Chapter 27
Kellen
Alone in my office after a long morning of meetings that I’m sure could have been emails, I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about marriage ever since Salem said she doesn’t want to marry me.
I guess it’s supposed to be some consolation that she doesn’t want to marry anyone else, but it doesn’t feel that way.
It feels like the woman I love turning her back on me. On what we have. On us.
Then Marius and Ronan at dinner the other night didn’t help matters at all.
Sure, they don’t seem to have anything I don’t have right now simply living with Salem, but damn, they seem happier than they’ve ever been before.
I think that’s because they were married.
The problem is they couldn’t tell me what’s so great about marriage that I could use the next time I broach the subject with her.
Last night, I considered bringing it up again, but when she came home from work, she seemed to be hating all things marriage and love.
I know it’s because of that new client of hers, that actor from that show I used to watch years ago in college, but she usually doesn’t bring home problems from work.
In fact, one of the parts of her personality I admire most is how she’s able to keep her professional life and personal life separate.
Let’s face it. If she didn’t have that skill, we may never have fallen in love. I never forget I was once one of her clients.
She stormed around the house for nearly twenty minutes before sitting down for dinner, and when I asked if everything was okay, all she said was, “God help me if I ever think of being someone like that husband and wife I met today. May I forever be saved from love like that.”
Not exactly a good opening for me to then try to discuss the idea of marriage again. So I pushed any thoughts about that topic down and instead told her about my day at the office. Like always, she was supportive, but it wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have.
I honestly don’t know why my mind has become obsessed with the notion of marriage. We’re happy. We live the life we want, do things we want to do without an issue, and have all we desire. What would marriage add to our lives?
All of those questions are valid, yet I can’t get the idea out of my head that her saying she doesn’t want to get married says more than the words’ meanings. If it wouldn’t be any different if we married, why is she so adamantly against doing it?
Cracking my neck, I try to ease the headache that’s beginning to form at the base of my skull. I need to stop fixating on this. I’ve got a thousand other things to focus on right here at work.
My assistant breaks into my thoughts by walking into my office. She gives me a tepid smile before asking me, “Did you see the phone messages I forwarded to you?”
I like my assistant. She’s exceptionally efficient, which makes my job easier. She’s also not one for much talking, which I really appreciate. A woman in her fifties with gray hair and the longest neck I’ve ever seen on anyone, Nita is all business, and that’s exactly what I need, especially today.
“No,” I answer, shaking my head in part to answer her and in part to make those thoughts about marriage go away. “Anything important?”
She’s already walking out when I ask that, so she stops at my office door and gives me a look I know all too well is her silently saying, “Is it my job to determine what’s important to you at any given moment?”
“Let me rephrase. Is the world going to end if I don’t do anything with these until the end of the day?”
That gets me a smile that reminds me of how Eleanor smiles when she sees me. The woman who stepped in for my mother after she passed likes me far more than Nita does, however.
“No, Mr. King. I think you can wait until the end of business today. One was personal, though. At least that’s how I’d categorize it since it had nothing to do with what we do here.”
A personal message? I’m sure it’s from someone in my family. Curious who, I ask, “From one of my brothers or their wives?”
She shakes her head. “No. This one was from a woman named Emily. Emily Martin, I believe.”
That name doesn’t ring a bell, so I don’t ask anything further.
Probably someone calling for a soundbite to include in some reporting.
I get those sometimes. I think about that for a few moments and dismiss that idea.
Nita wouldn’t refer to the message as personal if that was the case because people calling for comments for their articles always say what media they work for.
My interest piqued, I open my laptop and go to the program where Nita sends all my messages. They’re listed as they happened, and I see Emily Martin called at just after ten this morning. Her entire message runs four words which mean nothing to me.
“Please call. It’s urgent.”
How the hell could it be urgent since I don’t know who she is? It would have been nice if she gave me even the tiniest hint as to what exactly is urgent. Who leaves a message like that without explaining who they are and what the hell is urgent?
