How to Fail at Flirting(63)
I nodded. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
His face relaxed, the crease disappearing, and he shrugged, dropping his arms to his side. “It was for the best, in the end.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw before speaking again. “Do you want kids someday?”
I should have anticipated the question, but it caught me off guard. “I think so. Not . . . yet, but someday. My job is pretty demanding right now.” But I might not have it for long, as you know.
His expression remained the same, but did I see his eyebrows dip, just a fraction of an inch? He was intently looking at my face, and I glanced off-screen. We’d been careful, always using condoms, but an accidental pregnancy was not something I could handle.
To do: Research birth control options.
I changed the subject, uncomfortable with the nervous energy rising in my stomach. “So, Tempe today and Boston Thursday?”
“Then, to see you.” He smiled, breaking the tension. “Not that I don’t love staying in bed with you, but do you want to do something with your friends when I’m there?”
Deep down, I was afraid they wouldn’t see all the special things in him I saw. I was a little afraid they might see things I was missing, the way they might have with Davis if I’d let them spend more time together. Early on, after meeting Davis a couple of times, Felicia questioned what I saw in him, and after that, I made excuses for them to not be together. Felicia grew increasingly suspicious, and eventually, I stopped seeing her or Aaron at all. By that point, I knew they’d figure it out, so I withdrew. Eight months pregnant with the twins, my best friend barged into my apartment a few weeks after Davis and I broke up. His campaign to destroy me at work was in full swing, and I was on the verge of quitting when she demanded I come clean, and then held me while I cried like we’d never been apart. I was falling hard for Jake, and if Felicia told me she didn’t trust him, I didn’t know what I’d do.
“Maybe,” I said, noncommittal. “Let’s play it by ear.”
“I can’t wait to—”
My phone rang on the bedside table, cutting him off. I picked it up to silence the ringer when I saw the name. “Sorry, hold on, it’s Joe.” Jake nodded and waited for me. It was odd for Joe to be calling at all, let alone this late.
“Hi, Joe. What’s up?” The feminine sob on the other end of the line was a definite sign this was not Joe.
“Naya? It’s Elaine.” His wife’s voice was shaky.
“Elaine, what’s wrong?”
“Joe had a heart attack three days ago. He’s recovering from bypass surgery, and they’re cautiously optimistic, but can you come to the hospital tomorrow? He’s beside himself about something related to work. He’s been asking for you.”
My heart rate slowed incrementally. “Of course. I’ll be there.” Elaine gave me the information, and we hung up with a plan for me to visit in the morning, my mind still trying to cobble together an image of Joe—sturdy, grumpy, tough-love Joe—lying in a hospital bed.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked, his eyes meeting mine through the computer screen.
“Joe had a heart attack.” My voice felt distant, as if disconnected from my body. I shook my head, willing my thoughts to come back together. “He wants to talk to me about work.”
“Something going on?”
“I have no idea.”
Thirty-three
Joe looked so small under the fluorescent lighting, with monitors beeping and tubes running to and from his body. “It’s gotta be you, Naya.” He’d waved away my questions, and I’d sat and let him talk about work, because he’d said it relaxed him.
“So, will you take my place?” Joe wanted me to replace him on the president’s advisory committee that would be a sounding board for Jake and his team.
Warning! flashed in my head in big neon lights.
“Joe . . . you know I shouldn’t.” I waffled between bringing up Jake or not with Joe in this condition, but I couldn’t let him push for this without all the facts. “I’m still seeing that guy, the consultant. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Nay,” he croaked, attempting to straighten in his bed before realizing he couldn’t. “You’re the most ethical person I know. I’m not worried about this.”
“It would still look bad. I think someone more senior should represent us, Joe. This isn’t like the reception. This is making big decisions, and I don’t have tenure yet. What about Anita? She loves this stuff.”
“Do you need me to explain why Anita shouldn’t represent us? She will fight change tooth and nail. That approach will not work here, not with this president.” He gave me a level stare. He wasn’t wrong. “I need someone who can play the game, and the president wants some pre-tenure voices in the room, anyway.”
I agreed when he threatened to come back to work and do it himself. Joe would go to bat for me, no questions asked—he had, time and time again. I couldn’t let him stew about this or try to rush his recovery by going back too soon. I agreed to take his place and hoped he couldn’t see through the false confidence in my voice. To do: Figure out how to divulge my conflict of interest without making myself a liability or causing Joe more stress.