34. Mandy
34
MANDY
S uddenly, being locked up safe and sound in Salinger’s penthouse is how I want to spend the rest of my life.
Maybe my stalker kidnapped my sister, and that was a fake text message she sent earlier. Poor Lauren. This is all my fault. I never should have left her at the club.
“Finally, I got you.” Salinger pounces on the phone.
“Lord, take me now!” screams a familiar voice.
I gasp. “Oh god, Gran!”
It takes Salinger a second to register that he is not, in fact, about to ruin my stalker but instead is shirtless on a video call with my grandmother. At least he’s wearing pants, which is more than I can say for yours truly.
I scramble to hide behind him, limbs still shaking from the orgasms and from the panic.
Gran’s face peers out of the phone screen .
“Who is this? Mandy? Are you watching porn? Are you using the dildo I gave you? Moara swears by it, but keep it away from your dog. Nancy’s dachshund got ahold of hers and chewed it up. Two-thousand-dollar vet bill, can you believe it?”
“Hang up, Salinger,” I hiss at him.
“I’ll let you get back to it!” Gran gives me a thumbs-up. “I just wanted to call so you have my new number. I’m back onto Facebook. God is good.”
“Great, Gran—I’ll put your new number in my phone. Have a good evening. See you tomor—”
“Is that my daughter? Mandy, can you please comb your hair? Did you wash your face today? You look shiny.” My mother’s voice gets louder as she approaches the phone. “Who is that man in there? I’d say use protection, but I’d really love a grandchild not related to Kenny.”
“There’s a man in the phone? A real man? Where are my glasses?” Gran disappears from the screen as my mother’s face peers out at me where I’m peeking over Salinger’s shoulder.
“ Did you hear? Mandy has a boyfriend, and he doesn’t have a shirt,” I hear in the background.
“Good evening, Mrs. Miller,” Salinger says.
“Hang up the phone,” I beg.
“Salinger, is that you? I told you to call me Gale. Mandy, you can’t hang up on your own mother. I haven’t talked to you all week.”
“Now we know why.” Gran is back. “Take a screenshot. I wanna post this on Facebook.”
I can’t wrestle my boss for the phone because I am completely naked. “Mom, don’t let her take any screenshots. ”
“Nonsense, Mandy. You remember Linda? I ran into her at Target, and you should have heard her brag about the man her daughter is dating. This will shut her up.”
“I can’t get this dang phone to work. Patrick!” my grandmother bellows to my father. “Patrick, how do I take a screenshot?” She disappears again.
“—plays pickleball, she showed me a picture,” my mom continues. “She claims it’s trendy for people your age. I just can’t see why. Do you play pickleball, Salinger? Oh dear,” she adds before he can answer, “what happened to you?”
Salinger looks down at the red scrapes on his chest. From my nails.
“Not really sure,” he lies. His hand clasps briefly on my ankle.
“It could be bedbugs. Do you travel a lot for work, Sal?”
“More than I’d like.”
“You poor thing. Mandy, I hope you’re taking good care of him. He works hard to support you.”
“No, Mom, he literally doesn’t support me.” My teeth are clenched so hard, I’m going to get a migraine.
“I’m buying you dinner, remember.” Salinger looks over his shoulder, a smile playing around his mouth.
“I thought you were supposed to be a rude asshole. Just hang up,” I hiss in his ear.
“Mandy,” my mom chides. “Salinger’s not rude—he’s a very nice boy.”
Salinger’s lip catches in his teeth.
“Now, Sal,” she says. “You’re coming for dinner tomorrow, aren’t you? You liked those rolls I made last time. Don’t worry—no one’s going to give you a hard time that you’re dating my daughter. Between you and me, we’d take anyone she brought home, but you’re far better than anything we hoped for.”
I’m poking him in the ribs, hoping he gets the hint to decline the invitation.
“Mandy, leave that man alone. Stop poking him,” my mother scolds. “He’s already got European bedbug bites. Run him an oatmeal bath and wash his clothes. None of that cold-water nonsense. Use the highest setting on the washing machine plus bleach. You need to take better care of his luggage when he comes back. Buy a bedbug oven. When you come for dinner, I’ll let you borrow ours. I bought it when Mandy’s father and I did our trip to Belgium.”
“Mom! He doesn’t want to come for dinner.”
“Of course he wants a home-cooked meal. What is he going to eat?”
Salinger is nodding along.
“I don’t know, Mom—he only has a private chef. Sounds like he’s going to starve to death.”
“A private chef! You can’t trust people you don’t know with your food. It’s not like when family cooks for you.”
There’s chaos in the background. “Don’t mansplain the phone to me!” Gran complains. “I did press those two buttons.”
Half of my dad’s face slides into the screen.
I’m dying. I’m dead right now.
My boss smiles. “Mr. Miller.”
“Salinger,” my dad says mildly. There’s the telltale click of a screenshot being produced. “Can’t stop and chat. Have to get back to my World War II documentary.”
“Is it the new Elias Winston series?” Salinger asks.
My father beams.
Now I want to die .
“It’s remarkable what they did to restore that footage,” Salinger says conversationally, like I’m not naked and cold next to him. “What episode are you on?”
“Halfway through five.”
