Never Say Never, page 3
“Never mind,” I say before he has a chance to answer. “I’ll reschedule my other thing.”
His stare weighs me down. “If it’s another client, I don’t want you cancelling on them just for me.”
I rub my lips together and shake my head. “It’s a date.”
He stands up, smoothing his tie across his flat stomach. His aqua eyes flash under the fluorescent lighting of my office. “In that case, cancel it.”
I walk out of Skylar’s office after I told her to cancel her date on Thursday. I have a lot of nerve. I know that. But it’s something I have to do. I want to buy more time with her, and that’s why I tell her I don’t like any of those apartments.
I could’ve picked a decent place out of that line-up she showed me, but then that would be it. I’d see her again during the final walk through and again at closing, and then I’d have to hope I’d run into her somehow and on top of that, I’d have to pray that she hadn't already been snagged by some arrogant prick who didn’t deserve her.
Skylar’s beauty has the potency to attract men of all walks, and I’m sure she has her pick of men, but she deserves to be with someone who’ll appreciate who she is on the inside. Someone like me.
“Buh-bye, have a nice day!” the young, perky-eyed receptionist says as I leave Van Cleef Agency. Her stare lingers on me a bit too long, and I pretend not to notice when her gaze falls on my backside. “See you soon!”
I offer a kind nod and keep walking until I hit the elevator. It still smells of Skylar: a mix of clean laundry and jasmine. Outside, I hail a cab to the hotel, unable to get her out of my head.
I fully intend on peeling back her layers one by one until I got to her heart. She can fight me all the way. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it was going to be worth it.
Girls like Skylar are worth it.
***
I stroll into my L.A. office for the final time Thursday morning.
“Hey, Boss Man,” my assistant, Mila, says in her thick Ukrainian accent. The place is completely transformed from a couple days ago. The movers boxed up everything but her desk, phone, and computer. The walls are bare and white, and the spidery plants I always took for granted are gone.
“Happy Last Day Working For An Asshole,” I say, depositing a huge bouquet of yellow roses on top of her cleared desk.
“Aw, yellow roses mean you’re sorry,” she laughs, leaning over to breathe them in. “So thoughtful.”
I perch on the edge of her desk. My L.A. real estate agent should be dropping by any moment with the closing paperwork.
“You just missed the movers,” Mila says. “They came here to get your desk. You’re having everything shipped to Denver?” She laughs and cocks a drawn-on eyebrow.
“It’ll be stored there until I find a place in New York.” A suitcase in the trunk of my car holds a few things that should sustain me temporarily.
“Just wanted to stop in and tell you goodbye one last time,” I say. I’m not good with goodbyes, but I owe it to Mila. “My flight leaves for New York later this morning. Not sure about the next time I’ll be back.”
“I’m going to miss working with you,” she says, getting uncomfortably sentimental on me. Her big blue eyes glisten and she tucks her dark hair behind her ears. I’m sure it’s the pregnancy hormones. I haven’t always been the best to work with, but Mila has stood by me from the very beginning.
“Sure you don’t want to move to New York?” I offer her for the millionth time.
“Don’t think Maksim would like that,” she says, rubbing her palms across her swollen belly. “I’m looking forward to staying home with this little malya. Making Maks dinner every night. Being a wife and mama.”
Pregnancy looks good on Mila, and I know she’s going to be a phenomenal mother. She’s equal parts bossy and nurturing with a killer bullshit meter. She can stay calm in the eye of a storm, and little does she know, she’s been my rock more times than I care to admit.
Mila glows, wiping away tears as she runs her fingertip along a single yellow rose until a man raps aggressively on the door, startling us out of our bittersweet moment.
“I’ll get it,” I say as Mila attempts to push herself into a standing position. “Sit back down.”
“Theo Van Cleef?” he says, an evil leer on his face that sends my nerves into a tailspin. I know what this is. I knew this was going to happen.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been served.” He shoves a manila envelope into my hands and walks off with a degree of arrogance that made me want to smack the smug look right off his face.
I take my time shuffling back to Mila’s desk, and when I get there, I throw the packet down without even opening it. “We knew this would happen.”
Mila’s shoulders fall, her hands covering her mouth as she shakes her head. “That asshole.” She mutters a few more profanities in her native tongue before reaching for the envelope. “Want me to open it?”
I nod. Someone has to.
I have to know what I’m up against.
I can’t believe he’s making my cancel my date.
Who does he think he is?
My finger hovers over the send button, though I’m not ready to fire off the text I’ve composed to Ryan yet. Only two days ago, Theo walked out of my office after telling me to cancel my plans without so much as an explanation.
I didn’t question it. I didn’t chase after him. I sat there like a dumbfounded idiot trying to interpret what it meant, and I still came up empty-handed.
Nothing about Theo Van Cleef makes any kind of sense, and in spite of that fact, I’m still intrigued by him in the most confusing way.
I send the message. I’ve delayed it too long already in hopes that Theo might change his mind or reschedule on me, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Hi Ryan! It’s Skylar. Something came up today at work. Can we go out Friday instead?
I wait.
And wait.
An hour passes, and then another and another.
