Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Strictly Business
I park my car next to a yellow Corvette that’s in a space reserved for the president of ANY-Time.
I raise an eyebrow. I didn’t know that Malcolm drove such a fancy car.
I remember what Oliver said about him making millions by running a charity.
I wonder if it’s true. I can’t help but think it’s a little tasteless to flaunt a car like this in the parking lot of a non-profit.
I walk through the front door and I’m greeted by a smiling receptionist with curly blond hair. “You must be Priscilla Cain,” she says.
“I am. I’m here to meet with Malc—I mean, Mr. Ridges.”
She waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. We all call him Malcolm here.”
I smile. She picks up her phone and dials a number, but Malcolm doesn’t answer because he’s already walking down the hall toward me. “I thought I heard your voice.”
He comes all the way up to me and wraps his arms around me again like he did last week when we met for drinks.
I hold my breath, counting down the seconds until he lets go of me.
The receptionist’s eyes go wide, and then she looks down, her brow furrowed.
At least I’m not the only one who thinks the hugging is weird. I force a smile.
“Come on into this conference room,” Malcolm says. He gestures toward a room with a long table. There’s a glass wall that separates the conference room from the reception area. He turns back to the receptionist and snaps his fingers. “Carrie, where are the crepes?”
“They’re in the conference room,” she says.
He looks at the box on the table, then back at her. “Don’t you think they might spoil just sitting out like that?”
“I just put them in there,” she says with a frown. “They’re fresh and warm. I didn’t want to put them in the refrigerator.”
He stares at her with a straight face for a long second. Carrie holds his stare. I stay where I am, feeling awkward about being in the middle of whatever this is. Finally, he turns back around and leads the way into the conference room.
“Sorry about this,” he says. “It’s embarrassing, honestly.”
I shake my head. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. It was really nice of you to do all this for our meeting.”
“They’re still in the box from the bakery,” he says with a sigh. “She couldn’t have taken them out and displayed them on a tray? She knows you’re an event planner. You have much higher standards than whatever this is.”
“Really, it’s okay,” I insist. “I’m sure the box is keeping them warm.”
He opens the box and pushes it over to me. “Help yourself,” he says. “The rest of my team should be here in a minute.”
I look inside at the rolled crepes. They’re all chocolate. No strawberry. I’m afraid to say anything because I don’t want to get Carrie in trouble. I pull one out and take a bite as I sit down.
“How is it?” Malcolm asks.
“Really good,” I say with my mouth full.
I try to hide my disappointment that it’s not strawberry.
It’s not that I don’t like chocolate. I do.
But you can’t tell a girl that she’s getting strawberry crepes and then turn around and get her something completely different when her heart is set on strawberries.
He nods. “I knew chocolate was the right choice. I know you said strawberry, but I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like chocolate.”
I take another bite to hide my annoyance. I don’t know why he even asked what I wanted if he was going to completely disregard my choice and make the decision for me. I think about how Oliver knew I wanted strawberry without me having to tell him.
A few other people filter into the conference room and take seats around the table.
None of them take any of the crepes, which makes me feel weird about eating mine in front of them.
I push my plate away while introductions are made.
We talk about their plans for the next few months, and more specifically about a charity auction they have coming up.
I describe how I would handle each of their events.
I try my best to make myself sound better than any competition I might have.
When the meeting is over, I stand up and shake hands with everyone again. As people begin to leave the conference room, Malcolm pushes the box of crepes closer to me. “Take these,” he says.
“Are you sure? There are so many of them. You could leave them in the breakroom for your employees.”
He shakes his head. “They know better than to ask for handouts.”
I’m not sure what to make of that statement.
I think about how no one else touched the crepes during the meeting.
I had thought it was weird, but I figured they were just collectively against breakfast food.
Now I wonder if they were afraid of being reprimanded.
I clear my throat. “Uh, sure. I’ll take the crepes, then. ”
I pick up the box and balance it under my arm with my handbag.
