7. Maddie
Chapter seven
Maddie
I ignore the “contract” that is currently burning a hole in my bag. Nick must have slipped an envelope under my door last night. I wish I’d read it in my apartment and left it at home, but I was sure it was going to be a “just kidding” note. Definitely not a fake-dating contract .
I stare at my work screen and focus on typing the next sentence in my article.
How can he not find another woman? I’m not even a good liar.
But based on clause ten, he’s clearly desperate.
I need more caffeine. All that tossing and turning last night translated into very little sleep, even though there wasn’t so much as a squeak from Nick’s apartment.
I. Am. So. Tempted. And I do feel bad that this woman is destroying his chance.
He’s worked so hard. And if it was a more simple—less public—request, I’d be glad to help him out as a friend.
I stare at the last sentence I typed. I figured out Pablos’ contract information, because he was recorded as the contractor on a repair ticket, but when I called him, he shot me down immediately, saying he had no interest in talking to a reporter, even off the record.
I save the article I’m working on and get up to get a coffee.
How could I pretend to be Nick’s fake girlfriend? So many women would love to date Nick Devlin. It doesn’t need to be me.
I’m about to turn the corner and enter the office kitchen when I hear my name in conversation.
“Did you see that Variety article about Nick Devlin? Wasn’t that Maddie in his lap?” asks a voice I don’t recognize.
“Yes. But there’s no way she’s dating Nick Devlin,” says a voice I very much do recognize. Sarah. My main nemesis at the paper. She actually follows me around to scoop my stories. Then again, we’re competing for the same senior position, so there’s no love lost between us.
“She’s sitting in his lap,” the other woman says.
“They’re obviously friends,” Nemesis says. “I mean, if they were something more, would she be wearing bunny slippers? That’s clearly killing any sexy vibe.”
Point for Nemesis. Those slippers need to go.
“Yeah, you must be right. I mean, if the photographer had caught them kissing, Variety would have published that. Plus, I mean, Maddie doesn’t seem like the type to attract a guy like Nick Devlin.”
Yup. Another reason why it’s better that Nick finds another woman to fake date.
I lean against the wall. I should leave. Haven’t I learned my lesson from when I was in middle school? Listening to gossip about myself only hurts me.
“Seriously. She’d bore him by geeking out over the latest City Council hearing,” Nemesis says.
“What are you listening to so intently?” Jing whispers.
I nearly jump a foot. I put my finger to my mouth. Jing presses against me to listen in too.
“There’s no way they’re dating,” Nemesis says.
Jing frowns and looks like she’s about to give them a piece of her mind.
I shake my head.
“Well, if she is, we should cover it for Page Six.”
Uh-oh. I need to get out of here. I pull Jing away from the office kitchen and back to my desk, where I grab my coat and my phone.
“I’m going to meet with my contact at City Hall about this new story I have,” I say. “She agreed to meet at the back steps in half an hour.”
“I’ll come with you. I need fresh air after listening to that,” Jing says.
We leave our floor by the fire stairs, rather than the elevators. It’s rare you meet someone in the stairwell.
“Don’t let Sarah get to you,” Jing says. “Nick doesn’t date, but if he did, I bet you’d be top of the list. And Nemesis would be the absolute last woman he’d date. She’s like his last girlfriend.”
Like his last girlfriend . That definitely doesn’t make me feel better.
Nemesis is his type?
Ugh.
Definitely not someone like me. Nail-bitten fingers, one currently still decorated with spots of brown paint from some miniature hot chocolates I made this weekend. I took a break from needle felting animals and decided to try this tutorial to de-stress.
As we push the glass doors open to exit, the cold air hits us. Our office is located two blocks behind City Hall. As we hurry away from the office, the back of City Hall is visible to the right through a chain-link fence that surrounds a parking lot. We turn and walk down the narrow side street.
“Who are you meeting?” Jing asks.
“This woman who heads up the call center. It turns out that the New York Infrastructure Department has a number to call to schedule a repair request. It assigns the caller a ticket. I’m hoping I can get access to more of those tickets and talk to those people to see if they had repairs by someone competent.
If someone senior in the Infrastructure Department is involved, then it must be more than this one building. ”
“That’s a good lead,” she says.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
“An article on solar panels that you can plug in to generate your own electricity. It’s cool,” Jing says. She works on the business section of the paper.
