chapter five
The next morning I was waiting in Jillian’s office when she arrived. As asked, I’d sent her my list of questions and tasks that needed her approval or input before the wedding. We had lots to discuss, but foremost was getting a better idea of when she was coming back.
“Wow, you’re here early,” she exclaimed, shrugging out of her coat and unwrapping her scarf.
I arched an eyebrow at her. “Hey, my boss is all over the map—she’s getting married this weekend, you know. Figured I better nab her while I could.”
She sighed, sinking down into her chair. “Have I been a bridezilla?”
“Nah, I’d characterize you more like the phantom boss,” I joked.
“Watch it, Reynolds; I’d hate to have to write up my maid of honor for insubordination,” she warned, a twinkle in her eye but enough steel to tell me I was pushing it. “So I read your list. It’s long.”
“It is. And I can handle practically everything on there. I just need to know what your plans are, and what your expectations are of me so I can manage things.”
“I know, kiddo; sorry I’ve been a little absent lately. Who knew weddings had so many arms and legs?” She grinned. “I can’t wait to watch when you go through all this. It’s a lot to have on your plate.” She picked up the list and grabbed a pen.
“When I go through this?” I asked, my breathing going a little, well, breathy.
“Sure. Don’t you think you and Simon are heading that way eventually?” she asked, putting on her glasses and positioning them so she could look down at me. Cheeky.
“Um, I don’t, well, I mean, how can I, Jillian!” I stuttered, blood rushing to my face at the thought. Picket fence territory.
“Whoa, strike a nerve there?” she asked, a twinkle growing in her eye. “Don’t you think Simon’s the marrying kind?”
“I don’t . . . I mean . . . he’s never had a relationship longer than the one he’s currently in, I don’t think we need to push the issue, and besides, it’s good the way it is now and—I don’t know that I, I mean, what if I don’t want—”
“Easy there, Trigger, settle down.” She grinned, pleased that she’d rattled me off course.
“Okay, this isn’t what we’re here to talk about this morning. We need to go through this list and put out some fires, and I need to know when you’re coming back from your honeymoon, woman!” Simon and me getting married. Pffft.
“Not sure,” she said calmly.
“Wait, what?”
“We’re not sure when we’re coming back. Wanna house-sit too?”
“House-sit too?” I asked, my eyes crossing.
She sighed, sitting back in her chair.
“The thing is, Caroline, I need a break. I love my job, you know how much this business means to me, and I’m so very proud that I’ve been able to carve out a niche for myself. But I need a break, and Benjamin and I just want to go wherever we feel like for a while. Does that make any sense?”
It made perfect sense. A gorgeous man and his gorgeous new bride, with all that money burning a hole in their bonds or funds or whatever really wealthy people had their money in. They wanted to see the world while they were young enough and sexy enough to do it right.
Hell, I’d do it if I had the chance. A never-ending vacation with Simon? Gondola rides in Venice? Yodeling in Saint Moritz? Fucking in Frankfurt?
But I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to think about the person left behind, the person left behind holding the design bag. How could Jillian Designs function without Jillian?
“I’ve already talked to my accountant, who can walk you through any weird payroll issues that might come up. And it’s not like I’ll be in a cave somewhere. We’ll do weekly conference calls; I can assist with whatever you need. You’ll see, it’ll be fine,” she assured me, her face filled with a confidence in me that I didn’t share.
Could I do this? Jillian seemed to think so. Plus I’d have a new intern. I didn’t want to say no, not when I knew she was counting on me.
This is too much.
This is also an opportunity. One that would likely never come along again.
Shit yes, I could do this.
“So tell me about this house-sitting gig. Does it come with the Mercedes in the garage?”
“It sure does.”
“I’m in!”
“That’s great! Now, back to you and Simon. So no marriage just yet, but have you talked about living together?”
I bit through my colored pencil.
? ? ?
“How’s the sexiest interior designer on the West Coast?”
“You flatter me. Have you been keeping your bits and pieces tucked into your wet suit and away from shark week?”
“Best as I can. How’re things going at work? You ever pin Jillian down about how long they’re going to be away on their honeymoon?” Simon asked, calling in for his nightly chat. Which was really breakfast, his time. It’s amazing how fast you learn all the time zones when your boyfriend was usually running across all of them in any given month.
I sank back against the bed pillows. “I got a vague idea. Somewhere between indefinite and sabbatical.”
“Wow, really? What does that mean for you?”
“In a word? Fucking busy.”
“That’s two words, nightie girl.”
“I’m so busy it can’t possibly be contained to just one word. The good news is, I scored us a house with a killer view of the bay.”
“Huh?”
“Jillian asked if I wanted to house-sit for them while they’re gone.”
“And you said yes?”
“I did; how could I turn that down? Why, do you not want to stay there? It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be boring.” He groaned.
I rolled my eyes. Simon loved his city living. “Oh please, it’ll be great. Besides, I don’t think we need to stay out there every night. I think they just don’t want the place sitting empty for all that time.”
“Humph,” was his response.
“We can go hot tubbing.”
“Humph?” was his more interested response.
“As you recall, I tend to lose all control when bubbles are involved,” I said, thinking back to the first time we hot tubbed in Tahoe.
“True. Will there be skinny-dipping?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
“Mmm, you’re killing me.” He groaned, but this time in a very different way.
“Anyway, as busy as I’m going to be, it’ll be nice to have a change of pace. It’ll feel a little like a vacation just across the bridge. I’m barely going to be able to come up for air in the next few months.”
“Speaking of vacation, I just booked a job in Bora Bora. Wanna go?”
“What?”
“Yep, after the wedding. What do you say? Thatched hut over the water? Coconut bikinis? Actual sex on the beach?”
I clenched my hands in frustration.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? I’m swamped, and about to get even swampier. I can’t go to Bora Bora. I couldn’t even go to Napa if I wanted—” I stopped myself from going on a full tirade and took a deep breath. “Simon, that’s very sweet of you, and you know there’s nothing I’d like more than to run off to the South Pacific with you. But I just can’t. I literally can’t even think about that right now, okay?”
He was silent for a minute. The line was a bit crackly, and I imagined how far he truly was from me that night. How far that phone connection was, stretching halfway around the world to reach me. I sighed into my half of that connection.
“You’re right, babe, I wasn’t thinking. I do know how important this is to you. You know that.”
“I do know that.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good year for Rio?” he asked, his voice quiet, but with an underlying tone.
“Don’t you dare—I’m looking forward to that trip more than I can say! Things will have settled down by then. But in the meantime, I just can’t drop everything and island hop.”
He was silent.
“I love you,” I whispered, wishing he was here to hug and hold.
“I love you too. I’m glad I’ll be home soon.” His voice had mellowed some.
“We’ll have fun at the wedding,” I said, changing the subject. “You gonna dance with me?”
“You bet your sweet bippy. I’ll even get them to play us some Glen Miller.”
“That always works.” I giggled.
“Caroline?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“I know it works.” He chuckled.
We said good night, then I went across the hall and let myself into his apartment. Putting the phonograph needle down, I slipped back to my apartment and into bed. Glen Miller played me to sleep through the walls, and I dreamed I was dancing on a beach in Brazil with my photographer.
? ? ?