The Proposal, page 24
The train was easier than driving. No traffic or parking to contend with. I could plan everything out and I’d be back in Philly to meet up with Zara and complete more work on our final presentation with time to spare.
With all the information from our two events and the Oren & Co. bomb, we could pitch something that would keep everyone coming back for more. Maybe make the Simply Stark and Easton Events collaboration a permanent thing. At least until there was enough money for Sam to bring her on full time. We could…what the hell was I talking about? We couldn’t do anything. The whole reason—
“Leo Wilder.” A man in a gray suit walked into the reception area and grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. “Killer name. I’m Charles.”
“Thanks for inviting me up here.”
“No problem, we’re always excited to have new blood fresh off the field around here. Half the time I feel like it’s nothing but fossils who don’t remember what it was like to play.”
“I practically still have grass stains burned into my knees.”
He guffawed, swiping his badge to call the elevator. “Hunter didn’t say you were funny. Most of the guys barely talk and seem afraid of their own shadow. But you might do all right.” The elevator doors closed behind us.
For four hours, I bounced from office to office, studio to studio. After thirty uncomfortable minutes in hair and makeup, they put me in front of green screens, LED screens covering an entire wall, and sat me down with a few recent additions to the channel for a mock play-by-play.
Talking with guys who’d run the pro gauntlet, I should've felt right at home. But my mind kept drifting to who their craft services caterer was and how Zara would love to pick apart the green room design. The table blocked everyone’s access to the room and the food. And more than one person had run their shin into it.
I checked my phone. Two hours until my train. Plenty of time.
I sent off a quick message.
Me: How much actual work do you plan on getting done tonight?
Zara: All the work, but there will be a reward at the end of our long grueling night
Me: Tease
Zara: That’s only if I don’t uphold my end of the bargain. And yes, I plan on upholding it
“Leo.” Charles calling my name broke through the wild thoughts dancing through my mind of the torture Zara had in store for me. I couldn’t wait.
“Sorry.”
“Did you have somewhere to be?”
“No, checking the scores.”
“Those scores?” He pointed to the glowing screens in front of me, showing every score for every sport and every game being played across the country.
“Force of habit. Did you have someone else for me to meet?”
“Yeah, but we like to get to know people outside of this place to make sure they’re a good fit with the whole crew, so we’re going out for a drink.”
“Out.”
His smile slipped. “You’ve got a problem with going out?”
I slid my phone into my pocket. “No problem at all. Lead the way.”
Half the guys I’d met that day piled into four sleek black SUVs. Out wasn’t to a bar around the corner, but a “secret” speakeasy set up behind a laundromat. Apparently, expensing drinks as part of the interview process wasn’t something any employee wanted to miss out on.
One drink turned into three which turned into five. Leaving wasn’t an option. This was my break.
The third time I checked my phone one of the guys grabbed it from me and plunked it down inside a full glass of beer. “What the fuck, man?” I shot up from my seat, blood coursing through my veins, seconds from diving at him over the fucking table.
He laughed, letting a woman lead him away by his tie, wrapped around his head like a headband. “We’re here having fun. Once you leave we have to start paying, so get comfortable.”
Grabbing my phone and heading for the bathroom, I took one of the neatly folded towels on the counter and wiped down my phone. The screen was a mottled mess.
Charlie popped his head into the bathroom. “Hey, sorry about Drew. He gets a bit carried away sometimes. We’ll have a new phone shipped to your house tomorrow.”
The door closed behind him.
“Thanks...” Running it under the hand dryer didn’t do a thing, but seemed to lock in the full screen fritz. I spent the rest of the night, nursing a seltzer and plotting the deaths of everyone who ordered another round from the bar.
This was what I wanted right? My big break?
So why would I rather be anywhere but here?
My fist thundered against her door and I cringed at the volume and echo in the deserted hallway. There weren’t many people out at seven on a Saturday morning. Bracing my arm on the door, I leaned my head against the smooth wood.
“Zara, I know you’re in there. I’m sorry. I got here as soon as I could. I took the first train this morning.”
I banged on the door again. “If I—”
The door flew open and my hands shot out to the frame to stop myself from pitching forward into her apartment.
She stood in front of me with her arms crossed over her chest, looking gloriously furious with a hint of bedhead and a heaping helping of pissed off.
“I waited for you until midnight.” She bit out. “Not a phone call. Not a text. Not even a comment on social media.”
“I didn’t have my phone—”
“Were you shipwrecked off the coast of Madagascar?” Her gaze traveled up and down my wrinkled suit. “No, it looks—and smells—more like you had a ‘flirty’ night out.” She threw up air quotes. “Take your walk of shame to your own apartment.” Her lips clenched and she tried to slam the door closed in my face.
I shoved my foot into the rapidly shrinking opening. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like, Leo? You tell me you’re going to meet me and then you don’t show. I get one message that you’re running late and then nothing. You show up at my door at the hairy crack of dawn looking like you’ve had a wild night, reeking of booze. What am I supposed to think?”
