Текст книги "Pure Abandon"
Автор книги: Jeannine Colette
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Pure Abandon Copyright © 2015 by Jeannine Colette
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com
Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
www.JeannineColette.com
For Nicole
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Because You're Dying to Know...
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I’m standing on a corner in the rain. How did I get here? How did I come to this point in the road?
The corner is wet, my clothes are soaked, but I can’t move. I’m here to see him.
Him.
There he is. Walking out the front door of the hotel. Right where he’s supposed to be.
Through the parting umbrellas, I can see his face. Those golden eyes and chiseled chin striking alongside his broad shoulders and strong thighs.
He’s carrying an umbrella, shielding him from the rain.
So in control. So dry.
He’s wearing grey. That’s the color. The color that defines my life.
Nothing is black and white.
Just grey.
I want to run, dash across the street and grab him. Hold him in my arms, feel his tongue in my mouth.
I want to caress him, feel his hand under my skirt.
But my legs are lead. I can’t move.
He’s waiting for me. This is my moment.
But do I turn to him or run away?
Far away.
“It’s your turn.”
It’s three a.m. and the baby is crying… again. Jackson came into our lives a year ago and has been the joy of my life. I love his little smiles, but not at three a.m. His teeth are coming in and it’s as painful to me as it is for him. I haven’t slept in weeks.
Hell, I haven’t slept in a year.
Crawling out of bed, I throw on my robe and head down the hall to the nursery.
“What’s the matter, sweet boy?”
Jackson’s sobs stream down his face. My poor, sweet angel always looks so sad in the middle of the night. I scoop him up, and head toward the glider.
“There, there. It’s okay.”
And that’s all he needs.
He slumps in my arms as peaceful as ever. A little piece of heaven in my hands. But while he sleeps, I lie awake. Once I’m up, I’m up.
There are a few things in life I know to be certain. The best coffee beans are grown in Guatemala, Humphrey Bogart was the greatest actor of all time, the Mets are the most underrated team in baseball and I am unequivocally, madly in-love with my husband and son.
Though, sometimes, I question the husband part when I hear the words, “It’s your turn.”
With Jackson asleep, I head back to the bedroom. It’s 3:45 a.m.
“Is he in bed?” Gabriel asks, sounding like he’s been up for the last hour. Wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, his lean six-foot-two frame takes up most of the bed, leaving me a tiny space in the corner.
“He is. If you were up, you could have gotten him.”
“It was your turn.” His voice becomes slightly muffled as he rolls over and hugs his pillow.
If someone had told me that drunken night at McCloon’s this was the life we would lead, I wouldn’t have believed them.
But here we are… taking turns.
I take a deep breath before sliding back into the bed. Today is a big day for me. After walking away from a career I loved and worked so hard for, I’m finally going back.
Two years ago, I gave it up. I’d just found out I was pregnant, and due to a complicated pregnancy, the doctor ordered me on bed rest. I had been working eighty-hour weeks, scouting locations all over the country and field producing for a production company. Once the doctor said I had to stop for the sake of my baby, I didn’t think twice.
One day, with my feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, lying on my back, Gabriel sat down beside me and we had a major discussion. We decided if my job was too high stress to grow a baby, then it certainly wasn’t the type to raise a baby with. I lay in bed for seven months and spent the last thirteen at home with my son.
And while I’ve enjoyed my time with Jackson, I always knew I was going back.
Working is in my blood. My father was the most disciplined person I knew. I like to think I got my work ethic from him. My mother is another story. Her job was to look pretty and spend money. I never wanted to be like her.
It was difficult to find a new job in my field that met Gabriel’s demands—no travel, easy commute, time with the family—so once Malory called to tell me there was an opening at Asher-Marks Communications, I jumped on board. For one, it’s an incredible job that’s close to home and offers little travel. More than that, I get to work with Malory again.
Malory and I met at a small production company six years ago. I was fresh out of college and ready to take on the world. Five years my senior, Malory was my mentor. My very cool mentor with whom I gossiped over pink margaritas at Rosa Mexicana. But while my life went the marriage and baby route, her career blossomed, taking her to senior producer of Asher-Marks Communications, producing concerts, award shows, and even the Super Bowl halftime show. I was so consumed with my at-home life that I chose nights at home with Gabriel over soirees at Cipriani. My Facebook page has honeymoon photos and baby pictures. Hers has pictures of cocktail parties and Twitter posts from celebrities. A lot can happen in two years.
