Little Miss Lovesick (25 page)

I flashed him my Sydney-can-do-this grin
.
No
w
I had my confidence back.

“Perfect.” All I had to do was search the MLS database and we’d have some real possibilities to look at.

“Fantastic. Set up your laptop in the kitchen or the living room and let me know when you have something for me to look at. Matt can show you where the Internet hookups are in each room.”

Work here? In the kitchen? Ha! But GT had already turned back to his work and picked up the phone.

Of course I could work here. Sure. No problem. I’m a professional. I don’t bring my personal problems to work. I picked up my bag, smiled at GT, and left the office. But I was working in th
e
living roo
m
, not the kitchen. I’m sure Matt had no reason to go anywhere near the living room.

I found a comfy spot on the couch with the coffee table in front of me to lay out my paperwork and my portable printer. I just needed an outlet to plug in the printer. I looked behind the couch and found an outlet, but it was full.

A Frederic Remington sculpture caught my eye on an end table. I love Remington. Then I saw a cord coming out of the base. Where there was a cord, there was probably an electrical outlet. But why would a sculpture need electricity? I tentatively picked it up. The cowboy came off the horse and I heard a buzzing. I put the cowboy closer to my ear. Dial tone. I took a closer look. Apparently, you talked into his boots, his hat by your ear.

So that’s what you buy for someone who has everythin
g
, said a Voice.

Yuc
k
, said another
.
Ruined a perfectly good piece of art.

I followed the cord back behind another piece of furniture to the wall. The top of the outlet was empty. Yay. I pulled the printer cord over and tried to plug it in. Almost, just a little more give. I gave a little tug and heard a sliding sound. I looked up in time to see my laptop slide toward the floor. I dove for it and just caught it. I also caught my shins on the corner of the coffee table.

“Ah, sshhh-shooty!”

I shoved the computer back onto the coffee table, one hand grasping my left knee. But the printer cord caught around the laptop again, tightening so that I almost tripped. Frustrated, I yanked the cord out of the back of the printer and tossed the laptop safely onto the couch. I was bent over, fanny-side toward the kitchen, rubbing my smarting knees when I heard—

“What in the world are you doing?”

Spinning around, still holding one knee, I locked eyeballs with Matt.

Ah, sshhh-shit.

“Working,” I said as I turned my back to him again. I heard him grunt and move, so I ignored him and went back to righting my toppled papers. I was seriously grumpy now
.
Thi
s
is why I work in my office, or at home. I don’t go to Internet cafes. I don’t try to plug in at Starbucks. I know what works. And what doesn’t.

I reached for the end of the printer cord lying nearby just as it skittered away.

“Hey!” Startled, I twisted around to find Matt wrapping the cord in a loop around his elbow. “What are you doing? I’m trying to get some work done here.”

“So was I, until all the racket.”

I sighed (huffed, really) and glared at him.

“Give me my cord, please.” I thrust out my right hand to grab the cord, but he pulled away.

“That,” he said pointing, “is where the phone is plugged in. Over there—”

“I wasn’t trying to connect to the phone line.”

“Over there,” he said again (with a tad bit of emphasis this time), “is the Internet connection.”

I snorted. “As if GT doesn’t have wireless. If you’d just go away, I could get—”

“The wireless installation is part of the renovations,” he interrupted. “You’ll have to connect the old-fashioned way today.”

Matt marched over to another wall next to the wet bar and pulled a blue Ethernet cable from behind a chair. He bent over and plugged my printer cord in the wall. Then he dropped the ends of both cables on the floor near the couch and marched past me back toward the kitchen.

“As if you know anything about how to make a connection,” I muttered.

The fact that the cables would reach with room to spare wasn’t half as encouraging as the thought that I might now be rid of Matt for the day. My blood pressure seemed to spike when he was around, even if we weren’t getting along. I picked up the Ethernet cable and muttered dramatically, “An
d
sta
y
out.”

