Chapter 21
Erica
As I run a few changes on my column by my editor, I notice Marco’s office is empty.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He does run multiple companies, most of which are housed in this very building.
Yet, lately with the acquisition, he’s almost always here, or I at least know where he is.
It’s kind of my job to keep tabs on what he’s up to.
I feel stupid for even caring about where he might have gone off to, so I try to focus on this mini meeting with my editor.
Still, my eyes keep lifting to the empty leather chair at his desk.
I replay our conversation from this morning, and wonder if I had been too hard on him.
He owns the paper now. He is able to do whatever he wants with it, and to be honest, all of those mockups were far better than the website we have now.
Though I hate to admit it, and would never tell him that.
Most everything he’s done so far has improved The NY Daily News, much to my surprise.
Everyone seems very impressed with his decisions so far.
Still, I’m realizing it’s easier for me to hide behind my walls when he thinks it’s about the paper, rather than the feelings I’m desperately trying to avoid and the daughter I’m hiding from him.
That’s why I put up a fuss over just about everything he does because it keeps him at a distance and my feelings of angst can hide behind me not liking his website mockups or him moving our offices.
“Earth to Erica,” says my editor, Andy, waving his hand in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “My mind is totally elsewhere, which is probably why the column sucks.”
“It doesn’t suck,” he says. “It just needs a few tweaks. That’s why you have me.”
“Thank you.”
“Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Let’s just get the column done so we can enjoy the weekend, yeah?”
“You’ve got it. How was the ball, by the way?”
“It was beautiful,” I admit. “Everyone who is anyone was there. I was able to get a few quotes from the politicians running next season. I think readers will find it refreshing to get to know these men and women outside of their speeches.”
“Definitely. You got some good quotes too. Personable and fun.”
“I tried.”
“How was it being The Shark’s date?” he asks, looking at me curiously.
“I wasn’t his date.” I roll my eyes. “It’s business.”
“ Suuure , it is. I see the way he looks at you sometimes. It’s like he’s going to have you for dinner.”
“Andy!” I say, giving him a gentle shove.
“Just saying. I wish he looked at me like that. He is one fine Latino man,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You’re crazy,” I say, shaking my head. “Now get back to work.”
We finish going over the final touches to my column and send it to printing.
I’m proud of the piece, and even though the night with Marco ended abruptly, I’m still glad I went.
It gave me material I could really work with, and now Sunday’s paper will have an insider’s look into the Conservatory Ball.
I head back to my office, aware that Marco is not back yet.
The hours tick by and when 5 p.m. hits, I realize he’s not coming back.
I almost have the urge to text him to see if everything is okay, but I refrain.
If there was anything pressing he needed me to do, I’m sure he would text or email me.
Still, I’m wondering if his absence has anything to do with how I talked to him this morning.
I know I wasn’t easy on him about the website makeover, even though I know it’s going to elevate our paper’s presence.
I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t fired me yet for my bad attitude.
Maybe I should ease up a little. I grab my purse and head home.
The next day, my brother Troy and his wife Monica come over with their son, TJ.
Josie is happy to have a playmate, and I’m happy to spend some time with them.
Monica and I chat about the paper and her latest short story, which brought in more readers than ever before.
She hasn’t been into the new office, or even met Marco.
She worked it out with George a while ago that she wanted to work remotely and be a work-from-home-mom.
I know Marco isn’t going to mess with that arrangement, since she brings in a reader fanbase.
“How is it going over there?” asks Troy, rustling TJ’s hair as he snacks on crackers.
“It’s going,” I say.
“Seems like that Marco Vallejos is taking over the journalism world. It’s a smart investment. The ad revenue alone is remarkable.”
I roll my eyes.
“Sorry, I know you don’t like him.” He shrugs. “But it’s business.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Okay, changing the subject…” he says with a chuckle.
“Josie’s first birthday is coming up! What does she want?” asks Monica cheerfully.
“She’s really into cardboard boxes that toys come in.”
“Aren’t they all?” Monica laughs.
“Speaking of her first birthday…” starts Troy, treading cautiously.
I give him a look, like I know what’s coming.
“Do you think her father will make an appearance?” he whispers.
“No.” I shake my head.
He sighs and puts his fingers to his brow.
“I don’t understand why it’s such a big secret. I’m your brother. You should be able to tell me these things, like who my niece’s father is.”
“I don’t know who he is. I’ve told you that,” I say sharply.