I’ve barely closed my eyes before the alarm goes off at six a.m. Pushing the comforter from my body, I roll my legs off the bed and pull out into a long stretch. I’m not used to getting up for work anymore.
If I could just rest my eyes for two more minutes…
“Oh no, you don’t!” I say to myself and shake off the need to go back to sleep.
Rolling my neck from side to side, I notice Gabriel is already in the shower.
Knowing I’d have trouble getting up in the morning, I was smart enough to shower before bed last night. I was too excited to go to sleep, so I had to do something with my time. Of course, as soon as I dozed off, Jackson woke me up, and now, with only two hours of sleep, I have to make myself look like a sophisticated businesswoman.
I walk into our small walk-in closet and pull out an outfit I specifically picked for today: an Albert Nipon ivory crepe pantsuit with a V-neck jacket adorned with a gold zipper in the front and an ivory belt. Since Memorial Day weekend just passed a few weeks ago, I can now safely wear white without committing a fashion faux pas. The suit is sophisticated and stylish yet casual enough to wear to work. This I bought with Malory in mind. Everyone knows women dress to impress other women.
I head into the bathroom in an attempt to, as my mother would say, “put my face on.” Opening the makeup bag, I unload my arsenal. If I learned one thing living with my mother, it was a girl needs her war paint before she goes into everyday combat. Due to last night’s lack of sleep, I have dark circles under my eyes. I slather on concealer, add a pinch of bronzer for color and line my eyes with a soft black before adding some mascara.
After having changed in our room, Gabriel walks into the bathroom. “You look nice.” He sounds slightly surprised.
I look back at my reflection. It is a vast improvement from the yoga pants, tank tops, and messy bun I’ve been sporting.
Gabriel, as always, looks handsome in his navy suit, crisp white shirt, and sapphire tie. It’s the one I bought him last year, along with new dress socks. A practical gift. I remember when I once bought him a bong and a thong.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” Gabriel asks, combing his hair while leaning over the double vanity.
I love his hair. It’s dark and wavy, a beautiful contrast to his blue eyes.
“I was thinking we could order in. I want to make sure I spend time with Jackson tonight.”
Today will be Jackson’s first day home without me. I know they say women can’t have it all—a career and a family—but I certainly am going to try. And if I have to forgo a home-cooked meal every once in a while to spend extra time with my son, that’s what I’m going to do.
Gabriel wipes the pads of his fingertips across his forehead; his disapproving eyes meeting mine through the mirror. “I let the nanny in while you were sleeping.”
I hold up my hand, pointing a finger in the air in warning. “Don’t.”
His mouth pulls in as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “How can you possibly expect me to be comfortable having a stranger home with Jack all day?” He looks back at me for a reaction. “It doesn’t even make sense financially. Between the cost of the nanny and the price for commuting, it’s just not worth it.” Gabriel has been against me returning to work. He loves me at home with the baby. I understand his concern, but I can’t take him pressing the issue again.
Running the brush through my hair, I let the soft brown curls fall down my back. I stare back at tired green eyes. This will have to do.
Turning my back to the mirror, I lean against the vanity and face Gabriel. “We still have your college loans to pay off. And some day we’ll have Jackson’s college loans to pay off. I can’t stay home forever.”
Gabriel puts his hands on his hips and lets out a hard breath. “I know. I know,” he says as if he’s trying to convince himself.
The last six weeks have been a continuous back-and-forth between us on the issue. Doors were slammed and the couch was slept on—not by me. It would have ended sooner, but Gabriel was called away on business half the time. He might be a successful attorney but this is one jury he was unable to sway. I’ve made too many consolations in this marriage. I am ready to take back my life.
We made amends and he promised he wouldn’t give me a hard time about it.
Gabriel places his arms around my waist and pulls me into him. “I just always pictured you home, taking care of Jack. And maybe having another…” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
I step back and put my hand up in a stop motion. “Hold on there, cowboy. First, one baby at a time. And second, Carmen is an amazing nanny. She came highly recommended and her credentials are impeccable.”
