Something Like Hate, page 2
Great, I’m pissing her off, and it’s not even … I check the time. Shit, it’s almost 7:00 a.m.
“What can I do for you, Mom?” I ask, rushing through the house, cramming my clothes in my luggage.
“Dad and I wanted to make sure you don’t need the international plan.”
“Thanks for the offer, Mom, but I’ll be fine. If there’s an emergency, Courtney has one set up,” I lie.
In fact, I have my own international plan. I’m just not turning on my phone for the next seven days. I’m disconnecting from work and my family.
“Let me change you to speaker, Mom,” I say.
Right after I do it, I sit down on top of my luggage to close it, but I don’t get my finger out in time, and the pressure feels like my thumb is being ripped off of my hand.
“Ouch, fuck!” I yell, standing up immediately.
My finger throbs but it doesn’t seem broken and it’s not bleeding.
“Claire, language!”
“Sorry, Mom,” I apologize, rolling my eyes. “I’m trying to close my bag.”
“I thought you said you were done packing,” she argues, and I bet there’s a frown on her forehead.
Yep, Claire can’t be trusted. She doesn’t have her shit together. I’m giving her another reason why I shouldn’t be going out of the country on my own—at twenty-eight.
There’s a clicking sound coming from my phone. I check and it’s Darth Vader texting.
D. Evans: Where are the templates for the Stewart project?
What? That’s not due for another two weeks.
So typical of him. I’m sure his boss is asking for them, and instead of telling him they’re not ready, he’s going to promise the impossible. Not today, I’m leaving town.
“Mom, I need to call you back. My boss needs me.”
“It’s your day off,” she reminds me. Her voice sounds a little annoyed.
I hate it when she doesn’t believe me.
“Are you trying to cut the conversation short?”
Well, there’s that but… “He’s texting me. Can’t you hear my phone vibrating?”
D. Evans: You didn’t finish the templates for the Stewart project.
C. Solis: It’s almost done, but the proposal isn’t due yet.
D. Evans: I’m aware of that, but you’re leaving on vacation.
C. Solis: For a week. I’ll be back next …
I can’t tell him I’ll be back next Thursday. He’s going to want me in the office on Friday. Or right after my plane lands. This man needs some boundaries.
C. Solis: I arrive on Sunday. There’s plenty of time.
D. Evans: Mr. Archer wants to see them today. Send me what you have, and I need an update on the Carson’s account.
Ah, that makes sense. If Devon Evans is Darth Vader, Miller Archer is Emperor Palpatine. All they care about are the accounts they land and the hours we bill.
C. Solis: I’m leaving for the airport.
D. Evans: Then you better hurry. I need to see something now.
This can’t be happening. I leave for the airport in less than an hour. It wasn’t enough I stayed up late last night, working on some last-minute changes for a campaign that launches this Friday.
“Mom, I have to finish a few things. Can I call you later?”
In a week or so?
“You haven’t heard the news yet.”
“Mom?” I ask exasperated, opening my laptop to access my office desktop. “Can I please call you back later?”
She’s pushing me to the edge. I’m about to have a nervous breakdown.
Calm down, Claire. You always work well under pressure.
“Nikki is expecting,” she says, ignoring my plea.
“Expecting a call?” I try to humor her and fake ignorance.
It’s better this way. I just can’t deal with my sister’s life. I love Nikki, the sister, but I’m less than thrilled with Nikki, the Mom.
“What’s going on with you today?” she asks.
Mom and I are close. I usually roll with her conversations, but today isn’t a day I can be animated or match her excitement.
“I meant she’s expecting a baby, Claire. You could at least show a little interest.”
“Woohoo,” I say, taking out my drawing tablet and connecting it to my laptop. “Mom, I really need to go.”
“Claire, you should be happy for your sister.”
“That’s baby number three. She’s done it before and the results have been terrible. My sister shouldn’t be allowed to have children.”
“My grandchildren are beautiful, smart, and loving.”
“You’re calling Lucifer loving?” I stop what I’m doing and look at Reggie.
My poor pup.
“He cut Reggie’s hair and put makeup on him.” My voice comes out a bit harsher than I mean it to.
But how could I stay calm, when my blood was boiling, after finding my poor dog trapped inside a portable crib, looking like a clown.
“His name is Luke, not Lucifer. What happened to Reggie was an accident.”
“No, Mom. Spilling milk is an accident. Lucifer destroying everything he sees is my sister’s lack of discipline. He’s six, not two. The cuteness wore off years ago. How in the world she’s allowed to have more children is beyond comprehension. She can barely take care of Valerie and Lucas.”
Well, that’s only at night. During the day, Mom’s the one taking care of the little devils.
“You were a pistol growing up.”
“It was one time,” I defend myself.
“You used my favorite lipstick to color the walls.”
And she’ll never forgive me.
“Again, that happened once,” I repeat, saving the files on my computer desktop and on the cloud for everyone to access. “I have to go, Mom, my ticket is non-refundable.”
“I expect you to bring a souvenir for your sister to celebrate the news.”
