to get on track and stay there. You've done a damn good job."
I stared at him, not because he complimented me, but because I wanted to know where this was going.
"I am confused as to where this is going," I said, not too kindly. "How did we segway from my affair with Kyle to my work? Are you firing me?"
"Fire you? No, of course not. Firing you would bring questions and unwanted attention and we don't need any
more
of that right now,” he nodded to my pregnant bel y. “Besides, I’ve always wanted you to stay with the company, to grow here."
"Then what do you want,
Walter
?" I've never in my life addressed him by his first name.
"You're making Kyle lose focus of what's most important. He should already be married by now, having children with Jessyca Venner, not you."
His tone was stil so casual, that it was making me a little queasy. I never thought that this man who I had always thought wel of could be so evil
under it al .
"What if he doesn't want the bitch?" I asked.
"It doesn't real y matter if he wants the bitch or not. There is a lot of money riding on their inevitable nuptials, a lot of money and the birth of a
whole new era here at Sterling Corp."
"Don't you think that's a lot of pressure to put on one person?"
"He was fine until he started screwing you. You've got him al wrapped up in you, he can't see or think straight."
"Some may say the man is in love."
"And I would agree, but he has a duty to two families."
"Does Jess know she's someone's
duty
?"
"Yes, she does, but she truly loves Kyle, and in some ways, Kyle loves her, but not the way he loves you."
"It doesn't matter," I said, putting my glass down. "His 'duty' wil win."
"With you and the bastard child around, he could delay this thing for an extremely long period of time. Timing is everything."
For the first time, I felt an emotional response directed at my baby. I put a protective hand over my bel y, offended, and hoping his little ears did
not understand the word bastard.
"I have to admit, I'm jealous," Walt chuckled lightly. "You're a gorgeous woman, with a fantastic personality, and I would bet thousands that
you're an animal in bed."
"Don't tel me you want to take me for a test drive," I said.
"Who wouldn't want to? Even in your current state," He laughed. "But that would only further complicate matters, would it not?" He strol ed away to the other side of the room, where he pul ed a picture off of the wal , revealing a safe. I snickered, thinking it was cliché, obvious.
I stared out of the window while Walt rambled on about the good of the many outweighing the good of the few, or something. I vaguely
remembered Mr. Spock saying something like that in a Star Trek movie, and thought how unoriginal Walter Sterling was.
"So," he said, with a finality that made me turn around. On his desk were four stacks of cash. I thought maybe he wanted me to go to the bank
for him or something, but then it hit me.
"You're trying to pay me off?"
"There's one mil ion dol ars here. I wil keep you on the payrol , also, so you won't be losing anything. You can eventual y return to the company,
or if you like you can just go work at one of our other locations, or not come back at al . I would understand."
"You realize that my own family is wealthy and I'm not in need?"
"Even the wealthiest of people aspire to acquire more money."
"What if I refuse your offer?"
"It never once occurred to me that you would refuse."
"You're a little too confident, don't you think?"
"Not at al . Let's be frank, Emmy. You don't like being Kyle's side piece, you know in your heart that he isn't going to commit to you. You're
probably fal ing apart inside, wishing you could escape, just disappear. It's better that you leave on your own than to be forced."
"You're forcing me." I whispered.
"I am providing you with a means of escape."
I was angry that he was offering me a bribe. I was more angry that I was thinking about accepting it.
"I don't trust you," I said to Walter. "And your ideas are total swiss cheese, anyone could see through them, and who does this?" I pointed at the pile of money. "There are hungry children throughout the city and you want to pay off your son's mistress. I feel like I'm in the middle of a daytime
soap. That money is probably company money anyway, which means you'd just nail me for embezzlement. You're crazy."
"You thought about it," he said, not hiding his animosity for me. "You were going to accept my offer."
"I don't want your money, Walter."
"I have a confession, Miss Grayne," he said, pouring himself another drink. "It's real y not my money or company money."
Now it was real y turning into a soap, except I didn't need the TV guide to let me know who the possible culprit could be.
The bracelet sparkled in the sunlight, as I turned my wrist back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, sparkle, sparkle. I twisted and sparkled
until my arm got tired, and then I regressed to absent mindedly fondling the bracelet, while staring at the rol ing green French country side, dotted
with the occasional house.
I spoke French as wel as I spoke Klingon, and I only knew some very bad Klingon words. Fortunately, the family that I was staying with spoke
fluent English and wasn't at al offended by my lack of language skil s. Helene and Marcus were friends Donya had acquired in her travels as a
model years ago. When I literal y needed to escape my life in America, Donya brought me to Helene and Marcus.
Helene was a photographer by profession and for kicks. Often, when I wasn't paying attention, she would snap pictures of me. There were
several pictures with my hand resting on my pregnant bel y, and just as many of me looking at the bracelet on my wrist. I didn't look happy in any of
the pictures. I didn't look sad either, but I didn't look like my mind was anywhere in the country.
Helene's husband Marcus was from old money and didn't real y have a profession, but he tinkered with various things: painting, writing, trying
various musical instruments and during my stay his hobby of choice is designing clothing for my unborn child. Usual y the item was missing
something fundamental to wearing it, like an arm, or the hole for the head. One time the shirt had an extra arm. I always kindly pointed out the
mistakes to Marcus. He would curse in Italian and sometimes try to rip it apart. I didn't take it personal y. I once witnessed him destroy a flute because he couldn't master a certain song, and there were a few paintings around the house that had obviously received a swift kick from a hefty
foot.
