Smart Girl (18 page)

I can’t help my grin. “What was that for?”

“You are always a surprise.”

“And you like surprises?”

His eyes are sparkling with mischief, and I think he might answer with another joke, but then his smile grows soft. “I like
you
.”

After that pronouncement I decide not to push him too hard on things like text messages or labels or what the normal progression of a relationship should be.

When Liam and I are together, it’s incredible—the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I stay at his house almost every night when he’s in town. The next time he goes out on business, he keeps in contact with me through funny photos and the occasional borderline-inappropriate text message. We never actually get around to arguing about why his radio silence during the last trip bothered me so much.

He goes away for a couple of days on a business trip again not long after, and the next time we see each other is at Sunday Supper. We end up making out in a closet, surrounded by winter coats and scarves like teenagers afraid of getting caught.

Whatever else our relationship is, it is exciting and fun. I decide to just focus on enjoying myself rather than trying to figure everything out. We do sneak around a lot, but that becomes a game in and of itself. I tell myself our relationship is more special somehow because it is something nobody knows about but the two of us. Whatever this is, it has turned into some kind of relationship. That is more than many other women could boast. I count myself lucky.

At some point our clandestine meetups are going to turn into the real thing. At some point we’ll walk out of his parents’ house hand in hand instead of leaving in separate cars and meeting up later that night. At some point he and I are going to spend enough time together that he’ll realize he is in love with me, just like Marianne Dashwood and Colonel Brandon. The way he feels about me is evident in his touch, the sweet things he says, and the little gifts he gets me for no reason. If it isn’t a normal kind of relationship, that’s OK—I’m not a normal kind of girl. Not that he needed to be reminded of that; it’s always popping up in conversation.

“I’m sorry—it’s called what?”

I just took a huge bite of my Corn Flakes, so I have to chew quickly to answer him.

“Cosplay.”

He looks at me incredulously. “And it’s like . . . a costume party?”

I start to shake my head and then reconsider. I guess you could call it that.

“Well, I guess sort of. But it’s not really a party; it’s just people who like to dress up in costume as their favorite character.”

“And they go through life like this?”

I’m clearly startling his delicate sensibilities, but this is nothing knew. Plenty of people are thrown off by the idea of groups of people dressing up in costume en masse. Liam, who was born and raised in Beverly Hills, who has always been popular and pretty, wouldn’t understand the desire to become someone or something other than himself.

“Not through
life
, Liam. It’s not an affliction. It’s really more like performance art. They just dress up for conventions or conferences or fan events.”

He shakes his head and looks at me like I’ve just told him the world is flat. “Dress up as what?”

Why do I find his dismay so endearing? “Oh gosh, everything.” I take another sip of coffee. “Harry Potter,
Game of Thrones
, manga, anime,
Lord of the Rings
, Marvel—”

“I think I have a great uncle who’s into Civil War reenactments,” he tries to add helpfully.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Um, yes, I guess that’s sort of the same thing.”

“But this group of people you’re talking about is mostly teenagers, right?”

“Sure.”

He’s still totally baffled by what I’m talking about, and it’s throwing off his whole view of the world. I don’t have the heart to tell him that the year I went to Yukicon, I was one of the youngest people there. Or that there’s a whole society of grown men called Bronies who love My Little Pony more than any toddler girl ever could. Or that the greatest Sailor Moon costume I’ve ever seen was worn by a woman old enough to be my mom—who also happened to be a super high-powered corporate lawyer. I think I’ve disturbed him enough just by mentioning that it’s something I’m into.

“You should try it with me sometime.” I grin mischievously. “I’m sure you’d love it.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He grabs my now empty bowl and his own and walks around to the island to rinse them both in the sink.

“Well, if we’re going to try and do something together, I think it would be fun to do the other person’s favorite thing.”

This is how this whole conversation started in the first place. After a month of sleepovers, I suggested we try to do some kind of activity not based in his bedroom.

He puts the bowls into the dishwasher and reaches out to tap my nose across the island.

“Beautiful, we do my favorite thing almost every day of the week.”

