Sara agreed with Justin, said something about the musical progression, all the while still smiling her dazzling smile. And still being stared at by an unblinking, unmoving Parker.
I slipped my hand into his and gave it a squeeze. He turned and looked at me. Finally, he snapped out of his perfect, jazz-literate, ex-girlfriend-induced haze. “Well . . . it’s been great to see you again, Sara. Hasn’t it, Cassie?” He didn’t wait for my response. “And it’s nice to meet . . . you.” He nodded and smiled at Justin—he clearly had no clue what his name was. He’d been too busy gawping at Sara. He tightened his grip on my hand until it was almost vice-like.
“You, too,” Sara simpered. She leaned in and kissed Parker on the cheek. I couldn’t help but breathe in her scent—an intimidating mixture of Chanel and the aroma of flawlessness—and watched with dismay as Parker stood stock still, unmoving, a hard, steely expression plastered across his face.
“Take care, Parker. It was wonderful to see you again. You’re looking great.” Sara turned to me. “Bye, Cassie.” She smiled at us both before floating away into the dimly lit club, Justin at her side, spouting on about sharp riffs and open voicing—or something.
Still gripping my hand, Parker looked around the room, his chest heaving. His face was pale, his nostrils flared.
I’m guessing that didn’t go so well.
“Ah, Parker? That kinda hurts.”
He looked down at my hand. Something in him seemed to change, and suddenly my Parker was back. I pulled my hand away from his and tried to shake off the pain.
“Are you all right? I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Here, let me take a look.”
With reluctance, I let him take my hand in his. He inspected me, and then put my palm to his mouth and kissed it. “Let’s sit down. Okay?”
“Sure,” I replied uncertainly.
He righted his seat, and we sat at the table together. I went to speak, but he held his finger up and drained his glass of red. After a moment, he sighed, took my injured hand in his once more, and kissed it again. “I’m sorry about that,” he repeated.
“It’s okay. Nothing broken.”
“No, I didn’t mean your hand. I meant about bumping into Sara like that. I, well, I wasn’t prepared.”
I shrugged. “It’s hard to bump into an ex. It’s only natural to get a little freaked out by it.” I was trying to be the kind of mature and together person I read about in magazines, able to allow my life partner to have feelings for another woman yet still feel comfortable in our own relationship. Or some other such total bull.
“That’s exactly it!” He looked like he might pop with exhilaration. “I didn’t expect to see her, I wasn’t prepared, she had that . . . guy with her, and that’s it!”
I played with the stem of my wine glass. “Yes. And it doesn’t mean you have any feelings for her or anything,” I lead.
“No. Of course not.” He squeezed my injured hand.
“Ow!” I squealed in pain. What is this man trying to do to me?
He dropped my hand to the table like a hot coal. “Sorry, sorry.” He buried his head in his hand. “I’m really messing up here.” He looked back at me, his face a study in dejection. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I really am. I’ll get myself together. Don’t you worry.”
I nodded at him, clutching my hand to my chest. There was no way on earth I was going to offer it to him again tonight. If I was entirely honest, an infinitesimal part of me wanted to enjoy this moment, a moment in which Parker was the one feeling embarrassed instead of me. But I couldn’t. Witnessing his reaction to Sara tonight, my heart sunk deep, deep down into my belly.
“You and me?” He pointed from himself to me and back again. “We’re solid. We’re good. Right?”
“Sure. Yes. Totally.” I smiled weakly at him, even though all I wanted to do was cry. Cry until I couldn’t cry anymore, until my eyes were swollen shut, my nose a blob of red, my throat raw.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Good. You’re what matters to me, Cassie.”
“Sure,” I breathed, trying to swallow the rising lump in my throat.
A pile of heavy bricks joined my heart in the pit of my stomach.
Parker was in love. And it wasn’t with me.
And those bricks stayed down there all weekend. They sat, heavy and foreboding, telling me things were wrong wrong wrong. Try as I might, I couldn’t get that look on Parker’s face when he first saw Sara out of my head. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning. And not in a good way.
