Chapter 11
KATE
Working out three mornings in a row is probably a new record for me. After my workout and a shower, I get to the office ridiculously early. I’ve never seen the space so empty.
I go in search of coffee in the break room.
“Oh, uh . . . good morning.”
In a light-grey suit, my boss stands near the machine as it brews the dark liquid. His intense green eyes rise up from it to meet my gaze.
“Morning.”
I detest the way my stomach tightens at the sound of his morning voice.
He is a cheater. He is engaged. He is an asshole.
I walk into the room because at the very least, I’m not getting fired . . . yet.
“So, you do know how to make it?” The words slip out on their own.
The first smirk I’ve seen since our night at his penthouse touches his lips.
He should be hired by the coffeemaker company to advertise their product.
They’d sell out in seconds to women fantasizing about waking up to this every morning.
A disclaimer would need to be typed at the bottom of the ad: male model not included with machine.
“Yes, occasionally, I dare to make it for myself.”
Oh my, oh my . . . if this man wasn’t engaged …
“Well, I don’t mind doing it. It is my job.”
My hip presses against the countertop, a safe distance from him. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, feet spread apart, eyes holding me in place. Several tense moments of silence pass between us before he speaks.
“You’ve done well as my PA. I’ll need you at the wedding.”
My heart stops beating. Is he serious? He wants me to be at his wedding? And for what?
“Umm, I . . . when is it?” I stumble over the words, completely at a loss.
“Two weeks from last Saturday. That’s why I needed the tux to be made.
After the ceremony, I’ll be conducting a meeting, which you’ll have to take notes for.
I’ll pay for your dress, shoes . . . whatever else you need.
” He turns toward the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup, followed by another one—I assume it’s for me.
My tongue won’t form the sentence I wish I could scream at him.
That he’s a prick and he doesn’t deserve Fallon, or me, or any woman in this world for that matter.
Does he really expect me to go and watch them get married?
“I . . . I mean, it’s just a little short notice . . . for a weekend? I, uh . . . think I might already have plans.” I hold my breath, waiting for his response.
He turns to face me again, jaw set. “I need you there as my assistant. Whatever your plans are, I think you can manage to cancel. I’ll pay you triple for weekend hours.”
He isn’t the type of man you can argue with. His deep voice alone makes me want to agree enthusiastically with whatever he says.
I know it’s wrong, and I know he’s hers. It’s still incredibly difficult to think straight when I’m looking right at him and his attention is focused on me. I’m the only person in the room with him, just like when I burned his dinner on Saturday.
I wish things were different. I really wish he weren’t engaged.
Wishes won’t get you anywhere.
Instead of responding, I simply nod as I swallow. At least his request guarantees I have two more weeks at this job and to find a new one.
He seems satisfied with my response, exiting the break room.
“Remember the enormous diamond ring and the beautiful, tall fiancée?” I say out loud to myself.
I could send her an anonymous letter . . .
That’s it. I’ll do everything I can to find a new job in the next two weeks, and I’ll draft up a letter for his fiancée, letting her know she shouldn’t marry him because he cheated with a random girl at a bar. If she chooses to go through with it, that’s on her.
Becky was craving Italian, so we’re hunkered down in the corner booth at Avanti’s.
After my newly cooked-up plan to send an anonymous letter, I want more than ever to secure Becky’s silence on the issue.
Not only did she print out photographs from Facebook, with captions and dates, but she also stayed up all night, creating a chronological order for the timeline of Luke and Fallon’s relationship.
She hasn’t asked me outright if I slept with Mr. Bradshaw, but I know she overheard my conversation with Mel in the restroom.
She either heavily suspects it or she just thinks something sketchy happened.
Maybe she just assumes that I have a massive crush on him.
Either way, I’m not giving away any more information than I absolutely have to.
“Okay, so Fallon and Luke have known each other since they were kids. Her mom even has a photo of them in the bathtub together when he was around four and she was two years old. Her mom clearly has no sense of online privacy. She posts everything.”
She pulls it out of the color-coded stack.
“Oh, wow. How far back did you go?”
She slurps down a bite of pasta before answering. “All the way to her birth, which was in Alabama, by the way. Luke was born before her, but I can’t figure out where.”
I stare at some more recent pictures, one with Luke and Fallon leaning in close to smile for a photo next to the big Christmas tree in New York City. He has his arm around her. They look phenomenal together, one of those couples whose kids will be tiny little model babies.
The queasiness inside my belly only gets worse, the longer we sift through the stack. Becky is giving me Fallon and Luke’s entire life story.
They went to homecoming together.
He played football. She was a cheerleader.
He graduated two years before her, but they saw each other at every major holiday in the next two years while Luke was in the Navy.
“Okay . . . Becky, I guess I’ve seen all I need to see.”
