On the Brink (Vol. 1) (The On the Brink Series) (7 page)

Chapter
Eleven

I
burst through the door of Perfect Transcripts six minutes late. Fortunately for
me, Berta and Dolce weren’t in their usual spot. Moxie sat behind Berta’s desk,
reading a printout.

“A
little late today, are we?” she greeted me.

“Sorry,”
I panted. “I cut it a bit too close. Won’t happen again.”

“Just
giving you a hard time,” Moxie said. “But you’re lucky Berta’s not here. She’d
dish up her patented version of the old three-strikes lecture.”

“I
think I’ve heard that one before,” I replied, grinning.

“I’m
sure you have. We all have. The great American game of baseball as metaphor for
life, blah blah blah.”

Moxie
stood up and stretched.

“There.
I’m almost caught up with proofing.”

“Is
Berta in today?” I asked.

“She’s
here. She’s just out walking the dog. I’ve already put the files you’re to
transcribe at your workstation. Enjoy.”

I
went into the transcription room and settled down for a long day of listening
and typing. Luanne, Sara, and George were already there, as well as a couple
women I hadn’t met yet. I worked steadily for several hours, pausing only to
stretch my arms and shoulders. At two o’clock, I decided to take a half hour
break to take a walk and get a large coffee.

As
I walked toward Starbucks, my phone beeped. Taking it out of my purse, I read
the text message, which was from Duncan.

Mail from Tremont. Looks like
a check. Want me to open it???

Of course!!!
I texted back.
How much?

$1916.34

I
recognized the amount as my September pay. Now that the Tremont payroll system
had finally acknowledged my existence, I could expect my October check to show
up on time at the end of next week.

Yaaay!!!
I texted. Will pay you back for September tomorrow a.m. Going for caffeine now,
then back to work. See you at home tonight—this time I’m buying the
champagne!

A
wave of relief washed over me. I was out of the woods financially, and sooner
than I’d dared to hope. I could pay Duncan back and start catching up on
overdue bills.

I
would continue the transcription work, but I could cut back to a more
reasonable schedule. My teaching pay plus twenty hours or so of transcription a
week would be more than enough to catch up on the bills and start saving. And I
would still have some evenings and every weekend off for painting.

I
celebrated by ordering a large latte at Starbucks, as well as a sandwich for
later. Strolling back to the office, I reveled in a feeling that hadn’t been
part of my life recently: security. At least relative security.

As
I stepped through the revolving doors to Manning Tower, I remembered Craig’s
invitation. Maybe I could take Tuesday night off after all. I had hardly gone
anywhere during the past two months, and I’d never seen North by Northwest on
the big screen. On the other hand, I didn’t want to screw things up at my new
job, and I had already signed up to work Tuesday night.

Reentering
the office, I breezed down the hall, feeling light as air.

“She’s
back!” Sara called from the breakroom. “Come hang with us for a minute.”

“Sure.”
I pulled out an orange chair and flopped into it.

“I
was just telling Sara that I’m officially losing my mind,” Moxie said. “I’ve
been working day and night on this rush job, and my brain has finally disconnected
from my fingers in protest.”

“Take
the night off,” Sara said. “A few drinks and an evening of bad TV and you’ll be
as good as new.”

“Sara’s
right, Moxie,” I said. “You’ve put in more hours than any of us. Everyone needs
a break now and then, including you.”

“Not
an option,” Moxie said. “We’re on schedule, but only just.”

“Then
take Monday night off,” Sara reasoned. “The rush job is due first thing Monday
morning, and you know Berta won’t care as long as it goes out on time. I’ll be
here Monday, and Juliana’s signed up as well.”

“That’s
not a bad idea,” Moxie said. “You and Juliana must be exhausted, too. Or just
bat-shit crazy. You’ve both put in a ton of hours this week. Either of you want
any schedule adjustments?”

“If
it’s okay, I’d like Tuesday night off,” I said. “And it would be great to work
either Friday or Saturday, but not both.”

“Any
preference?”

“Friday
on, Saturday off.” That would give me a full weekend to paint. What with
teaching, looking for work, and then starting a new job, I hadn’t had much
painting time over the past month.

Sara
made a couple changes to her schedule as well, and then got up, yawning. “Back
to the salt mines, girls.”

As
I returned to my workstation, my head was spinning. I couldn’t believe it.
Tremont had paid me and I was free to go to the movies with Craig after all. I
felt ecstatic. My mind jumped ahead to Tuesday night, images flashing through
my imagination. His beautiful, long-lashed eyes. His slow, sexy smile, like a
ray of sunlight on a cloudy day.

A
wave of fear swept over me, but I remembered Duncan’s advice. Keep it low-key.
No fantasizing, no getting ahead of myself. Craig and I were just getting to
know each other. Anything could happen—or not.