“She better be. She’s costing an arm and a leg.” He frowns, and I know he doesn’t get it.
I’m just glad he’s going along with it.
Stepping back into him, I put my hand on his face and lower his chin so our eyes are level. My voice is soft yet steady. “She will be. I promise. And besides, you hate your job. Maybe someday I’ll be able to support you and you can be the one to stay home.”
Gabriel lets out a soft sigh of defeat, but I can sense the wheels turning in his head. “How about we make a deal?” His navy eyes light up.
I eye him quizzically but let him continue.
“One year from today, we reopen the discussion. If our family is suffering or if this career is going nowhere, you come back home.” He holds up his pinky finger in front of his face, looking for me to seal the promise. “Deal?”
I wrap my finger around his and kiss our two fingers that are intertwined with each other.
“Deal.” I promise. “As long as you promise me one thing.”
Gabriel raises his eyebrow.
I widen my eyes so he knows I mean business. “No more talk. We can’t keep having the same discussion. No more arguing. You are giving me one year. Deal?”
Gabriel kisses our pinkies and releases our hands. “Good. Because in a year, I’ll be partner and you won’t have a need to work,” he says confidently.
I cringe at the idea.
“Chinese food for dinner?” I ask, heading out of the bathroom and through our bedroom.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He’s fastening his watch as he follows me down the hallway.
We make our way downstairs to the kitchen, where Carmen is feeding Jackson.
“Don’t forget you have to pick up milk on your way home.” I grab my purse from the counter.
“Okay. Good luck. Have fun. I love you,” Gabriel says, picking up his suitcase from the floor by the front door..
“You too.” I give him a swift kiss and then turn on my heel and face Jackson sitting in his highchair with a face full of oatmeal.
“And you too.” I give my little man a big kiss and head out the door with a stomach full of nerves.
Asher-Marks Communications is located in the Asher Building, a tall, glass skyscraper in midtown Manhattan. The two-story lobby of the building is intimidating with glass panel windows. Steel bars run across the vast space. Black granite lines the elevator banks and the walls behind the security desk.
“Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes plays in my head. It’s my inner fight song, the one I play during a good workout and I sing to myself when I need a boost. The beat pounds in my head as I move forward.
The name ASHER is emblazoned on top of an omega symbol on the far wall above the security desk. Omega is the emblem of greatness. It’s ironic that a place with an insignia meaning the end is the place I’m hoping to find a new beginning.
The Asher name is well known in the city. Not as recognized as, say, Trump or Lauren. There is no reality show or clothing line. No high-profile divorces or runs for public office. Edward Asher is a renowned developer and financier. Over the past fifty years, he’s become one of the most powerful people in New York City. He is a prominent real estate investor and is a major stockholder in various companies, many of which have been relocated to this building. His name can be seen in hospital wings, college buildings, and minor league stadiums, all for donating insane amounts of money. Asher-Marks Communications is one of the Asher businesses, but I doubt I’ll ever see him step foot in the office.
“Kathryn Grayson for Malory Dean.”
The security for the building is tight, with a guard posted at every entrance and two more behind the desk. Not to mention one at the elevator bank, checking IDs and visitor’s passes.
I hand over my ID. The guard behind the desk eyes me, probably making sure I’m not a terrorist, before taking my picture with a small camera stationed on the counter.
“Twenty-fourth floor. Take the elevator on the far left.” The guard gives a direct stare.
I grab the obnoxious red visitor pass and make my way to the elevator bank. Once inside, I try to tame the butterflies dancing in my belly.
Breathe, Kat, just breathe.
As the elevator doors open, I’m greeted by an impressive reception made of glass and mahogany. A striking young woman with bright-red hair is busily shuffling through papers behind her desk. Her brown eyes light up when she sees me exiting the elevator. She is thin and smartly dressed, wearing a plaid jumper and Doc Martins, a typical ensemble for a fresh-out-of-college Murray Hill post grad. Her long locks are tied in a braid down her back. The contrast against her ivory skin reminds me of a Venetian courtesan in a Titian painting.
“Ms. Grayson,” she says, extending her thin arm out in greeting, “I’m Trish.” She has a beautiful smile and a playful bounce in her step. “Ms. Dean will be right with you. Oh, and you can ditch the visitor’s pass. I’ll get you a permanent ID.”
