At Mr. Cartwright's Command (16 page)

“The second I stop chasing you you're going to want me.”

“Try me.”  I didn't hear a thing from him for nearly 8 months and I survived. I never once made a play for him. But I did think of him every single day...

I turn from him but he pulls me back, my body crashing against his, his lips colliding with mine.  I whimper and fight, pushing against his chest, but damn does it feel good.  Our bodies fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  His tongue slithers between my lips as I grab hold of his lapel and I'm no longer sure if I'm pushing him away or pulling him closer.  But for those few seconds, with his soft lips against mine, we drown in each other.

And then it all shatters when I pull away.

It's not even because I want him to stop, it's because I'm not sure how long my legs can hold me like this.

“Come, Tamara,” I hear him say, his voice calm and warm and inviting.   His hand is around my waist, nudging me back down the street towards his limo.  Everything in my mind is fuzzy right now.  I want to wrap myself up in him and climb into his car, but I know exactly how that will end.  He'll touch me, he'll kiss my neck and then my lips.  He'll take me back to his penthouse or his house, lay me down in those ultra soft sheets of his, and fuck me until the sun comes up.  Just thinking about it feels good already.  Things would go right back to being the way they used to be.

The way they used to be?

Suddenly, the air in my vicinity feels stifling, and his arms wrapped around me are more like a cage.  That's the way things used to be with Mr. Cartwright.  That's how being with him made me feel.  This isn't who I am.  I'm not his toy, I'm sure as hell not his mistress, and I'll never play second fiddle to someone like Veronica.

I snatch myself away from him, so hard that it even catches him off guard.  My hands shake.  “Please,” I practically beg, my voice cracking, “just let me go.”

Something shifts in him.  His whole demeanor shifts and I see something in his eyes.  It looks like concern.  Or even remorse? Is it possible? He takes a tentative step towards me but I jump back.  “Let me go,” I reply, slower this time.

His throat bobs.  “Tamara—“

“No.” I shake my head and repeat, “No.”

We stand on that corner for a long time, but probably not nearly as long as it feels.  His face softens with resignation. He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest and standing up straighter.

“If that's what you wish,” he says, his voice soft enough to break my heart, “then I won't bother you ever again.”

There's something pleading in his eyes, and a regretful finality in his tone of voice.  Deep down, this isn't what either of us truly want. But it's what we both need.

My legs move me as far away from him as quickly as possible.  I don't think my brain is even telling them what to do, they're just moving on their own, as if they know what's best for me. But that image of Mr. Cartwright standing there, looking (dare I say) vulnerable for the first time ever, is seared into my brain.

My eyes well up as I ride the subway home, but I won't let tears fall even when I make it back to my apartment.  I'm not wasting another night crying over him, because he's finally out of my life for good. I'm finally free.

So why do I fall asleep feeling like a piece of me is missing?

T
he next morning isn't easy.  I have the morning off from the flower shop – my first time off since this whole fiasco started four weeks ago.  I'm not sure if the time off is a good thing or a bad thing.  Having so much free time just allows me to dwell on things I shouldn’t, and working would certainly distract me. But how much would working on Mr. Cartwright's wedding
really
distract me?

I sip on coffee and read the paper, but I don't get too far into it. I do some odd chores around the house to pass the time.  After a couple of boring hours of that I head back into my room and grab my phone, only to find out I have 18 missed messages because my phone was accidentally on silent.  That's not at all normal and it makes me apprehensive.  I'm briefly afraid of even checking them—could they be from Mr. Cartwright? No, that wouldn't make sense; he's never been much of a texter and probably isn't about to start now.  Besides, he's the last one who would ever beg or grovel for anyone or anything, especially me.

I throw my phone on the bed and sigh, just staring at it.  And when I do, message #19 appears.

Where are you???  PLEASE come to the shop NOW!

It's from Melissa. Great. I roll my eyes as I grasp it back into my hand. So much for a day off. I guess I shouldn't be shocked that things are falling apart at the flower shop without me.

