My false confidence began to flag, though, when I glanced over at Brogan’s office. After what happened last night, I wasn’t so sure Jackson’s grumblings weren’t a smidge warranted. I crossed the line majorly, and that left me in limbo in terms of my job. If Brogan was one thing, he was a stickler for his damn rules.
Brogan hadn’t bothered to stop me before I left, and if he wasn’t going to bring it up again, I would chalk it up to a one-time loss of sanity and pretend it never happened. Because, let’s face it, a sane Lainey wouldn’t have risked her job like that. Even if his lips were enough to ruin me for all other men for the next decade at least.
By the time I went on my lunch break, Jackson was back to his normal self, pushing more filing my way and sending me on two coffee runs (a brave thing to trust a woman scorned with your coffee). But I didn’t care—I’d earned a new client on my own merit, and damn did it feel good.
After saying hi to Zelda on my way out, I took my peanut butter and jelly out to the park a few blocks from work, planning to call my mom. We hadn’t spoken since my less than amicable departure last Sunday, and my guilt-meter was teetering in the red.
As soon as I sat down on my usual bench, I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.
“Hey, Mom.”
“How are you?” Her voice lacked her normal cheer. I couldn’t tell if it was from the treatments or if she was pissed off at me still—rightfully so.
I sighed and scooped up enough courage to face the facts. I’d screwed up, and I needed to fix whatever I’d done to throw our relationship off kilter. “I’m sorry about last weekend. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
A heavy rush of air came through the receiver, and she was quiet for a moment. “Honey, I’m glad you care that much about your career. It’s important, and I handled it in the wrong way.”
I frowned, feeling even worse. Why the hell was she apologizing to me when I’d acted like an ass? “You don’t ever have to apologize, Mom. I was a jerk and ruined our weekend.” After the way Dad treated her, choosing his work over her ninety percent of the time, and by “work” I mean his secretary, I didn’t blame her for being a little bitter toward the career-obsessed.
“Let’s forget last weekend ever happened, sound good?” she said.
“Promise?”
“Yes.” I could hear the smile in her response.
I grinned, and a weight lifted off my chest. No matter how good my life was going, if things with my mom were strained, it sucked the beauty out of every other aspect, because nothing felt quite complete unless we were on good terms.
“How did your presentation go?”
I explained what had happened, and then how Brogan knew that it had been my work—minus the whole making out in his office detail. Somehow I didn’t think my mom would be as stoked as I was about my after-hour escapades. In fact, as much as I loved every second of his lips on my skin, even I was starting to question my choices. Because I wasn’t a kid in college anymore. This was my career, and I could have put it in jeopardy.
“I can’t believe that guy,” she said, appalled at Jackson’s behavior.
I tore the corner off my sandwich and shoved it into my mouth. “I honestly can’t either.” He’d always been a jerk, but I didn’t think he’d stoop to that level. Just went to show, people were like a fresh pint of Rocky Road ice cream: Smooth on top, but once you dug deeper, there was an overwhelming number of bumps and nuts.
“I’ll be back down to visit within the next few weeks. And I promise, this time I won’t bring work with me.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Love you.”
“You too, love bug.”
I hung up the phone and felt ten times lighter. Once I returned to the office, my email was full of new client information, and one message in particular that slapped a stupid smile on my face.
To: Lainey Taylor
From: Brogan Starr
Subject: Dog Walking
Are you free tonight? Bruce would love to see you. He’d also enjoy if you’d have homemade pasta with him and a bottle of wine.
-B
Brogan Starr, CEO Starr Media
CEO in need of a dog walker
Okay, breathe, he’s not firing you or exiling you to the mail room. Although, with the bottle of wine suggested in the email, the mail room wouldn’t be a bad place to sort some—ahem—mail. We hadn’t discussed the specifics of whatever this was. A fling? Office tryst? That sounded so cheesy, yet delightfully dirty. Whatever it was, it was going to stay on the down low, as evidenced from this email…as long as Bruce didn’t actually mean Bruce, because having wine with a dog was a little too country song for me. We’d hash out the details about this tonight, because vagaries wouldn’t cut it when we worked together every day.
I clicked on the reply button and began typing.
To: Brogan Starr
From: Lainey Taylor
Subject: re: Dog Walking
Maybe Bruce will appreciate garlic more than his owner.
Lainey Taylor, Second Assistant to Brogan Starr, Starr Media
Professional dog walker and wine drinker
To: Lainey Taylor
From: Brogan Starr
Subject: re: Dog Walking
Garlic, yes, but the owner might be better company.
Brogan Starr, CEO Starr Media.
Great conversationalist
To: Brogan Starr
From: Lainey Taylor