Peeling the red sticker off my jacket, I take a seat on one of the metal and leather chairs and wait. There’s a large plasma screen overlooking the seating area, playing a reel of Asher-Marks Communications promotional footage. Clips of the Academy Awards and the winter Olympics, followed by a charity concert at the Met, play in succession. All produced by this company. A chill runs down my spine. I can’t wait to start working here. I have to remember to send Malory a gift for getting me this job.
“Kat!” Malory walks toward me with open arms.
Just seeing her reminds me why I love working with her. I envy her. She is polished, professional, and she doesn’t give a shit what anyone has to say. With her cocky attitude and no-holds-barred business personality, Malory is the kind of woman men want to emulate.
She has on a black leopard pencil skirt and a blood-red satin top unfastened one button too many. No one except Malory with her jet-black hair and piercing black eyes can pull off this outfit and make it look professional. She looks phenomenal. I can’t help but feel self-conscious of my post-baby body. I would kill to have my breasts stand up straight again.
Just looking at this incredible, career-savvy woman, I’m baffled by why she has always been so nice to me. She’s been a great friend and supported getting me this job when she had no obligation to.
“How are you? How is Gabriel?” Malory asks as she pulls me in for a hello. She even smells exotic, with hints of amber and cocoa pouring off her skin. “Don’t tell me you’re missing them already, because now that I have you here, I’m never letting you leave.” Malory lets out her breathy deep laugh that makes her sound like Lauren Bacall.
I return her embrace, hugging her perfectly toned frame. “I’ve been so excited to come back to work and to work here.” She releases me from our hold and I follow suit. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She waves her hand. “Honey, I didn’t pull any special favors. Everyone was thrilled when you interviewed. That’s why you got the job. Erik was begging me to have you start immediately.”
“I would have, but we had to get a nanny, and I really didn’t feel right until I had Gabe’s approval.”
Malory grabs my arm and we start walking down the polished concrete hallway.
“You’re lucky.” She glides as if she’s walking on air. “Most men these days force their wives to go back to work. Yours wants you home. It’s a good sign. I told him the other day you need to work. You’re not a stay-at-home.” She says the term as if it’s a foul thought. “You thrive on this type of energy. This will be so good for you. Besides, you had to be bored sitting at home, feeding Junior all day long!”
I stop in my tracks. “When did you talk to Gabe?”
“Last Thursday,” she says nonchalantly, tugging on my arm to continue moving. “I called and you weren’t home.”
That’s shocking since I feel like I’m always home.
“I was probably at the supermarket. It’s a very glamorous life in the suburbs.”
Malory tugs back on my arm, motioning for us to continue on and changing the topic. “Oh, how I hate that you left the city. Just promise me you don’t own a snuggle and jeggings and I’ll forgive you for leaving me.”
“It’s called a Snuggie, and I would never be caught dead in one of those things.” I bite my lip, thinking how this is actually a lie. It seems silly to lie. Gabriel bought me a leopard Snuggie just last year, and I’ve worn it on more than one occasion. I just don’t want Malory to know just how domesticated I’ve actually become.
Part of the excitement about coming to work is getting dressed again. “Like my new suit?”
“Girl, it hugs you in all the right places. Especially where those new mom boobs come into play. You seriously don’t even look like you had a baby, except for the girls, that is!” Malory laughs and nudges my left breast for fun. She’s always been very brash. It’s something I’ll have to get used to again.
“I have curves I didn’t have before. I think I’m carrying some booty too.” I tilt my head back, motioning toward my backside.
Malory smacks my ass. “You needed it. Come, let me introduce you to the team. Conference meeting starts in five.”
We turn down a corridor and walk along a wide hallway with a wall of glass to our left and a series of doors leading to offices on our right. Behind the glass wall is a conference room with a birch wood table, which looks like it can easily fit twenty people. Orange leather chairs with high-back seats and casters on the feet surround the table. Six plasma TVs line the far wall, while artwork of vintage alcohol and tobacco advertisements that have since become taboo line the opposite wall.