I push away the paper, grabbing a breadstick and shoving half of it in my mouth. At least I can eat for comfort and happiness because all men are trash.
This is what you get for hooking up with a stranger at a bar!
Her eyes widen as she finishes off her last bite of pasta and orders tiramisu for dessert.
“What? Kate, no! I haven’t told you the best part yet!”
She smiles at me, pulling out the last folder from her suitcase-sized handbag on the booth.
“What’s the best part?” I ask, thinking that even if I won a million dollars right now, it would be like adding sprinkles to a pile of dog shit and calling it dessert.
She flips over the folder labeled The Best Part and shows me a picture of Fallon smiling next to another man. He’s tall like Luke, but he has short blonde hair and pale grey eyes.
“Okay . . . who’s this guy? Her brother?”
They don’t really look alike, but aside from Becky thinking I could maybe get with him—which would never happen, considering I slept with his sister’s fiancé—I don’t see the silver lining.
Becky throws her head of curls back, laughing hysterically. “Oh, Kate, you are too funny. No, silly, Luke is Fallon’s brother! This is her fiancé, Garrison!”
I stare at Becky’s elated expression for another five seconds. She starts to flip through the pages of Fallon pictured with the blonde guy. I can see that they are clearly an item.
It’s like a beacon of light shines upon me as I realize that all the photos going back, documenting Luke and Fallon, were completely platonic.
They were sibling poses, awkward and like they were annoyed with each other.
The ones of Fallon and Garrison are romantic.
They even have a full engagement shoot in the Bahamas, featuring the enormous ring.
The weight of despair has lifted from my shoulders, and I take a huge, cleansing breath.
“Oh . . . my gosh. Fallon is his sister? Mr. Bradshaw isn’t engaged!”
I smile widely at Becky, and she claps excitedly.
This puts everything in a whole new light. The night we met at the bar is no longer a cheating escapade. Also, the obvious move he made on me at his penthouse on Saturday when I was making his lunch and the invitation to the wedding make it seem like he could want something more.
Another hook-up?
“That’s right! I knew you’d be so thrilled to hear it!” Becky’s cheeks are round with her wide smile, but mine suddenly fades.
She’s known this since Friday night, and she purposely made me wait and go through this miserable weekend and lunch with her, feeling like an absolutely horrible person for breaking up a relationship that’s lasted for so many years.
I stare at her, blinking slowly. She doesn’t seem to realize what she’s done, but I’m highly annoyed that she led me on for all this time. I feel like she baited me.
Taking a deep breath, I signal for the waiter for the check. Yelling at Becky won’t do any good, and she did just help dig me out of a massive hole.
But, wow, what a bitch move to not tell me right away.
“You and him would make an adorable couple though. I’ve worked at Bradshaw Enterprises since he took over last year, and he’s never had a girlfriend—that I know of. I know all the dirty secrets in that office. Ask me about anyone.”
I have no doubt she does, but her willingness to share makes me nervous. Also, I have no desire to be friends with someone who would let me feel like crap for an entire weekend.
“Uh, well, I’m hoping you aren’t going to tell anyone about . . . me sort of having a crush on him . . . so could you maybe keep that on the down-low? I’m afraid it might be seen as inappropriate, considering he’s my boss. I also don’t think he feels the same way at all.”
She dismissively waves her hand in the air. “Oh, of course I won’t tell! You can trust me. So, what happened between you two?” She leans in, eager to hear what I have to share.
What did I say in the restroom that she might have overheard?
I don’t remember my exact words to Mel on the phone, and if Becky catches me lying now, it could upset her.
Considering her “dirty secret” knowledge of our coworkers’ lives, she doesn’t seem like the best person to piss off if I want my own secrets to remain between us.
I also don’t want her to know more than necessary.
“Well . . . between you and me, of course . . . I met him at a bar before I started working at BE.”
She’s wide-eyed, sucked into the story completely.
“We . . . started talking. Then, he gave me a ride to . . . the place I was staying that night. His car was super swanky. I was feeling depressed about losing my other job and getting cheated on, so I had drunk a little too much.”
Becky is nodding along, sipping loudly from her Coke.
So far, none of this is a lie . . .
“But, yeah, I started two days later at Bradshaw Enterprises, and I don’t think he recognized me.
” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “I just felt bad when I thought he was engaged. I guess I had grown a little crush on him, and when he turned out to be taken, I felt guilty for approaching him at the bar.”
She’s studying my face, but I can’t read her expression to see if she believes the tale or not.
“Now that I know he’s single, I am so relieved. Thank you for doing all this to find out. Either way, I’ll have to get over my crush. I can’t lose this job, and he certainly isn’t interested anyway.”
She nods at me, and I hold my breath as I wait for her response.
She blinks with her big brown eyes before finally speaking. “Well, we’ll see about that.”