Chapter 9
Chapter 9
O ver the next few months, Ridge and Maggie’s outings became a weekly standard. Sometimes Ridge chose the venue—usually a baseball game, in his ever-increasing desire to teach Maggie to enjoy sports. And sometimes Maggie chose the activity—usually something outdoors where they could bring the dog. One morning in the park, they ran into each other as they were jogging and decided to do that together, too. But at work, they maintained their distance. No one knew they were friends or had any contact outside of the job. Sometimes Maggie went out with Babs and Blue. They were also becoming good friends, but it was never the same as with Ridge, with whom she seemed to share some sort of supernatural affinity. He didn’t notice when she tumbled out of bed and threw on jogging pants any more than he seemed to notice when she spent a long time on her hair and makeup. To him, she was simply Maggie, his friend. And he was becoming her rock in the city, her person, her home away from home.
Neither could articulate why they chose to keep their friendship a secret. If pressed, Ridge might have said it was because he didn’t want to appear to have chosen favorites, though Maggie was by far his favorite. He didn’t want her to be a source of resentment among her coworkers. Maggie would have said something similar, though people were already talking about the fact that she had never left his office crying, only smiling. Her insistence that he was, in fact, a nice guy didn’t hold any water for people who believed he was the boogeyman. In their defense, he did nothing to dispel the notion. He seemed to store all his kindness for Maggie and lash out at the remainder of their crew. Maggie was disturbed by the dichotomy and had yet to find a tactful way to bring it up. She felt torn. No one was able to see the man she adored in all his silly sweetness. On the other hand, she didn’t have to share him with anyone else. She suspected he went out on dates, but he never talked about it. And he for certain wasn’t in a serious relationship, given all the time he spent with her and at work.
Her efforts to get him to leave his office and join their celebrations never let up, and he never relented. It had almost become a game, her trying to coax him out and him flatly refusing.
When it was Blue’s birthday, Maggie made a bright pink cake. “To keep life unpredictable,” she told him. When Ridge made no move to join the festivities, she dutifully cut him a slice to carry to his office.
“Why do you keep trying? You’re like the Energizer Bunny,” Babs said. “He’s never coming out.”
“Let’s pray,” Ellen said, shuddering as she glanced at Ridge’s closed door.
“Someday he’ll come out,” Maggie replied, as she always did.
“Girl, you’ve got it bad,” LuAnn said.
“I solemnly swear I do not have a crush on our boss. I simply think he should be a part of things, and it gets sad and lonely in his office,” Maggie replied, but everyone had shared a collective eye roll, so convinced were they of Maggie’s unrequited feelings for him. The misconception annoyed her, and she marched to Ridge’s office with purpose.
“Come in, Maggie,” he called when she knocked on the door.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked when she opened the door and stepped inside. It was the kind of heavy door that closed automatically. It did so, and she leaned on it.
“I heard the off key rendition of the birthday song echoing down the hallway,” he said.
“Why didn’t you come join us, Yeti?” she said.
“I’m busy. Leave the cake and go, woman,” he said, tapping the spot on his desk where she always set the cake.
“No,” she replied, and that got his attention.
“If you’re not bringing me cake, why are you here holding cake?”
“You’ve become too complacent in your role as birthday cake consumer. If you want this cake, and I know you do, you’re going to have to work for it.”
He sat back and laced his fingers together. “What did you have in mind? Some kind of gladiator duel to the death over frosting?”
“No, I simply want you to walk over here, take the cake and say, ‘Thank you, Maggie,’ like a normal person with good manners.”
He shook his head and tapped the spot on his desk.
She shook her head and reached for the door. Sighing, he stood, walked around the desk, and strode purposefully forward until he was so close to her she had to press herself into the door to avoid him. He took the cake from her and noticed a spot of frosting on her thumb. He brought her hand to his mouth, pulled her thumb between his lips, and licked the icing away.
“Thank you for the cake, Maggie. The frosting is delicious.”
“Was that so hard?” Maggie asked, her voice husky and breathless.
“No, I rather enjoyed it. Now get back to work, minion.”
“Give me a minute, my knees seemed to have failed me.”
“Play with fire, enjoy the burn,” he said. He walked back to his desk, finishing the cake in two bites.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said when she could rightfully speak again. “And it’s unfair you can turn on whatever that is and do it to me and I have no recourse with which to retaliate.”
“Players gonna play, baby,” he said, returning his attention to his work.
“Ridiculous,” Maggie muttered before letting herself out. When she was safely gone, Ridge stopped pretending to type whatever gibberish he’d been typing and let out a long, shaky breath.
T wo weeks later, the scene repeated itself, though this time Maggie fully intended to drop the cake and go. She had learned her lesson about what Ridge could do when provoked. She cut him a slice and knocked on his door.
“What,” he barked.
She opened the door and poked her head in. “I have cake.”
“I don’t want cake,” he said. “And did I say you could come in?”
“I’m not going to make you work for it. I’ll leave it and you can eat it when and if you get hungry.” She took a step inside.