I hide my blush by taking a sip of coffee. When I glance up and see his grin, I do my best to look stern. “I’m serious. Let’s each plan a joint activity based on what we like to do. I’ll even let you go first.”

He considers me. “I guess we could go to dinner or something.”

I should
not
get this excited over him suggesting something so simple. I should actually be embarrassed about my reaction. It’s just that it’s the closest he’s ever come to mentioning anything even sort of like a date, and that makes my heart want to sing. Sadly, though, that isn’t the point of this exercise, and there’s also nothing unique about dinner. I imagine he’s taken a hundred women to dinner, and I have no desire to be like any one of them.

“I’m not looking for dinner, Ashton. I’m looking for an activity that you like to do.”

He nods.

“OK, let me think on this.”

“Think all you want, pal, but I’ve got three holiday parties to produce this week, so you need to come up with something good. OK?”

“You’re so bossy,” he says playfully.

“Not even!” I take one more sip of coffee and then stretch up on tiptoes on the edge of the barstool to hand him my mug. “I am running late, though. I’ve got to jet.”

He takes the mug with one hand but quickly grabs my wrist with his other. I’ve put the sweatshirt and yoga pants I wore over here last night back on, so he has to push up one sleeve to get to my skin. He rubs his lips back and forth across my pulsing wrist, which started to hammer as soon as he reached for me.

He’s got that look in his eye.

“Liam, I really have to go. Didn’t you hear the part about my three events this week?” It would be so much more convincing if I didn’t sound so out of breath.

His grin is almost dangerous. “This will only take a second.”

“You always say that, and then it’s three hours later and I can’t . . .” I stutter when he kisses the center of my palm. I try to remember what I was about to say. He bites the flesh just below my thumb.

Talking is overrated anyway.

He tugs on my wrist, and without even stopping to consider how odd it might be, I crawl up to sit on top of the marble island. I’m sure the look on my face isn’t far from the one on his. His hands trace slowly up my calves and hook under my knees, and before I realize what he means to do, he slides me all the way across the counter until I collide with him.

I’m going to be late for work again today.

Chapter
TWELVE

On the way to the office, I run by our favorite coffee place and grab gingerbread lattes for myself, Casidee, and Landon. They’ll serve as penance for my showing up late again for work when we’re already so busy. I carry the tray of coffees in one hand while teetering a little on my new DVF pumps. They’re not that tall actually, but I’m more of a wedge kind of girl. Liam loves pumps, though. I know this because he basically attacked me the first time he saw me wear some, and so I’ve been finding ways to incorporate them into my wardrobe ever since.

I find Landon and Cas set up in one of the conference rooms. There is tissue paper everywhere and huge stacks of beauty products, couture sugar cookies, and the custom water bottles I designed for our next party. I wince when I see how many gift bags they’ve already stuffed on their own. I totally forgot we were going to do that this morning. I hurry into the chaos.

“I come bearing gifts!” I call brightly.

“Thanks,” Cas calls from the long end of the table.

Landon doesn’t manage more than a tight smile. Oh cripes! I wonder if she and Brody had a fight or something.

“Where do you want me?”

Landon shoves the tissue paper she’s holding down into the open paper bag in front of her but doesn’t look up. “Wherever.”

I drop my purse on the console table by the door and set down the tray of coffees nobody seems to want. When Landon still doesn’t look up or make conversation, I decide something really bad must be going on.

“Hey, Casidee,” I say before I’ve come up with a good way to finish that sentence. “Can you, uh, grab some of these empty boxes and take them down to recycling?”

It’s a lame excuse to get rid of her for a bit, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She makes a huge stack and then carries it from the room in one awkward heap. As soon as the door closes, I give up all pretense of work and turn to face Landon.

“Hey, what’s up? Did something happen?”

She puts down the product she’s holding and turns to me. She searches for words for at least a minute. I get the impression that whatever has upset her is going to be bad. Gods, what did Brody do?

“Did something happen?” she asks the room at large.

I’m surprised by the anger in her voice.

“Yes, Miko, something happened.” She takes a deep breath. “The florist never got the final centerpiece options for the shower this weekend.”