My time in France wasn’t anything to marvel at, nothing exciting to report. Even though I had Helene and Marcus and their occasional visitors, I
felt completely alone. I was very pregnant without a father for my baby. No Luke and no Kyle. I was financial y able to care for my baby, but raising a
child isn't something that I ever wanted to do alone, at least not under these circumstances. My heart was shattered and I sometimes wondered if
there was enough of it left to care for a needy child. I was sure that I loved my baby, but I always questioned whether or not my feelings would shrink
into resentment. The thought was unnerving, but I could not succeed in completely pushing it out of my head.
Sometimes I didn't real y want to go back to the states, back to the nightmare I created. I didn't want the stares of pity or to hear the sighs of
disappointment, but my return was inevitable. My family and doctor insisted upon it, and truthful y, I didn't think Helene and Marcus wanted to deal
with a screaming infant and the child's depressed mother. So, two and a half months after I arrived, my mother came to retrieve me. After more than
half a day on a plane with her, though, I was ready to face whatever was on the ground for me in America.
***
and I always conformed with weak knees and bated breath. I missed his hand on the smal of my back, guiding me in whatever direction he wanted.
I missed his laughter, his smile, and his perfect brown eyes. I even missed the way he would look at me in a crowded room, in a way that only I
understood: "I love you...I want you" and when times were rough "I miss you, I'm sorry."
The last time I saw Kyle was New Years morning. At the company New Years party, he had given me those looks, loaded with unspoken words
and emotions after kissing Jessyca at the stroke of midnight. When she put her hand on his face, a dazzling diamond ring that could be seen from
the moon nearly blinded me with grief. I had turned away, weaved through the bodies of people kissing or singing Auld Lang Syne, pressed through
the drunkards and the single lonely people and flung myself out into the night. I stood on the sidewalk, watching people on the street celebrating the
New Year, listening to cars honking. In the distance, at Penn's Landing, fireworks were booming in the sky.
I had forgotten my coat in my haste to get out of the party, and shivered violently in the night air while I waited for the valet to get my car. The
coat was expensive but I wasn't going back in that place. I didn't want to run into Kyle or Jess or anyone else for that matter. People were already
looking at me lopsided before, but the baby bump I was sporting gave people reason to openly stare at me and whisper with me in hearing range.
Now Jess was rocking that rock, and I wasn't going back in there unless I wanted everyone to see how humiliated I was.
I dug my ticket out of my purse and handed it to the valet who was standing nearby.
"Do you want to wait just inside until I bring your car around?" He asked kindly.
"Oh, hel no. I'm not going back in there. I'l be fine."
He shrugged and trotted off to retrieve my car. I hoped he wouldn't take too long so that I could leave before Kyle came out. Other party goers
came out, some to smoke, others to also leave. No one paid me any mind, and I was fine with that. My car appeared at the same time Kyle stepped
up next to me.
I glanced at him, but said nothing before stepping off of the curb and squeezing myself behind the wheel. He leaned on the door, preventing me
from closing the door. I stared straight ahead, swal owing constantly, trying to keep the lump in my throat from exploding.
"I'm sorry," he whispered so no one out on the sidewalk could hear. "There's a lot you don't understand, that you don't know about. Jess has me
by the bal s -"
"Clearly," I said, my tone sharp and insensitive, even though his was genuinely pained.
He inhaled deeply and let it out in a huff.
"Look, I wil come over around nine and we'l talk."
"I won't be there."
"What time is good for you then? When wil you be home?"
Looking at him with hard eyes, I said "Whatever time I had for you has been used up, sucked dry. You're out of time. I won't be there when you
get there." A horn blew behind me. "Consider this my resignation - from my job, from you, from al of this. I'm done. Now step away from my car."
He stared at me open mouthed, holding on to the door, until someone blew again, longer, and louder. He stumbled back and watched me drive
away.
When I got home, I immediately started packing. I was only taking necessities now, and would have to return later to retrieve other items. While I
packed, I had the airline on speaker phone, trying to book a flight to Louisiana. I didn't necessarily feel like dealing with my mom, but I needed to
take a couple of days to figure out what to do next, and doing it here was impossible. I knew Kyle wasn't going to just leave me alone, and I knew
that had virtual y no defenses if he wanted to keep me. He was my drug, and I his. The only way to solve the problem was to remove the source.
I managed to book a nine-thirty flight. It wasn't as early as I wanted, but I took it anyway. When the cal ended, I saw that I had several text
messages and missed cal s from Kyle. I was surprised and relieved when they didn't continue, and after another hour when he had not shown up, I
relaxed a little. I didn't look at the texts or listen to the voicemail. It wasn't going to help anything to see or hear what he had to say. If this was the only
self-control I could have, then I was going to keep it.
I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing, and my heart was breaking off piece by piece every minute that passed. I let a few tears slip by, but I
refused to bawl. I would al ow myself a good cry at a later time. I found some empty boxes in the garage and decided to start the tedious task of
packing up some of my personal items that I could have someone ship to me later. I turned some music on and lost myself in the task for a couple of
hours. I was so involved in what I was doing that I never heard the front door or his approach. I was in my bedroom, standing at my bed packing
some things from my closet when he spoke, making me drop everything I was holding and jump backwards, frightened by his sudden appearance.
Kyle stood in the doorway, clearly drunk. He reeked of alcohol, the smel easily wafted across the room. His bowtie was gone, several buttons
unbuttoned on his shirt, and parts of it hung out of his pants, wrinkled.
"What are you doing?" He quietly demanded.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to slow down my heart with a few even breaths. I picked up the things I had dropped and resumed
packing.
"What are you doing?" He asked again, staggering into the room.