I head into the bathroom as I flip through my messages.  Most of them are from Melissa, asking me what's going on and where I am.  Begging me to come in to the shop right away. Shit. Now I feel bad for not responding after seeing all of her frantic messages.

But then there's one more message, and it's from Connor.

Care to explain??

That's all it says. And attached is a photo from today's paper.  It's a tiny black and white picture of Mr. Cartwright, kissing someone who isn't Veronica.

And that person is me.

My phone drops from my hand, landing on the tile with a hard thud.  I can literally feel my heart stop beating in my chest. 
Fuck,
this can't be real. My heart is beating again now, finally, but fast enough to make me feel like I'm going to pass out.

Shit, what was I thinking letting him kiss me in
public
like that?  I bury my head into my hands, praying it would all just go away.

But it doesn't.

This can't be real.

I race out of my bathroom and into the kitchen, practically tearing the newspaper apart until I find it. And there it is, tiny and in the corner of the society pages.

Engagement Off?

The son of real estate mogul Walter Cartwright III just might be ending his whirlwind engagement to socialite Veronica du Pont, after he was seen kissing this dark haired beauty yesterday afternoon in the Bronx. Sources say she's an employee of Fanciful Flourishes, the same flower shop in charge of planning his wedding. Talk about scandalous!

I blink several times and read the blurb probably a hundred times over before I believe it.  Since when does Mr. Cartwright even have paparazzi?  Sometimes I forget how high-profile his family is, so I guess I shouldn't be wildly surprised.

Suddenly, there's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  This isn't going to end well, and Connor is the absolute last person I want to face right now. 

*

The eyes of every single person in the flower shop are on me from the second I walk in, and that's a hell of a lot of eyes considering the fact that the place is packed from wall to wall.  I've never seen it so busy in all the time that I've worked here.  They try to be discreet about it, but they're doing a pretty shitty job, whispering to themselves as they glance over their shoulder at me.  Walking through the shop, to the backroom, is like a walk of shame.

I make my way up to Connor's office door, letting out a long, nervous breath before knocking on it.

“Come on in,” I hear him say from the other side, so I do.  He's sitting there at his desk. His whole demeanor changes from frustrated to disappointed when he looks up at me from over his paperwork.  A pang of guilt hits me right in the gut seeing him like that and I feel like a child who's about to get reprimanded.

“Close the door and take a seat, please,” he says to me sternly.  At least he's not angry.  Hell, I'm sure he
is
angry, but he could handle this a whole lot worse. 

“Connor,” I say as I shut the door behind me and move towards his desk.  “I'm so, so,
so
sorry. I don't know what—”

“Just sit down,” he says again. With a gulp I shut up and take my seat, not even thinking about saying another word.

Connor looks stressed as hell and sleep deprived as well.  Why wouldn't he?  He lets out a long sigh as he rubs his brow with one hand, staring down at the newspaper clipping in the other.

“Tamara, you've been a great employee so far.  Melissa loves you.  So I don't quite understand why you'd do something like this to us?”

I want to die.  “I—I wasn't thinking,” I choke out.

“Clearly you weren't,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes.  “You made out with a client. The groom of the wedding we're planning.  And in public.”

I could grovel, tell him that this is all Mr. Cartwright's fault and that he basically forced me to kiss him, but all that comes out is a quiet, “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, I am too. We're still a young business and this is our most high profile client by far.  Did you really think it was a good idea to to continue on an affair with the groom this whole time?”

Wait, what?  “I'm not...I didn't have an affair with him!”

Connor holds up the newspaper clipping.  “Doesn't look that way to me.”

Honestly, I'm a bit insulted.  “That's not how it happened.”

He raises his eyebrows and points to me in the photo.  “So you're saying this isn't you kissing him? Do you have a twin we don't know about?”

Okay, now he was just being an asshole.  “It happened but there was no affair going on, I promise you that.”

“So the two of you weren't alone backstage at Veronica's photo shoot either?”

My eyes flare; how did he find out about that? “I... we...”

