Once And Forever: Virtually Impossible Part 7

9.

Andi

His wife.

His wife.

Clare, I think he'd said her name was. Not that I remember a lot of the conversation besides the 'my wife' part. After we'd hung up, I tried to recall what I'd said, if anything. Gone. Nothing in my head but a blank screen with the words 'My wife' written in bold, 24pt font. Italicized with a lot of question marks around it.

It shouldn't have surprised me that he was married-rich, gorgeous, mature men didn't stay single for long. Although from what I've read, when rich, gorgeous, mature men flirt with their a.s.sistants, those conversations almost always end with her bent over his desk getting spanked. And then f.u.c.ked.

Oh man, was I f.u.c.ked...up in the head. And completely delusional. I shook it off, trying to get rid of the spike of annoyance, or resentment, or whatever it was that I was feeling. He hadn't wronged me or led me on. He wasn't actually flirting, and if he was, it was only because he didn't know me and could make up whatever fantasy he wanted about me. Like a phone s.e.x operator or something.

He was married. Okay. Not a problem. Actually, a good thing because now I knew nothing would ever, ever happen. Fairytale fantasies had all just gotten shot out of the window, because never, in any of them, did the prince dump the woman he'd married for his a.s.sistant.

Although, there was probably a bit of unhappily in their ever after. I mean, 'ever after' is a really long time.

"Shut it down, Andi."

Hayden and I were never going to meet, but we could still work together and be friends. That'd be perfect. Perfectly perfect friends.

Yep, I was seriously f.u.c.ked up in the head.

When my phone rang, I checked the Caller ID-it was Sara. Due to the less than stellar work with the foot-fetishist and the complaint the guy's wife had made, Emilia had decided Sara's punishment would be to answer the phone and do other administrative tasks at the office. Any other employer would've canned her a.s.s, but Emilia knew that forcing her to come into work every day was the only way to keep tabs on her. And I knew that the only way I could keep tabs on her was to track her every movement with software I'd installed on her phone and her car. We can only help in the ways we know, right?

Back before I realized how much money and brain cells going out clubbing was costing me, Sara and I used to do a lot of our coping together. It was a beautifully symbiotic and dysfunctional relationship. We'd somehow come to an understanding to never talk about our issues. Plus, self-destructive behavior was always more fun when you did it with a friend. Then I realized that she took it way more seriously than I did and was a lot better at it. The more I slowed down, the more she sped up, until it was impossible to ignore the toll it was taking on her.

I tried talking to her about it-while she was drunk, obviously-but all she said was, 'Family issues,' before going back onto the dance floor and tossing herself at the first guy who approached her. Since then, she'd found new friends to party with, ones who were much shallower and didn't care how low Sara's spiral got, as long as she knew how to have fun.

"Hey!" I said, faking happiness. "What's up?"

After a few minutes of playing life-catch-up, she said, "So, the other day, a man called and asked for your cell number."

Let the panic ensue. "What man? Did you give it to him?"

"h.e.l.lo? Have we met? I don't even give my own number to guys I don't know."

Right. Even after she'd slept with them. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Well, that's the weird thing. He finally told me who he was-Emilia's husband, Rob. That's weird, right? That he didn't just say that first or ask Emilia for your number."

Yeah, that was weird.

Sara recited the number he'd left, which I already had in my contacts, along with his birthdate, email, and a bunch of other c.r.a.p Emilia had given me at some point.

"Maybe he wants to surprise her with something but doesn't know what to get. You know how men are with gifts."

"Actually, I only know how to unwrap them." She laughed. "You're the one who gets asked to buy them."

"Don't remind me." Before Emilia had put a stop to the weird requests, I'd had to buy all sorts of birthday and anniversary gifts for wives, mothers, and female 'friends.' Friends. Yeah, right. I can honestly say that I've never bought lingerie, s.e.x toys, or reserved a hotel suite for a friend.

"You want to go out this weekend?" Sara asked. Before I had a chance to say no, she continued. "Let me guess: You're working."

"A girl's gotta eat."

"And drink, which is why you should come out."

"Next time. Okay?"

After I'd hung up with Sara, I speed-dialed Rob's direct line, feeling slightly smug that I had access to one of the best civil rights attorneys in the city. Ironic, considering I was breaking the rules of my agreement every day by working for his wife.

When they'd first started dating, Emilia had wanted me to ask him about the deal I'd signed, thinking he might be able to renegotiate the terms. But all I could think of was having to live through all that again, and how, once the can of worms was back open, all those worms would come wiggling out and make everything even worse.

