Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
ALLY
On Sunday evening, we’re loading the dishwasher after dinner when Drew’s phone pings with a text.
“It’s from Nina Tate,” Drew reports after he reads it. “She’s accepted a post-doc position in San Francisco. Starts in August.”
“That’s good news, right?” I ask. “She’s basically given up on you. I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” he says with a chuckle. “And yes, it’s good news.”
This seems like a great opportunity for another define the relationship talk. After all, Nina was one of the reasons for our fake relationship, so now that she’s no longer in the game, it would make sense to review the rules.
But Drew doesn’t bring it up, so I don’t either.
I keep kicking it around in my head, though. And by the time I walk to work Monday morning, I’ve convinced myself that we’ve moved way beyond a fake relationship, or even a casual fling.
After all, he showed up in the ER when I cut my arm. He invited me to move in with him. He even asked me to go with him to his appointment in Toronto, and there was nothing casual about that. And the way he jumped to my defense at Hayley’s graduation dinner wasn’t casual either.
And I sometimes catch a look in his eyes when he looks at me—kind of soft and amused—that I’ve never seen when he looks at anyone else.
I resolve to tell him how I feel, but by the time I get to work, I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I should wait until I hear whether I get into nursing school.
Maybe I’m just a chicken.
I try to put the problem out of my mind so I can focus on my job. Heather’s chairing a meeting for the entire morning, and I go along to keep the minutes.
It’s pretty dull work, to be honest. They’re discussing projected staffing needs for the next fiscal year, and in my opinion, it’s the sort of meeting that could have been an email. I’m relieved when we finally wrap up for lunch.
I walk to my cubicle to grab my lunch, then head toward the elevator. There’s a little outdoor patio off the cafeteria, and since the weather’s gorgeous, I’ll eat there.
“Oh, Alexandra,” Heather calls as I walk past her office. She’s standing in her doorway, talking to her other assistant, Janine.
I pause. “Yes?”
“I wanted to let you know I submitted your reference letter last night,” Heather tells me. “For nursing school.”
“Thank you so much, Heather.” Now I feel guilty for thinking critical thoughts about her meeting. She’s been really kind about the reference letter.
I’m almost to the elevator when I realize I forgot my water bottle at my cubicle, so I turn and head back down the hall.
And as I pass Heather’s office, I hear voices that make me freeze in my tracks.
“ . . . surprised she didn’t ask Dr. Malone for a reference letter.” That sounds like Janine.
There’s a giggle, then Heather’s voice. “Can you imagine what he’d write? ‘Alexandra is incredibly talented . . . in bed.’”
There’s more laughter as I take a step closer. Now I can see them both, but thanks to the angle of the door, I’m pretty sure they can’t see me.
“I have to say, though,” Heather continues. “They’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than I expected. I thought he’d have moved on by now.”
“She must be very, very talented.”
“Must be,” Heather snarks. “But I wouldn’t have thought Drew Malone was the kind of man to be led around by his dick.”
Okay. That’s enough. I pull myself up by my spine and force myself to walk through the door into the office.
“I bewitched him with my magic pussy,” I say flatly.
Heather gapes at me like a shocked goldfish, and Janine doesn’t look much better. Under different circumstances, I might have gotten some satisfaction from their expressions, but I’m way beyond that now. It took all the strength I had to deliver that sentence.
“I quit,” I announce. To my relief, the words come out clear and strong. I make it out of Heather’s office with my head high, then hurry toward the elevator. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I need to get away from Heather.
I feel nauseated and shaky and stupid. And incredibly, pitifully, na?ve. I really thought Heather respected me, but clearly, she was just being nice because I’m dating Drew. And I realize a lot of people have probably been doing the same.
A few minutes later, I find myself outside the main hospital entrance. I collapse on a bench to think about what to do next.
Ironically, this is the same place Drew and I talked about the plan for our fake relationship, after he told the Tates I was his girlfriend.
Our fake relationship.
It’s funny how a change in perspective can make the same situation look entirely different, and my perspective’s changed completely now. I try to tell myself that Heather and Janine are just bitchy and bitter, but it doesn’t help.
