Emma vs. The Tech Guy (20 page)

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Well, I haven’t gotten that far into my plan. I’ll be in touch, but it might just be getting him to meet us somewhere. And maybe soften him up a bit.”

“All right,” I said reluctantly. I could see this backfiring, but the risk was worth it. To bring Howard’s family back together would at least be one good thing I did, or had a part in. “Just call me when you guys get here.”

After I hung up with Emilia, I stayed on the bench for a moment thinking about how things seem to happen for a reason. Howard’s parents coming could be a sign. Maybe it was a sign that things were coming full circle. After all, they’d had a hand in this whole crazy situation in the first place.

I didn’t want to miss the end of the game, so I started to get up from the bench when the locker room door swung open and almost hit me in the face. A petite, dark-haired woman pranced past me, shaking her plump backside. The words “Kitty Kat” sprawled across a pair of tight, black shorts.

“Whatever happened to the dress code?” I said a bit too loudly.

“Excuse me?” she said, spinning on a heel. She threw back her hair and put a hand on her hip. That’s when I saw who it was. My list of people that annoy the hell out of me is obnoxiously long, but this person held the number one spot!

“Oh, God. Not you,” I said. “Please tell me you have not joined this gym.”

“Emma,” Lizette said, giving me the once over. “Good to see you, too.”

I looked down on the pint-sized traitor. “Here to spy on me some more?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. I can’t help it if we have the same taste.”

Yeah, and the exact same ideas, which she stole and took to our competitor. I wasn’t even going to ask if she still worked at
We Women
. They probably fired her ass long ago.

“I don’t have time for this,” I said and then held up my phone. “Siri, find me a skank-free gym. Scratch that. Find me a non-backstabbing, skank-free gym.” When she didn’t answer because I obviously don’t have Siri, I added, “She must be compiling a list,” and then I walked off.

When I got back to the court, there were four minutes left on the clock. We were winning by two points and Marty was in the game! I scanned the area looking for Clive as I strode quickly back to my seat.

“What the heck did I miss?”

“Poor Clive almost passed out,” Nannette said. She pointed to the back corner of the gym where he sat with an employee who held a wet towel to his forward.

“Poor Clive?” Jayne said. “Poor, Marty! Just look at him out there.”

He did look like a frightened puppy. For the last couple minutes of the game, Marty ran up and down the court, following his teammates. I guessed they’d told him to stay away from the ball.

Once again our team was down by one point with only seconds left on the clock. I was stunned that Adam and Guy had carried the team that far. Bill called a time out to do his best Pat Riley and hopefully pull off one of the best wins in
New You
history.

But there seemed to be some dissension within the huddle. Bill was waving his hands wildly, while Guy shook his head and Marty stared at the floor. The ref blew the whistle and our team continued their dispute. The ref, who looked to be about the same age as Bill, came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

I had no idea what went on in that huddle, but what happened on the court simply could not have been planned. At least not that perfectly. Eddie threw the ball in to Adam, who dribbled it down the court and passed to Guy at the half-way mark. Guy passed to Bill, who passed it back to Adam at the top of the key. Adam faked a shot, then bounce-passed it behind an opposing player and over to Guy. Meanwhile, Marty stood off to the side like he was working out Pythagorean’s theorem, or a gas bubble from lunch. The clock was now mere seconds from expiring.

Guy inched toward the basket, dribbling and fending off his opponent. All hands were out, the players shouting at him to pass the ball for the final shot. Then out of nowhere, Marty broke into a speed walk, not a run, over to Guy. Guy spun around, putting his back to his opponent, handed the ball to Marty, and held up his hands to provide a barrier. A second later Marty’s shot went up, bounced off the rim, and then fell in for the two points.

In a typical after-school special, Marty became the hero, and our handful of spectators began to clap and cheer. We got a nice volume boost by the acoustics, but I noticed a howling coming from somewhere behind me. I turned and scanned the length of the back wall. In the corner by the door Lizette was cheering her little head off.