Apparently not as quietly as I meant to.

“Excuse me?”

From the heat on my neck, I was pretty sure Matt was staring holes into my back. In the hopes that ignoring him would make him go away, I continued to plug in my equipment and turn it all on.

“Do you have a problem?”

Not turning to him, I said, “Yeah, a few.”

Hey, good on
e
, said a Voice.

“Well, one of them is rudeness.”

Still keeping my eyes on my computer screen as I opened my web browser, I said, “Takes one to know one.”

“
Excuse m
e
?” He sounded downright pissed off now, and that surprisingly raised my spirits.

I waved him away. “Yes, you’re excused. Go!”

The silence was threatening, like the air right before a storm. Electrifying. Thrilling.

“I came in here to help you, not—”

“You did not!” My eyes shot to his. “You came in here to find out what I was doing! You don’t—”

“—to be treated like some kind of—”

“—have to pretend you’re some kind of—”

“Enough!”

Startled, Matt and I shut up and turned toward the hallway in horror. Well, I turned in horror. I’d just realized that I had been shouting like a third grader. In my client’s home. Near his office. Where he wa
s
workin
g
.

“What in unholy hell are you two screaming about?” GT roared. “Is this how you conduct business? Because I don’t!”

I thought I was going to die. This was beyond embarrassing. Beyond humiliating.

God, please, if you’re merciful, take me now!

GT looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel. Matt was staring at his boots, hands on his hips. I was afraid my mouth was hanging open. Then I realized my hands were covering it.

“Out! Both of you. Now! I’ve got a business to run — and not a babysitting business. Out!”

GT turned his glare straight to me. “We’re done! You understand?”

Then he turned and stalked back into his office, slamming his door.

Oh, no…have I just bee
n
fire
d
?

CHAPTER 29

I DROVE back to my office vacillating between feelings of dread and relief. The thing is, as much as GT drives me crazy, 1) I was excited to have found a method of working with him that seemed to work, and 2) I was beyond embarrassed to be fired in such a manner.

What was I going to tell Perry?

Just tell him that you can’t help GT anymore. He’ll probably be glad and not ask any questions.

And if he does?

Okay, tell him the truth. You’ll be disqualified for Employee of the Month for the rest of your life. But hey, who needs their name on a plaque anyway?

I groaned and closed my eyes.

Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road, please!

Crap, what was I going to do?

The silence in my head was not a good indicator that fresh, innovative ideas were forthcoming. Until this thought popped into my head.

Don’t tell him anything.

Huh, don’t tell him anything. That has promise. That has a sparkly glow around it. Yeah, I think I’m feeling better already. Don’t tell him the client fired me. Don’t tell him there was a big scene. If he asks about GT at all, I’ll just look all professionally disappointed and tell him I just don’t think I can help GT.

Better if you don’t open your mouth at al
l
, said a Voice
.
Don’t tell hi
m
an
y
thing.

I ran some other errands between leaving GT’s and getting to the office so I wouldn’t appear early. On a whim, I stopped by Grand Traverse Pie Company on West Front Street and ordered a chocolate croissant and cranberry juice. When was the last time I sat down to eat breakfast on a weekday?

As I ate, I tried not to think. At least not about this morning. I really can’t believe I was fired. I’ve never been fired before. But maybe it was for the best because…I couldn’t think of a reason yet.

I ordered another chocolate croissant, deliberatel
y
no
t
thinking about what my stress-eating was doing to my figure. What was I thinking fighting with Matt like that? Come to think of it, what wa
s
h
e
thinking?

For a split second I remembered something my mother told me in the fifth grade. “Boys pick on you because they like you.”

Ha
!
That i
s
s
o
not true. I can’t even begin to explain how untrue that is. If that were true, it would mean Matt liked me, and he’d made it very clear he was totally over me.