“So you say, but you’ve never been the kind of girl who sleeps around like that…”
“Have you thought that maybe I am, but don’t like sharing with my brother? ”
“Okay, you two,” says Monica, putting her hands up.
“Sorry,” mutters Troy.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, looking at Josie who is giving me a big grin.
I hate keeping this big secret, especially from my brother.
We’ve always been close, but I can’t trust him not to go apeshit on the man who unknowingly got me pregnant and left me that morning.
He’s protective to a fault sometimes. I can’t risk it.
The only people who know are Sadie and Beth, and I plan on keeping it that way, even if it means lying to most everyone else.
On Monday morning, Marco and I are working in his office when there’s a knock at the door.
He looks up in surprise and a warm smile spreads across his lips.
I haven’t seen him smile like that ever, except maybe once for me the night we met.
I look behind me and see a short woman with tan skin and graying hair cut into a sophisticated bob.
I can tell by the eyes that it has to be his mother.
“Mama,” he says, standing from his desk and walking over to embrace her.
“Marco,” she says, hugging him tightly before putting her hands on his shoulders and looking at him proudly.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I wanted to see you and the new office. It looks beautiful. Doesn’t it look beautiful?” she asks, turning to me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Mama, this is Erica. She’s been helping me with the acquisition,” says Marco. “Erica, this is my mother, Alejandra.”
I hold my hand out and she shakes it gently, her skin cold against mine, but her eyes are warm.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Vallejos.”
“Please call me Alejandra. And my goodness, aren’t you a pretty thing.”
“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks flushing with color.
I grab my papers from Marco’s desk. “I’ll leave you two be,” I say, giving Marco a little nod before leaving his office.
As I leave, I see him pull his mother in for another hug.
I can see how much he loves her and how much she loves him, just in the few minutes of being in their presence together.
He keeps surprising me with how different he is from his reputation as The Shark.
He is a smart businessman and maybe he’s made some calculated choices that have left some unhappy, but underneath it all, he seems to be a good person.
You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his mother, and just right now was more than telling.
After an hour, I see him walk his mother through the office, his hand in hers.
My heart feels like it’s melting into a pool.
But when he walks back to his office without her, his expression is grim.
I watch as he runs his hand through his hair, his tell-tale sign that he’s stressed, as whatever he is thinking about churns inside him.
Against my better judgment, I stand up from my desk and walk next door to his office.
He’s at his desk with his head in his hands.
I knock softly. He looks up and I wonder if he’s on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong, Marco?” I ask softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.
He takes a deep breath and looks off into the distance. “My mother…her health is not the best,” he says.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, taking the seat across from him. “She seems like such a wonderful, vibrant woman.”
“She’s good at putting on a front when she’s around me. She doesn’t want me to worry. Doesn’t want to distract me.” He shakes his head forlornly.
“She must love you very much…”
“And I her.” He shakes his head, as if it will shake the sadness away.
It’s a sadness that is putting a crack through my heart right here in his office.
I realize now that maybe there are more feelings here than I would like to admit because I want to make everything okay for the man sitting in front of me.
“She’s the reason I left…” says Marco, his eyes finding mine.
“What?”
“The reason I left that morning. I had every intention of staying with you. Waking up next to you was a dream. But then I got a call from the hospital. My mother had a heart attack and I had to leave immediately.”
I feel my stomach sink, thinking about what he must have gone through that day, and me being so upset about him disappearing. When he explained there had been a family emergency, it almost seemed like an excuse, but now I know he had been telling the truth.
“I spent all day at the hospital, through her surgery and until she was placed in recovery. I didn’t get home until late, and of course, you were gone.”
“Marco, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for you. For her.”
“It was. I’m very protective of my mother, and since then, I’m consumed by the worst thoughts. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“She’s still here,” I say, reaching across the desk and giving his hand a squeeze.
He looks up at me and a thousand feelings surge through me as our eyes meet, our hands touching. I have to remind myself to breathe as I slowly pull my hand away, breaking whatever spell we just found ourselves under.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assure him, even though I don’t know that for sure. It just seems like the right thing to say.
“Thank you,” he says, pressing his lips into a tight smile.
“I should go,” I say, standing from my chair.
He nods and as I walk away, I can still see the worry on his face, but it’s eased slightly.
I shut myself in my office and sit in my chair, leaning my head back as I close my eyes.
All I can see is his face, and though he’s right next door, he feels so far away.
It’s because I pushed him there. I’m starting to regret it.
As I start to learn more about him, I’m wanting him to be closer, not further.