Crickets.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try not to lose my cool. Maybe Ryan wasn’t the one for me. I don’t need to go on a date with someone as flaky as that anyway. Perhaps Theo inadvertently did me a favor? Maybe this asshole was going to stand me up and Theo saved me from a tearful walk home.
My office phone rings, and I jump. It’s line two, which means the new receptionist blindly transferred a caller to me. I hate when she does that. I make a mental note to say something to her about it.
“This is Skylar Presley,” I answer on the third ring.
“Presley,” the man says. “So that’s your last name. Good to know.”
“I’m sorry?” I say. “And to whom am I speaking?”
“Skylar, it’s Theo.”
Speak of the devil.
“I realized I didn’t take your card the other day. I don’t have any of your contact information,” he says. “Kind of need that.”
“Oh,” I say. “I don’t have cards yet. They’ve been ordered.”
“What’s your phone number?”
I rattle it off to him as well as my email, and I take his down in return.
“See you tonight, Skylar,” he says. I can hear the thunderous rumble of jet engines firing up in the background. “I’ll call you when I land.”
It’s noon here, but it’s nine o’clock back in L.A. I mentally calculate his landing time and breathe a sigh of relief when I find I’ll have enough time to go home and freshen up before seeing him again.
Addison dresses to the nines daily, and her hair is never out of place. She exudes confidence and money and sales, and people trust her. I want Theo to trust me. I want Theo to have confidence in me. I need to be taken seriously.
My cell buzzes on my desk¸ and a text from Ryan pops up on the screen.
Yes. Friday for sure. Six o’clock at Tarantino’s?
My heart flutters, my bitterness toward Ryan melting away. I’m well aware of what happens when you jump to conclusions, but my insecurities get the best of me even on my best days. Maybe he’s been busy all morning at work? I wait a solid ten minutes before typing up my response.
See you then.
Just like that, my hopeful mood is restored.
***
There’s a warm wind kissing my face as I wait outside Theo’s hotel. The sun has disappeared behind skyscrapers, and the city is coming alive again as people leave work. I’m dressed in red-bottomed heels I can’t afford, and my legs are hugged by leather leggings I borrowed from my roommate. My blouse keeps falling down in the front, and I wish nothing more than to be able to run back home and change into something less revealing, but it’s too late now.
“Hey there.” A hand presses into my lower back, causing me to spin around.
“Theo,” I say, tugging a strand of wind-whipped hair from my lips. I shouldn’t have worn lip-gloss. Everything about me looks like I should be going on a date, not meeting a client for dinner. “You have a good flight?”
He nods. “I did, and now I’m starving. You hungry?”
“I am,” I lie. I haven’t had an appetite all day, my nerves getting the best of me. I shouldn’t be nervous around Theo, but I don’t quite know what to make of him yet. When I was a bigger girl, I’d eat anytime I felt anxious. Now my appetite vanishes at the first sign of nervousness. Funny how that works.
His hand slips behind my shoulders as he ushers me through the busy streets and toward a curb where he hails a cab. It’s nice not having to do that. Most of the cabbies ignore you around here if you look too young or you’re not dressed as if you have shitloads of money.
“Fifth Avenue and Lexington,” he tells the driver as he slides in next to me. I’m hyper aware of the fact that our thighs are touching. His hair is combed but still damp, as if he just showered. The faint scent of hotel soap floods my lungs in the small space of the backseat.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“A little bistro by Central Park,” he says, ducking to glance out the window. He fills his side of the backseat and his head brushes against the roof of the car, reminding me of his height once again. Theo’s hand is spread against his thigh, his fingertips brushing the side of my leg. His hands look soft and steady but strong and wide at the same time. They’re half curled, like those of a man who routinely works with his hands. Theo dwarfs me and at the same time, I know I would fit perfectly in his embrace.
His girlfriend – or at least the one I think he has – pops into my mind. She’s probably some Brazilian supermodel with legs up to her eyeballs and a signature runway walk. They probably vacation in places like St. Thomas and Ibiza.
The cab stops a short time later in front of a quaint little restaurant. I’ve lived in this city for three years now, and I still get a tingle of excitement when I see a little shop or eatery I never knew existed. Some days I still feel like a tourist, like I’m here on vacation. I don’t know if it’ll ever feel like home, but I kind of like it that way. New York makes me wonderstruck each and every day, and I’m not sure it’s a feeling I can replicate anywhere else.
Theo climbs out, reaching his hand in to pull me out before slipping some cash to the driver. “Thought we could get a quick bite before we tour some more places tonight.”
I’m showing him a whole host of places after we eat. I spent the entirety of the afternoon finding UES listings that fit his generic criteria of modern, luxurious, and open.
We’re seated in a corner, and a candle flickers between us. This so feels like a date. A host hands us two hand-written menus, fills our goblets with Perrier, and dashes off.
My stomach growls for the first time all day, but nothing on the menu is remotely edible. My tastes are boring and simple. I was raised on hamburgers and casseroles back in Iowa, and I’ve yet to perfect eating something new and different just because it makes me look cool. I’m the girl who orders a plate of fresh fruit at the sushi bar. I’ll ask for grilled chicken tenders from the kids’ menu when I’m too scared to try any of the do-people-really-eat-this kind of options offered on the menus of trendy restaurants.