“Let me walk you out,” he says.
I look at Carrie on my way out the door. She keeps her head down, avoiding eye contact. Malcolm leads the way, opening the door for me. When we get outside to my car, I look at the yellow Corvette again.
“Is this your car?” I ask.
He nods. “Want to go for a ride?”
I laugh. “Maybe another time.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “How about Friday night? I could take you out for a drink, maybe dinner, and see where the night goes?”
I might have misread the intention of our meeting last week—I’m still not sure about that—but it’s pretty clear what he means by seeing where the night goes.
The idea of going out with a wealthy, handsome man who devotes his life to charity work is pretty appealing.
That is, normally it would be. I don’t know if it’s the way his employees seem a little bit afraid of him, or maybe it’s knowing that this isn’t his real nose, or the fact that he didn’t get me strawberry crepes.
It’s not like any of these things are dealbreakers on the surface.
Still, I rack my brain, trying to think of a reason to say yes, or even to say no.
I find that I simply don’t want to. Even more, after getting to know him a little better, I find that I don’t want to sign an exclusive contract with his company, either.
I’m too afraid to cut ties and burn bridges that I might regret later, so I decide to only handle one thing at a time. I’m already fake-dating Oliver, so I use him as an excuse.
“Sorry,” I hear myself say. “I have a boyfriend.”
He frowns. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant it as a business meeting. You know, like last week.”
“Oh. Right.” I don’t believe him, but I’m too uncomfortable to say that. “Maybe we should keep our business meetings during work hours. Like today.”
He nods. “Fair enough.” He reaches his hand out to shake mine. I can’t help but notice that the awkward hugs seem to be off the table now that I’ve rejected him. I’m not disappointed.
“I’ll have my people write up a contract for you to look over,” he says. “I think you’re going to like what I have to offer.”
“Great.” I force a smile. “Looking forward to it.”
Once I’m alone in my car, I open the box of crepes and snap a picture with my phone. I send it to Oliver. Without any other context than that, he writes back.
Oliver
What a jerk.
* * *
I thought the turnout for the second practice might be a little smaller as people decide that this isn’t for them.
Instead, the crowd is even bigger. Some of Oliver’s students’ parents have decided to join in the fun.
Friends of the band members and improv groups have also joined in, and so have a few of Tina’s friends who have been sworn to secrecy.
Lana looks stressed as her studio becomes crowded. There’s almost no room to move.
She looks at me, her eyes wide and brow furrowed. “I’ve never had a class this big. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll find a bigger spot we can rent out for next time. Maybe a ballroom at a hotel or something.”
She nods, biting her lip, then looks back at the packed room ahead of us. “I guess we’ll just have to work with what we have for now.”
I take a seat in the back of the room. This time, Oliver stays at the front of the room with Lana, talking to her and his students about how the marching band will play into the dance routine.
I watch him from afar, only able to see him for seconds at a time as the people crowding the room between us move, allowing glimpses here and there.
The room is filled with all sorts of different sounds.
There’s Lana’s stereo playing Sara Bareilles’s song, there’s the shuffling of feet as everyone moves as one to the beat, and louder than everything else is the sound of clarinets and flutes and trumpets and saxophones playing along perfectly to the tune.
I smile. I can just picture all of this happening outside at the fair with everything else that Oliver and I have planned. It’s going to be amazing.
Oliver’s eyes lock with mine across the room.
I look away, embarrassed to be caught staring.
When I look back, he’s still watching me.
He’s not smiling or frowning, just staring with a neutral expression.
I reach up and tuck my hair behind my ear, then lean back in my seat and cross my arms. I look away from him again, only to be drawn back in a second later.
This time, the corner of his mouth curves up ever so slightly before he returns his attention to his students.
When practice is over, most of the dancers begin to funnel through the door and out to the parking lot. I stay at the back of the room, waiting for the crowd to die down before I attempt to follow them outside.
“Excuse me. Are you Priscilla Cain?”