These Girls (29 page)

“Now you’ve got to tell us,” Nigel said. “How did you offend Debbie when you first met?”

“Oh, sure, take her side,” Ron said, grinning. “Actually, I always do that, too. You learn a few things when you’ve been married twenty-two years, and that’s rule number one.”

“The wife is always right?” Nigel joked.

“I like that rule,” Cate said lightly. “By the way, did any of you read the story Trey Watkins won the award for? He’s writing a piece for us right now.”

It wasn’t a great segue, but it was all she had. She’d steered the conversation back to business and let Ron know the magazine had captured a hot journalist—Nigel couldn’t find anything wrong with that. But he was holding up his hand like a stop sign. “Hang on a sec, Cate, I want to hear this story first.”

“So I was living in the dorms my senior year—”

“And he borrows this pathetic-looking beagle from the housemother in a sorority—”

“That dog was a chick magnet,” Ron said fondly as Debbie swatted his shoulder.

“And I actually had a dog at the time, too—a stray mutt named Maggie that I’d found on the street just a few weeks earlier,” Debbie said. “I was hiding it in my dorm until I went home for the holidays, when I was going to spring it on my parents.”

“Her dog wasn’t spayed,” Ron said. “And my beagle . . . noticed.”

“So the first thing I ever said to him was, ‘Your dog is trying to hump my dog!’ And he just laughed!”

“It was pretty funny,” Ron said. “My dog was about a quarter the size of hers. It was humping her dog’s ankle.”

“It wasn’t your dog,” Debbie pointed out. “It was your wing-man. Your
prop.
”

Nigel was laughing so hard he had to set down his drink, and Cate forced herself to join in.

“So she storms off, yelling at me, ‘Tell your dog to put his lipstick back in its case!’ and that dog and I just stared after them. Both of us were totally smitten.”

“That night they showed up in our dorm. He brought daisies for me, and his dog—his
fake
dog—brought a bone for Maggie.”

“Three years later, we got married. Maggie came down the aisle with the rings tied to a ribbon around her neck,” Ron said.

“Brilliant,” Nigel said.

“God, I miss college,” Debbie said. “Our oldest is getting ready to go next year.”

“A new generation at Ohio State?” Nigel asked.

Cate felt as if she was strapped into the passenger’s seat in a car, helpless to do anything as it sped the wrong way down the highway. They were never going to get off this topic. A collision was inevitable. She realized her hand was shaking so badly that the ice in her drink was making little clinking noises.

Then, miraculously, Debbie shook her head. “She’s going to Juilliard. She’s a pianist.”

“Wonderful!” The word shot out of Cate, so loudly that everyone turned to stare at her. “I really admire musicians,” she said. “I, ah, have always wished I had that talent.”

“My uncle is a sax player,” Ron said. “We think she got it from him.”

Cate sagged against the back of the booth, which was a mistake, because now she was closer to Nigel’s arm. It was brushing against the back of her hair. “I’ll get us a new round,” he said. “Cate, another vodka cranberry?”

She nodded. What else could she do? Ron and Debbie couldn’t have been nicer—for rich, powerful people they seemed so down-to-earth—but Cate desperately wanted this night to end. Her body had accumulated so much tension that she felt more exhausted than she ever had at the end of a long run, and the crab cakes that had tasted so light and fresh now sat heavily in her stomach.

“Actually, we’re going to call it a night,” Ron said, glancing at Debbie as she nodded. “This was a great evening. Cate, it was a pleasure.”

They all shook hands, and, as Ron and Debbie left, Nigel slid out of the booth. Cate made a move to follow him, but he said, “One vodka cranberry, coming up,” and walked to the bar.

This couldn’t be happening. Just when she thought she’d dodged a trap, another was sprung before her. The last thing she wanted to do was sit next to Nigel, enduring his clumsy attempts at charm. Because he was her boss, she’d have to, but she vowed that, if he crossed the line, her drink would decorate his face.

Nigel came back, and instead of sliding into an empty seat across from her, he sat down next to Cate again. This time she deliberately moved over and put her purse between them.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.

“So exciting about the feature writing award,” she said, steering the conversation to business, where it belonged.

