From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (7 page)

He slides his hand across the table and finds mine, taking it and gently squeezing. “Are you looking for closure or something else?” He sighs as if he’s exasperated by me. “I don’t want you hurt again. I don’t want you to end up like you were before.”

I hold his hand firmly. “I don’t know what I want anymore—”

My hand goes cold. He’s on his feet, money hitting the table before I have time to finish my sentence. I watch him leave the restaurant. I should rush after him, but I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then I make my way out the doors and into the chic waiting lounge by the escalators. “I thought you left me.” I hate how weak I sound.

Brandon’s eyes lock with mine, the venom oozing before he strikes. “I would never leave you, Jules. I’m not
Dylan
.”

I wrap my arms quickly around his middle, resting my cheek on his chest. Some of this is for him, some for me. We often confuse who’s supposed to be feeling what and when these days. Some days it makes me want to take a step back and reaffirm my own strengths. Others, I need him too much, reminding me of how we used to hang out back when I was still Juliette…

Brandon, our neighbor, has invited us to the movies. I’ve been dying to see it, but Dylan hasn’t. I know he’s stressing about his monthly quota and money, but we can afford this small luxury. Dylan says, “You go. I’m tired. I’ve had a long day and I just want to veg out.”

“I don’t want to go without you—”

“You’ve been wanting to see that movie for weeks now.”

I feel bad, guilty for leaving him alone. “I can stay home, make dinner. We can cuddle.”

“No, go. Trust me. I’m in a bad mood anyway.”

There’s a pause. “Okay, if you’re sure,” I say.

He’s staring at the TV ahead, remote pointed at the screen. “I am. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you,” he mumbles not looking my way.

I’m pathetic for not letting the pain go, for holding onto it while holding my best friend. Brandon is gonna hate me soon enough because right here, in his arms, I know what I’m going to do and it sucks, but I have to. Even if it hurts him.

DYLAN SPINS AROUND
in the large burgundy chair, tossing his headphones on the desk like he just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

Was he?
My stomach is unsettled by the thought, my confidence faltering.

He’s on his feet, mouth agape, and staring… but only momentarily. I have a strong suspicion he never loses his cool for long. My defenses rise in his presence.

“Julie—” He corrects himself. “Jules, I’m surprised to see you.” He stammers and for a brief second, I see the boy I knew through his discomfort, which makes me smile. He also smiles, but his breathing is heavier than it should be. “I wasn’t expecting,” he starts again, then pauses to run his hands carelessly through his hair like old times, but his fingers stop when he remembers his hair is styled. He’s messed it up now. I love that I’ve thrown him off balance. “I’m just, well, you know, this is unexpected. You visiting me.” I glance at one of the chairs in front of his desk. Noticing, he offers, “Come in. Have a seat.”

I cross the first five steps of the beige office, analyzing all he’s become since our break-up. Apparently he’s a big deal around here, judging by the corner office. Maybe the years haven’t been as hard as I had wished on him.

I watch him sit back, his hands bracing himself to the arms of the chair. Inwardly, I enjoy that his mind must be going crazy with assumptions as to why I’m visiting him at work.

Detouring to the window, I take a deep breath as the silence lengthens between us, making him more uncomfortable. I can feel his nervous energy from here, it’s palpable. Dylan is nothing like he was the other night, the false calm and bravado not crutched by alcohol.

“Jules?” he says, breaking the silence by speaking my name.

“You surprised me at my work, so I’m returning the favor,” I reply, turning around and leaning my back against the window sill. I try to maintain control of the situation, pretending I’m comfortable being like this with him again.

“I didn’t know you worked at that gallery,” he justifies, and I actually believe him. He seemed surprised, but held it together. “I’m sorry if you felt intruded upon.”

“No, it’s not that.” I owe him nothing, so I stop there. I scan his office for photos and see two frames, one on the low console behind him. His parents—happy, all smiles, arms around each other’s shoulders. Picture perfect. I miss them. I wonder if he knows that his mother still emails me.

The other frame is smaller and facing away from me. I want to see it, to know who it is, to see the person that has found a place of honor on his desk, but I can’t and I won’t snoop. I’m not the least concerned about coming off as polite. It’s not that at all. It’s that in that moment, in this room filled with old, wilting, mixed-up feelings, I’m scared to know the truth about the man Dylan Somers has become. I’m afraid of finding out I was forgotten the same day he left. That would hurt me in new ways and change the memories that were good between us.

Why I decided to torture myself this way, I’ll never know. I have nothing to prove to him, so I head for the door without another word. His footsteps are heavy on the carpeted floor behind me. “Jules, wait.”

I don’t wait and he stops shy of the double doors that separate the reception desk from the offices of importance that lie beyond where we came from. The desk is still abandoned by an employee taking their lunch break, an employee that is the gatekeeper for Dylan. The employee that I never encountered due to off-timing in his or her schedule, the one who would normally keep people like me from visiting.

