Layers(27)

“Well, Missy, care to elaborate?” she probes, looking at me attentively above her glass.




I sigh. “Any chance you’ll let this one pass by, for now? I really don’t feel much like getting into it.”

She scowls at me.

“At least not after just one glass.” I shrug.

“Whatever works for you. I just hope you’re fine.” There is genuine compassion in her voice.

“Let’s just put it this way: I’m not immune to him like I thought I would be, and I can’t just go on like this.”

“I would say this is by all means a first. That quick? You have feelings for him, don’t you?” We both know very well that this is a rhetorical question.

“I had to find the one person who is this emotionally unstable to get attached to.” I twist my lips. “He’s Prince Charming and King Henry VIII in one irresistibly hot body.”

“That bad, hmmm?”

“Worse,” I reply in defeat.

“And what now? Are we moping?”

“We most definitely are not. Now we go out and I get drunk.” I grin at her.

“Can we stay in and get drunk? I won’t have the strength to carry you home later after this very long day, and Ian is yet again doing some miserable bastard that will wake up broken-hearted by the conquering Ian-ness.” We both crack up.

“Then staying home and getting drunk it is.” I nod.

~~~

Around midnight, tipsy with the wine I’ve consumed, I lie in my bed wide-awake, thinking about him. His concerned eyes as he looked at me in the hospital come back to haunt me. I take my laptop and type the words “Daniel Stark” and “dates,” in the Google browser, choosing the images option. I’m taken aback by the photos that appear on the screen. All are pictures from different events; none of them are a simple day-to-day picture. In all of them Daniel looks his stunning self, though dressed up mostly in smart suits. All of the women by his side look as though they were taken out of glossy magazines, magazines that do not refrain from massive usage of airbrush: perfect bodies, perfect hair and perfect, plastic smiles. My heart sinks as I keep obsessing over these images. I never stood a chance; I know it deep inside now. I am not what he’s looking for. Are these all call girls? Were all these ladies paid to accompany him to events or is there more to the job description? I’m repulsed by the thought. But who am I really kidding here …

This is too disturbing; it bothers me on a level that overwhelms me; I close the screen and snuggle under my blanket, shutting my eyes tight, trying to push the images away and force myself to sleep.





Chapter 11: YOU


“Are you coming with me tonight?” Tasha asks hesitantly, as we drink our morning coffee together. Her eyes run over my sleepy face as she waits for my reply.

“Don’t know. I’m not certain how I feel about it,” I reply tentatively. On one hand, I don’t want to go and perhaps run into Daniel, and on the other hand a masochistic part of me wants to go, maybe even too much. Focusing my uncertainty on my mug, I run my finger over its round lip.

“Please, Hales, this would mean so much to me,” she says, lacing her hands around her warm cup.

“I’m not sure I want to meet him.” And then again, perhaps being a good friend will justify going in my mind as a favor rather than my wish to see him. I take a sip, looking at her as I do.

“You won’t necessarily have to. There’ll be about a few hundred people there tonight; you could very easily avoid him,” she tries. “And everyone says it’s supposed to be an amazing event. Please.”

“Let’s see how the day goes, shall we? And Tash, begging doesn’t agree with you,” I answer, hoping that my reply will satisfy her for now.

“So, what are you wearing to the meeting?” She changes the subject.

“I think I’ll go with my usual. It’s supposed to be a casual, laid-back place, so I heard. I believe my basic me will do the job.”

Her face is light as she observes me. “Your basic you is more than enough. It’s perfect.”

I beam and send her a kiss through the air.

~~~

YOU offices are located in the bay area, not far from the notorious Stark Software. Will everything I do remind me of him? The thought irritates me.

“Hello.” A young, pink-haired receptionist with too many eyebrow piercings greets me.

“Hello, I’m Hayley Grace. For Mr. Wilde.” I smile, a smile that is left ignored.

“Josh’s office is the last one to the left.” She signals, tipping her chin forward toward a bright, sun-illuminated area consisting of about fifteen open spaces, floor-to-ceiling windows and a floor mosaic pattern in lively contrasting colors lamination.

Gathering that she won’t accompany me to the room, I start walking toward the dark green door. This place has a style that’s 60’s retro yet modern chic; I admire the old framed ads covering the walls. The open space area seems to be deserted. It is noon though. My phone vibrates and I quickly retrieve it out of my deep purple Chanel-style bag. Checking the screen, I click on the envelope icon to find out that it’s a message from Daniel. Exactly what I needed right now.

Daniel: Are you coming tonight?

What do you think, genius? I scowl at the phone. For a young, successful, so-called whiz kid he’s not acting too bright. I tuck the phone back into my purse and decide to disregard it for now, though a small part of me is delighted that he still hasn’t given up.