Nigel nodded and took another sip. How many drinks had he had tonight? If he’d started with his pre-event “toddy,” he must be on his fifth or sixth. Cate scooted over another inch. She couldn’t move any farther; she was trapped against the wall. She’d never been claustrophobic, but she felt almost panicked now. She fought the urge to push past Nigel and run through the hotel lobby, all the way out the door and into the clean night air. She thought again about Sam’s story, then Nigel’s half growl as she bent over the desk, and her hands grew so sweaty she almost dropped her glass. She couldn’t do this; she couldn’t sit next to him and make polite conversation, she couldn’t—

“Hey there.”

Cate’s head jerked up at the sound of the familiar voice.

Nigel was on his feet, reaching out to clap Trey on the shoulder. “Congratulations! Where’s that award?”

“I put it up in my room. It looks like a lethal weapon, and I was worried I’d get arrested for carrying it around,” Trey said. Cate blinked when his joke echoed her earlier thought.

“Join us for a drink?” Nigel asked.

“Normally I’d love to, but I was hoping to steal Cate away for
a bit to chat about the story we’re working on together,” Trey said. “I’d invite you to join us, but I know Graydon Carter is up at the bar—he was just asking about you.”

Nigel actually preened at the idea that the editor of
Vanity Fair
was seeking him. “Trey, I’m going to put together a party to celebrate our awards. I’ll send you an invite—now that you’re writing for us.”

“Sounds great,” Trey said.

“Catch up to you when you’re through then, Cate?” Nigel said as he stood up.

“Sure,” she lied.

And just like that, he was walking away and she was safe.

Trey leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to guess you really don’t want to be here when he comes back after talking to Graydon. Who, by the way, didn’t really ask about him.”

“How did you know?” Cate asked.

“The look on your face,” he said. “I was watching from across the bar.”

She ignored the little tingle that his words conjured—he’d been
watching
her—and simply nodded.

“I really do want to talk to you about the story, though,” he said. “How about we grab a cab and get out of here?”

She nodded again and followed him as he wove through the room, never breaking stride as he greeted a few people and accepted their congratulations.

A minute later, they were outside the hotel and she was tasting the fresh air she’d craved.

“There’s a great little bar in Georgetown. Just a few minutes away. Sound good?” he said.

She nodded once more—she felt so turbulent from the emotions of the night that she didn’t trust herself to talk in case she burst into tears—and he hailed one of the cabs lined up at the
curb and climbed in after her. He was so big that he took up more than his half of the bench seat, and his leg brushed against hers whenever the cab made a sharp turn or hit a pothole.

Cate’s throat went dry as the realization hit her: Her earlier thought was wrong. She wasn’t safe, not at all.

Twenty-one

“WHOA, GIRL. HAVE YOU
lost weight?”

Renee broke into a grin as her friend Kathy, a writer at
Sweet!
gave a low whistle from a few tables away in the cafeteria.

“Just a few pounds,” Renee said. She could feel herself standing up straighter. She hadn’t run into Kathy in at least a week, and it was fantastic to know the difference was that obvious.

“Seriously, you look incredible! What’s your secret?”

Kathy looked at the lunch tray Renee was carrying—it held a bottle of water and a container of low-fat vanilla yogurt—and smiled. “Never mind, I think I figured it out. Starvation diet?”

“Pretty much,” Renee said, putting her tray on the table and pulling out the chair next to Kathy’s. “And, not to sound too much like a personal ad, but taking long walks at sunset, too.”

“You’re a better woman than me,” Kathy said as she crumbled up a saltine cracker and dropped it in her bowl of chili. “I’d never have that kind of willpower.”

Renee had tested herself on the way down to the cafeteria by walking past
Gloss
’s kitchen. Today staffers were replicating a brunch from Gwyneth Paltrow’s newest cookbook. Renee had inhaled the cinnamon challah French toast—so puffy and buttery—
ambrosia fruit salad, and chocolate-covered strawberries. Of course, Gwyneth would never actually eat that stuff, and now Renee didn’t, either. She’d looked at the food, admired the colors and textures like they were pieces of art, and walked away.

“Ooh—look who’s heading this way with his eye on you,” Kathy said. “Good thing you look so pretty today, skinny bitch.”

And just like that, Kathy was putting the lid on her mostly full chili and standing up.

“Hi, Renee,” Trey said. She glanced up and tried to look surprised, but she suspected a C-list actress would’ve scoffed at her performance.

