Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Decker
The Langham does events right, I’ll give them that.
The ballroom has been transformed into what Penelope envisioned—from round tables with low centerpieces so guests can actually see each other across the table, to the stage lit in warm lights instead of harsh white ones, and the sponsors’ signage tastefully dotted throughout the space so that it doesn’t look like a trade show.
She’s good at this.
As I look at her across the space, a selfish part of me hopes that when she slid her gorgeous body into the black dress she’s wearing, it was with a big fuck you to me in mind. If so, it’s working.
We’ve been cordial for two weeks. Ever since the night she walked out of my condo.
Cordial is what she asked for, and that’s what I’ve given her.
Our texts are professional, and other than one brief conversation full of pleasantries at Hayes and Leighton’s place when I didn’t leave fast enough after Hazel’s hula hoop lesson, there’s been nothing else.
Being cordial with her is more exhausting than last week’s back-to-back away series. Add on the latest therapy session with Foster and my mind is a jumble even the most genius psychologist couldn’t unravel.
At my table are sponsors, two season ticket holders and their wives, Easton, and the woman he brought as his date. I didn’t bother with a plus one because there’s no one I’d rather bring than Penelope.
I already checked, and she’s at a table across the way, so I figure I’ll eat my dinner and stick around for a half hour before I sneak out.
“Penelope,” Easton says, looking up at her standing at the table’s edge.
I’m talking to one of the season ticket holders, who is being polite and telling me how stupid the Colts will be if they don’t sign me for next year.
“Do you guys mind if I join you? Someone didn’t RSVP for their spouse at my table, and I know this table had an opening.”
“Course not, come on over here.” Martin Caulfield, a commercial real estate guy, stands and pulls out the chair for her.
“Thank you.”
Pen taking the seat next to Martin puts her right across the table from me.
Now that I think about it, I wish she’d chosen higher centerpieces.
“Goldie, you good?” Easton has one arm swung over the back of his date’s chair and the other holding his glass.
“Fine.” I pick up my drink, looking over the rim of my glass, but Penelope looks everywhere but at me.
Martin Caulfield is in his mid-fifties and conveys the confidence of someone who has written enough checks to the Colts that he thinks he pays our salaries when, in reality, he probably pays for our snacks in the dugout. But he thinks he’s entitled to every perk they’re willing to give him.
Needless to say, I dislike him.
A lot.
He turns his body toward Penelope, not paying attention to anyone else at the table.
She smiles graciously and stays professionally polite, while he keeps leaning in a little closer.
Out of your league, man.
“Goldie, you’re looking a little red there.” Easton’s smirk is prominent.
“I’m fine.”
Now Pen’s angled slightly away from Martin without making it obvious. Good girl.
I struggle through the salad, the soup, and finally the meal, watching her from across the table.
When a season ticket holder tries to engage me in a conversation about my new Noir Cologne ad and how his wife was very excited when she found out they’d be sitting with us, I find it hard to look away from Pen to converse with the couple.
The wife’s cheeks are flushed, and they share a laugh.
Even through all that, I kept taking sneak peeks at Pen as Foster’s words from therapy ring through my head.
Finally, the speeches start.
Whitaker addresses the group, but I’m not really interested. I know he’s the one behind me not getting my contract renewed. It’s obvious when we’re all together. Ripley says something about community and how we’re all on the same mission—to win the World Series.
Martin leans over to say something to Penelope after her dad’s speech.
She smiles politely, then turns back toward the table.
He says something else to her, leaning in too close.
I pick up my water glass, and my fist tightens around it.
“Goldie.” Easton says my name like a warning.
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
What does he want from me? I am not actually fine.
By some saving grace, dinner clears shortly after, and people start moving between tables.
I abruptly stand but get stopped at the next table over. Again, someone comments about my contract.
Right now, I don’t care about my fucking contract.
I shake hands and talk baseball and say all the right things to all the right people, tracking Pen’s movements the entire time. When she moves. Where she stops. How Martin follows her toward the balcony doors with a fresh drink in his hand.
I wait a few minutes, and when neither of them returns, I follow.
The balcony overlooks the river. This evening showcases Chicago at its best. Everything surrounding us is lit up, and a soft warm breeze brushes over my face.
I love this city. Penelope is at the railing with her arms crossed, looking as if her patience is running low.
Martin is beside her, gesturing at something on the skyline.
I cross the balcony toward them.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I don’t sound sorry, and I don’t care. “Penelope, can I borrow you for a minute?” I nod at Martin. “Event question.”
Martin glances in my direction, looking as if he wants to throw down until he sees it’s me. “Decker Davis, of course.” He smiles at her. “Come find me when you’re done.”
He touches her arm, and my hands fist at my sides, my knuckles white.
We both wait to speak until he goes inside.
Penelope turns to me with her arms still crossed. “Event question?”
“Can we talk?” I approach, half expecting her to throw her drink in my face.
Her feet stay planted. “What’s the event question, Decker?”
I look at the door Martin just walked through and back at her. “He’s been following you around for an hour.”
“He’s a sponsor.”
“He’s interested.”
“He’s a sponsor,” she says again firmly, as though that settles it. “And I was handling it. I don’t need you to swoop in like some savior.”
“I know you don’t need me to.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m done.” The words tumble out of my mouth. “I’m done with this cordial bullshit between us. God, Pen, it killed me to watch him chatting you up tonight. To have all your attention on him.”
Her arms don’t uncross. “Good.” I deserve that. “Might I remind you that you said that the other night too? But then Easton knocked on the door, and you pushed me away again.”
“I know.” I push a hand through my hair.
“So what’s different now?” Her defenses are up and for good reason.
“I’ve been fighting this since I was eleven years old, and I’m thirty-four, and I’m so damn tired, Pen. I’m done fighting it.”
Something shifts in her face. The composed professional version flickers for a moment to a woman filled with hope. “And Foster?”
“I have to talk to him, but I couldn’t let another man take you home.”
“He didn’t have a chance of taking me home.”
“I know, but I just… wait right here?”
She huffs and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
“I want us to have a fresh start, and to do that, I have to talk to Foster.”
She’s quiet. All I hear is the city noise around us. She could say no, and I wouldn’t blame her.
“Go.” Her voice is quiet.
I hold her gaze for one more second. “You’ll wait here?”
She nods. “You have ten minutes.”
I step forward, but she retracts. Of course she doesn’t want to kiss me right now. Not until she feels more secure. She needs to know that she’s not going to give me all of her just for me to break her heart.
I turn and steadily walk back into the venue, searching for Foster.
The question I haven’t asked until right now is what do I do if he says no?