Past the conference room is an open area with a pool table and plush leather couches. The place is high tech but in a groovy, frat house sort of way. Another flat-screen TV hangs on the wall. This place has a lot of TVs. A bit excessive, even for a media house.
Erik, Gretchen, and Heather are in the conference room when Malory and I stroll in.
“Morning, team. You remember Kathryn.” Malory offers me up as she pulls out one of the orange conference chairs and takes a seat.
“So glad to have you on board.” Erik stands and gives me a congratulatory handshake.
“Welcome to the team, Kathryn.” Gretchen is equally enthused.
“Kat, please call me Kat.” I return their handshakes, making sure to keep them firm.
“Welcome, Kat,” Heather says as if she’s sucking on a sour candy. Heather’s welcome is the least… welcoming. Even when I interviewed a few weeks ago, she was the least receptive to me. I have to remember to ask Malory what that’s all about.
Erik Marks is the president and my new boss. He has long black hair and a black goatee. His wardrobe is equally devoid of color, from his T-shirt to his jeans and boots. The look is more biker chic than art house sophisticate. As casual as he looks, I can only assume he’s in head to toe Armani. And he has a wedding ring on his finger. I bet his wife is equally as fashion forward.
Gretchen and Heather are another story. Gretchen, as I recall from my interview, is a bit, shall we say, high strung. In professional attire and a tight updo, I can tell she has never missed a day of work in her life and crosses every T and dots every I. Heather is about ten years younger than Gretchen, about my age, but is wearing far less clothing—a lot less, actually—yet looks presentable for the office. I suspect her purple chiffon dress is really a shirt. At least her black leather knee-high boots cover up some of what is being revealed.
As the five of us exchange pleasantries, the rest of the staff files in. The entire staff consists of thirty-seven people. Less than I thought. I don’t know their names or titles but vow to remember them all by the end of the week.
Erik starts the meeting by welcoming me to the team. I gracefully rise from my chair with embarrassment. I feel my ears starting to turn red.
“We are particularly excited to have Kat on board because of her expertise in site surveys and logistics, which will come in handy for our next project. We will be covering a charity event right here in New York City that will be broadcasted on network Labor Day weekend. The airtime has already been bought. Now we just have to fill it. It’s a quick turnaround, but I know this team can do it.”
There is a buzz of excitement in the room before Erik continues. “There will be seven headliners who will be performing at David Geffen Hall in Lincoln Center.
“It’s an integrated project with the Asher Family. All proceeds go to fund music programs around the country. This is a New York event, but we’re representing the entire country here.”
As Erik runs down the list of events, I learn what everyone around the table does.
Gretchen will be the liaison between us and the various record labels we have a partnership with. Most importantly, she is in charge of booking the musical guests. Alan, a tall, thin man with a goatee and button-down flannel, runs the camera crew. Chet, with his wide steroid-looking frame, is the lighting director, and Kal, who is sitting in the corner, not at the table, runs audio. Each has a team of people they manage.
Our stage manager, Richard, is a frail-looking man, while our head writer, Harvey, is a heavy-set gentleman wearing a brown sweater. “Heavy Harvey” is how I’ll remember him. The director, Seamus, will lead the technical team from an offsite control room. Erik is the executive producer, and Malory will be serving as senior producer, which means I will report directly to them.
“Kat, you will be working alongside Heather on full-scale production, making sure the tech team, set designers, talent… everyone is on schedule, budget, and check scripts.”
Heather’s grimace is obvious from across the room. For a pretty girl, she looks unattractive when she frowns, something I can tell she does a lot.
I turn to Malory. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Of course. When isn’t there a little office drama?” Malory whispers, with a laugh, into my ear.
An hour later, the meeting is over. Malory and I rise from our chairs and make our way back down the hallway, turning into a room diagonal from the conference room.
“And, this is your office.”
My office?
Shocked, I wasn’t expecting to have a space of my own. It’s not very big. Then again, it’s more than I expected. To the right is a sleek, rectangular glass desk with an iMac, Avaya phone system, and the most delicious-looking black Herman Miller chair.
Yes, I have a thing for office furniture.
In front of the desk is a charcoal-colored club chair, while mahogany filing cabinets line the wall behind. Crisp white walls offset the dark furniture. The space is modern and chic, bare but beautiful.
