DEFIANT (A WESTERN BAD BOY ROMANCE) (6 page)

W
ell
, it's over.

My first day at work, that is.

I bundle up and contemplate how cold it is as I step outside—a far cry from San Francisco. But what’s not a far cry is that I’m the last one leaving the office, as usual.

I'm dead tired. Probably from the lack of sleep; having risky casual sex with my boss, right before the most important workday of my life. Yeah...not what I should have been doing. Not when my father is counting on me, not when matters of life and death are at stake.

Thankfully everything's fine, so far. Seven Group has a rudimentary online presence now. A Twitter account has been initiated. The website is still in the works, but I should have a preliminary site to show Vince and Clif by tomorrow afternoon.

If Clif even cares about anything.

Strange, but he never did return to his office today. To be honest, I'm relieved he didn't.

In the past twenty-four hours I feel like I've entirely upended my relationship with Noah and practically destroyed any chance of having a positive, professional working relationship with Clif.

I keep telling myself it’s only six weeks. And when it's all said and done, my life might go back to normal. God, I can only hope.

I venture into the dark, frosty evening, making sure to walk slow on the icy sidewalk. I don't know if it's the late hour, or the turbulent day that's finally coming to an end, or perhaps simply having a moment to myself to think, but I feel lonely again.

Couples and groups saunter by; everyone bundled up in their fancy jackets against the cold. I pass by the smells and laughter of restaurants. I guess I'll get something from the supermarket deli and eat it in my room, go to bed as soon as I can so I can be sharp for tomorrow.

My mind drifts back to Clif. I told him he looked desperate and lonely, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He's confident and self-possessed; there’s nothing I could say that would shake him. The sad truth is, I'm the lonely one. And after last night, clearly desperate, too.

I wish Noah would call. The son-of-a-bitch might as well have dropped off the face of the Earth. I just want a hint that he misses me. Does he still need me the way I need him? How could he just walk away? I miss his scruffy, always-amused face. The comfort of his voice, his arm around me at night, his nerdy little hipster glasses and the way his tight jeans hugged his cute little buns.

I miss all those late nights together. He'd edit his indie movies on his Mac, while I'd cuddle up next to him and track user behavior on various websites. I taught myself about the bleeding edge of marketing in my own way, and Noah was with me all along as I laid the foundation of my unorthodox career. Damn, we were just kids. We had fun, too, doing nothing in particular other than drinking beer and vegging out on the couch, watching TV or streaming free movies from the Internet. We had been together for so long that I'm not sure what it means to be me without him.

We planned a life together. I sigh audibly.

Things changed after college. He put off getting a job in advertising to sling cappuccinos in the morning while pursuing his filmmaking passion in the afternoons/evenings. I was already caught up making ends meet, busy as hell, bouncing from one job to the next, but absorbing all I could in the process. Life in San Fran couldn't get any better, or so I thought. We were both young professionals living in the coolest place on Earth. Money, culture, status: it was all right there for the taking, at our fingertips. And I was so happy to share it with him. We were going to have the best life ever!

The fact that he doesn’t so much as send me a text asking how I am is what bothers me most. I know he's busy, but it stings nevertheless. It’s been well over a month since he'd asked for a break and I'm still as torn as before. I even had a fling, and still nothing has changed in terms of my feelings for him.

I know it's not worth feeling sorry for myself, but sometimes I can't help it.

I stop into the grocery store and pick up a ready-to-eat penne pasta. Then I walk home.

As I head up the icy staircase to my single room I console myself by recognizing that I’m better off here than in my depressing apartment back in the city.

Dropping my things off on the kitchen island, I quickly eat my dinner. Then I pour myself a glass of wine, draw a bath, and undress. After lighting a couple of candles and shutting off the bathroom lights, I slide into the hot, steamy water.

Tomorrow's another day. Just got to put my poker face on and muscle through it.

I
'm not used
to staying at home in the evenings.

What the hell do people do? I sink on to the couch and flip through channels for ten minutes, finally settling on a football game. Five minutes later it's halftime. Commercial break. I get up and take a dusty bottle of whiskey off the shelf and pour myself a glass. I crumple some newspaper in the fireplace and get a fire going.

Okay, this is nice.

Yeah, and all that's missing is a few topless chicks sprawled out on the rug
. This 'growing up' thing feels like a waste of time, but I think Vince is right. I've got to restrain my behavior a little, even more so now with the scrutiny that is bound to follow our venture into Colorado. We're not a small-time outfit anymore—this is the big leagues, and I’ve got to act like it. Especially after that whole scare with Jeff, I’ve really got to make some tweaks to my lifestyle. I mean, just a few little ones.

My phone lights up with a text. Actually, make that a naked selfie. What am I doing later on tonight?

