The Fallback Page 6

  Catherine surveys my desk a final time. “Well, if you need anything…”

  I shake my head. “I appreciate it. Truly I do, but I’ve never been better. Honest.”

  Catherine tilts her head to the side. “I’m glad to hear that.” Before she reaches the door, she spins around on one heel. “I forgot,” she says. “My trainer recommended I try the new paleo diet. Would you be a dear and collect some books and recipes for things I’d like to eat? You know my tastes.”

  Unfortunately, I do. This isn’t the first time I’ve been tasked with finding recipes for one of her new diets. “Sure.”

  Catherine smiles and pivots, leaving me with another task I don’t have time for.

  9

  My cell phone rings, breaking my attention from searching for a traveling zoo. Over the past six weeks, I’ve hosted nine birthday parties, three weddings, two engagement parties, an anniversary party, and a bridal shower, surviving on dry shampoo, granola bars, and coffee. Thankfully, Catherine’s managed to hire two new associates, giving me hope the chaos will come to an end. I glance at the large wrought-iron clock on my wall as I reach for my phone, already knowing it’s Felicity, and discover it’s past eight.

  “Shit,” I sigh. “Hey.” Guilt sits heavily on my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I repeat. “I have no idea what happened to the time. Is Gemma still up?”

  “Don’t worry,” Felicity assures me. “She’ll be just fine because I told her you’ll take her to get doughnuts in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” I heave another sigh. “I feel like such a dick.”

  “Well … I know one way to make you feel better.”

  “Quit my job?”

  Felicity laughs. “Okay, maybe two.”

  “What’s your remedy?”

  “It’s time to get drunk,” she announces.

  “I don’t have time to get drunk. I don’t even have time to discuss getting drunk, you should see how much work I have piled on my desk. I don’t think I’m going to find my pencil holder until May.”

  “And it’s not going to go anywhere.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “Hence why I don’t have time to talk about getting drunk.”

  “Come on.” Felicity’s voice grows in volume as she enters my office wearing a short, black sequined dress and stares at me from across my desk. “Let’s go,” she says into her phone.

  I hang up and shake my head, smirking at her. “What are you doing here? Where are the kids?”

  “Dan’s watching them.” She keeps her phone pressed to her ear, still talking to me through it.

  “Why are you so dressed up?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” she asks, running a hand down her side.

  I laugh harder.

  “Come on,” she tells me, jerking her head in the direction of the door. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Do you see this mess?” I wave my arms across the surface of my cluttered desk.

  “I can’t see anything through the phone.” She garbles and makes spitting sounds, drawing her phone away from her face. “Sorry. I can’t hear you. Did I lose you? Brooke? Brooke? Can you hear me? I think I’m losing reception.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  Keeping up the farce, Felicity continues speaking into her phone. “I think I heard you say you’re excited, which makes me so happy. I’ll be there in five! Kisses!” She drops her cell phone into her purse and exits my office without saying anything more.

  “You’re crazy!” I call after her.

  I stare at the door, waiting for her to reappear. A few minutes pass as I carefully listen to see if I can hear her footsteps.

  “Felicity?” I yell when she doesn’t return. “What are you doing?”

  Another minute passes before I push my chair away from my desk and stand. My heels clip against the hardwood floors as I follow my best friend’s path down the hall. I find her in the small lobby, her legs crossed as she flips through a magazine.

  Andrea sends me a timid smile. Even she’s been working late recently, helping us with random odds and ends. We’re all relying on the extra help.

  “You’re just in time!” Felicity exclaims, tossing the magazine onto the pristinely arranged glossy covers filled with pages of wedding cakes and gowns.

  “What’s your plan?” I ask tentatively.

  “I’m getting you out of your funk. You need to go out. You need to see other guys and realize Gabe was not the only fish in the sea.”

  I wince and peer around, wondering if everyone heard the announcement. “I never said Gabe was the only fish in the sea. I’m just not ready to date yet.” My voice is hushed in hopes she’ll catch the subtle hint.