This is what I got for coming straight here from the train. I should’ve gone home and taken a shower. Gone and gotten her half a dozen of the everything bagels she loved so much, and maybe something from B&B, before coming to plead my case. But from the second the train pulled into the station I’d had one goal. Let her know I was okay and explain.
Only I hadn’t gotten to the whole explanation part. “I had an interview.”
“An interview?” She looked back at me dazed and confused.
I took the opportunity to slip past her and close the door behind me. At least now if she started throwing things, innocent bystanders wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.
“What kind of interview?” she enunciated.
“With a sports station.”
“Where?”
“In New York.” No backing out now.
Fury and brimstone flared in her eyes. “So when you texted and told me you’d be here soon, you were lying.”
“I wasn’t lying. It was a ten am interview. I figured I’d have loads of time.”
A flicker of realization sparked in her eyes. “The morning phone call. You said Hunter was inviting you to a party. He was telling you about the interview.”
Damn her insane level of recall, even before noon with a sex hangover.
“Yes.”
“Why’d you lie?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
She re-crossed her arms, tighter than before. “If it wasn’t a big deal, then why didn’t you tell me?”
She wasn’t wrong, per se, but my aversion to explaining myself when I hadn’t fucking done anything wrong flared up anyway. “Since when are we sharing every aspect of our lives with each other?”
“Since we started fucking,” she screamed, throwing her hands in the air before resting them on top of her head. “I’d at least hope for a text or a call when you’re going to blow me off, so I know you’re not dead in a gutter.”
“I tried!” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “The interview went later than I expected and they wanted to take me out for drinks after. Some asshole broke my phone and I couldn’t leave or I’d have blown my chances by seeming uninterested.”
She kept talking like I hadn’t said a word. “I waited up until ten last night, and you were at an interview for another job in a different state, living it up and drinking with your new co-workers.”
“I thought I could make it. I missed the last train down and got the first one this morning.”
“Wait.” Her head snapped back. “Is this why you’ve been nice to me all the sudden? Because you’re leaving? You don’t care about winning Winthorpe all by yourself anymore because you’re not even going to be here?”
“That has nothing to do with it. I didn’t even find out I’d gotten the interview until the morning after the scavenger hunt.”
“But you’d been trying for it. You had that in your back pocket.”
“In my back pocket? This is TV we’re talking about. I’m a shitty, slightly-above-no-name linebacker who washed out in four years. I’m hardly anyone anybody is banging down the door to get on the air. Hunter pulled a few strings to have someone look at my resume and a tape I put together. The fact that they didn’t laugh and throw it in the trash is a minor miracle.” But when I looked to her for understanding, fury still blazed in her eyes.
“You’re leaving.”
33
Zara
“Three weeks ago, you’d have been clicking your heels together that I was.”
“Things are different now.” The one guy I’d opened up to. The one I let into my damned apartment, to say nothing of my pants, and he was planning on moving out of state without telling me. I wasn’t ready to put a label on this, but I’d hoped we’d figure it out when we wrapped the project and the dust had settled.
“Nothing is happening right this moment. They said it’ll be weeks until they know.”
“Then you’ll leave.” I tightened my arms around my waist. Why delay the inevitable? People loved him. Women flocked to him. Of course he’d get the job and his stint helping out Sam would be over and I’d be left a wreck in Philly as the girl he used to bang.
“And then I decide what I want to do.” I spread my arms out at my sides. “Are you telling me you haven’t put out resumes? That you haven’t been searching for an out from Easton? You hate it there. You hate them.”
Of course I did, but my options were limited. The sky was the limit for him. The world was his oyster and mine was a flaming dumpster filled with week-old takeout.
Whatever this was between us had barely begun; why had I thought that gave me any special say or right to know what he was doing with his life? Once again, it was me painting a pretty fantasy picture that was never coming true. Just like with my old roommate.
He shook his head like I was being obstinate, which really got my back up. “Yes, but every application I put in falls into a black hole.”
He frowned. “So you’re pissed at me because you can’t get another job?”
I fisted my hands at my sides. A fiery maelstrom of emotions rushed through me. Yes, exactly. All I’d ever done was scrape and scrimp to get by and Leo had waltzed into this job, and one of the biggest accounts I’d ever seen had fallen straight into his lap. And in a couple weeks the sports channel would call him back and offer him the job because of course they would. He’d lived a golden life touched by King Midas, and I was suddenly, utterly done.
“Get out.” My arm shot out directing him to the door.
His face fell, but it was too late. “Zara, I’m sorry.”
“Leave.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I’m in this until the end. Hell, Sam’s not even paying me. I don’t need to do this job, but I want to do it.”
“You don’t even need this job?” That inferno had another heaping of lighter fluid sprayed onto it. He didn’t even need the money. All his bullshit fighting me every step of the way, and for what?
“Fuck.”
“Is this a joke to you?”
“Have I been treating it as a joke?”