“Mom, I really need to go,” I insist.
“Thomas’ girlfriend is moving in with him,” she continues, oblivious to my pleas.
I send the email to my boss, reminding him I won’t be available until next week.
“Congratulations to the happy couple,” I blurt but then amend, “Tell him I won’t help him kick her out when he’s done with her.”
“Where is my positive daughter?”
A new email pops in my inbox from my boss. This can’t be happening. My back feels heavy, and my chest constricts. I’m going to miss my flight, and I’ll end up working all week.
“Not here,” I answer. “I’m panicking because I have to finish packing. My boss is sending me more work, and I have a few errands to run.”
“What about Reggie?”
“I’m dropping him at the kennel.”
“We can take care of him.”
I cough, masking my laughter.
“You have your hands full, Mom, but I appreciate it.”
There’s no way I’m leaving my puppy with Lucifer and company. My nephew traumatized poor Reggie.
“I still don’t understand why you’re spending your birthday out of town. We’re your family.”
“Mom, I can’t hear you. My battery is dying. I’ll call you as soon as I get to the airport.”
It’s okay, Claire, I reassure myself. This bullshit is on hold for the next week.
For seven days I won’t have to think about or deal with Darth Vader or his overlord boss, Emperor Palpatine.
Three
Claire
I come from a big, loud, meddlesome family. I can handle crowds, but I’m not a fan of them. Planes aren’t my favorite method of transportation, either. Handling things well doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed when I have to wait forty-five minutes in line to drop my luggage at the ticket counter.
It’s ten in the morning, the absolute worst time to travel. I suggested we leave at six in the morning so that by three we would have been by the pool sipping margaritas. My friends never listen to me.
“They need more people at the counter,” Madeline says, voicing my thoughts.
“You have dark circles under your dark circles, Claire,” Courtney says, pulling her makeup bag out of her purse. “Did you go out last night?”
She takes off my frames and starts applying some shit under my eyes. The pros of having a friend who works at Sephora are free samples and makeup tips. The only con is Courtney doesn’t ask permission anymore; she just applies crap to my face.
“Try working all night and into the morning,” I say, yawning as she continues to make me look human. “Give me my glasses. I can’t see without them.”
Courtney gives me a dismissive glare and continues working her magic.
“You look like a zombie,” Madeline says, handing me a bottle of water. “Drink this.”
“Nothing cheers me up more than my two best friends telling me I could be confused for roadkill,” I complain.
Madeline glares at me and tsks, but her attention goes back to her phone. “Nothing but the truth for my besties.”
“Only the truth?” I ask frowning.
“Finished,” Courtney says, putting her things away. “You look decent now.”
I’m about to complain when the guy by the check-in counter yells, “Next!”
“Finally,” I mumble.
Courtney waves at me as she starts fussing with her luggage. Madeline, who’s on the phone just tilts her head.
Great, I guess I’ll be the first one to check my bags—I just know they’re going to get lost.
As I’m about to step forward, a guy brushes past me and takes my place in line. “I’m first class,” he says dismissively.
“What a fucking ass!” I glare at him, looking for my glasses.
“Next,” the guy next to the asshole calls.
I roll my luggage and make a mental note to ask Courtney for my glasses back. I need to start wearing contacts again.
“Sorry about that.” The agent at the counter apologizes for the asshole’s behavior.
“It’s fine.” I read his tag while looking for my documents. “Steve.”
“Where are you traveling to?” he asks and then smiles at me.
“Cancun,” I say, handing him my passport and boarding ticket.
“Somebody’s birthday is coming up,” he says while typing.
I smile without saying anything.
Then he stops, looks at me, and says, “It’s your lucky day. We have a seat available in first class—and from the looks of it—no one will sit next to you. Happy birthday.”
“Oh my God, I...thank you so much,” I say gratefully because I could use the extra room and a comfortable seat.
“I wish I had some free time,” he says, typing while talking to me. “I could use some sun and a few tequilas.”
“Well, you know, maybe next time,” I say, flirting with him just enough.
He’s cute, and I wouldn’t mind going on a date with him once I’m back from vacation.
“My number is here.” He circles a 720 area code number right above the gate number on my boarding pass. “In case you have an emergency.”
“See you around, Steve,” I say, waving at him.
I put away my passport and head toward my friends.
We take the escalator toward the security checkpoint when Courtney asks, “What took you so long?”
I shrug, getting out my driver’s license and boarding pass.
“You were supposed to drop your bag,” Madeline says, staring at my boarding pass. “Not get a phone number.”
“You bitch.” Courtney snatches it from me. “Why are you in first class?”
“He bumped me.”
“More like he wants to hump her,” Madeline says, dancing a little provocatively. “Look at you, already getting phone numbers and shit.”
As we step into the security checkpoint, the same rude guy from the check-in storms by, almost running me over.
“What’s his problem?” Courtney says.
“He’s an asshole,” I say. “He’s the same guy who cut the line.”
“First class,” he says, as he enters the security line.
I wave the ticket. “I’m first class too, asshole.”