So, because I'd sworn her to secrecy, Emilia never told him the specifics. And, out of respect for him and their relationship, I'd met them for coffee one day and let her hint a lot. Eventually, he'd stopped her and said that he didn't need to know because he wasn't marrying me. I kind of loved him for saying that. Plus, I'd paid for his cup of coffee, which he claimed put him on retainer. So, as my lawyer, he wasn't breaking any laws or ethical codes by not reporting me for something he knew nothing about. That made my daily dose of illegal activity over the past year much easier to rationalize, believe me.

Granted, he'd also rolled his eyes and vaguely wondered out loud why people signed things without a lawyer present. My excuse was that I'd been young and terrified and stupid. No better excuse than that, right?

"Hey," he said with a sigh of relief as soon as he answered. "Thanks for calling."

"No problem. Sara said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yeah...um...This is so hard for me to say."

"Well, if it would make it any easier, you could try saying it in Spanish. But only if you don't care if I understand it or not." Bad joke to cover my sudden anxiety-no good news had ever started with 'This is so hard to say.' Things like: 'I think we should see other people' start with 'This is so hard to say.' Obviously, he wasn't going to say that. Was he going to tell me that something horrific had happened to Emilia? Or that he was gay? Or pregnant? Thank G.o.d I didn't watch reality television-I didn't need more fodder for my imagination.

I cleared my throat. "Try closing your eyes while you say it." It always helped me.

"In my first year out of law school, I wanted to impress the firm's partners, show them I was worth my paycheck, so I...."

Is there anything worse than hearing someone struggle to tell you something? Keeping you waiting and giving you lots of time to guess what absolutely horrible thing they were about to admit? Flipping from one terrible reaction to another because they don't just- "Spit it out, Rob!"

"The opposing side was lying-outright lying-and we all knew it. But there was no proof. Then someone who I thought was a friend came to me with some incriminating doc.u.ments. At the time, I was so happy to get them, it didn't even occur to me that they might have been forged." He sighed. "That's not true. It occurred to me, but I didn't want that to be the case, so I ignored it. I submitted the doc.u.ments as evidence, and we won the case. The guilty party paid for what they did, and justice was served. Except what I'd done was wrong. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway."

Huh. The thing about someone beginning a confession with 'This is so hard to say,' is that once they actually admit what it is, it's always a letdown. Something I should remember the next time I do something tragically stupid.

But, at least, Rob hadn't ruined anyone's life or killed anyone. It was a surprise, obviously, because he was a great guy-honest, hard-working, thoughtful. But everyone could screw up-I was sadly-living proof of that.

"That wasn't too smart."

"You think?" He sighed. "It was idiotic, but it woke me up, made me realize that wasn't the way I wanted to live. Unfortunately, the past doesn't always stay in the past, and now I need your help."

"Anything. You know that."

"I wouldn't ask you if I had any other options. I'm not even sure you can help, but..."

Oh, boy, here we go again. "Rob, spit it out before you have to explain to your wife why my brain exploded while you were on the phone with me."

"The guy who helped me, who came forward with the fake doc.u.ments, now works for the Conure Group."

Oh.

"He contacted me after finding out that Emilia's agency works with a few people over there. He could've even suggested her to the human resources department, I don't know."

"So...he wants me to put in a good word for him?" I asked hopefully.

"He knew one of you was working with Hayden Bennett, and wanted to know who. When I asked Sara about it, she told me it was you. This guy wants information on what Bennett is working on-a contract bid for Inspects or something."

Inspex. Hayden's important, super-secret proposal that only he and I had worked on.

"He's blackmailing you?" No doubt the thieving b.a.s.t.a.r.d would release the info on Robert without implicating himself, 'cause criminals are forward-thinking that way. "What does Emilia think?"

"I can't...I can't tell her, Andi. It'll destroy everything. It'll destroy her. It's more than me getting fired or even disbarred." If it had been anyone else, it would've been a selfish move, but I knew how much Rob loved Emilia, and I knew how lost she'd be without him. "I'm not asking you to break the law."

"Really?" I snapped. "Because from everything you've said and all the awkward pauses between those things, it sounds an awful lot like you are." I couldn't. I just couldn't.

"I don't know what to do, Andi. I thought maybe you could give me something to tell him that wouldn't really..."

Hurt anyone? Ruin anything? Too late.

"...matter," he finished lamely.

I closed my eyes and thought of Emilia-how much she loved her life, how happy she was. She'd been there for me a hundred times, helped me when my heart was broken and my future gone. I couldn't let that happen to her. I had to find a way to keep her from falling, even if that meant I did.