And Sara. Every time I thought of her, I cringed from my toes right out to the ends of my hair. I simply couldn’t get past the fact she looked so much like me! Or rather, as I was quickly realizing, the fact I looked so much like her .
Until Friday night, I had thought Parker’s dad, Dickie, was just bad with names, mixing me up with Sara. Now, I could easily see how he would have confused me with her.
Really, lose ten pounds, gain a few inches in height, throw on a string of expensive Mikimoto pearls, and I could easily be Sara Winston-Smythe. That was her name: Sara Winston-Smythe.
Of course it was.
She was the queen of golf and tennis, jazz aficionado and art collector. And to top it all off, she was a doctor. A doctor! How could I ever have a hope of competing with her in Parker’s eyes? I mean, come on! The woman was hardly playing fair.
Parker spent the rest of the weekend telling me how important I was to him, how much he loved being with me, how he could see a future with me. In a nutshell, everything except those crucial words: “I love you, not Sara.” He apologized close to a gazillion times for his awkwardness in seeing her at the jazz club, saying he wasn’t expecting to see her, she’d caught him off guard, next time he’d be prepared. Yada yada yada.
I tried to believe him. Oh, how I tried. But I was there, I saw how he’d looked at her, I saw how stricken he was. It was as clear as a summer day to me he wasn’t over her. In my darkest moment, at three in the morning when I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, I realized the painful truth: Parker was still in love with Sara Winston-Smythe, and he’d chosen me, her look-alike, as a consolation prize.
“Come on, Cassie. You have to come,” Paige pleaded with me, standing at my desk on Monday morning, looking super cute in a new princess blue dress and the biggest smile I’d seen in days. “I need to tell you about my big date!”
I sighed. “Sure. I’d love to hear about it.” I forced a smile, trying to appear happy for my friend. Which was a big ask when my own love life was in the proverbial toilet, about to be flushed away by Sara-I’m-Parker’s-perfect-ex-girlfriend-Winston-Smythe.
“Good.” She stretched out her hand to help me out of my chair. She somehow intuited I could barely manage it myself.
“Wow. You really look like you could do with some caffeine therapy,” Marissa commented as we greeted her at the elevator. “Rough night?”
I had called Marissa in floods of tears, sobbing incoherently into the phone, after Parker had finally abandoned his mission to make me believe him on Sunday. Barely able to make out a word, Marissa had jumped in her car and turned up on my doorstep with wine, two flavors of ice cream, and a large box of tissues.
Best. Friend. Ever .
In between blowing my nose like I was in the brass section of one of Parker’s awful jazz bands, I updated her on my sorry tale: how he still hadn’t said those three little words, and how I was certain he was still in love with his ex.
“Do you think he was trying to make you into her? You know, with taking you to jazz clubs, playing golf with you, and things?” Marissa had asked.
Up until that moment, I had only thought he wanted a girlfriend to look like Sara. Fresh tears welled in my eyes. “Now I do.”
“Oh, honey.” Marissa had handed me a fresh wad of tissues, which I’d made use of as my tears flowed.
“Right. So. The way I see it, you have two choices here: either put on your big girl panties and end it with Parker . . .”
I’d let out a gasp. The thought of breaking up with Parker was too much. “Or?”
“Or—” She had looked into the distance, scrunching up her face, deep in thought. “Or nothing.”
I swallowed. Hard.
“Cassie, I just don’t see another way around this. Do you? If you are his rebound girl, then you’re wasting your time.”
“But what about the beach pact?”
She had dismissed my concern with a wave of her hand. “We’ve already agreed that’s a load of old hooey.”
“Well, you said it was a load of old hooey, not me,” I corrected her, my voice timid, worn out.
“What are you going to do, flog a dead horse just so you make sure you marry this guy? Just so you don’t go upsetting the Goddess of the Sea, or whatever it was Paige called her.”
“Beach. It was the Goddess of the Beach.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Cassie, be realistic.”
I’d looked down. It may have meant nothing to Marissa, but I believed it. And I was convinced it would work. Until now.