My stomach drops.

“And because she never got them—even after you assured me they’d been sent—she couldn’t place the order for amaryllis in time.”

I stumble over my apology, hopping quickly to ways to fix this mistake. “We can sub out for stargazer lilies or maybe—”

“Amaryllis was her grandmother’s favorite flower. It was Michelle’s way of remembering her nana as part of the bridal shower. It was the only thing she truly cared about in the design.”

Crap.

I do remember the request for amaryllis now that she mentions it; in fact, I designed the whole party around it. The sketches were beautiful, and we even found linens with a print that looked like it was made to hold the ornate cut-crystal vases Michelle’s grandmother had collected all her life. I had everything ready to go over to our florist; I just needed to run through it once more to make sure quantities were right. I took it home with me, fully planning to send it in that evening. But then Liam called.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her quietly.

Landon’s look is pitying; her voice is just as quiet as my own. “You’re sorry a lot lately.”

I rear back like she pushed me. “That’s not fair. Why would you say that?”

Her smile is sad. “The truly cruddy part is you’re so far gone right now you really don’t know why. What’s
not fair
is that I’ve taken the last four client meetings by myself. What’s not fair is that the reputation of
our
firm is based on the fact that we
both
do our jobs well. What’s
not fair
is that all I do is make excuses for you these days!”

I can’t help but feel defensive. Feeling defensive makes me angry.

“What are you talking about? What excuses?”

She ticks them off on her fingers. “The design for the Klein Bat Mitzvah was pink when they specifically told you that Talia hates that color. You mixed up the rental orders for last week’s cocktail hour. We had to pay a restocking fee and the cost of the labor. That is money we don’t have! You were forty-five minutes late to that walk-through with the lighting company, and you’re never disrespectful like that. You didn’t even show up to the bakery last Thursday, and it took you two hours to even notice enough to text us some lame excuse about being caught in traffic.”

My ire deflates like a balloon. I don’t have any good response, because I haven’t really thought about any of those things. I’ve only been focused on the reason I keep getting pulled away or distracted. When I hear all of my failures laid out in a row like that, I can totally understand why she’s pissed off. We’re supposed to be in business together, and she’s been carrying way more than her share of the load. Event planning is really stressful, and one of the reasons we’ve been able to manage it so well is that we lean on each other.

“You’re right. It hadn’t really occurred to me how many things I’ve slipped up on lately, but you’re totally right. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

She clasps her hands in front of her, looking unsure of how much she should say.

“I’m worried about you, girl.”

I nod. “I get that, but I’m going to get the work stuff together. I promise.”

She nods sadly and turns for the door. “This isn’t about the company, Miko. Your work ethic sucks right now, but I trust that it’s just a season of life for you. What I’m worried about is that you’re letting so many people down and you don’t even notice.”

I watch in shock as she turns and walks out of the room.

“And then she said something about me letting everyone down,” I tell Tosh around a bite of orecchiette.

Our favorite overpriced Italian place is dimly lit, but even from here I can see him wince. He doesn’t say anything, though; he just continues to listen. All he’s been doing since the second course is listen to me lay out my problems on the stark white linen between us. I suspect he knew that’s why I called him for dinner in the first place. But of course he came anyway. He’s been asking me to meet him for dinner or coffee or anything for several weeks, and I’ve had more than enough excuses to keep putting him off. It isn’t like us to go so long without hanging out, and I worried he might be upset with me. But the second I called him, he moved his schedule around so he could meet me here tonight. He came because listening to my problems is what he’s been doing all of my life. He also came because he’s far too nosy to miss out on an opportunity to learn all of my business.

I stab the last meatball on the plate between us desolately. Right before I pop it into my mouth, I realize how rude I’m being.

“I’m sorry, did you want this one?”

He waves me away. “That’s all you.”

“Thanks,” I grumble before shoving it into my mouth.

“Remember that time we made spaghetti and meatballs for Christmas Eve dinner, but we thought the salt measurement was in cups, not in tablespoons?” he asks out of the blue.