I walk out to where Nita sits at her desk and see her getting ready to leave for lunch.
I promised her right after she started working for me that I wouldn’t interrupt her break times since I had a habit of doing exactly that with the last assistant I had, which is why she went to the human resources people and lodged a complaint.
At least it wasn’t for anything like I used to do before I met Salem.
The HR people didn’t find that comment amusing, even though I thought it was quite self-effacing.
That office has no sense of humor or whimsy.
“Can I ask you something about this message before you go to lunch?”
She turns to look at me and then smiles. “Sure, Mr. King.”
“Can you tell me anything more than what this Emily Martin said? Like anything? I’m drawing a complete blank on who this could be or what could be so urgent.”
Nita thinks for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer she’s seeking is up there, and then lowers her head to face me again. “I typed in exactly what she said, but I do remember she sounded sad.”
I wait for her to add something else since that doesn’t help at all, but that’s it. All I know is Emily Martin wants me to call because something is urgent, and she sounded sad when she called this morning right after ten.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I hate mysteries. Leaving me hanging like this is not a good start for Emily Martin and me.
“Thank you, Nita. Have a nice lunch,” I say, not trying to hide my disappointment that she couldn’t help me more.
She doesn’t respond, and I walk back into my office. Whoever this Emily person is, she’s highjacked my workday. Now I can’t think of anything else.
I guess in some small way, I should thank her. At least I’m not fixating on why Salem doesn’t want to marry me anymore.
But this is as frustrating, for sure.
Sitting back down at my desk, I consider going for lunch, but I’m not really hungry. I need to figure out who this Emily Martin is and why she’d call me. Yes, I could just return her call, but I’m not a fan of being blindsided. I like to know the details of a situation before I walk into it.
Maybe she worked here at King Industries and that’s how I’d know her? I type her name into the employee directory, making sure to limit the search to former employees, but that name doesn’t come up. I doubt she’s a current employee, but I reframe my search and that name doesn’t come up again.
Maybe high school? I don’t remember an Emily Martin from school, but that was a long time ago. Instantly, I know who I can call to ask for help with this. Ava and I were in the same year at school, so that name might ring a bell with her.
Ava answers my call with her usual sweetness. “Hey, Kellen! What’s new? I’m a little surprised to see your name pop up on my phone this morning.”
She stops talking for a moment and then says, “Oh, it’s lunchtime already? Time flies when you’re having fun. What can I do for you?”
“Hey, Ava. I’m hoping you can help me. I got a call from a woman named Emily Martin, but I don’t know anyone by that name.
I checked, but she’s not in the past or current employee list here, so she isn’t a coworker.
So now I’m trying to figure out if she’s someone from high school.
Do you remember anyone named Emily Martin? ”
“Hmmm, I don’t think so. Do you want me to ask Eden? She knew a lot more people than I did. She was always more of a social butterfly than I was back then.”
“If she’s there, sure.”
“Okay, hang on. Let me ask her.”
I listen to my sisters-in-law talk about this woman and if she could have been with us at school, but it’s clear by what they sound like that they don’t remember her either.
When Ava comes back to me, she says, “Sorry. Eden and I can’t say we were in school with anyone named that.
In fact, we don’t remember an Emily at all, and we definitely didn’t have an Emily in the grade all three of us were in. I wish we could have helped.”
“It’s okay. I figured it might be a longshot, but I had to try. Thanks for trying.”
Well, that didn’t get me any closer to knowing who called me or what’s so damn urgent. I move on to college, but again, I don’t remember anyone named Emily. Same with grad school.
Is it possible I dated someone named Emily Martin? I wrack my brain over and over, but I get nothing. No memory of her. No reason I should remember her. Absolutely nothing.
Maybe she made a mistake and wanted Matthias. That’s happened before, although not recently. We do share the same last name, so it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.
I call him and find, unlike me, he actually takes his lunch break and eats food instead of trying to solve goddamned mysteries about vague phone calls. Must be nice.