Marissa had placed her hand gently on my arm. “Cassie, I’m your friend, right?” I’d nodded grimly. “Keep your dignity. Move on. He’s not worth it. And you will find the right guy someday, I’m sure of it. And he won’t be in love with someone else.”
At the elevator in the office, I let out a heavy sigh. “Not a whole lot of sleep last night, I guess.”
Marissa wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “You need chocolate. Stat!”
Ten minutes later, we sat at our usual table in the window. Bailey took time out to sit with us as I shared my sad and woeful tale with her and Paige, Marissa nodding along, throwing in her two cents every now and then.
“She needs to move on,” Marissa pronounced at the end of my spiel. “You can all see that, right?”
Things were very cut and dried with Marissa on this topic. Shame I couldn’t share in her decisiveness.
“Maybe,” Bailey said, shrugging.
My ears pricked up. A ray of hope?
“Why? What do you think?” I asked.
“Well, let’s see.” Bailey numbered points off on her fingers. “You’ve been dating for months and it’s been going really well. You’re really into him and he seems to be really into you, too. He introduced you to his parents, and guys don’t do that unless they’re pretty serious, right?”
Everyone at the table nodded.
“Plus, he apologized for the way he reacted when he saw his ex. I get it. If I ever bump into my ex, I think I’ll probably have a heart attack or worse! It’s only natural.”
I could feel a smile try to take shape on my face as my heart began to float up to its rightful place for the first time since “The Sara Incident,” as I now referred to it. Everything Bailey said was reasonable, logical. Maybe I was overreacting? “You might be right.”
“He’s worth it, right?” Bailey asked.
“Yes,” I replied without even having to think about it. Parker was meant to be my future husband. I needed to fight for him—Sara Winston-holy-crap-Smythe or not.
“Yes, yes!” Paige added eagerly. “Oh, Cassie, it’s at least worth a shot. Talk to him, give him another chance. Please.” She looked at me pleadingly, like a puppy waiting for a treat.
My smile now fully formed, I agreed to talk to Parker. I needed to give him another chance. Perhaps I had been overreacting? Perhaps Sara and I were simply Parker’s “type” and it was no big deal? I mean, we all had a “type,” right? There was only one way to find out.
Before I lost my nerve, I got up from the table and walked out onto the street to text him. I needed space to work out what to say. I stared at my screen, at all the texts I’d received from him over the last forty-eight hours. Why would he send me so many texts if he didn’t care?
I began to type. I asked to meet him tonight, saying we needed to talk. I half expected him to run a mile. Didn’t guys hate those four words, “we need to talk”? I got a text back within moments, thanking me, agreeing to meet me and assuring me, “You won’t regret this.” I swallowed.
I hope I don’t.
As I walked back into the café, Bailey was serving customers. I gave her the thumbs-up. She shot me a grin before turning back to her line of hungry patrons.
I took my seat at the table with the girls. I smiled when I saw my café latte and a slice of flourless chocolate and raspberry cake sitting in front of me. I mouthed a “thank you” to Bailey, who winked at me.
It was official; my friends rocked.
“Did you do it?” Paige asked.
I let out a puff of air. “We’re meeting tonight after work at my place.”
“That’s good. Right, Marissa?”
Marissa shrugged. “Sure, I just think—” She was cut off by Paige.
“Let’s just see what Parker has to say tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” Marissa conceded.
I needed a change of topic. “You’ve heard about my disastrous weekend. How were yours?”
“Mine was the usual: dateless, sad, and lonely.” Marissa let out a sigh. “Paige’s wasn’t, though.”
Paige’s blush was instant. I raised my eyebrows in question. “So?” I lead. In the disaster that had become my love life, I had completely forgotten about Paige’s date with Will.
She sighed one of those happy sighs people in love do. “It was wonderful. Will is such a great guy. We went for a drink at O’Dowd’s, which was fun. We had a great time. He’s so funny. I spent most of the night laughing.”
We listened as she told us about their evening, from what he wore to what they ate and everything in between. It was clear to me she was buzzing out over Will and the prospect of a future with him.
