Depths (2 page)

Pathetic as it is, Cohen’s voice is the sexiest thing going on in my life.

I really need to call Jason back, even if he did stand me up on our last date. I’m an independent, modern woman, and if I need sex, I should go ahead and get it, no strings attached.

I shake thoughts of one-night-stands with dangerously sexy assholes out of my head and wrap myself back in the comfort of work.

And Cohen. A smile curves on my lips when my brain bumps over his name.

“Well, I appreciate yesterday, party boy. You saved my life scanning those documents at the eleventh hour. I hope I didn’t make you late for any big plans.”

I bite my lip, sensing that he’s distracted, not really listening to me. He just got in, which sucks. I love my chats with this guy, but I obviously called a little too early, and now I’ll have used up my one call for the day and it’s going to be a rushed one. Suckity.

“Nah. Nope.” There’s a long pause before his deep voice grates across the phone lines again. “Not a problem. There’s
no
problem.” The bite of his words lets me know this probably doesn’t have anything to do with the scanning.

“Listen, you sound swamped. I needed to run some shipment times by you, but I can totally call back later if you want, alright? It really is no problem.”

I stare at the hideous peach walls of my tiny office and twirl in my chair while I wait for his answer, closing my eyes because I hate looking around while I’m in this tiny office.

The lady who worked here before me was with the company for almost twenty years, and she got a little crazy with the personalized decor. The peach walls are just the beginning; there are also thick, lacy cream curtains on the windows, doilies everywhere, silk plants in dusty baby blues at the window ledges, and prints of kids in floppy clothes pretending to be grown-ups cluttering the walls.

I should take some of this down, just to neutralize it back to a business-like work environment. But doing something like that would mean admitting that I’m staying here, and I have other plans, bigger plans for my life.

Eventually, anyway.

So I just try not to acknowledge the fact that I basically exist in some sappy old lady’s pastel nightmare and focus on the good parts of this job. Like phone calls to sexy-voiced guys I do business with.

Cohen takes another few seconds to answer me, and, much as I love his sharp wit and delicious voice, this is getting obnoxious fast.

“Sorry, Maren. I’m…Can I transfer you to the phone in the back?”

“Sure.” I pick up a doily with the end of my pen and shake some of the dust out of it. There’s a lot. Enough that I cough, then sneeze twice.

Okay, whether I stay here very long or not, I should de-clutter just so I don’t wind up with a respiratory infection.

When Cohen picks up again, there’s a still quiet on the other end that lets me know he’s somewhere private. “I’m sorry, Maren. My dipshit little sister just agreed to stay out on the floor, so I won’t get interrupted again, I swear. You were saying we needed to go over some shipments?”

I like his business voice. Cohen gives off this very laid-back, sweet vibe when we’re just chatting, but when it’s time to get work done, he’s totally alpha about everything. It’s a damn sexy mix.

I wonder if he’s like that in other ways? Sweet on the street, alpha in the sheets…

So inappropriate!
I self-lecture.

I need to get laid immediately. And get back to the conversation at hand.

“Don’t be too hard on poor Genevieve. I heard she’s having a rough time at school,” I scold, smiling at his chuckle.

“She whined to you, too? Maybe if she actually did some of her work and paid attention in lecture, she’d pass something.”

I kick my pinchy heels off my feet and wiggle my toes to get the blood flowing. “Hey, we can’t all be dean’s list every semester like you were. Your dad never fails to mention it.” I love how the Rodríguezes give each other shit all the time, but they’re also fiercely loyal and proud of each other.

Even Cohen and Genevieve, who always seem to be at each other’s throats.

“Speaking of dean’s list, how are your classes going, Mare?” When I’m quiet for a minute, his voice drops. “Maren? Don’t tell me you went through with dropping them. I told you if you needed a loan—”

“Cohen,” I plead. Because if he gets me thinking about it all, the education classes I bailed on, the professors I let down, the roommate I left high and dry, I will lay my head down on this desk and cry my eyes out. “You know I can’t borrow money from you. It’s…it’s not right. I mean, I so appreciate your offer. It’s beyond sweet. But this is my problem. And you know how things are with my dad. Even if I stuck it out this semester, it would be more of the same or worse next semester. So, there’s that.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore the images of my dad, red-eyed, stinking of sweat and whiskey, sobbing so hard, drool drips down his chin. Just when I think I’ve seen him at his drunkest, he ups the ante and shocks me with fresh lows I never dreamed were possible.

This month it was two DUIs, back to back. I can’t even think of where I’m going to get the money to pay for a lawyer. And it was almost a relief when he lost his job. He has no excuse to drive without work, so he stays home watching talk shows and the soaps my mom and sister used to love so much.

I wrestle with the tears, digging my nails into the grainy desk in an effort to win the battle with my overactive tear ducts. And I do win.

Yay me.

Cohen makes a little strangled sound in the back of his throat. “So you bailed him out again?”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about helping family.” I singsong to disguise the tremble in my words. I’m so damn good at pretending everything is cool with everyone but Cohen.

Or maybe Cohen is the only one in my life who, for whatever reason, doesn’t assume I’m happy with things the way they are. He’s the only one who ever asks what I want. And I love him for that. But I also hate him for it. Because he acts like it’s so damn easy.

And it just…it just isn’t.

“I know you love your dad, Maren. I know that. But what you’re doing, it isn’t helping him or you and I just think—”

“I think we should get back to business,” I say, hating how icy my voice is. I shake my head, disgusted at the fact that I’m so cold to Cohen when he’s nothing but good to me.

It makes no sense at all. How you tiptoe so carefully around the people who use you like an emotional punching bag, but the people who want to help? It’s nothing to throw their kindness right back at them. I drag the breath into my lungs in deep gasps, because I’m so close to crying, I’m not going to be able to hold back soon.