Salinger nods. “Wait until you get to the Battle of Schwarzbergstadt. It’s unreal how the Fifty-Third managed to pull off that maneuver.”
“The food is going to be here soon,” I interrupt loudly. “We have to go.”
“Don’t eat too much—it’s late,” my mom warns. “You’ll get heartburn.”
“Noted. So, this has been a horrible new core memory in the making, and we will apparently see you all tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget to bring the wine!” Gran calls.
Salinger hangs up.
I flop over and cover my face with my hair. “This is literally my worst nightmare.”
Well, part of my worst nightmare.
The phone rings again. I jump out of my skin when Unknown Number flashes on the screen. My stomach drops. I’m going to puke. Is it him, for real this time? The panic is back.
Salinger, his face a mask of fury, answers the phone then curses when the “We are calling you about your car’s extended warranty” message plays. He ends the call, swearing.
“Salinger, just give me the phone.” My heart is racing.
“No. I bet there are messages from him on here that you’re trying to delete.”
The panic is taking over. “Please give me the phone—I need to call my sister. I need to know she’s okay.” I know I sound hysterical, but suddenly I can’t shake the horrible feeling that Lauren’s in trouble.
He gives me a dark look then hands over the phone, thin-lipped.
My hands shake as I find Lauren’s number.
“Oh my god, Mandy!” she yells.
“Lauren.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Where are you?”
“I told you, I’m with my new hot guy.” There’s laughing in the background. “Yes, more shots!” Lauren yells to someone. “Baby, you’re paying, right? I can’t believe you went home, Mandy—you need to live! Shots! Shots!” she chants.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner,” I tell her. “I’m not staying at the apartment tonight, so don’t worry, okay?”
“Me? You worry too much.”
“Be careful.”
“Woo!”
The call ends.
She’s okay, clearly, but I can’t shake the bad feeling.
Salinger’s pacing next to the bed, shoulders tense, rubbing his jaw.
“Sorry about my family. They—”
Abruptly, he kneels on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. He cups my face, his eyes searching mine. “This guy has you really scared. You’re completely spooked.”
“I’m just…” I fish around for an excuse. “I’m fine.”
He’s frustrated. “Why won’t you let me help you? You shouldn’t be terrorized by a stalker.”
“I told you—I don’t need your help.”
He takes my hands in his larger ones, holds them up to his mouth .
“I am asking you, begging you, Mandy. Please let me help you.”
“I can’t.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re just going to make everything worse, Salinger. I can’t let you get hurt for me. This isn’t an action movie. You’re crazy—you locked me up in your guest room. You can’t go after my stalker. You’ll go to jail for decades, and I’ll never survive the guilt.” I’m blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.
He carefully drapes the robe around me, kisses the top of my head. “Stop trying to protect me,” he murmurs. “I’m not worth it.”
The doorbell rings. I don’t look at him as he leaves, barely even hear the key turn in the lock.
I bite back tears. He’s going to be back soon, and I don’t want him to see me cry. I’m suddenly exhausted.
When he comes back with the pasta, my corgi is with him.
“Pepper always gets plain pasta.” My voice is wobbling.
“I know. I bought her one with meat and sauce.” He sighs. “Mandy…”
“Just leave me alone.”
Wordlessly, he sets the tray of take-out containers on the bed.
Pepper jumps up next to me, feet sinking into the rumpled comforter.
Salinger’s hand cradles my face, his fingers wiping at the tears. “You can’t just ignore this problem. Someone’s going to get hurt. Probably you.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I choke out. “I’m not stupid. ”
“Mandy, this is tearing me up. I wish you—”
“I said go away.” I sniffle, clutching the bottle of expensive wine.
He sighs again, takes a breath like he’s about to say something, then holds out his hand.
I give him my phone.
When he’s gone, I turn on the TV in the wall cabinet to watch comfort shows and stuff myself with Italian food and wine until I forget about everything and pass out on top of the comforter.
A few hours later, I startle awake with the TV playing the opening to some Korean drama. My mouth feels like I’ve been eating cotton balls. I move the leftovers to the breakfast-bar mini fridge, drink the last swallows of wine.
Pepper is giving me the look, but the door is still locked.
“Salinger?” I call weakly, wishing he’d left me my phone. I don’t have the energy to try and yell for him, wherever he is in the penthouse.
But the key immediately turns in the lock. The door opens, and he’s right there.
I blink blearily in the light from the hallway. “Pepper wants to go out.”
She pushes past me.
“Pepper, wait.” I go into the hall and start to race after her then see the laptop, the blanket, the empty bowl, the mug of coffee on the floor. “Are you sleeping outside my room?”
He lifts a shoulder. He’s back in his white shirt, though it’s a little worse for the wear.
“I couldn’t leave you in case you needed something.”
“Oh.” I curl my toes in the carpet .
Salinger strokes my face. If he were anyone else, I would call the gesture tender. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Rubbing my arm, I nod.
I’m back in bed, pretending to be asleep, when he and Pepper return.
Salinger switches the TV off and sets Pepper next to me. Then he crawls onto the bed, curling his body around mine. His fingers drift softly through my hair while I desperately try to pretend that I’m just a normal assistant having an affair with her boss, that I don’t need him to protect me.