He sighs as he lets it go. What was I going to say? That I hadn’t slept the night through in weeks because when I did, my dreams and nightmares were filled with Cesare? Amazing dreams of being with him, a replay of that first dinner, of those moments when his body was against mine. Or how during the day, stupid fantasies replayed of those dirty, sexy, hot desires Cesare whispered against my skin. Fantasies of what would happen if I said yes, fantasies that left me sweaty, wet and wanting Cesare with a hunger that threatened to consume me. Then awful nightmares of what his father did to his mother and watching Cesare deal with it. Wanting to hold him, finding myself at the side of a grave Cesare refused to move away from.
Or did Dante want to hear that I’d managed to drop an entire dress size because food had lost its appeal along with everything else in my life? No matter how hard I worked to design different quilts, harder, more unique than ones I’ve done before, none of it interested me the way it used to.
No, I’m absolutely not telling Dante any of what’s really going. Dante would think I was nuts, then he would probably suggest I find a new job. Everything is fine. It will be, eventually.
When I get back to my desk, I find an email from Cesare telling me he needs me for a work dinner tonight. The email is as dry and basic as any he’s sent me the rare times he’s needed to over the past few weeks. There’s the time of the pickup, the name of the restaurant, and the name of the client. I respond with a simple okay. His reply is immediate, telling me that I can leave at three today. I don’t bother responding, I see he has cc’d Dante already.
The day passes in a haze as I tell myself I can get through the night. I’m brought back into focus by the crashing of the phone into its cradle and a low exclamation of fuck from Hannah. My eyes shoot to her—the woman never swears.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I swear, I do not know what is going on with Cesare, but I’ve had all I can take. He’s bitching about every little thing. I know he’s not sleeping, I come in to emails written at two or three in the morning.” Her computer pings with a message. Another swear word escapes her. “That’s it, I’m putting in for vacation starting next week. I’m taking a week and maybe when I come back he’ll get his head sorted out. Sorry to leave you alone with them so early, but another week of this and he’ll be lucky if I don’t put in for retirement.”
I blink fast. “You can just put in for vacation next week?” It’s Wednesday.
“Most people need to give two weeks’ notice. I’m not most people. And neither are you. As long as you’re going to be here, I don’t have to give it two weeks.” Her hands are flying across her keyboard. “See, check your email and you’ll see the confirmation from HR.” The phone beeps before Cesare’s voice comes through.
“My office, now.”
A shiver goes up my spine at his voice. Hannah doesn’t look fazed as she gets up and th
e door to his office closes with a click.
***
Cesare
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go on vacation for at least a month after the new hire started to give her time to become comfortable in her position.”
“Cesare, have you ever thought of facing your fear rather than running from it?”
I don’t need this. “Never mind, go on vacation.” I turn my attention back to the file in front of me.
She doesn’t leave. “I’ve known you almost thirteen years. I believe that gives me the right as well as responsibility to care about you. I’m concerned about you. This not sleeping and eating and working out too much, it’s going to catch up with you. Will you please come out to lunch with me? Get out of the office. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
Christ, I can’t even remember the last time I left the office for lunch. It meant walking past Alicia’s desk. Does she read my mind? “How about I order in from Giordano’s? The veal and fettucine?”
She doesn’t give me time to respond before she’s gone again. I roll my neck—it aches from the tension. Am I that fucking easy to read now?
As much as I hadn’t wanted to have lunch with Hannah, as she leaves I’m glad she forced herself, and food on me. True to her word as always, we talked about her daughter Ruthie, who’s finally pregnant after a long year of trying with Hannah’s first grandchild. While it’s fresh in my mind I send an email to Claudine to get ahold of Ruthie’s gift registration and buy the three most expensive items, along with sending a large gift card to the store she registered at. I’m surprised by Hannah’s happiness that her daughter, who’s single at thirty-two, has given up on finding a man to settle down with and is going the donated sperm route in order to have the baby she longs for. Then again, Hannah has always prized her daughter’s happiness above conventions.
Hannah pressed me to eat again and again as she described in detail the nursery she was helping her daughter decorate, until I was bemused to find all my food was gone. It’s really annoying to admit I feel better than I have in days. Despite my increased workouts in an attempt to get Alicia out of my system, my interest in eating, along with sleeping, has been non-existent. Sleep was a minefield of torture I gave up on to bury myself in work or a sweaty painful workout.
Every night I told myself this would pass, only it was a lie because then I would think of her, see her against the lids of my closed eyes in the time it took to blink, and need would hit me hard. I have taken to hiding in my fucking office and it pisses me off but damn it, seeing her is worse. My whole body goes hard at the sight of her, the tension grows so high it’s a wonder I can keep walking past her. I’ve told myself there is nothing special about her. I could open my phone and find a dozen women more beautiful, yet I see her and all of those women blur into nothing. All I want is her.
As our lunch ended, I asked her to reconsider. She said no, that we both needed a break from each other. That wasn’t true—the idea of having to interact with Alicia daily, to have her take notes in meetings, to have to get close to her. Fuck, it’s going to be the week from hell.
I’m not looking forward to tonight either. Lately, I’ve done everything I could to avoid dinners, upping gifts, reaching out by phone to prospective clients and doing the verbal handholding by phone to avoid a dinner check-in. But Decker Holt is a different kind of client. He’s back in Chicago after spending the last twenty years in England and is expanding into the States and looking for warehouses. This has potential to be a profitable deal. The guy’s careful about who he does business with—I’ve been courting him for weeks. Tonight is the first time we’ll be sitting down together. I need it go well and I need Alicia there to take note of what we say.
Great, another evening of having Alicia close enough to touch but completely untouchable. Even though it’s early, I pour myself a scotch.
8
February
Alicia
I’m home early because of the dinner tonight. Grover is whimpering for attention. I pick him up for a cuddle on the couch, more than ready to give him the affection he’s asking for. Grover isn’t usually a cuddlebug of a dog. He’s actually more like a cat in that he ignores me unless he needs something. And just like a cat after about ten minutes of getting what he wants he hops down from the couch and goes to his bed.