Wishing these damn girls would leave a name, I reply with a vague text saying I'll be at home sipping chamomile tea and sampling the sonnets of Shakespeare.

No response. Go figure.

Oh well, I really do need a break. The lack of sleep and everything is catching up. This is just a recharge.

I settle back on the couch and try to stay interested. The halftime show is centered on discussing statistics and whatever. I'm a Broncos fan, but I don't think I could ever be
that
into football, like lots of guys are. Weird hero worship and too much couch time. I get up at the next commercial break after watching Denver fumble an interception and, in the process, snort whiskey all over my clothes and myself.

"Shit."

I pour some more and throw away the cap. Got to have my personal shopper deliver a bigger variety so I can have people over.

I look around my rather empty pad. Feels like I just come here to sleep, or, if I'm with a girl, hang out in the Jacuzzi. I walk to my bedroom for a change of clothes.

The maid didn't come today probably because of the heavy snowfall. My bed is still messed up. And just like that, she's on my mind again.

Katie's red panties are crumpled on the floor.

Damn. I wonder if I should call her, try to get under her skin a little more?

Nah, it can wait.

I strip and grab a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Might as well take a shower, too. Actually, on second thought, maybe I’ll take a bath. I've lived here over a year and I've never taken one in the giant marble tub. I draw one and listen to the game blaring as I go back for my whiskey.

Can't believe I never used the tub before: it's big enough for two...or three. Half an hour later I'm still soaking, woozy from whiskey and the warm water. The TV's off and I'm scrolling through my Instagram, happily reliving the good times from the last three years.

Of course, some of the pictures make me cringe: posing with my hat over my crotch at a local bar is one of them. Some of the others…well, let’s just leave those to the imagination, shall we?

But I’m in a new phase now--or at the very least, an intermission. I tap out a goodbye message for my fans. I tell them I'm going on indefinite hiatus, and thank them for their unconditional love, support, and impeccable taste in social media.

So that's done.

No more pressure to live up to my reputation. And Vince will be thrilled about me growing up. I guess now all I have to do is call Katie.

I dial. It almost goes to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it’s Clif."

"I know who it is. How did you get my number?"

What a stupid question—I’m sure she realized it, too, the moment the words slipped from her mouth. “My crystal ball, duh. Say, what are you doing Monday?"

"Look, I really think we need to keep things professional. If this isn't an urgent business matter, I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me. Especially at night."

I stifle a laugh. Must have really gotten to her earlier today when she walked into my office.

"Look, the only reason I called is because we need to fly to Coal Butte, Colorado, in a couple days for an important
work
meeting. I didn't know if Vince told you or not."

"Oh. Okay." She sounds somewhat chastened. She probably thinks I'm still at the office. "Seems like a
real fucking important
thing to call me about, practically in the middle of the night. Don't even pretend you're still at the office.” There’s a pause, then, “Are…are you in a bathtub? It sounds like water swishing around or something.”

She’s a perceptive one, I’ll give her that.

"Who's being unprofessional now? I'm not the one cursing out my boss."

She sighs, irritated. "What's it going to take for you to stop being obsessed with me? You're calling me for no reason."

"By the way, you left your panties on my floor. Red lace? Those are yours, right?"

"Don't
ever
remind me again that I slept with you! I don't want to feel gross when I wake up in the morning." I picture her laying comfortably in bed, a sexy little see-through negligee wrapped around her. "Since we're having an important
work
discussion, can I ask you to stop posting on Instagram? I'd rather just ask you, instead of having your cousin make you do it."

"Done already. I know it's a liability. I'm not stupid, and I'm not as immature as you make me out to be."

Katie snorts, "I
highly
doubt that."

"It’s true."

"Whatever. Are we done?"

"Yes, and thanks for remaining professional. I don't think I've ever been called obsessive, immature and unprofessional all in two minutes."

"Yeah, I doubt that too. Delete your stupid Instagram."

She hangs up before I can have the last word. Shit. At least I made my presence known, and then some.

I towel off and turn out the light, walk back to my bedroom as the tub drains. I pick Katie's panties off the floor, fold them and set them on my dresser.

Just a few days of this Instagram experiment. At least I'll have Katie to occupy my mind while my newly acquired adulthood sets in.

"
I
like the website concept
. I like it a lot."

I can't believe it: I think Vince smiled. Like the edges of his mouth sort of crinkled.

"Clif tried making one himself one evening with help from a friend, but it didn’t amount to much."

Of course he did. I try not to wrinkle my nose in disgust at the thought of Clif trying to put together a website half-drunk with a naked woman sitting on his lap.