I settle on a house salad that doesn’t sound too inedible and a cup of tomato bisque. I’m planning to pick off a few things from my salad, but hopefully Theo won’t notice.
“What’s new with you?” I ask after our server takes our orders.
His face hardens and his nostrils flare just so. Selling part of your business must be stressful, especially when your company is your baby. “There’s been a bit of a complication with selling my company.”
“Oh?” I want to pry, but I know it’s none of my damn business.
“A third party has recently come into the picture,” he shares. I’m clinging to his every word. “It’s presenting a bit of an issue for my buyers. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You can vent to me.”
Theo has no reason to believe I’m trustworthy, so I don’t expect him to share anything more. We’re still mostly strangers, but our eyes meet and his full lips spread into a closed-mouth, apologetic curve. “Believe me when I tell you it’s not anything worth wasting my breath on. I’ve given it to my attorneys to handle.”
Now I’m even more curious.
My soup arrives, and a garlic fragrance steams into my lungs. It’s rich and hearty, the kind that warms you from the inside out and sends your mouth into an instant state of Homer Simpson drool. Theo didn’t order any sort of starter, and I feel weird eating by myself in front of him. I immediately recall the way people used to stare at me as I ate, as if they were wide-eyed audience members at a carnival freak show. My fingers freeze atop my thighs, hesitant to reach for my spoon as my stomach groans.
My eyes snap from my steaming bowl to him.
“Please,” Theo says. “Dig in.”
He retrieves his phone, sending a stark reminder of the fact that we are most definitely not on a date. I automatically assume he’s texting his girlfriend. I bring a spoonful of tomato bisque to my lips, blowing at the steam as he fires off text after text. His brows arch and his head jerks. I bet they’re arguing about something.
“Trouble in paradise?” I can’t help myself. The words leave my mouth without warning and I regret them the instant it’s too late.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I just thought you were fighting with a girlfriend or something.”
God, I sound pathetic.
His lips curl and he shakes his head, his eyes coming alive for a second. “No, Skylar. No girlfriend.”
Theo returns his phone to his pocket and his face instantly lightens as he watched me eat. A moment later, his steak dinner arrives along with my salad. We mostly eat in silence, and the second the check arrives, he reaches for it before I have a chance.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say as we head outside. The sun has gone home for the night, leaving a slight chill in the air. The days should get longer as we approached summer, but for now, it still got dark early. A brisk chill cuts through my paper-thin blouse, and I fight the shiver that wants to consume my small frame. I never used to get cold until I lost weight. I always hated those skinny girls who complained about freezing all the time – until I became one of them. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did,” he says as we walked along a quiet stretch of sidewalk. An elderly woman is walking her yippy Yorkie in front of us, slowing our pace. “You cold, Skylar?”
He notices my uncontrollable shiver. My teeth are chattering. I feel silly.
He removes his jacket in one swift move and wraps it around me, the way a gentleman might. It’s warm and it smells like him.
“Aren’t you going to be cold?” I protest.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. He has to be lying. He’s from California. Fifty degrees in New York is the equivalent of twenty-below where he’s from.
I’m swimming in his jacket, the sleeves hitting me mid-thigh as it’s draped over my shoulder, but I’m warm and I don’t care. “Our first showing is just up the road on Lexington.”
We walk briskly into the night air, our breaths one temperature drop from turning into fog. Stopping when we reach the classic six I’m about to show him, I realize he’s texting on his phone again.
“That your girlfriend again?” I tease as soon as he slips it back into his pocket. Perhaps a part of me wants to hear it once more – that he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I would date him anyway. I fight a smile.
Theo cocks a half-grin, showing off a single, well-placed dimple. He likes that I asked this question again. “Still no girlfriend.”
My middle flutters, but I settle the butterflies with each step toward the apartment landing. I remind myself that he for sure doesn’t have a girlfriend and he wanted me to cancel my date.
You’re just reading into things, and he’s not your type, remember?
We tour the classic six. It’s modern and updated and wide open, but nothing about it screams over-the-top luxury. It would be better suited for a family of four, not one of the world’s most up-and-coming eligible bachelors. He needs a full-on bachelor pad, and I’m not sure we’re going to find one on Lexington Avenue.
“Not feeling this one?” I ask. He’s been quiet during the tour.
He yawns, and for a split second I study his impeccably straight teeth. They’re brilliant and faultlessly proportional to the rest of his mouth. His full lips tense and release, and his aqua eyes shimmer against the pale moon shining in through the window behind him. I wonder if he’s always been this good looking. He’s probably one of those people who skated through life on a breeze, a stark contrast to people like me who barely hang on with a string and a paper clip most days.
“I wish you’d consider Tribeca. There are some industrial lofts I’d love to show you sometime,” I say. I pull the rest of my listing sheets from my bag and rifle through them. “Everything I’m going to show you tonight is very similar to this. Some are a bit more luxurious than this one, but they’re all along the same lines. This is what you’re going to get in this part of town and in your price range.”