Chapter
Twelve

When
I got home from work, Duncan greeted me and I handed him the bottle of
champagne I’d picked up on the way home.

“How
did it go? Tell me everything. Did he kiss you yet?”

“We
enjoyed civilized conversation over espresso and croissants. No, he didn’t kiss
me. Although part of me wishes he would. I’m going out with him Tuesday night,
to see a movie at the Brattle. At least I think I am. I still have to text him
that I can go, now that I’ve got the night off from work.”

“Oooh,
how romantic. Gorgeous man, dark theater, who could ask for more? What movie
are you seeing?”

“North
by Northwest. Cary Grant on the run, aided by the beautiful Eve Marie Saint.
Famous chase scene across Mount Rushmore.”

“Unforgettable.
As are all movies with Cary Grant. But what else did you talk about in your so-called
civilized conversation?”

“We
talked about my painting. And his new drug. It turns out that one of his
business competitors is Walter Reimann, you know, Matt’s father. Manning
Biotech is suing Syngenomics, Reimann’s company, for theft of confidential
information.”

“Like
father, like son, I guess. Did you tell him about Matt?”

“Sort
of. I didn’t name Matt or mention that I’d dated his competitor’s son. I just
said I wasn’t interested in dating rich playboys; been there, done that, yada
yada yada. He admitted to partying hard for a couple years after his business
took off, but said it got boring after awhile.”

“That’s
understandable,” Duncan said. “Craig has too much depth and intellect to
fritter his life away.”

“How
are you so sure? He seemed sincere, but I can’t be objective because he’s
hotness incarnate. I have to restrain myself from drooling every time I look at
him.”

Duncan
grinned. “You’ve got it bad, Jules. But there’s a cure. It’s called sex.
S-E-X.”

“Way
too soon for that. I’m not jumping into bed with a man I barely know. My body
may like the idea, but my brain is in charge this time around, and that’s the
way it’s going to stay. Craig may be handsome and charming, but so was Matt.
Until I started to fall for him, anyway. Then it turned out to be all about
conquest. What Matt wanted, Matt got. One way or another.”

Duncan
leaned toward me. “Look. Tending bar, I’ve seen it all, and Craig’s one of the
good guys.” His expression turned serious. “I understand that it’s impossible
to forget what happened with Matt. I mean, he raped you. And I’ve never been
raped, so I don’t have any right to say this to you. But I’m going to say it
anyway, as your friend. Because I love you. If you never trust a man again,
Matt wins. And you’re too strong to let one horrible experience hold you back
from living. This isn’t just about trusting Craig. It’s about trusting your own
judgment. Trusting yourself.”

Duncan’s
words were on the mark, as usual. Sometimes it seemed that he knew me better
than I knew myself. The intensity of the pull I felt toward Craig made me feel
uncomfortably vulnerable, because I didn’t trust my own instincts. And how
could I, after what had happened with Matt?

I
raised my hands in surrender. “You have a point. And I love you for always
telling me the honest-to-god truth as you see it. But I have another long
transcription day tomorrow, so I’d better call it a night.”

My
sleep that night was fitful, interrupted by incoherent, fragmented dreams. When
I woke the next day, I couldn’t recall what I’d dreamt, beyond a bizarre,
blurry merging of Craig’s and Matt’s faces, which fortunately faded with my
morning cup of coffee.

Chapter
Thirteen

Filled
with work, the next few days flew by. Craig and I arranged to meet at the
Brattle at quarter to six Tuesday evening to see North by Northwest.

After
my Tuesday class ended, I rushed home, realizing that I hadn’t given any
thought to what to wear. After trying and rejecting several combinations as
either too casual or overly dressy, I settled on slim charcoal gray wool pants,
low heels, and an off-white silk blouse. Rooting through my limited jewelry
collection, I selected a chunky, eccentric necklace by an up-and-coming local
jewelry designer, and paired it with silver ball stud earrings. The combination
of cool silver with warm wood and amber added just the touch of color that I
wanted.

As
usual, I kept my hair and makeup simple. Hair more or less under control in a
loose chignon. Light foundation, subtly smoky eyes, pink lip gloss. Throwing a
black three-quarter length trench coat over the ensemble, I inspected myself in
the mirror and decided that I looked pretty good. Not bad for an hour’s work.

Time
to get going. I grabbed my purse and left the apartment. As I left the front
door, I was surprised to see Craig, leaning against a silver Porsche 911
convertible. I wondered how long he had been waiting, and if his unexpected
appearance outside my apartment should be categorized as thoughtful or
stalker-ish.

He
looked fantastic, in gray slacks that hung elegantly from his hips and a white
button-down shirt, worn tails out with a couple buttons undone. Loafers and a
navy blazer completed his casual, slightly preppy look. A touch of stubble
lined his strong jaw.