Chapter 21

I started a mental countdown to the launch party, subconsciously knowing that it would probably end up being D-day. I figured I owed it to the magazine to hold it together until then. If I was going to blow this taco stand, I wanted to do it
Die Hard
style. The night would be a complete success, launching a whole new identity for
New You
, and I’d go down in the magazine’s history as the most influential liar that ever set foot in the place. I’d planned to have a sit down with Bill as soon as the helium drained from the balloons. Jayne was another story. I still hadn’t figured out what to do with her. Having a bestie (well, at least a girl bestie) was still new to me. I couldn’t see any way around not hurting her feelings. I could only hope that she’d eventually forgive me.

Somehow I’d breezed right through Wednesday without any catastrophes—unless you count almost approving copy with a typo that could have branded us as not only unprofessional and amateurish, but may have earned us an unwanted cult following. The piece was a book review on a journal-style memoir that included some excerpts from the novel. One sentence from the author’s diary read,
He had eagerly sunk Dick’s only chance at victory
. Somehow the N in
sunk
had been typed as a C. I found it suspect that this was not picked up in proofing, and if I’d had the time or the energy, I might have investigated the possibility of sabotage.

It was creeping past five o’clock and I hadn’t seen Guy for two days. I was relieved I didn’t have to work to avoid him, but a part of me felt empty. I found myself watching the hallway when I heard footsteps approaching. I jumped when my intercom buzzed. I thought about the way he would look at me when I talked to him, like whatever I was saying was so damn fascinating. I thought about his ever-present smile, and how it had a way of spreading throughout the entire office. But then I remembered witnessing that smile fade, turn to something that didn’t belong on his heavenly face. I couldn’t help feeling responsible for that. Just add it to the Emma Royal Screw-Ups list.

Bill buzzed me at five forty-eight, right as I swung my purse over my shoulder.

“Good news and bad,” he said, like he was giving me a choice.

“What’s up?”

“Guy’s got the multimedia set-up working.”

“Great.” I’d had the idea to run a live feed of the party on our website, as well as digital displays throughout the room featuring sneak previews of the new issue. Partygoers could see new columns and features before they hit the newsstands the following week.

“He’s over there now and wants one of us to go check it out.”

“So, by one of us, you mean me.”

“Right.” He paused. “I, uh, promised Eleanor we’d go pick out a new dress for her for tomorrow night.”

“Sure, I’m on way.”

“Thanks, Emma.”

I wasn’t thrilled about making the trip over there, through rush hour and alone with my thoughts. For the first twenty minutes, I stuck in my ear piece and called Emilia about her parents. They were due to arrive tomorrow afternoon, but Howard and I would be at the launch party that night. I still hadn’t decided when or how to tell him about their visit. To keep quiet and spring it on him like some kind of family intervention would surely blow up in my face. I wanted them to work out their differences, but I couldn’t do that to Howard. Though lately I’d had the dreaded feeling that Howard might drop a bombshell of his own.

After volleying back and forth like players in a ping pong match, Emilia and I finally agreed to set up a brunch at her house. I would have the pleasure of telling Howard. The only question was when. I wondered if I should wait and tell him as we were driving over. Or maybe I could get him drunk at the party the night before and tell him while dancing. He couldn’t make a scene there. I played it out in my head as I exited the freeway. In my version, Howard hugs me, thanks me profusely for my part in bringing his family back together. There was one problem with the fairytale I saw so clearly: Howard’s dad had to not be an ass.

Guy met me in the lobby of the Regency Hotel, and I trailed him back to the ballroom. I hadn’t been back there since we booked the place last month.

“Oh, my gosh. It looks fantastic,” I said, noticing our banner right away. I hadn’t expected anything to be set up until tomorrow morning. An instant rush hit me, then poured over my body like warm whiskey. Our newly designed cover was blown up to the size of a small swimming pool and mounted on a moving partition.