I wolfed down the rest of my croissant and licked my fingers. Embarrassed, I looked up to see if anyone was paying attention. I wa
s
s
o
upset, but with so many different emotions I didn’t kno
w
ho
w
I felt. Humiliated topped the list. Ashamed was a close second. And guilty because…because…

Because it was excitin
g
, said a Voice
.
Exciting to engage in a passionate exchange with him, even if it was a fight.

I needed therapy.

I finally got to the office just before eleven. There were a few people working at their desks, but it looked like the office was the usual Monday-Empty. That’s one thing about people who have no time clock to punch. They work around their body clock instead, which often means a few people are in very early, a few work very late, and a lot come and go during the day.

Personally, I had really gotten to like it. I felt a bit like an entrepreneur. Every dollar I made was only because I really worked for it. No worky, no money. And since I was making a lot of money this year, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Until today, that is…

I waved at Carmen, who was on the phone, as I walked in and nonchalantly strolled to my desk. From the corners of my eyes, I couldn’t see that anyone was paying particular attention to me. Whew. I set up my computer and got to work. GT wasn’t my only client. There was always plenty of work to do. Yeah.

Around noon, Carmen stopped by my desk. “No flowers this morning. Think he finally got the message?”

I blinked, trying to register what she’d said. She smiled at my blank look and turned to walk to the kitchen. “I will miss the irises, though.”

I looked toward her desk at the front of the office. No new flowers. Huh.

“It’s about time,” I whispered as I went back to work.

Maybe this really will be a good da
y
, said the Pollyanna voice.

An hour later, a courier service dropped off an envelope for me. Inside was a typewritten note on expensive, personalized stationary.

“Dear Sydney, I received your message last week about the flowers and candy. I thought about it and realized you were right — they are a waste of money. So I’ve donated fifty dollars ($50) in your name to Habitat for Humanity. I know that’s your favorite charity. You’ll receive an acknowledgement from them by mail. I hope you have a wonderful day. Love, Dirk.”

“For crying out loud,” I whispered.

What in the world was I supposed to do abou
t
tha
t
?

Ignore hi
m
, said a Voice.

He’s just trying to get you bac
k
, said Another.

Yo
u
can’
t
tell him to not give to charity.

Take his money, and ignore him.

For whatever reason, I decided the last voice sounded the most reasonable. Habitat was going to be pretty happy that Dirk was trying to make up to me if this continued. I stuffed the envelope in my briefcase and went back to work.

It was really hard to concentrate, though. I made it to almost four o’clock before I saw Perry come in. He went straight to his office without walking through the cubicle area, without even looking, in fact. I hurried to pack up my things and turn off my computer.

Chicken
!
said a Voice.

I just cannot deal with this right now. I need time to figure out what I should say. Then I can put a professional spin on it without resorting to lying. I hate lying.

Bawk-bawk-bawk. Chicken clucking echoed in my head.

Yeah, whatever. I’m outta here.

I couldn’t believe my luck, but I managed to get out the door and into my car without anyone stopping or even noticing me. My nerves on heightened alert, I drove fast all the way home. As if Perry were actually going to follow me and specifically ask me about GT.

I was standing in front of the open refrigerator door two hours later trying to decide what to attempt to cook for dinner when someone knocked on the door. I rolled my eyes and sighed. I couldn’t think of a single person I wanted to see.

I closed the fridge. Ed McMahon would be nice, coming to tell me I won thousands of dollars, but I don’t think he even does that anymore. Arnold Schwarzenegger could rescue me: “Come with me if you want to live.” Complete with accent. Wait, was he still governor of California?

I looked through the peephole and gasped. I tore open the door and shrieked, “Emily!” For a moment, I forgot all about the fact that she was mad at me, too. All I was thinking was “friendly face.”

Emily laughed and we tried to hug each other. Her hands were full of bags, though, making it a bit awkward.

“I come bearing the white bag of surrender,” she said, holding up the bags.

“Chinese food?”

“Only best for Sydney-friend, only best for best friend,” she said in a terrible Asian accent.