  Felicity nods, then stands, her narrow shoulders bowed. “I’m worried about you,” she says softly. “I’m worried you’re going to convince yourself you’re never going to be able to get over Gabe. I’m worried you’re going to bury yourself so deeply in work you’re going to forget about all the things that mattered to you before.”

  “I won’t,” I say, though there is a trace of question in my tone even I recognize. “We went rock climbing,” I remind her.

  “And you had fun!” she cries. “Let’s just go out tonight. You don’t have to get a phone number or even dance with a guy. We just need to get you outside of this office because you’re starting to look like a permanent wall fixture here.”

  “We’ve been short-staffed. There’s too much work and not enough people.”

  “I know. But this isn’t healthy. It’s just one night.”

  I try not to sound pained and ask, “Where exactly are you wanting to go?”

  Felicity’s blue eyes grow round and bright. I’ve been a lousy friend since my breakup with Gabe. While work has provided me with an easy and welcoming excuse, the truth is I don’t know what to do when I’m not here. I constantly feel like a third wheel, even with Felicity and Dan, which has led me to missing dinners and family movie nights. “There’s this place my hairdresser was telling me about,” Felicity says. “They’re supposed to have amazing martinis and an even better DJ.”

  “Are we too old to go out to the clubs?” As I say it, my eyes narrow with a wince, loathing the question.

  “We are not old,” Felicity insists. “We are like a fine wine—”

  “Oh, God, stop. You’re making me feel older.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to recall how I wore it today.

  “Don’t worry about that. This is about us being together and having a good time. Now leave your hair alone.” She makes a pointed look at me as I run my hand through my hair once again. “None of it matters tonight. This is simply step one of Operation Getting Over Gabe.”

  “I’m over Gabe,” I say and try not to roll my eyes when I see the look of pity draw her mouth into a frown. “I just forgot how to not be in a relationship.”

  “Well, then, we’ll call this Operation Singleton.”

  “Deal,” I say. “Let me close a couple of things out, and we can get going.” I take a few steps in the direction of my office before turning back toward Felicity, who is reaching for the magazine she haphazardly dropped. “I don’t remember how to dress to go to a club.”

  “Neither do I.” Felicity drops her head back and laughs. “I wear sweatpants all day, so I’m assuming anything’s better than that.” Her shoulders lift with a shrug. “But I brought you some options.” With a tilt of her head, she motions to the chair beside her, where several dresses are piled. “I suggest the purple one.”

  I eye the plum dress before approaching the stack and lifting the hanger it’s hung on to get a better look at the short dress. “Can I just wear what I have on?”

  Felicity looks over my slacks and sport coat before shaking her head. “Brooke, no.”

  “I thought it didn’t matter because we’re just going out to have fun.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Go change.” She turns her attention to the magazine.

  I take the dress and he
ad back to my office, where I make quick work of putting things in piles that I slip into my desk drawers, making my office look deceivingly clean. I shrug out of my work slacks, jacket, and blouse and pull the dress on. It’s out of my closet, but I haven’t worn it since we went to Vegas shortly before Felicity learned she was pregnant with Theo. Thoughts of that trip flood my mind with images of the Vegas Strip, the bright lights, endless slot machines, and Gabe.

  I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair to give it some life back, and move to the small mirror that hangs on the back of my door. I swipe at the bits of mascara that have left vague shadows under my eyes and run my fingers through my hair again before taking a deep breath and slipping my feet back into the black pumps I wore to work.

  Felicity whistles as I make my way back out to the lobby. “Look at you, hot stuff.”

  “Are you sure I look okay?”

  “I’d do you.”

  Andrea chokes on her drink, working to stifle a laugh.

  Felicity grins, appreciating the reaction. She stands, collecting the discarded dresses left on the chair. “Ready?”

  Andrea follows us to the door, key in hand. “You guys have fun tonight and be safe.”