“Hi
Juliana,” he said. “I know we arranged to meet at the theatre, but I took the
car for a spin earlier this afternoon, and it occurred to me that you might
prefer it to taking the T.”

“No
contest,” I replied, admiring both man and car. “But now you’ll have to find
parking within a mile of the Brattle. No small challenge, that.”

“I
do like a challenge,” he said, opening the passenger door. “But the Charles
Hotel garage is safer than street parking. Put on your seat belt. We’ll take
the back route so we can drive along the river. Would you prefer the top up?”

I
thought of my hair, then of the pleasure of feeling the air rush by. “No need,”
I responded, smiling at him. “It’s a warm evening.”

“Good
choice.” He put on his own seat belt, started the car, and pulled away from the
curb. The Porsche’s powerful engine purred beneath us as he drove, breaking
into a full roar when we reached the river and the higher speed limit of
Memorial Drive.

We
reached Cambridge and Harvard Square far too soon. Craig parked the car in the
Charles Hotel garage, and then put the top up. We strolled the couple of blocks
to the Brattle, enjoying the colorful atmosphere of the square. We reached the
box office, and Craig purchased two tickets. “Where would you like to sit?” he
asked.

“Six
rows or so from the front, near the center.”

“Good.
That’s about the right distance from the screen here.”

As
we seated ourselves, the previews began to roll. Then North by Northwest began.
I soon lost myself in the story and the characters, almost forgetting Craig’s
presence until the end credits.

“Want
to get something to eat?” he asked, as we left the theatre. “We could go to
Casablanca. Or maybe Dali. Do you like sangria?”

“I
love sangria, but unfortunately I need to make an early night of it. Still have
to finish prepping for tomorrow morning’s class.”

We
strolled in the direction of the garage. The night sky was an intense dark
blue, the trees silhouetted. The streets of Harvard Square were full of life.
Students mixed with locals and the occasional street musician or juggler.
Couples walking hand in hand. When we reached the car, Craig turned to me,
capturing my eyes with his own.

“There’s
something I need to do before driving you home.” He kissed me gently. I
responded instinctively, my lips parting as he deepened the kiss. Surprised by
the intensity of my response, part of me wanted to stop. To assert that the
time wasn’t right, and we didn’t know each other well enough yet.

But
my body had already surrendered to the sensation of his lips and hands, hands
that roved downward, gripping my ass, then upward again, brushing my hard
nipples. Before I could stop myself, my hands wandered into the thick, dark
hair I had envisioned stroking, tugging him closer, then brushing my fingertips
along his stubbled jaw. The scent of him intoxicated me with hints of wood and
dark, resinous incense.

As
our bodies came into full contact, I felt the heat of his erection throbbing
against me.

He
pulled away, disengaging his lips and body from mine, smiling wickedly. “Just a
taste of what I want to give you, Juliana.”

My
traitorous body throbbed in obvious agreement. Still, determined to resist, I
placed both hands on his chest and pushed him away. “It’s too soon. We don’t
know each other well enough.”

Gently
but firmly, he took my hands in his, and raised my right hand to his lips,
kissing each finger in turn.

“I
want you to trust me, to feel safe with me. That’s not easy for you, is it?”

“No,”
I admitted. “Trust is hard for me.”

“Someone
hurt you. Someone you loved.”

“Yes.”
It was as if he’d read my mind. He lifted my chin, gently forcing me to meet
his eyes.

“Tell
me about it, Juliana. Trust me at least that much.”

I
wasn’t ready to risk telling him the whole truth. Not until we knew each other
better. Knowing I’d been raped might make Craig see me differently. I didn’t
want to be seen or treated as damaged or fragile. Everything I’d worked so hard
not to be. But I wouldn’t lie to him, either. Taking a deep breath, I composed
myself.

“I
fell for the wrong guy a few years ago. It ended badly, so much so that I
haven’t had a relationship since then. I promise I’ll tell you the whole story
someday, just not tonight. But it’s only fair to tell you that I have major
trust issues.” I paused. “If you don’t want to deal with that, I understand.
You’re an amazing, beautiful, intelligent man, and I’m sure you can find any
number of women to date who don’t come with so much emotional baggage.”

Craig
took both my hands in his own. “Perhaps I could. But none of them would be you.
I want you to know that you can trust me, Juliana, and I’m okay with taking
things slowly, until you feel comfortable taking our relationship to the next
level.”

I
almost couldn’t believe my ears. I’d confessed my trust issues, and Craig
wasn’t running for the hills. Maybe things could work out between us, after
all.

“But
a coffee or a movie here or there isn’t going to cut it. To build trust and get
to know each other better, we need serious time together.”

I
smiled at him. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”