Chapter 8 #2
He has to remember me. Is he embarrassed? Nothing happened. It was a flirty exchange and an almost-kiss. That’s nowhere close to crossing the line. We can still be professional.
Maybe he’s pissed about his phone—which would be petty and ridiculous seeing as he could probably afford to buy a brand-new iPhone daily without putting a dent in his bank account.
But I guess if we’re getting down to brass tacks, I did damage his property.
I think I apologized at the club. I think. Perhaps it wasn’t enough.
Or, maybe he really doesn’t remember me.
I’d like to think our little spark wasn’t that forgettable, but there’s a good chance he took another woman home after I fled the scene with Charlie.
Either way, it’s not my business. He’s my boss.
I’m done thinking about his piercing eyes and soft, warm lips.
My bigger priority should be getting him to speak to me.
At exactly one o’clock, I peel myself out of my office chair.
Dawn and Chelsea invited me to lunch and I’m looking forward to the only pleasant human interactions I have on my schedule for the day.
I try to get Nathan’s attention through the glass door.
I plan on using charades to let him know I’m headed to lunch, but he doesn’t look in my direction.
Instead, I write a sticky note: Off to lunch.
Back at two. Here’s my cell phone if you need me.
After scribbling down my number, I secure the note in the center of my desk before heading to the elevators.
Chelsea and Dawn are waiting for me in the building lobby, but they already have bags of takeout in their hands. As soon as they spot me, they wave and gesture to a seating area left of the front desk.
“I’m sorry, hon,” Dawn says as I approach. “We promised lunch, but James got called to L.A. for an emergency meeting. We’re boarding the jet in an hour, so we’ll have to eat here.”
“We’re?” There’s a hint of excitement in my tone. Then I panic. I can’t leave Charlie to jet set to Los Angeles with a billionaire—even if it is for work.
“Not us,” Chelsea explains in a pretend British accent. “We’re not allowed on the jet, or the yacht. They leave the common folk behind when they travel.”
Dawn rolls her eyes. “First of all, you’ve been on the jet.”
“It was grounded,” Chelsea complains.
“And James doesn’t have a yacht.”
Chelsea squints at Dawn, calling her on her lie.
“ In Las Vegas ,” she adds.
Chelsea and Dawn begin to unpack the kraft paper takeout bags. We take a seat around the art deco coffee tables that are really not suited for lunch. The leather couches are too far away from the tables. It’s clear this is going to be a plate-in-lap type situation.
“We didn’t know what you wanted, so we just got a little of everything,” Chelsea says as she takes off the lids of the takeout containers one by one.
The savory smell of freshly sliced pepperoni and salami fills the air.
My stomach churns with desire as Chelsea pulls out the crusty, buttery sandwich rolls.
“This is the best deli in the city. We got a sandwich platter so you can try everything.” She pulls out two condiment packets and waves them in my face.
“Unconventional, but pair the brown mustard with the Italian dressing. It shouldn’t work, but I swear”—she pinches her fingers together and kisses them—“pure perfection.”
“Thank you.” But I stay fixed in my seat while Dawn and Chelsea build their plates.
“What’s wrong?” Dawn asks, looking over her shoulder. “Vegetarian?”
I pull my strawberry protein drink out of my purse and wave it in the air. I didn’t bother putting it in the fridge and now it’s room temperature. “I’m set.” My game plan was to chug my drink, then order a dry salad wherever we went for lunch. I wasn’t expecting this turn of events.
“That’s your lunch?” Concern washes over Dawn’s face.
“I’m trying to watch my weight. And I’m not that hungry.” My stomach betrays me, groaning loudly for both women to hear.
I’m worried I’ve offended her when Dawn doesn’t say anything.
Was that rude of me? I didn’t mean to be.
I anxiously watch Dawn build a sandwich filled with sliced meat, cheese, and topped with a medley of veggies.
She opens a small bag of potato chips and shakes half the package onto the plate.
I’m filled with envy as I watch these slender women eat.
Something that’s so complicated for me seems so easy for other women.
It’s simple. They eat at lunchtime because they’re hungry.
I can’t put anything in my mouth without numbers flashing through my mind—calories, carbs, my weight.
Rotating the bland protein drink in my hands, I scan the nutrition facts even though I know them by heart.
One hundred calories, six net carbs, twenty grams of protein.
Just enough to keep me alive…and miserable.
It wasn’t always like this. I went through high school blissfully unaware that being the chubby, bubbly girl was something to be embarrassed about.
I didn’t have time to worry about popular girls or crushes on boys.
My mom was dying. I didn’t party on weekends.
I learned to cook because Mom loved homemade food.
She was a fantastic cook, but toward the end, she didn’t have the strength to lift a pot and pan most days.
In my free time, I took Charlie to parks and swim lessons because I knew how guilty Mom felt about her youngest daughter missing out on the things she couldn’t do.
It wasn’t until my freshman year of college that I was able to have my own life. I was riddled with guilt, leaving my family behind, but Mom wanted me to have a real college experience. She promised me she’d be okay until I got home…
It was the only promise she ever broke.
I didn’t have time to process the trauma induced by how I lost my virginity in those first few days of college. My mom died. My sister needed me. There was no time to dwell on the painful humiliation of what that stupid football-playing prick did to me.
I rub off the label of the protein drink with the tip of my thumb as I’m taken back to the most gut-wrenchingly humiliating moment of my life.
I still hear the “ moos ” behind my back.
They said it was all in good fun. Just a game.
A princess. A jock. And a cow. But what the hell kind of game traumatizes a girl for the rest of her life?
“Spencer, did you hear me?”
“Hm?” I look up and Dawn’s crouching down so we’re eye level. She’s holding out the plate she prepared. For me.
She reaches for my protein drink. “Give me that. That’s not food.
” I don’t fight her as she pries the bottle from my clutches, then places the plate on my lap.
She even goes as far as wrapping my hands around the sandwich.
“Eat.” She smooths my long hair over my shoulders, then sweetly brushes my cheek with the pad of her thumb.
Dawn proceeds to build another plate. Chelsea darts nervous glances in my direction, but doesn’t call me out on the tears that trickle down my cheeks.
I sniffle as I take a small, hesitant bite of the sandwich.
I only get the crusty edge of the bread.
But it’s enough to break the floodgates.
Fuck it, I’m starving. Thick tears streaming now, I take a giant bite, filling my mouth with the perfect blend of soft bread, salty meat and cheese, and a burst of tang from the dressing-soaked veggies.
“Do you like it?” Chelsea asks.
I nod eagerly, keeping my mouth closed as I chew. But my response doesn’t appease her concern. Her head is cocked, and there’s still a cloud of worry in her eyes. I bet she thinks I’m crying because Nathan was awful to me just as they suspected he would be.
But that’s not the reason.
I’m crying because the stunt Dawn just pulled is exactly what my mom would’ve done if she were here.
If I had one wish, it wouldn’t be for Jesse to have never betrayed me and Charlie.
It wouldn’t be a big diamond ring or walking down the aisle.
Not money. I don’t even need my new boss to be civil to me.
None of that would fix the constant ache in my soul.
All I want…
All I need…
Is for Mom to be here.