“Come on in!” I said, imitating the announcer fro
m
The Price Is Righ
t
.

We cleared off the coffee table in the living room (when Em is over, we never seem to eat in the kitchen) and laid out the feast. Then we sat on the floor to eat…and to talk.

“So,” I said.

“So,” she said, looking at her plate. Then she looked up. Her eyes were shining and she was smiling like she’d won the Lotto.

“What?” I asked, a little alarmed, but crazy curious as well.

“When I said I was surrendering, I meant it in a couple ways. First, I’m really sorry I haven’t been around much lately. You’re right, I was sort of keeping a secret. But here I am to tell you what it is.”

She grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Her fork swirled patterns in sweet ’n’ sour sauce all over her plate.

“What?” I was so not interested in food anymore.

“I’m in love!” she shrieked. She fell back against the couch cushions and went all sappy. “He’s s
o
wo
n
derful. An
d
han
d
some. An
d
fu
n
ny. An
d
wo
n
derful.”

“You said that one already. So tell me the truth. Do you really like him?” I teased.

Emily sighed dramatically. “I’m done, Syd. I’m done playing. I’m done having fun. I’m done looking. This is it.”

Emily ha
d
neve
r
said anything like that before. Never. I was shocked into silence. But I looked into her eyes and I knew it really was over for her.

“Oh my gosh, Em. You’re not kidding. You’re really in love.”

She sat up and smiled. I smiled back at her. Then she grinned and I grinned and she shrieked and I shrieked. Then we were hugging each other really tight and she was crying and that made me cry. And then she put her elbow in the sweet and sour sauce and we were laughing again.

“Wow. I can’t believe it. So does he know? Is he aware that his life as he knows it is over?”

Em blushed. And I knew. “Nooo. You’re not talking about getting married!”

“He hasn’t actually asked me yet.”

“But…?”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to get married. And soon. We can’t stay away from each other.”

“How in the world di
d
thi
s
happen? And when? It’s Geoffrey, right? I thought you just met! Tell me everything!” Because Emily is my dearest friend, there was no way I could not be happy for her. Supremely happy. No matter if my love life sucked or not. So we hunkered down with our food and went all girly and giggly.

As it turns out, Geoffrey (yup, the one I met) is the reason Emily went AWOL on me. Ever since the 4th of July beach party, they’ve been going fishing together and going for walks in the woods by Lake Dubonnet and all this other romantic stuff. At least it sounded romantic to me.

And Emily certainly sounded lik
e
sh
e
thought it was romantic. Which is all that counts, I suppose. She couldn’t stop talking about him and how in love they were. I sighed in my head.

Sorry, getting a bit droopy in the enthusiasm department. I’m really glad for Em. I am. I didn’t think she’d settle down for a long time. But it sure looked like she was ready. And that’s great. Really. It’s just that…

“I’m really sorry, Sydney,” she said seriously, “that I stopped calling you so much. It’s just that…” She paused and looked worried.

Great. It was going to be about me. I tried to smile. “Go on.”

“Well,” she pushed some rice around on her plate while she talked. “It’s just that you have been so unhappy, and I was sooo happy, and I didn’t want to make you feel bad, but I…I didn’t want your unhappiness to bring me down either.” She looked up with a pained, guilty expression. “Please forgive me, okay?”

What could I say? If I were in her shoes, I’d probably have felt the same way, done the same thing, tried to protect my newfound happiness any way I could. “Of course.” I leaned over to hug her and she hugged me back hard.

“So, is it okay, I mean, do you mind…would you like to hear everything?” Her voice ended high and giggly.

“Everything!” I said. “Don’t leave out a single detail.” She was my best friend, darn it. And I was going to be there for her during this monumental time in her life.

We had a wonderful evening together. We ate way too much Chinese food and talked and laughed for hours. When she left, I cleaned up a bit and went to bed.

And cried myself to sleep.