"I'll figure something out," I said without opening my eyes. But this time, it wasn't because I was lying. It was because I wished I could.

He sighed deeply. "Thank you, Andi. You don't know how much this means to me."

Maybe not, but I knew what it meant for me.

After I'd hung up, I slumped onto the couch and saw that while I'd been on the phone, Hayden had called. Twice. I replied via the chat feature I'd just helped him set up.

I couldn't be Hayden's friend, after all. Because friends didn't stab each other in the back.

10.

Hayden Nothing had changed. I'd told Sira about Clare, that was all. Public record, and not something I'd ever tried to hide. But it felt as if everything had changed. When I'd called her back, she hadn't answered. A bit later, she finally responding via the chat box, claiming she wanted to verify the feature had been set up properly. I didn't try calling her again. I did, however, spend the rest of the day thinking about her and what her presence in my life had done. What I wanted from her.

I finally decided it didn't matter what I wanted from her. The only thing that mattered was what was possible-she was an excellent employee who was also a great conversationalist. Inasmuch as a chat box allowed. And I'd have to be happy with that. Inasmuch as I could be happy with anything.

Clare said a quick goodbye when the building's concierge arrived at the door for her bags. She'd only be gone for five days, but had packed for five months.

"Aspen is always freezing," she said, as if that explained it. "You have to dress in layers."

"Of suitcases? Then I guess you'll have enough." I accepted her answer, even knowing she planned to meet a 'friend' there, and probably wouldn't be spending too much time outside.

Funny thing was, her affairs didn't even bother me anymore. We were never happy together, so it made sense for her to look for happiness elsewhere. For the last few years, I'd convinced myself that my career and being part of the Bennett Foundation made me happy. But while I still believed in their value and importance, they didn't make me happy.

I'd never thought I could be happy, that I had the capability. My mother used to tell people I was born with the weight of the world on my shoulders. When I was old enough to understand what Renee meant by that, I thought it was just another one of her lies. A bit after that, I wondered if she really believed it, and actually didn't understand why I never smiled or played like other kids.

When your father smacks you as many times as mine did, you stay as quiet as possible, knowing any move could be the one that sets him off. It sometimes worked. But when your father hates you as much as mine did, you stay as still as possible, so he would forget you were alive.

I met Carson and Laney at a brewery on the Embarcadero. With my brother's innate-yet-puzzling charisma, a few large bills, or both, he'd gotten us the best table in the outdoor seating area. It had a great view that I wouldn't see, especially because Carson had claimed that side of the table. That's what Carson did-claimed things. As an executive, commanding a room and attention, inspiring trust and strength, was required of me. I understood that and used it to my advantage when necessary. My little brother had spent the better part of his life avoiding leadership and responsibility, yet that power came to him naturally. I'd always admired that about him, even before he'd met Laney and she'd finally turned him into a man.

It hadn't been easy for either of them, but once Carson had finally understood what he would lose if he did the same stupid s.h.i.t he'd always done, he turned it around.

Laney smiled and waved me over as soon as she saw me. As much as I liked her, as great as I thought she was for my brother, being with the two of them always left me feeling a little...lonely. I'd never been able to define it before, but there it was: I was lonely. Envious of what they had.

The metal chair screeched when I dragged it to the side so my back wasn't toward the street. I kissed Laney h.e.l.lo, ignoring the "Break it up, you two," Carson grumbled.

"Fair warning, Hayden," she said, still holding my arm. "If he ever says anything that stupid again, I'm going to have to lay a sloppy one on you."

"Duly warned." I couldn't help but love her.

"Brother," Carson said.

"Brother," I repeated, taking the beer he pushed toward me. "So, what's going on?" We rarely met up for anything other than family emergencies. When Carson didn't speak, I looked at Laney, who was fidgeting in her chair with excitement.

"I'm..." She rubbed her lips together.

"Oh!" I looked down at her belly, then the beer sitting in front of her, then at her belly again. "Are you-"

"No!" Carson yelled, ignoring the heads that turned our direction. "No, she's not." Then he swallowed and the only color left on him was the ink on his skin. "You're not, are you, babe?"

She glared at him and tossed her hands up.

"See?" he said on an exhale. "She's not." Then he looked at her again, to make sure.

"Okay, fine. Sure, Carson, I'm pregnant. But don't worry-it's not yours. Geez. As if I'd just forget to mention that." She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't you know how this stuff works? You bought me tampons like two days ago."

He held his beer in front of his mouth and mumbled, "You're not supposed to say that in front of other people, babe."