“So that’s me done and dusted. I’ve been on my One Last First Date.” Paige grinned at us both.
“That’s so great, Paige.” I tried my best to feel happy for her. I envied her confidence. But then, I had been confident Parker was the man for me after my One Last First Date, too.
And, perhaps, he still was.
Back in the office, I got the call from Brian that Laura wanted to see me. With the way things were going, I expected the very worst. She was going to let me down gently, explain to me that Will was the better team player, had stronger leadership skills, was basically a superior human being in all conceivable ways. And right now, I’d have to agree with her.
With a heart about as heavy as an elephant with a food binge habit, I trudged up the stairs to the twelfth floor. Every step I took was labored, my black court shoes clanking on the tiled surface, my hand grasping the rail just to keep some modicum of momentum to get me to the top. I was taking the death march. I knew what was coming.
It was all over, and Will had won.
Brian greeted me with his usual lack of enthusiasm, and without even the chance to sit, I was ushered into Laura’s office, the door closed firmly behind me.
Laura looked up from screen, removed her reading glasses, and smiled. “Cassie. Thank you for coming.”
I gave her a toothless smile—all I could muster in my final moments of contender for the job. In a matter of moments, I’d be an “also ran,” having to congratulate Will on his ascension up the corporate ladder, my one opportunity turned to dust.
Laura walked around her desk and offered me a seat on one of her chairs. She sat opposite me and made small talk, asking me about my weekend.
I thought of Parker being in love with Sara. “Oh, it was great, thanks. Yours?” My eye twitched, right on cue.
“Wonderful. We took the boat to Lake Taupo. My husband’s a mad fisherman, you see.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t capable of small talk. Just get this over with so I can go slit my wrists.
“So, Cassie. I imagine you know why you’re here.”
“I do.” My stomach sank. I bit my bottom lip.
Will Jordan: Regional Manager .
She smiled her we’re-letting-you-down-gently smile at me. “We’ve come to a decision concerning the Regional Manager’s position.”
“Okay.”
It’s Will.
“It was a very close call between the candidates, and you both did a wonderful job delivering the project.”
“That’s good. Thank you.”
Just say it, just say it’s Will.
“We were very impressed with you, Cassie.”
But . . .
“We have decided to offer you the role of Regional Manager.”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m sure he’ll do a great job.” I hoped I sounded magnanimous in defeat.
“Did you not hear me? We want to offer you the role, Cassie.”
My breath hitched in my throat. “Me?” My eyes got huge.
Laura laughed, leaning back in her chair, her perfectly manicured hand against her chest. “Yes, you.”
“I, ah, I don’t know what to say.”
Will didn’t get the job? Will didn’t get the job?
“We felt you were the best fit for the role.” Laura stood and stretched her hand out toward me.
In a fog, I stood and took it. “Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome. Congratulations, Cassie. I think you’re going to do a wonderful job.”
I got the job? I got the job ?!
I swallowed. “Thank you,” I repeated. The ability to say anything else had deserted me. I couldn’t believe it. I beat Will Jordan—Mr. Can-Do-No-Wrong, star salesperson, teamwork extraordinaire—to the Regional Manager’s job?
“I would love to be your Regional Manager. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
Laura let out a laugh. “I know you won’t, Cassie.” She looked down at our hands. “Could I—?” I was still gripping and shaking it so enthusiastically I was in fear of unhinging her shoulder.
“Oops, sorry.” I dropped her hand like a hotcake. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
Laura walked toward the door, motioning our meeting had come to a close. “Schedule something with Brian for later in the day. We can talk about the next steps then.”
“Okay. Yes. I’ll talk to Brian,” I confirmed as she opened the door. “And thank you.”
She laughed again. “You already said that. I’m pleased to have you on board.”
In a total daze, Brian and I agreed on a time for me to meet with Laura after lunch, and I floated down the stairs to the sales floor, past my team members who were totally oblivious to how my life had just changed forever.
I reached my cubicle and sat down heavily in my seat. I got the job. Cassie Dunhill: Regional Manager . I bit my lip as excitement bubbled up inside my belly. I did it. I actually did it!