“Good for you,” he replies with a deep voice. The ladies helping the Fly First line wait on him before they acknowledge us.
“He’s hot,” Courtney says in a low voice.
“Fuckable,” Madeline agrees with her.
“And rude,” I add, trying to get a closer look at him.
“Where are my glasses?” I protest.
“Oops,” Courtney says, her eyes widen. “I think I put them in my luggage, along with my full-size makeup bag.”
Great, I’ll have to deal until we arrive at the hotel. I take a deep breath.
“Guys like him are the worst,” I say my rant, guzzling the water Madeline gave me before I have to toss the bottle in the trash and set my tote bag in the bin.
“Stop complaining about the hottie,” Courtney says once we pass security and pick up our stuff.
“They think they own the world and can do whatever they want. Just like earlier. Now he’s going through the security line like some asshole who owns the place.”
“We did too,” Madeline argues.
I love my friend, but she goes gaga over hot men.
“That’s a perk from work,” I remind her. “We’re not him.”
Fly First is one of my clients. When I told them I’d be traveling for my birthday, they offered me a discounted membership.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind spending my vacation with that body.”
Madeline’s right, I guess. The guy is tall, with short brown hair and a broad frame, but the package doesn’t matter if the man has zero manners.
We walk by him as we march toward the train that’ll take us to our terminal. He’s searching for something inside his backpack, and I can’t see his face, but a whiff of his expensive fragrance is pleasant, if not familiar. I can’t remember where I’ve smelled it before.
“Well, the asshole has a fine ass,” Madeline says.
“I wish I could agree with you, but someone forgot my glasses.” I stare at Courtney.
“Hey, you’re going to be flying in first class. I don’t see why you’re complaining.”
“The plane boards in less than an hour,” Asshole shouts over the phone, just as the train taking us to the terminal arrives.
“Do you think he’s breaking up with his girlfriend?” Madeline asks expectantly.
And there she goes; my friend is already planning on hooking up with Mr. Annoyance. I pull her toward the next car. We’re not riding with the hot asshole.
“What do you mean you can’t come with me, Annalise?” Hot Asshole protests, exasperated. So much for avoiding him, he ended up in our car, “We had a deal.”
“If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d offer to come with him,” Courtney says with a sultry voice.
“Well then, Claire and I will have to fight for him.”
“Keep him.” I wave off their nonsense. “I’m on vacation. The last thing I want is to deal with someone like him.
Four
Miller
I take a deep breath as the frustration builds inside me. I want to shout, vent, and let everything out. I don’t mean to be an asshole, but today has been a fucking circus.
One of my prospective clients called at six in the morning, asking us to move the presentation to next week because the competition just sent them a proposal. To top off my bad luck, Devon’s superstar is on vacation.
Who the fuck authorizes vacations when we’re in the middle of landing new clients?
Thankfully, she promised to send over part of the presentation, but they’ll be drafts, and she won’t be available to work her magic until next week.
We’re trying to convince the client to switch the presentation to late next week. Predictably, Annalise, Devon’s surefire hookup just canceled on me too.
As I enter the lounge, I spot the three loud women who were at the airline counter. The last thing I want is to spend the next twenty minutes listening to them chatting as I try to get some work done.
“Look, the hunk is here,” the busty blonde says. “It’s destiny.”
“There are other men in this lounge, Madeline. Is that destiny too?” There’s a pause. “You might want to buy a calendar to keep track of all your new lovers.”
Though the sarcastic voice sounds awfully annoyed, her comment makes me smile.
M. Archer: Annalise canceled.
“Good morning, sir. May I see your boarding pass?”
“Can you just look me up in your system?” I ask, annoyed, as I wait for Devon to answer my text.
“See, he thinks he owns the world. He reminds me of Emperor Palpatine—and my boss’s boss.”
I look at the attractive brunette with a shitty attitude more closely. Her hair is tied up into a messy bun, exposing her long neck. Unlike her friends, who wear jeans and jackets, she’s wearing a pair of yoga pants and a DU sweatshirt. Her snow boots have seen better days. She’s beautiful, even though she looks tired. The way she chews her lip as she’s looking at the buffet reminds me of someone.
“I’m not hungry, I just need some wine and a pillow,” she says, and finally I recognize her voice.
As I blink twice, I realize it’s Claire, as in Devon’s little superstar.
D. Evans: Sorry, she thought it was kind of weird to go on vacation with my best friend.
M. Archer: It was platonic. Did you tell her that?
D. Evans: Hey, I’m just the messenger. Sorry, man. There’s nothing I can do. I’m stuck with this account, and Claire isn’t answering her fucking phone.
I decide to call him and make this fast.
“What’s up, Archer?”
“Claire Solis is here.”
“She’s going to castrate me if I ask her to work during her vacation,” he interrupts me. “You know she’s amazing with our clients but … she gets a little bat-shit crazy when I cross the line.”
“What kind of line are you trying to cross?” I ask, alarmed.
He might be my best friend, but I can’t have him harassing our employees.