  I wave, following Felicity to her car, where I begin laughing. “We’re going to be rolling in style, aren’t we?”

  Felicity looks from me to her minivan. “Check this out.” She pushes a button on her key fob, and both of the rear doors slide open, the numerous lights inside illuminating the space. “Let’s be real—how many cars do you know that can do that? We are totally riding in style.” She heads to the driver’s side door. “Plus, at the end of the night, if everything’s a bust, we can hit up a movie rental and hide in the parking lot of a Taco Bell and stuff ourselves on churros while we watch a movie in the back seat of the van. You have to try these seats. They’re amazing.”

  “It’s scary that things like that are now appealing.”

  Felicity laughs. “At least it’s not the hair crimper anymore though.”

  10

  The club is close by, not allotting me the time to worry about if I’m going to be the oldest person in the club or if my dress is too short, too low, or too tight.

  “Is that the line?” I ask as we cross the street toward the large brick building with a neon sign over the entrance, noting the few dozen people who are lined around the corner.

  “I told you this place was popular.”

  I swallow my objections that include how long we’re going to be waiting to get inside and how much I don’t want to be here. Excuses to head back to her house are lining up but fall away as I consider how rarely my best friend gets out and the effort she put forth tonight. I follow her to the end of the line, shivering slightly as a cool breeze hits us like a cruel joke.

  “Do you think I look all right?”

  I look up from my phone, where I was checking the time and ensuring I didn’t have any new emails from Catherine, and watch Felicity tug on her close-fitting dress that reaches the top of her knees. “Are you kidding? You look amazing. Stunning, actually.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m not wearing yesterday’s pajamas and don’t smell like ketchup or chocolate sauce.” Her lips curve into a familiar smile.

  “Actually, it’s because you finally brushed your hair, but…” I draw out the sentence, teasing my best friend who even with two young children still goes to the grocery store with her purse and nails matching her outfit while I change into yoga pants the moment I get home.

  I grip her wrist when she starts to fidget again. “I was kidding. You look great.”

  Felicity moves her attention to my eyes. “I wish I had your confidence.”

  I scoff at the word. “My confidence? I thought we were here because I’m supposed to be getting back on the dating horse?”

  “That has nothing to do with your confidence!”

  “You’ve officially been poisoned by too many kids’ shows and huffing too many dirty diapers.”

  Felicity shakes her head, laughing as she grips my arm. “Huffing?” She laughs louder. “I can’t wait to use that line on you one day.”

  I return her smile, knowing she’ll likely be using it later tonight. Then, with one swift move, Felicity snatches my cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “I hate selfies.” My pronounced frown reminds her of this fact.

  “Afraid to have evidence of you having fun?”

  “Exactly. People might think I’m nice and try talking to me.”

  Felicity closes her eyes, laughing so hard she tilts her head back. “Well, I won’t tell them if you don’t. But I’m going to store this so your crazy boss can’t ruin our night.” She tosses my phone into her purse and zips it with a quick tug.

  “Is that really necessary?” I ask.

  “It’s more than necessary.”

  Surprisingly, our time in line passes quickly, laughing and chatting about the kids and stories of Catherine until a group of people get in line behind us who join in our conversation. There are at least twelve of them, and I’m guessing they’re barely twenty-one, but it doesn’t seem to matter as they laugh with us, the conversation light and easy.

  We reach the bouncer, and he looks at us collectively, as though not recognizing the age difference between us and the group who’s joined us, and asks us for our IDs. Felicity’s face splits in half with happiness as she digs in her small purse for her license.

  The music is so loud the bass pumps through me like a second heartbeat. The club is dark, illuminated with multicolored lights that stream down from the ceiling and moving patterns that distract me from the crowds. Felicity grabs my arm, holding on as we follow the group of friends through the club toward the back where there is a bar and larger dance floor.