He gives me a self assured nod and puts the picture down.  “God, I knew it was a bad idea to have you on this project.”

“What? But you said I could handle it.”

“No, Melissa thought you could handle it.  She also thought you were qualified to be manager.”

Ouch.

“Truth be told, I don't know how we're going to rectify any of this,” he continues, bitterly.  “You're off the wedding, that's for sure, which just means Melissa and I have to pick up more slack and do double the work.”

“You could just keep me on the wedding.  It's not going to happen again, I swear. I even talked to Mr. Cartwright about it.”

“Absolutely not. That's a ridiculous suggestion!  This is quite possibly the
worst
type of press we ever could have imagined,” he says.

“Have you been out there? The place is packed.”

“But we don't make money selling bouquets. We make money booking six figure weddings.  You get that, right?”

I sigh.  “Right.”

“Good.  Now, I wanted to fire you but—“

“Let me guess, Melissa didn't want you to?” I cut in.

He nods.  “Yup.  Besides, we really need the help right now.”

I look down at my hands, wringing in my lap.  A tight lump builds in my throat before I even say it.  “How about I make this easy for you then? I quit.”

Connor looks stunned.  Clearly, he didn't see it coming, and neither did I when I first walked into the room.  I had come prepared to defend myself. I was ready to fight tooth and nail for everything I've worked for. But I know well enough that the only thing worse than not having anywhere to go is being somewhere you're not wanted.  That's something I learned from years in the system, and I refuse to be anyone's burden ever again.

“Listen, before you make a rash decision—“

I cut him off again and stand up abruptly. “You can mail me my last paycheck,”  I say as I rush towards the door.

“Tamara, come on.  Maybe you should think about this!” he says as I fly by him.

I stop myself in the doorway, feeling a tinge of guilt, as if I'm being slightly ungrateful.  Connor might be a bit high strung but he, and his sister, did hire me when no one else would.  I look back at him and say, “Thank you for everything.”

He calls after me as I flee the room, my feet carrying me quickly through the hall and into the shop.  The first person I bump into is Melissa.  She looks concerned at first, but her features drop the second she sees the look on my face.

“Tamara, where are you going?” she asks, falling in step with me as I make my way towards the door.

“Home,” I say.

“You're scheduled to work in an hour.”

I stop and turn towards her and shake my head.  “No, I'm not.”

“I'm not following you?”

“Ask your brother.”

She looks distraught.  “Did he fire you?!”

“No, I quit.  I had to. He doesn't want me here, he made that clear.”

She grabs me by the arms, “Yes he does!  He does, we already talked about this, there are plenty of other things to work on while we work on the wedding!”

I shake my head, an unexpected tear spilling out of my eye and scorching my cheek.  “I know when I'm not wanted and this is for the best, okay?”

“No, it's not. You can't leave,” she practically begs.

I smile as best I can, lean in and give her a hug.  “Thank you for everything.  You've been nothing but kind to me.”

I lean back and see that her cheeks are stained with tears too.  “Take some time and think about this, okay?  If you change your mind you can always come back.”

I nod and say, “I will. But that probably won't happen.”

I can barely muster the ability to smile back at her as I pull away and leave the shop behind.  Melissa would welcome me back with open arms, and I know that.  But I also know there's no way I'm ever going back there and grovel for my old job.

* 

The train ride home is a long one, but I don't remember any of it or any of the faces that passed me by because it's all a blur.  I had everything I always wanted, and now I have nothing again.  Worse yet, I have no one else to blame for it but myself.

I find myself in my empty apartment again, just sitting on my bed, staring at the closet. I should go through it, pull out some of the new pieces I purchased on sale for work, and put them up on Poshmark or something. Same with those niceties I bought at yard sales to decorate the apartment –God, I knew I shouldn't have spent money on things I didn't need.  I'm going to need whatever little cash those things will bring in if I want to keep this place for a while.

But just like everything else, the apartment will go too. I'm not sure why I ever thought any of it would last, when everything in my world has always been temporary.