I have to look at the facts. Drew made it very clear he didn’t want a relationship. We agreed to fake it for three months, so it wouldn’t look like I was having a fling with him, and to give him an excuse to turn Nina down.
And when his sister suggested I join them to visit his dad at the end of August, Drew shut her down right away. Of course he did, because our arrangement will have ended by then.
And our physical chemistry? There’s no doubt we’ve got that, but Drew refused to sleep with me until I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship either.
So while part of me wants to tell Drew exactly what Heather said, I can’t do it.
I have no doubt he’d ride in to play the white knight to my distressed damsel, but I can’t put him in that position.
The last thing he needs is a conflict with Heather.
He’s stupidly overworked, and he’s done more than enough for me already.
And if I tell him about this, he might feel obligated to extend our fake relationship, just to make a point. It would be a kind thing to do, but would be a mistake. I need to end this now, before I fall any more in love with him than I already am.
Yep. I’m in love with Drew Malone. I convinced myself that when he said he wasn’t looking for a relationship, he just hadn’t met the right woman, and the right woman was me.
I take a deep breath and start to walk home.
Fortunately, I had my purse with me when I walked out, so I won’t have to go back to the hospital.
I’ve left a few things behind in my cubicle, but nothing I care about.
Heather can decide what to do with my cardigan, my water bottle, and my emergency pack of Sour Patch Kids.
As I let myself into Drew’s condo, my phone chimes with an alert that tells me Sarah Hayes has just won her first round match at Wimbledon. I pull up our message thread and congratulate her.
As I hit send, I remember Sarah’s suggestion that I work as her personal assistant. All of a sudden, it looks perfect. I no longer have a job at the hospital; even if I hadn’t told Heather I was quitting, I couldn’t go back there.
And working for Sarah would get me out of Somerset and away from Drew. I can’t face him right now. I don’t want to tell him what Heather said, but I don’t think I can pretend there’s nothing wrong. He knows me too well for that.
I pull up the text thread with Sarah, and ask if her offer to come to Wimbledon still stands.
I don’t tell her the details of my crisis, just that I’ve been given some time off work.
The last thing she needs is a distraction in the middle of the tournament; I’ll wait until it’s done to tell her the truth and ask for the PA job.
Sarah replies half an hour later, saying I’m still welcome to come. She sends me the address of her rented house, along with her mother’s number, and tells me to text her mom when I arrive.
I find a flight from Toronto to London that leaves at ten tonight.
Since a one-way ticket might raise red flags with British immigration, I pay extra for a round-trip ticket with a flexible return date.
It almost maxes out my credit card, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the transaction goes through.
Next, I check the train schedule; I’ll have to catch the five-fifteen to Toronto, so I need to start packing. I strip the sheets off the sofa bed and throw them in the washing machine, then fold up the sofa. I’m determined to leave Drew’s condo in pristine condition.
Once I’ve packed my suitcase with the stuff I’ll need in England, I find the cardboard boxes I used for the move from my apartment.
I’ll have to move the rest of my stuff into Drew’s storage locker for now.
It’s not ideal—I’d prefer a clean break—but I can’t think of a better alternative.
If I travel with Sarah, I’ll be back in Toronto in August for the Canadian Open, and I can deal with it then.
I send my mother a text to tell her I’m going to England, mostly because I feel like I should. She doesn’t reply right away, but that’s not a surprise, since she hardly ever checks her phone while she’s at work.
The last thing I do is write Drew a note. It’s a cowardly way to communicate, but it seems like my best option. I could call him from the train, but he’d probably guess I wasn’t giving him the whole story, and he’d be right. And I might break down and tell him about Heather.
Text or email aren’t great options either, because he’d probably reply. And then I’d be tempted to reply to him, when what I really need is to get him out of my head.
After all, it’s not like we were in a serious relationship. We always had an end date, I’ve just moved it up a little.
So I find a pad of paper in Drew’s desk drawer, and after three drafts, I’ve got a note I can live with. It’s not perfect, but it’s basically truthful; the only lies are of omission.
I tap my phone to call an Uber, then set Drew’s condo key on his kitchen table next to my note. Then I wrestle my suitcase into the hall and pull the door closed, hearing it click as it locks behind me.