He stood and yelled. “I said I don’t want cake, Maggie, are you deaf? Why do we have to have these idiotic celebrations every five minutes? Can no one function here like a normal, workday office? Get out!” Then he picked up a glass and threw it at the door where it shattered into a million pieces, narrowly missing her head.
Her face drained of color, she backed out of the room and made the long walk of shame back to her desk. People in the office were sympathetic, yet slightly gleeful. At long last, Maggie had witnessed the beast. She got it now, what people had been saying about him; that had been terrifying. No one had ever spoken to her that way. The fact that it had been Ridge was doubly disappointing and confusing.
He didn’t emerge from his office the rest of the day, and Maggie was glad. She had no idea how she would face him again, today or any day. How could their friendship continue after such a display of unwarranted rage?
She went home silent and sullen and spent a long time being consoled by Samson, who was always happy to see her and never angry. Part of her was still numb from the shock of the encounter. In all the many, many, many hours she had spent with Ridge, she had never once seen him lose his temper, and especially not with her.
When there was a knock on her door, she almost didn’t answer. Who else would it be but him? With trepidation, she opened the door and saw him standing on the other side, a large bag of Chinese food in his hand.
“I don’t even know what to say, Maggie. I’m so incredibly sorry. My behavior was inexcusable, and I deeply regret it. Can we pretty please be friends again?”
She regarded him solemnly for a moment and then, to her horror, burst into tears. He dropped the food and pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly. “I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured, kissing her head and stroking her hair with his fingers. Eventually her tears came to an end, and she invited him inside.
“I brought makeup Chinese takeout,” he said, holding the bag aloft. He headed toward the table, but she tugged him back.
“Where are you going?”
“To the table,” he said, confused.
“What is this, the Ritz? Who eats Chinese takeout at the table? You sit on the floor like an impoverished college student,” she said. She sat in front of the coffee table and patted the spot beside her, urging him to do the same. He kicked off his shoes, sat beside her, and began taking out containers.
“Did you get crab Rangoon?” she asked.
“Are you serious? Would I have been allowed inside without it?” he asked.
“Doubtful,” she said, smiling a little. He picked up her hand and kissed it and they started to eat. Some things they both liked, and they passed the containers back and forth, each maintaining his or her own chopsticks. They ate in comfortable silence, broken only by Maggie’s tremulous sniffles. Each sniffle was a stab in Ridge’s heart, piling the guilt a little deeper.
“Whose birthday was it?” he asked at last.
“My dad’s,” she said. He frowned in confusion. “It’s my dad’s 60 th birthday, and my family is having a surprise party for him today. I’m the only one not there, and I was feeling a little sad. So everyone got together and brought in a cake to celebrate so I wouldn’t feel left out.”
He bent his head over until it touched the coffee table. “I’m such a jerk.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “That’s what’s so confusing to me. I know you’re not. What happened?”
He took a breath and sat up. “It’s a combination of things, some lingering flickers of PTSD and the operative who was killed.”
“I read about it,” Maggie said. It had been in the daily briefing. She had been sad, but it hadn’t affected her as much as him.
“I knew him. We came up through the navy together, were both SEALs, went to Quantico together, and have worked in the field together too many times to count. Four years ago I was in his wedding. Three years ago, I was at his first baby’s christening. And now he’s gone.”
She set down her chopsticks. “Cam,” she whispered. “You lost a friend, a good friend.”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t ready to talk about it,” he said, staring at his chopsticks as he twirled them mindlessly between his fingers.
She sat on her knees and hugged him, pulling him against her chest like a mother comforting a child. At first he resisted, and then he gave in, pressing his face to her and crying a little. He hadn’t cried in ages, since he couldn’t remember when. But this was Maggie, his safe place.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered when he had himself back under control. “Would you like to tell me about him?”
He didn’t think he would want to, but as he opened his mouth to say no, stories began to pour out of him, about their shenanigans in the navy, their harrowing adventures on duty, some of the dicey situations they’d faced in the field together, and his memories of the man himself, aside from the job. The pain and pressure inside him flowed out, along with the words until, eventually, he felt drained of everything.
Maggie listened quietly, sympathetically. Her phone buzzed, probably her family at her father’s party back home. But she ignored it and kept her focus on him, alternately smiling and pressing her hand to her mouth in anxiety, depending on the story. Eventually, when he was out of words and feelings and food, they sat on the couch and turned on the TV.
“What do you want to watch?” she asked.
“You choose,” he said, a sign of his exhaustion. Usually he controlled the remote, even at her house. She turned to mindless reruns, something they both enjoyed, and sat back beside him. He put his arm around her. She slung her arm over his waist and rested her head on his chest.
“I should go home,” he said.
“I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before,” she said.
“I mean it this time,” he said, but he made no move to leave. He was tired, drained, exhausted, and immensely comforted all at once. This afternoon he thought he had ruined things between them forever, and that hurt more than he could have imagined. And now they were closer than ever, because of Maggie and her warm-hearted willingness to forgive his odious display. He gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. When she didn’t respond, he knew she was already out. He should cover her with a blanket and make his escape before he, too, gave in to sleep. But he didn’t. Instead he turned off the television, put a blanket over them both, and closed his eyes.