Every day, I busted my ass. I wrung every bit of energy and did mental gymnastics to figure out how I’d balance everything like a waitress at a greasy spoon during the lunch rush, and he didn’t need this job. My best shot at keeping Tyler and myself above water could be ripped away by someone who was doing this for shits and giggles?!
Leo cupped my shoulders. “Calm down.”
Bull, meet the red flag of someone who’s pissed you off telling you to calm down. I yanked out of his grasp. “Screw you.”
“Exactly, it’s what we’ve been doing. Have you considered maybe I’m doing this for reasons other than money? Maybe I’m here because I want to be?”
I had the fluttery pulses of energy telling me to stand here and fight or take flight, maybe crossing state lines before I looked back. “I don’t want you here, and you need to leave.
His jaw clenched and he took a step back.
“I’ll go, but this isn’t over, Zara.”
“It’s well and truly over. You and I can coordinate the presentation by email. I’ll meet you two hours before, and we can go over it, present it, and go our separate ways. Kathleen will decide who gets the account.”
“What about that?” He pointed to the ring on my finger.
My chest tight with anger and hurt, I twisted it and tugged it off. Of course he’d want it back.
What the hell was wrong with me? Playing pretend was all this was. I grabbed his hand and smacked the ring into his palm. “You can bring it to the final presentation. Tell Hunter I said thanks.”
“What happens when Kathleen finds out we lied?”
“People break up all the time. We let her know our whirlwind romance is on hold for now.”
“Zara…”
“You need to go.”
His lips parted. He slammed them shut and turned, walking out without another word.
I gave myself a second to feel all the feelings. I clutched my chest and bent at the waist to shoulder the weight of what had happened. Staring up at the ceiling, I blinked back the tears. It was one night. This was always only ever supposed to be temporary.
“He’s leaving?” Stella released the ice cream scoop handle, adding another ball of coffee ice cream to the cup. Popping open the microwave, she pulled out the two jars and waved them in front of my face. “Hot fudge or caramel?”
“Do I have to choose?”
She looked at them and back at me with an assessing head tilt. “You deserve both.”
I’d come over asking for a corkscrew for the single bottle of wine in my cabinet left over from an event last year.
She’d taken one look at my face and dragged me inside. Since white wine didn’t pair well with ice cream, she traded me a six pack of cider, cracking one open on the counter top.
Using two spoons, she drizzled—more like doused—the two bowls of ice cream in sticky-sweet syrups.
“Do you want walnuts or peanuts?
“Peanuts.” I stole a spoonful of ice cream from the overflowing dish on her counter.
She opened a cabinet and set two containers on the counter.
“Chocolate or rainbow jimmies?”
“Jimmies?”
“Sorry, it’s a Jersey thing.” She stuck out her tongue. “Rainbow or chocolate sprinkles?” Her face scrunched up like saying the word was painful.
“Do you run an ice cream parlor that I don’t know about?” I peered over the counter from my stool on the other side. “Rainbow.”
“I used to work at one down the shore. How do you think I got these incredible forearms?” She flexed.
I laughed around my second spoonful of ice cream.
“And now for the pièce de résistance.” She spun around, kicking the fridge closed, shaking a can of whipped cream in one hand and holding a jar of maraschino cherries in the other.
“A goddess. Have I told you that’s what you are?”
“No, but I can’t say I mind.” She winked as she whirled the whipped cream high on top of the fudge and caramel that was ending up mainly on the counter. Fishing out a couple cherries, she set them on top and pushed mine toward me.
“Hey, Stell—” Adam walked into the room and froze, holding up two different ties. “Fudge and caramel? What happened? Who died?”
“No one. Zara’s having boy troubles,” she said around the spoon in her mouth.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it. Let me know if you need me.” He backed up like he’d walked into a pen of ravenous lionesses. I swear there was a smoke plume behind him.
Oh no. “Were you guys going somewhere? Sorry to barge in.”
She waved me off. “I invited you in. It was either go to a stuffy resident’s dinner where I’d be one of the only people without an MD and no one would speak to me no matter how much Adam tried to pull me into the conversation, or stay here with you and eat ice cream.” She held up her spoon.
I clinked mine against hers and dug back into it. Warm fudge, cold, creamy coffee goodness, the crunch of peanuts, and smooth whipped cream. I was wallowing in perfection.
“He’s really moving?”
“To New York. He had an interview up there. He was out all last night doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who, standing me up.”
She tsked and inhaled her sundae. “Bad move. Are you going to let him squirm some before you forgive him?”
“He’s leaving.”
“I thought you said it was an interview. He might not get it, right?”
“Look at him. They’re not turning him down.” I sure as hell couldn’t. Neither could half the women in the city who approach him every day. He probably came home each night emptying his pockets of slips of paper with women’s numbers scribbled on them, or deleted ten old phone numbers a day from his phone to make room for even more new ones.
Stella waved her spoon at me. “I see. I get what this is. It’s not you worrying about a long-distance relationship, it’s you shutting this down before one can even form.”