The elevator button is pressed as the glass door shuts quietly behind me. Stepping inside, I push L, then secure myself in the back corner hoping for a non-stop descent. I’m not that lucky. The elevator doors slide open one floor down.

“Jules?”

“Hello.” I smile, pleasantly surprised. Maybe my luck is changing.

AUSTIN BARKER, ONE
of my top art buyers, steps into the elevator with me, double checking that the lobby button is highlighted. When he turns back to me, he smiles as if disbelieving his own eyes. A thrill resides there when he looks at me, making my stomach clench in the best of ways. “This is a nice surprise,” he says, his smooth but deep voice shooting straight for my heart.

He’s not the aggressive type and has proven his patience with me through the years. I’ve always found him quite charming, and surprised he stayed single. Dark hair highlights his handsome face with his straight nose leading to full lips. His sharp jaw and green eyes are not to be discounted. From the side, I see he’s got a small bump at the bridge of his nose that’s barely noticeable, but I notice, and I really like the flaw.

I grip the railing behind me and stand more upright. “Yes, a nice surprise,” I repeat his words. I’m still shaken from seeing Dylan moments earlier, so I brush my hand down my skirt, needing to be professional in front of a client. My head tilts and I smile before trying again. “It’s really good to see you, Austin. Are you in the building on business or do you work here?”

The elevator music fades away as our conversation begins. He smiles, looking down, a bit shy. When his eyes meet mine again, he says, “I’m here on business. My financial group is in the building.”

Dylan works in finance
.

Turning my attention back to Austin, I ask, “I’ll have the paint—” but I’m interrupted by the doors opening.

“Oh, we’re here.” Austin waves his hand out for me to exit first.

The lobby is busy, but it’s New York, which makes it easier to blend into the crowds and lose myself usually. But I’m with Austin and liking the change. We walk together past security and toward the doors. I continue what I started to say before, “The painting should be delivered this week. We’ll be calling you to set up a date and time at your convenience.”

“It’s an interesting piece. I look forward to seeing it hanging in my home.”

“I think it’s a great addition to your collection.”

We step onto the sidewalk and both stop. Looking around, then back at him, I kind of wish we had more time together. I shift and then turn back catching his eyes directed at me. “Jules?” A nervous pause. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” he asks, referencing a car at the curb. “My car is right over here.”

Following his hand, a sleek black car is waiting. A driver stands, opening the door when he sees Austin.

“No, that’s fine—”

“I insist,” he says, stepping closer, cautiously. “I don’t have any more appointments today and no commitments tonight. That’s a rare occurrence for me.”

I hate taking cabs across town at the beginning of rush hour, but I know it’s not just that. I know it’s really that I want more time with him. “Alright then.”

We slip into the backseat, and as soon as the door closes, the world outside is silenced and it’s just the two of us. Looking to me, he asks, “Where to?”

I think for a minute. I could always go back to work. It’s early still, only 4:15. I should go to the gallery and get some work done. That would be the responsible thing to do.

But Austin shifts, interrupting the guilty spiel I’m putting on myself, and says, “I’m going out on a limb here because I’m happy to see you. I know we’ve… you’ve kept things professional over the years, but I’d like to spend some more time with you.” He laughs lightly, feeling embarrassed. “You know that already though. How about some coffee or—”

After my lunch with Brandon and then my brief meeting with Dylan, which I already regret, I could really use a drink. “Something stronger like a cocktail?” I ask

“Exactly,” he laughs. “I know this great bar in my neighborhood. It’s a good place to unwind.”

Fascinated by the handsome man next to me, I reply, “Sounds perfect.” He’s most certainly endearing with his shy side, and his persistence reminds me of how many times he’s asked me out over the years. He’s never brought another woman with him to a show or exhibit he’s attended at my gallery. He’s charismatic and likes art, but I also catch him watching me, a kindness to his smile.

“Great!” His zeal is flattering. He directs the driver and off we go.

Austin has money—the paintings, the chauffeured driven car, his apartment in Tribeca. I take a deep breath. I had inklings before, but now to hang out with him, to see the life he leads outside the gallery… it’s a lot to take in. My deep breath doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you alright, Jules?”

His concern is evident. “I’m fine. I just haven’t done…” I say, waving my hand between us, “…this in a while.”

“
This?
Oh.” He understands I’m referring to us, being together much like a date. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If you want to go, you can tell me and Henry will take you home. There’s no pressure. Just two friends having a drink together for the first time.”

His sweet nature makes me smile, putting me at ease. “Thank you, but I’m just being silly. I want to be here, with you. Anyway, it’s not our first date. It’s about our seventh, I would say.”

The car pulls to the curb and he opens the door before the driver has a chance. Leaning down, he offers me a hand as I slide across the slick leather. When I set my hand in his, his hold tightens and our eyes meet. His are stunning, an innocence of hope residing there. Maybe that’s what happy looks like. It’s been too long since I’ve seen happy this close. His hand goes to my lower back, gentle guidance, care. Laughing so effortlessly, he says, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Just treat this like, like when we’re at the gallery. Now, let’s get that drink.”