“Should we get a coffee? I have some time to kill,” I say.
Jing nods, and we make a wide loop around City Hall, since it’s cordoned off by police barriers, and enter City Hall Park.
We stop to get a coffee at the corner food cart and catch up with Frank, the vendor. He just had a baby.
“By the way, you asked me to let you know if I overheard the Infrastructure Department deputy commissioners say anything interesting,” Frank says.
“Deputy Commissioner Galliano of the Infrastructure Department often gets his coffee here, and he was on the phone the other day, and he said, ‘It has to look legit, though.’”
“Really?” I ask. “Do you know the context?”
“No, he paid for his coffee then and walked away,” Frank says. “But he’s a nice man. Good tipper.”
That was interesting, if completely inconclusive.
“Well, let me know if you overhear anything else,” I say.
My phone rings. My contact now wants to meet closer to her office.
Jing volunteers to accompany me the two blocks to the new location.
We walk down the center pathway of the park towards the fountain.
Most of the trees are bare, but there’s still a fair amount of green because of the fir trees and the bushes.
To the right, outside the park, is the distinctive Gothic facade of the Woolworth Building.
Jing pulls up the Variety photo. “The way Nick’s looking at you… I still think he might actually like you. Maybe he’s not dating anyone else because he does like you.”
“Photos can be easily manipulated,” I say.
“Sarah is jealous. Don’t listen to her.”
“Don’t worry,” I say to Jing. I give her a hug goodbye as she returns to the office, and then I loiter outside the CVS, waiting for my contact to show up, touched that Jing was concerned about me.
But Nemesis was right that Nick and I are just friends.
Pretending we are dating will only lead to heartache for me.
But he had a valid point that he must really trust whoever plays the part of his girlfriend.
And it’s not like I don’t want to help him.
10. Nick will do whatever Maddie wants for three months, as long as it is not a career conflict.
He must be desperate. I’m torn. And do I want to watch him dating someone else? Even if it’s fake?
I meet my friends for a late dinner at Craic and Laughs.
Luckily, the source I’d met earlier today had given me the list. I also need to determine any correlation between complaints and the buildings assigned to each deputy commissioner.
I’m late because I was following Deputy Commissioner Galliano around.
Eleanor Roosevelt Houses is in his district, so based on the “ He runs the district ” comment, it seems like he’s the most likely suspect.
Following him feels like a dead end. He’s responsible for community affairs, and unsurprisingly, he went to a community meeting.
His nickname in the press room is Gallant Galliano and based on how responsive he was to constituent concerns, I can see why.
Iris pulls out the chair next to her, and I sit between her and Bella. Bella is a romance author, and she and I can talk about writing for ages.
“Are those glasses new?” I ask Bella.
“Yes, but still red. Red for romance,” Bella says, fluffing out her wavy brown hair.
“They look great,” I say.
Pushing her glasses up on her nose, Bella asks us for ideas for plotting her next book because she’s stuck, and we pitch suggestions.
I say, “How about a cybersecurity analyst who is investigating a security breach to save her company during the holidays but has to resist the allure of her lawyer colleague assigned to help?”
Iris pushes me, and I almost fall off my chair. We all giggle because that’s Iris’s love story.
Our ideas get more and more zany.
I say, “How about he’s a circus performer, and he comes to New York City to perform—”
“He’s an acrobat,” Iris interrupts.
“Exactly, and someone tries to mug him, and she scares the guy off,” I say.
“But he must go with the show,” Iris says. “He can’t stay in the city.”
“He’s the last of a long family line of acrobat legends,” Bella says, joining in the fun.
I love these nights—great company, music, and food, which is what “craic” means in Irish.
Iris’s dad emigrated here from Ireland. The front window is still decorated with snowflakes from when my friends and I decorated it after Thanksgiving.
We’re sitting at one of the worn, dark-wooden tables on the side.
Colorful framed band posters adorn the wall behind us.
A long bar with barstools is across from us.
I can’t help breaking some melted wax off the beer bottle with a candle that has yet to be lit.
The front of Craic and Laughs is a typical bar, but the back has been set up as a band venue re-engineered for great acoustics. A band is setting up on the stage.