In my excitement, I leap to the wall of glass at the far end of the room. “I can see the Empire State Building from here!” The view is slightly obstructed with other buildings, but I can see it nonetheless.
“Only the best. Erik insisted on it,” Malory says, walking in behind with her Blackberry in hand.
I raise a brow. “Insisted?”
“Everyone is a vital member of the team. It was part of the character of the company Erik didn’t want to lose when he sold to Asher Industries.” Malory props herself against the desk. “Speak of the devil…”
“Hey, can I come in?” I hear Erik’s voice coming from the doorway. “Again, I really want to welcome you to the team. It’s a pleasure to have you here. You’ll fit in great.”
It takes everything I have to turn my gaze away from the stunning Manhattan view. “Thank you, Erik. I can’t wait to get started. Everyone here seems great.” Giddiness swims through my veins.
Erik steps into the room and stands next to Malory at the desk. “Great. Well, I did come here on official business. You have a meeting with Alexander Asher first thing Friday morning. I tried to get you on his calendar earlier, but the end of the week is all he had available. He’ll be on the floor for the morning meeting.”
I’ve heard of Edward Asher. Who hasn’t? But I’ve never heard of this Alexander Asher character, and I’m not about to let Erik hear me say that. If I have to meet with him, and he’s an Asher, then he’s clearly a big deal.
“On the floor?”
“His office is in the penthouse,” Erik explains. “The entire building houses the various businesses of the Asher family.” He says the family name in a sarcastic highfalutin manner. “Our little shop only occupies floor twenty-four.”
The Asher building has forty-two floors. I only know this from being in the elevator. If there is an Asher business on every floor, then this is not a typical office building. It’s an empire.
“Does he come to all the meetings?” You would think I would know more about the man now that I’m an Asher employee. Maybe I should have researched this a little bit more.
“Not usually. Since he bought the company, he lets me run things. That said, this project is very important to him, so he’ll be quite involved.”
“It should be interesting,” Malory says in a low-pitched, singsong voice. Looking down at her feet, she flicks the foot of the chair in front of her with her heel.
Erik lets out a grunt from deep inside his throat. “Well, ladies, I’ll leave you to it.” He taps twice on the wall and departs.
I take a seat in my new fancy office chair and recline back. I can get used to having my own office.
As the door closes behind Erik, I swing my seat in a circle and come back to glare at Malory. She always acts like she knows something I don’t. “Have you always been so mysterious?”
Malory takes a seat in front of me and crosses her legs. “Yes, but you were too busy picking out paint colors for the living room to notice.” She smirks, offering another jab at my domesticated life.
I prop my feet on the desk. I’ve always wanted to do this—lean back in my office chair and prop my feet on my desk. At my previous companies, I’ve had a cubicle where the person sitting next to you can hear every move and conversation. But in here, I’m free to do whatever and say whatever I’d like. “So what’s the deal with Heather?”
Malory’s Blackberry vibrates. She looks down and starts typing a response to an email. Without taking her eyes off the screen, she answers my question. “Oh, she’s had a stick up her ass since the day she started. She thinks you’re here to steal her job. She doesn’t like other women, especially attractive women, so you’re up Shit Creek.”
If she doesn’t like attractive, then she must really hate Malory. She is one of the most glamorous creatures I’ve ever met.
“Um, this new mom is no sex kitten. Maybe two years ago, but not now.”
Malory looks up from her Blackberry, her eyes squinting at me as if try to decide if I’m telling the truth. “Kat, are you out of your fucking mind? You know you’re freaking gorgeous. But don’t worry. Once Heather understands you’re happily married, she’ll realize you aren’t the competition.”
Heather must be dabbling in the office dating pool. I can understand. She’s young and pretty, if not for the sourpuss face.
“Speaking of happily married…” Malory continues. “This new project is a quick turnaround, which means late nights.” Her tone turns curious, “Do you think Gabriel is going to give you a hard time?”
I lean my head against the back of the chair and stare up at the ceiling. “I think he only wanted me to stay home instead of returning to work so he felt less guilty about all the hours he spends away from home.” As soon as the words pour out of my mouth, I instantly regret them. The last thing Malory wants to hear is my tales of a suburban housewife. She must think I’m pathetic. Mental note: keep your mouth shut.