I can see that he’s trying to cheer me up, so I do my best to let him. “And Mom and Dad didn’t want us to know we’d screwed up, so they tried to eat them and pretend it was good. But then he gagged—”

He’s chuckling now.

“Just once, but that was all it took. She gagged too, and then you realized something was wrong and took a bite, and you started crying.”

“I was eleven.” I smile at the memory. “I was very emotional then.”

He sips on his Peroni and looks out at the restaurant buzzing around us, I think in an attempt to make his next statement seem more casual than it is.

“She says she’s been trying to get ahold of you.”

I twist the napkin around in my lap. “I know. I keep meaning to call her; I just keep forgetting.”

He frowns. “Christmas is this weekend, Miko. They just want to figure out plans. They need to know when you’re coming home if they’re going to do that.”

I know I need to make up my mind about when I’m flying home for the holidays. I was just trying to wait until I had a better idea of Liam’s plans before I booked my travel.

“I know. I’m totally going to call her tonight. I promise.”

He nods but doesn’t look convinced.

I stare out at the room rather than at that disappointment on his face. The tables are placed closely together, forcing patrons to overhear each other’s conversations. It’s a hodgepodge of LA. Aging celebrities feign an attempt at privacy while catching the eye of everyone who passes them, hoping to be recognized. A table of junior agents in the corner is way too loud and sharing the tab on the chef’s menu they ordered to seem cultured. Next to us are two people who are dressed so sloppy they look like they could be homeless. But they ordered their two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine with the discretion of a seasoned sommelier, which just shows you that in Los Angeles you can never judge a book by its cover.

“So what do you think?” I ask just to break up his brooding silence.

“I think you should fly home with me, and we can share a cab to the house.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking about.”

“I know.” He sighs and then looks me right in the eye. “I think that Landon is right to be worried.” He takes another sip of his beer. “I think if you were being honest with yourself, you’d be a little worried too.”

Wow. Where did all this seriousness come from? I try to think of something I can say, but nothing great pops to mind.

“I’m just having some fun,” I offer up lamely.

His eyes narrow at my words. “And you’re
just
losing yourself in the process.”

I scowl. “What are you even talking about?”

“What are you even wearing?” he counters.

I look down at my outfit in confusion. I bought this designer sheath dress at a huge discount, and it looks great with my pumps. So what if it’s more conservative than I normally wear? It feels grown up and mature.

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

For some reason my question seems to make him angrier. “Nothing. There is nothing wrong with your dress—it’s just not you. Since when do you wear high heels? Since when do you do your hair that way? It’s not you. Nothing about this is you. Not ditching your friends, not ignoring Mom and Dad’s phone calls, not neglecting your career—”

“I missed a few meetings. That’s not neglecting my career!”

“Really?” He leans across the table towards me. “Jess from VidiFilm told me he’s left two voice mails for you about designing their executive suites. He was sure he must have the wrong number since you hadn’t returned his calls. So imagine his surprise when I gave him your cell phone, and he said that’s the one he’s been calling. That’s potentially a huge commission, Koko. Have you even called him back yet?”

I open my mouth to speak and then close it abruptly. I did get the voice mails, but I still haven’t decided whether or not I’m interested. VidiFilm’s offices are based in Emeryville, which would mean a lot of travel back and forth for the next several months. I’m already struggling enough with my workload. Liam has to travel so much already, and I don’t know how that would affect the time we’re able to spend together.

“I haven’t had the chance.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t even know who I am.

“This is your
life
, Miko. You have worked so hard to get here, and you have become such an incredible person. That person loves her friends and her family fiercely. She does weird things like dressing up as a Harajuku zombie for Halloween or taking synchronized swimming lessons. She’s a talented designer and a business owner, and she always speaks her mind and shares her heart.” He leans in closer to look me right in the eye. “And you are throwing away all the best parts of yourself for a guy who won’t even acknowledge you in public.”

Screw him!

I slam my hands down on the steering wheel of my car and shout the words for added effect. I barely made it out of the restaurant without cursing Tosh to the ends of the earth. I only just made it into my car before I started crying. I can’t understand why everyone is so down on me right now.