“Grab my seat if you want it,” Kathy said to Trey. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Now that was a true friend, Renee thought, smiling as Kathy walked toward the elevator with her chili in one hand. Kathy lifted her hand over her head and, without looking back, wiggled her fingers in farewell.

“Congrats on the National Magazine Award,” Renee said.

“Oh, thanks,” Trey said. He looked tired, Renee thought as she pushed away her yogurt. No way was she going to be slurping it down when she was talking to Trey.

He didn’t say anything else, so she continued the conversation. “So was it a fun night? Cate was there, too.”

“Yeah, I, uh, ran into her,” Trey said. He cleared his throat. “Listen, I just wanted to thank you. Abby told me she sort of freaked out and you really helped her.”

“Oh!” Renee said. “Trey, you don’t have to thank me. I’m just sorry she’s going through such a terrible time.”

Renee swore she saw his eyes grow damp. “She’s dealing with a lot right now,” Trey said.

“Cate told me a little bit about it,” Renee said. “There was something going on with the husband at her nanny job?”

Trey nodded. “I think she was in love with him.”

“And she really misses the little girl she took care of. Annabelle.”

“Yeah. I think some other things are hitting her, too,” Trey said.

“Look, I really like your sister,” Renee said honestly. “She’s welcome at our place anytime. It doesn’t just have to be when you’re away. Do you want me to call her and see if she wants to hang out this week?”

Trey looked at her then with such gratitude and hope that Renee’s heart skipped a beat.

“Renee, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for a long time,” he started.

This was exactly how ninety-nine percent of her fantasies began. The other one percent began with him scrapping the speech and throwing her over his shoulder, caveman style, before dropping her onto a bed.

“That last time we went out . . . I felt like I didn’t treat you that well,” he said.

“Wasn’t I the one who threw a drink on you?” she said. She couldn’t believe she’d actually joked about it, and Trey threw back his head and laughed. “I’d forgotten about that,” he said. Oh, fabulous—good thing she’d reminded him.

“Seriously, though, I don’t ever want you to think it was . . . anything about you,” he said. “You’re a wonderful person. I hated hurting you.”

“Trey, it’s okay,” she said. She patted his arm because he looked so tortured she almost felt sorry for him.

“I feel like we’re becoming friends, too. Not just you and Abby, but you and me,” he said. “And I like it.”

It was as good a place as any to restart their relationship. “I like it, too,” she said.

He pushed back his chair, then looked at her more closely. “Hey, are you feeling all right?”

“Sure,” Renee said. “Great. Why do you ask?”

“You just look . . . I don’t know, kind of pale, I guess.” “Obviously I need a medicinal trip to Hawaii,” Renee said. “I’ll tell my health insurer to get on it.”

Trey laughed and stood to go, then bent down and gave her a quick hug. Renee shut her eyes as his arms enveloped her. She smelled cologne with a hint of lime, felt the rasp of his chin stubble against her softer skin.

It wasn’t until she looked down at the table that her smile disappeared. There was something right in front of where Trey had been sitting. He’d been shredding a napkin and rolling it into little balls the whole time they’d been talking.

What could he be nervous about? Did he think she might react angrily to his apology?

She shrugged and took three bites of yogurt, then drained the bottle of water. No matter how much she drank these days, she was always thirsty. She scooped up her tray and the pile of napkin balls and tossed everything into the trash can on the way to the elevator.

She went straight to her desk to get back to work, a smile lingering on her face as she thought about Trey’s hug. She checked the comments on her blog, noting with satisfaction that twenty new followers had joined it, then flipped over to Diane’s and began to read.
Do you have problem areas on your body?
it began.
Got a muffin top or meaty arms? Here’s how to dress to camouflage your hot spots . . .

Renee felt herself trembling. Diane’s blog was lined up right next to Renee’s, with the unflattering photo of Renee positioned just inches away from those incendiary words. This couldn’t be happening. She’d never really liked Diane, but she hadn’t disliked her, either. But now, just as the ugly comments about Renee’s weight were finally completely buried in her blog’s older posts, Diane was reopening the discussion. Sure, she hadn’t mentioned Renee directly, but it was obvious what she was
doing. Renee felt a white-hot heat rising within her. Women shouldn’t do this kind of thing to each other; it violated some kind of unspoken honor code. How dare Diane?