“Okay.” Cohen speaks carefully. “If that’s what you want, I’ll drop it. But let me say this,” he rushes. “If you need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

A nice, normal person would say ‘okay’ back. Or, better yet, ‘thank you.’

But I’m not a nice, normal person. I’m a thoughtless asshole running scared, so I talk about spreadsheets and sales. Like a coward.

“I emailed you a spreadsheet. Can you check the next two weeks against your sales’ dates? Last month we got our wires crossed and I had fountains coming in when you guys were having your rug sale. I know how crazy that must have been, and I don’t want anything like that happening again.”

I hold my breath and bat back the words that threaten to spill out.

Words like,
Help me, Cohen.

Words like,
Forgive me for being a bitch. If I didn’t have your voice some days, I know I’d sink under the pressure of it all and drown.

Words like,
I imagine running away with you, and I’ve never even seen your face. Because, even though we’ve never met, we know each other. And I’ll never say that out loud, because it makes me sound like a lunatic.

His chuckle is low and deliciously rough, and my entire body relaxes. Cohen, awesome Cohen, just let it go like he always does, ready to make me happy, even if what I’m asking him is so stupid and cowardly.

“It was pretty crazy, but we actually wound up making a great profit on those fountains. I think we did better with them than with the rugs, so, you know, as usual, even when you make a mistake you’re brilliant.”

I feel a hot flush spread over my chest and neck, and I button and unbutton the top button of my crisp, professional white dress shirt, which is feeling very constricting all of a sudden.

No one compliments like Cohen Rodriguez. No one.

“You’re just trying to butter me up, because you know damn well it was still a mess-up, and I hate making them. I’m afraid I’ll lose my spot as your dad’s favorite shipping coordinator.”

If my voice sounds a little high and breathy, I don’t think he notices. I can hear him tapping on the keyboard, and I imagine him squinting at the screen.

With gorgeous blue eyes, framed by eyebrows that are always pressed a little low. I also imagine that he has shiny brown hair and a strong jawline.

That’s what I daydream he looks like…but he could be a troll with a wart on his nose and a constant lip-licking habit for all I know. Our relationship is strictly phone-only.

“No worries there. You have my dad wrapped around your little finger. I’ve only ever seen him act the way he acts with you when he’s with my sisters. He actually says you’re as smart as my sister Lydia, who my parents think is the world’s smartest person just because she’s a lawyer, so, trust me, he loves you.”

It’s silly, but I feel proud about that. My dad loves me fiercely, but I feel like he hasn’t noticed me for years, no matter what I do or how much I achieve. Feeling like I have a place in the Rodriguez family, even a totally unimportant place, is a little lifeline I can grab onto during the hurricane that currently defines my life.

“Well, I don’t want to take any chances,” I insist. “Look it all over, Rodriguez, and tell me if I screwed up.”

“Everything looks great. I can’t even imagine how you manage to coordinate all of this. You know we know how lucky we are to have you, Maren. My dad would throw a tantrum if you ever left. Priscilla was sweet and all, but she could never pull everything together like you can.”

How can such simple words pack such a punch? Maybe because there’s just the clean, sweet honesty of his words and my realization that he’s saying them because he absolutely means them.

And that means everything to me.

“Well, I’m glad to help.”

Glad to help, loving the compliments, but cursing my own efficiency. If I hadn’t done such a thorough job, I’d get a few more minutes on the phone with him to break up this dreary, boring day before my lonely, depressing night.

There’s a long pause, and Cohen clears his throat. “Yeah, so I guess I better get going. This morning h
as been insane-”

“Of course. You had all those customers when I first called and Genevieve is probably talking them into crazy art deco pieces we’ll just have to return later.” I pretend for his sake and mine that I’m just as eager to get off the phone now that the business is all handled.

“Actually, I wish it was just customers.” His words come to a dead stop, and I realize that this can go one of two ways. I either get him off the phone and keep everything simple.

Or…

I roll my desk chair to the door of my office, which is partially ajar, and swing it shut.

“It must have been pretty bad if you’re wishing for customers, Cohen. What’s our mantra again? ‘If it wasn’t for the customers, this job would be amazing?’”

His laugh is grainy and not totally happy. “Sad but true, right? Look, I don’t want to dump on you, but, uh…this is weird. Um, Kensley broke up with me this morning and I was pretty much blindsided by it, so if I’m a little out of it. Yeah.” He sucks a long breath in. “Shit. That’s the first time I said it out loud. I know it’s so damn
cliché
, but it made it feel more real, you know?”

I feel an instant, righteous anger, which is ridiculous.

Maybe stupid, asshole Kensley had excellent reasons for breaking up with Cohen. Like I said before, I know him from business calls and our phone friendship, which means that I actually know nothing at all about what he’s like as a real life friend or a boyfriend. She could be unequivocally justified in letting him go.

But I doubt that with every cell in my body.

“Oh, Cohen. That sucks. And don’t even talk to me about anyone dumping on anyone. You’ve listened to me whine and cry so many times. I’m just…I’m so sorry.”

I’m sorry for his idiot ex. She’s going to regret what she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called him back by tonight. They’d been an item for years, and guys like Cohen just don’t come along every day.

I could say all these things, but…

A teeny, tiny part of me is hoping that I’m wrong. A tiny part of me hopes that she’s way too stupid to realize what she lost, because he deserves better than someone who’d let him go like that. So much better.

“I guess I just feel…I don’t know. Kind of pissed. I mean, I think I’m more pissed than I am hurt or sad or whatever.” He laughs a little at this confession. “She said I wasn’t exciting enough. Seriously?”