Chapter Three Zoe
“Zoe, where’s the Rasmussen file?” Mr. Hardy, the accountant I work for at Rookwood, shuffles up to my desk.
He appears to be nearing two-thousand-years-old, was great friends with Methuselah, and still has all his own teeth, albeit they’re more yellow than a Golden-Sunshine colored marker. “And wasn’t I going to...”
“You’ve got a lunch on the books, but you asked me to pass it off to Mr. Gaither.” I hand him the file he’s looking for. The letter I’ve typed from his dictation is paperclipped neatly to the top along with an envelope, awaiting only his signature.
Bending over, he provides it before capping his pen and plunging it back into his breast pocket. “Excellent. Thank you, dear. And might I trouble you for a cup of tea when you have the chance?”
“Of course, Mr. Hardy. I’ll bring it right in.
” I smile to let him know that I’m fine with such requests, and surprisingly, I am.
He’s a good boss, and if he’s not quite up with the times, as he should have retired a century ago, I can excuse his behavior.
He’s kind, and generally appreciates the work that I do for him.
My prior boss, by contrast, never once said thank you.
A week after Finn and I broke up, I left my accounts receivable position and Roger Parks behind when Mr. Hardy cornered me in the cafeteria and asked me to transfer to his office. He’d lost his assistant and heard good things about my detail-oriented personality, he said.
It’s true that I’ve always sweated the small stuff.
Still, Mr. Hardy’s offer was like a miracle, just at a time I was beginning to worry about something other than the loss of Finn.
Some dubious paperwork on the Sarar account was crossing my desk, the sums so high for widgets, bearings, and belts that I began to wonder if they had been cast in gold.
Plus, Roger insisted I sign all the orders from the machine shop, as well as all client correspondence, which was definitely not in my regular job description.
He told me he was too busy to oversee the account himself, but if that was true, why was he always hovering over my shoulder and asking so many pointed questions every day?
It gave me the willies, so, yeah, by comparison, making a cup of tea for Mr. Hardy is a pleasure. Heck, I’d make him a pot an hour if he asked me for it. My love life might be garbage but my work life is going really well.
The day progresses as most do, with a minimum of fuss. I like keeping busy, so I’m humming along blissfully, managing to not think of Finn with the gorgeous woman at the restaurant last night more than sixty times a minute, when my old boss walks in.
Think of the devil...
A shiver rolls down my spine. My body’s atavistic reaction to Roger Parks isn’t lost on me. I’m just not sure I understand it. I worked for the man for years. I can’t say that I enjoyed it, but I didn’t feel this same sense of... wrongness that I do now.
“Hello, Zoe. How’s kicks?” Roger sits down on the edge of my desk like we’re old pals. “Seeing anyone new, lately?”
“Kicks are good,” I reply, ignoring the rest of his question. He doesn’t need to know about my blind date last night, or the fact that we parted as friends, both of us agreeing that the spark just wasn’t there. At least it had been an honest conversation.
“I miss having you around. Receivables isn’t quite so... lush.” Without missing a beat, or giving me time to send down a complaint to HR for improper work dialogue, he juts his chin towards Mr. Hardy’s office. “Is the old man in?”
Before I can answer, or even ask Mr. Hardy if he’s available for an impromptu conference, Roger lifts his ass off the table and struts by me. I quickly scramble in his wake, an apology on my lips, but Mr. Hardy just sighs and waves me back out once he notices the man invading his inner sanctum.
Fine by me. I have no desire to hear what they’re discussing.
Besides, I need more time to dwell on my unexpected meeting with Finn.
Not. Though he looked even more devastatingly handsome than I remember.
His hair is longer so that the beginnings of curls fluff up his shiny raven locks.
He’s thinner, too, more cut, with an air of sadness clinging to his chocolate eyes.
Even his ears seem pointier, as if they lost weight, too.
I snort in disbelief at my own thoughts.
I’m an idiot. Finn is dating a stunner. He’s not sad.
He’s finally in his element. I always thought he should be dating supermodels instead of me.
I’m short and extra-curvy. Cute, but not gorgeous.
Everyone, most especially me, always knew he was out of my league.
Finn used to say that I was so lovely, his teeth hurt every time he looked at me.