  “Let’s get a drink first,” Felicity says, shifting from following me to leading me through the throngs of people to the shiny, waxed surface of the bar. She lifts her hand, and it’s not surprising the bartender instantly notices her. Even in sweatpants, Felicity catches people’s attention.

  “What can I get you ladies?” he asks, a grin teasing his lips.

  Felicity leans closer, his mild flirting fueling her. “We were told you guys are known for your martinis.”

  The bartender’s smile grows wider, and he leans closer. “We’re known for all sorts of things, sweetheart.”

  Felicity bats her long lashes shamelessly. “Perfect. I’ll have a Park Avenue, and she’ll have a Metropolitan.”

  He winks then and reaches for two glasses.

  Felicity turns to me, her lips wide and pressed together. “He’s cute,” she whispers.

  “He’s looking for a nice tip.”

  “He was totally checking you out.”

  “Likely to determine how desperate I look.”

  She shakes her head, swift and firm. “You’re wrong. You have so much confidence when it comes to not caring how you look or what people think of you, yet you never realize when a guy is checking you out. How is that possible?”

  “A”—I lift a finger—“you realize how many hours a week I waste straightening my hair, right?”

  She laughs, dismissing my objection with another shake of her head.

  “B, if I didn’t care what others thought of me, I’d stop leaving my phone on mute and maybe consider replying to some of the texts I’ve been receiving over the past several weeks.”

  “You’re looking at this through a single lens, Books.”

  “And C,” I continue, “the bartender wasn’t checking me out. He was checking you out.”

  “I love you, but this breakup has messed with that pretty mind of yours.”

  The bartender delivers our drinks with another flirtatious grin, and though our eyes lock for a brief moment, I refuse to admit he’s looking for more than a tip.

  We drink them too quickly, the early hour encouraging us to seek a buzz that will not only conclude our current conversation and this long week, but
begin a new page—a new start.

  I slide my credit card across the bar. “Please open a tab.”

  As expected, his eyes brighten, obliging instantly. “You’ve got it. What else can I get you both?”

  I look to Felicity, her cheeks flushed. “Let’s go dance, first.” She reaches for me, our fingers linking as she leads us out to the dance floor, finding several from the group we spent time with while waiting in line. She tips her head back, moving her hips to the beat, allowing herself to become absorbed in the music and moment. Our hands remain joined as I work to relax and enjoy this escape from reality.

  An hour later, it’s becoming a struggle to lose myself and the many thoughts and concerns that have been taxing me. The longer we dance, the more my feet hurt, and the more my feet hurt, the more I consider all the things at work that need to be done. How badly I need to impress the clients and guests lists alike to ensure I not only distract myself from how I’m currently living in my best friend’s guest room, but also from how I’ve seen Gabe three times in the time we’ve been apart and each time he’s been with her.

  “I’m going to get something to drink,” I tell Felicity, squeezing her hand before releasing it. I disentangle myself from the crowds and make my way back to the bar that’s started to thin as more have gained liquid courage.

  “Need a drink?” the bartender asks.

  “What do you have on tap?”

  He lists the titles of several beers without pause, and I order one I’ve never heard of. It’s a drink chosen to provide me with an excuse to stand at the bar and not engage in conversation.

  Within moments, he delivers a filled glass, and I smile my thanks, my attention continuing to shift periodically from the crowds to where Felicity continues dancing. My fingers quickly become red and cold, gripping the frosty glass. It’s a nice contrast to the hot and stuffy club.

  A man slides up to the bar beside me, a crisp, black button-down-covered shoulder successfully blocking my view of where Felicity is with our new group of friends.

  “If you face me and smile like you’re glad to see me, I might be able to rescue you from that guy over there.” His voice is deep yet clear even over the noise of the club. He drops an elbow to the bar and leans forward so that his face comes into view. His hair is nearly the color of gold, neither blond nor brown, but somehow hints at being both, his eyes a startling shade of blue that distracts me from looking at him further for several seconds.