"I like the links to the social media stuff, too. Don't really understand it, but it looks professional, so that's good." Then he leans forward and puts his hands together, a serious expression in his face. "We really do need a good image going into that town meeting next week. We're going to be under a lot of scrutiny for the first time ever."

He is very concerned. Vince doesn't look like the type to get overly stressed out, but I can tell it's bothering him.

"We're not the only investor in this project, not by far. Actually, we're the smallest player. Clif and I are a couple of regular guys from a little town like Coal Butte ourselves, that's why we're the easiest pill for the people of Coal Butte to swallow. That's why we've been chosen to be the front men of the money and development that's going to pour into that little town."

I understand. I bet it's a lot of pressure for a small company.

But does he think it's right? Don't the people of Coal Butte have the right to determine what the future holds for their community?

As if he can read my mind, Vince smiles and leans back, putting his hands behind his head.

"You might be wondering how I can sleep at night. My rationale is, if we don't develop it, someone else will. It’s only a matter of time. There'll be a land trust to preserve working ranches. I made sure everyone agreed to that, and it wasn't easy. I don't want the same thing that happened in Jackson to happen in Coal Butte. But ultimately, at the end of the day, if I have to risk my business and my principles to get my way, I'll do it. I really want this project to happen."

I feel as if I’m in the exact same position as him—I may not be entirely comfortable with everything I’m doing in my life at the moment, but it’s got to be done.

Vince leans in towards the desk again. I surprise myself by reaching across and grasping his hands in mine—they're rough, like a working man’s hands. "I won't let you down, Vince. That's a promise."

"I believe it. I just want you to know what’s at stake."

I've also got a lot on the line. The medical bills are piling up, a total fucking crisis that no one knows about but me. Not even my father. I'm responsible for everything...for my dad's life, for his financial security, for everything...if he even lives through this hell.

The phone rings, interrupting.

"I’ve got to take this," Vince says. "You can leave if you want. We’re done here anyway."

I nod and step out. Not two steps down the hall, my cellphone rings.

Oh my God! It's Noah!

I practically run outside to the balcony before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Hey babe. How are you?"

"Noah, what's up? I haven't heard from you in forever." I don't know whether to be angry or excited; I’m just trying to play it somewhat cool and professional.

"I'm really busy with production down here. Man, it's a lot different than I thought it would be. It's just too intense. It's a whole different world."

"That's what it feels like here." I wonder how much Noah has heard about my goings-on in Jackson. I’ve posted a few things on Facebook. He used to check in with me so much it was almost annoying.

"You’re in Wyoming, right? You made some waves in the city, that’s for sure. People were complaining they lost their best freelancer. So why are you flying to Colorado now? Did you meet somebody?"

What the hell? Is he jealous? At least I now know he’s been keeping tabs on me online.

"I'm flying down there on business. The company who contracted me wants me to help with some public relations stuff for their development down there. Among other things.”

There's a quiet moment on the other end of the line. Then he asks, “How’s your dad?”

My heart drops. I hate talking about him—it always makes me weepy.

"He's doing alright, I guess," my voice heavy. "There's been some complications. He had a respiratory arrest, so he's on a ventilator now. They say his heart is so weak that it's likely to cause more complications. Maybe organ failure. There's an experimental bypass procedure they can do, but so far, the insurance company is refusing to cover it. That would be another huge bill."

All of a sudden I don't want to be here anymore; all I want is to see my father.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Kate.”

“Yeah. It is what it is, I guess. How are you? What’s new on your end?”

“Just working my butt off ten to fifteen hours a day. It’s been brutal…” Noah continues talking about all his LA work adventures, but I tune him out.

I wish he would talk about us. I want to ask him point-blank what’s up with us, if we’re even an item anymore, if we have any chance of a future together. But I hold my tongue.

It doesn’t matter. I just need to see this assignment to its end: Vince and Clif need Caddis Flats built, and I need a good reference and a huge paycheck at the end of the day. God knows how much an experimental procedure costs out of pocket.

By the time we hang up, I'm trying not to cry, partly because Noah doesn’t even mention our relationship, the other part because I really just want to see my poppa. As I walk back in, I realize Clif has been sitting in his office the whole time. He could have easily overheard every word I said through his drafty old window near the balcony.

I don't look at him as I walk by his office and into my own, closing the door behind me.

Then I break down.

Maybe I can't be strong enough for all this. And who knows when my father’s last breath will be—the only thing that’s certain is that I can’t be there with him when he does go.

I go through several tissues before putting myself together again. Blowing my nose one last time, I crack open my door and sit down to work. I can see Clif on his office phone, listening to someone with a vacant expression. Then he catches my eye.

"Hold on a minute," he says into the phone. Glancing at me he asks, ”Katie, is everything okay?"

What does he care?

I nod yes and look away. He’s the last person I want to deal with right now.