“Yeah, Judy told me they put it up this morning so it wouldn’t get wrinkled or damaged. They don’t have anything booked tonight, so it worked out. C’mere, I want to show you something else.” The infectious excitement in his voice caused my legs to break out into a silly little skip. I caught myself and relaxed into a cool stride. He led me to a table that had a tablet set up with octopus-like cables running all around it.

“What’s this?”

“Here’s one of the stations where guests can either visit the website, or they can touch here to see parts of the new magazine.” Instead of looking at the screen, I trailed his arm up to his broad shoulders and rested my gaze on his profile. A thin shadow of stubble laid across the rough skin on his cheek. I hadn’t noticed before how long his eyelashes were. After a few seconds his voice faded to a murmur, and all I could see was that long, dark fringe bowing up and down. Then I felt a tap on my arm.

“Emma, you okay?”

I turned to find him watching me, confused. “What? Oh, sorry, fine.” For a moment, I almost thought I saw anger in his eyes.

“You give it a try now,” he said.

I went through a number of the screens that were important to me, including a few of the great new magazine features I wanted to show off. The speed and ease of getting around the site impressed me, and I allowed myself to smile at Guy.

“Nice work. What about all these cables, though?”

“Don’t worry. Most of that will be gone.” His initial excitement faded, replaced now with a cool awkwardness. “Just had some technical difficulties earlier.”

Seeing it all come together was exciting. Yet it felt somewhat tainted when the thought of losing it all crept in. As I walked around the room envisioning it coming together tomorrow night, I wanted to kick myself in the ass. Here I was supposed to be this incredible problem solver, and I’d given up. Wasn’t there some way I could turn it all around and still come out a winner? I had twenty-four hours to figure out the answer to that question.

Guy and I discussed the logistics of taping during the party for the live feed. It wouldn’t run continuously, but enough would be taped and then looped again and again once it was over. We went over the other details in a professional, businesslike manner that set my teeth to grinding.

“Anything else you think we need to go over?” I asked.

“That’s about it. Why don’t you head home? I’m just going to put this stuff away.” He started packing up the mess of cables and putting them into a leather carrier.

“Thanks again, Guy. You did an incredible job with this stuff.” No matter what happened—or didn’t happen—between us, I wanted him to know how much I appreciated all his work.

“No problem,” he said, without looking up.

I stood for a second waiting for the cold steel door to reopen and the old Guy to step out. But there was no sign of him, and I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much. How could I have expected anything more, when all I’d done was shut him out? No more teasing me, no more sarcastic or funny remarks. Just business. I turned, disappointed, and headed for the exit without another word.

“Emma, wait.”

I stopped short of the door, held my breath, and spun around.

Guy jogged to a table and snatched something flat and square wrapped in brown paper.

“Forgot to give you this.” He handed the object to me and said, “Open it.”

It looked and felt like a large picture frame. I grabbed the top right corner and peeled the paper down. Before I had the thing unwrapped I could already see that it was our new cover. My heart sank at the gesture, and before I could stop myself I swung my free arm around Guy’s neck for a hug.

“Thank you so much. This was just so … so very sweet of you.”

Are you freaking kidding me?
I had no clue what came over me, and why I’d suddenly become a
hugger
. First waiter Denny and now this. When I finally came to my senses, I felt Guy’s hand flatten against my back. His breath floated through the tangles in my hair.
Holy shit!
If I’d had a mirror, I’d have seen that my cheeks had turned fire engine red. And the definition of the word “torn” had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning. I knew that the longer I stayed in that position, the more I wouldn’t want to leave. So, I pulled away and ran the hell out of there.

***

From time to time, I’d walk into Pop’s house to find him fast asleep in his chair, remote dangling from his fingertips. Or he’d be on his bed, above the covers, with a book folded across his chest. The cushy life of a retiree. So when I opened the door that afternoon and heard the church-like silence, I lightened my steps and eased the door shut. My steps creaked across the floor as I headed to the kitchen to check out the back window. He could have been working in the garden or organizing his tiny tool shed.

A faint moan floated toward me from the other side of the house. I turned to see that Pop’s bedroom door was closed to a crack. I took two steps in that direction and stopped.