I took it as a compliment. He probably meant his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw at having to be with someone average and boring like me when he should have been dating supermodels.
And now, apparently, he is. My mother always said that water seeks its own level.
Finn’s tub is way deeper than mine. It’s filled to the rim.
When Mr. Hardy calls me in, I grab my tablet, happy to be pulled from my thoughts despite his current company. “Yes, Mr. Hardy?”
“Mr. Hardy?” Roger scoffs. “How come you never called me, ‘Mr. Parks?’ If you had, you might have kept your job rather than having had to take this demotion.”
Demotion? I’m earning the same salary I earned working for him, and my boss now is kind and appreciative. Am I supposed to care about what title is on my resume?
Mr. Hardy shakes his head, a small gesture meant for my eyes only.
Huh. Weird. He doesn’t want me to respond. I’m happy to follow his unstated order. If there’s a question where my loyalty and trust lie, it isn’t with Roger.
“Zoe, Mr. Parks has requested your presence at a client completion tomorrow, noon. Ms. Freeman will attend and represent Rookwood’s interests, but if some of the contract terms need revision, she’ll require someone familiar with both drafting and accounts receivable best practices.
I, um, understand the request for your aid has come from the CEO directly. ”
“Sure has,” Roger says, smiling broadly. “I need you to memorialize and oversee the hand-off and any change orders. Mr. Freeman himself has asked that you help his daughter. I’ve sent the details to your inbox.”
Daughter? I want to refuse, both because Mr. Hardy looks as if he’s swallowed a lemon and Roger looks entirely too triumphant. It isn’t uncommon for lower-level employees like me to be drafted onto a project at the last minute, but there’s something squiggly about all this.
Mostly because Roger is part of it. There’s something more off about him than usual.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Unfortunately, I think not,” Mr. Hardy says through thinned lips. “But I’ll be available for conference, Zoe, should you need any help.”
Except, he doesn’t look at me as he offers his aid. He glares at Roger.
It isn’t until I’m back at my desk, typing up my notes, that I suddenly realize why the woman on Finn’s arm last night looked so familiar.
The thunderbolt booming through me electrifies like lightning.
My Finn is dating Seraphina Freeman, socialite extraordinaire, and every guy’s wet dream.
And, joy of joys, I get to bask in her august company tomorrow.
He’s dating my CEO’s daughter. How is that fair?
The rest of the day passes in a blur, and it isn’t until I’ve demolished the better part of a gallon of mint chip ice cream and gone through a box of tissues later that evening that I can force myself to stop crying.
Recognizing just who Seraphina Freeman is has ended me.
In my secret heart of hearts, for the first time, I understand that Finn is not coming back to me.
Because in last month’s company newsletter, sent out to all five thousand employees as required reading, there was an announcement about Ms. Freeman’s engagement.
There had been a photo of her attached to the article, but I hadn’t paid it much attention.
I hadn’t read the blurb under the picture to find out the identity of the lucky fiancé.
But now I know. Finn’s not just dating Seraphina Freeman. He’s going to marry her.
The tears start again. I’m a mess.
Memories and images of Finn keep cutting me with razor-sharp edges.
How he always brought me breakfast in bed, even if it was just stale cereal and a glass of water because I’d forgotten to go shopping.
Or the way he would look at me over the top of his book as we read different novels together, our legs crossed under the blanket.
I remember when he surprised me with a circus trip, even though he hated circuses, because he found out that I liked to watch those motorcycles go around and around the metal cage.
But he had steered me past the Big Tent, knowing I despised how the animals were treated.
Once, he had taken me to a Mexican taco stand after Roger had yelled at me. Another time, he had cuddled me by the fireplace in his condo after I fought with my sister.
There were a thousand large and small events measured out in the six months we had dated, culminating with our anniversary at one of those old Italian bistros for which New York is famous.
He passed across a small box about the size of the one in which I’d stored his cufflinks.
Inside, hanging from a delicate gold chain, was a charm consisting of two clasped hands around a central heart.
When he fastened it around my neck, he looked at me with his melting eyes that promised eternity and smiled.
“You hold my heart, Zoe,” he whispered. “You’re my new home.”
I jumped into his arms, almost oblivious to the claps and sighs of those around us. They must have thought we were getting engaged. I thought we might be pre-engaged.
We were all wrong.