Slave to Love (29 page)

“You know our whole team was praying she’d get it and we didn’t even work for her. It’s so weird how this turned out. None of it makes sense.”

The emotions coursing through me as I listen to this make it feel like yesterday that she walked out of my office for the last time. What surprises me most is that I have not moved on and as I listen to this conversation, my feelings are all over the place. I’m proud of Sierra and what she built and I’m angry that even the staff sees the injustice. Obviously I’m mad at myself for not being upfront with her and keeping the promotion news from her for my own gain. The overwhelming emotion though is anxiety. I am anxious. I want to see Monica and Beverly and talk to them. Yet, at the same time, I fear what their reaction to me will be.

“There you are.” Robyn is touching my arm. “You look so handsome tonight.” Wearing a short black dress with sequins that wraps around under her arms, the dress leaves her shoulders bare. She runs her hand down from my shoulder to the middle of my chest. “We have a table over there and I’ve got a seat saved for you.”

“I’ll be over once I get a drink.”

“Such an exciting night,” she says to the two in front of me.

They give each other a look when she departs.

Like a bad penny that keeps showing up, Bob Mannon is at our table. I thought the guy was gone, but it appears this is his last hurrah with a big send-off, a video chronicling his time with the company, gift presentations and speeches galore. His wife, Dorothy, is in attendance, making the most amusing sideshow of the night, watching the interaction between her and Robyn. Dorothy is the ultimate Southern Belle, well-schooled in the art of insulting others graciously while maintaining the most demure of demeanors. Robyn is outwitted, outmatched and outclassed.

“Aren’t you a handsome one,” Dorothy’s eyes sparkle when she speaks.

“You beautiful women just make me look better,” I assure her.

“Are you married, Hale?”

“No Dorothy, it seems no one will have me.” I love talking to her. She is a lady. And what she’s doing with this dog is beyond me.

“That, I cannot believe. Handsome, well-educated, an entrepreneur. There’s really no one special in your life?” Her matchmaking wheels are turning.

“There was someone very special until recently,” I confide.

“And she let you go?” Her eyes are wide as she waits for the story.

“The truth is, I lost her, Dorothy.”

“You aren’t over her yet, are you?” The woman is perceptive.

“Not by a long shot,” I admit. “You get people to confess their darkest secrets, don’t you?” I kid.

“Executive’s wife. We have to be multi-skilled.” Her eyes quickly shift to Robyn and then back to me.

Leaning over I whisper in her ear, “There isn’t anyone here that holds a candle to you.” And I’m dead serious.

A few minutes later she asks Bob, “Where is that adorable blonde? Is she sick?”

He looks at her with a blank face.

“Sierra.”

“Oh, she’s no longer with us,” he informs her.

“Well, that’s a loss to the organization,” is Dorothy’s assessment.

Yes it is.
I couldn’t have agreed with the woman more.

How I got on stage for the awarding of plaques to the top performers, I’m not sure. But here I am, shaking hands and congratulating them on a fine performance. Since it is not my organization, it is odd for me, as I am not familiar with the employees or their accomplishments.

Seeing Monica climb the stairs to the stage, I feel my breath catch. In an odd way I am one step closer to Sierra. Kemp presents her award and holding up the plaque, she comments to the crowd, “Another trivet,” sending laughter throughout the entire room. Posing for a picture with Kemp and her new boss, Jonathan, buys me a second to wipe my suddenly wet palms on the side of my suit.

Sticking out my hand as she approaches, Monica doesn’t take it, as all the winners announced before her had. Smiling up at me with a bright beautiful smile, in a low voice she clearly says, “Douche” and walks on. I know there is a smile plastered to my face, but she has caught me off-guard.

A few minutes later when Beverly takes the stage, I’m prepared for her. Taking my hand, her eye contact is direct and intense. With a smile, she utters “Dick” and makes her way down the stage.

Frankly, I am shocked. As a huge client of their company that was unprofessional and rude. But they love Sierra and must know how deeply I have hurt their friend. I need to talk to them. Alone.

After the last award is given and all the President’s Club winners have been announced, a video starts running announcing next year’s President’s Club and getting the team psyched up for a stellar year so that they qualify. The trip is a week in Maui and the room erupts. As the video ends, a light show begins and a DJ sets the room on fire with dance music. Still standing by the stage, Robyn grabs my arm and pulls me onto the dance floor. My eye catches both Beverly and Monica who are witnessing the hijacking.

“Help me,” I mouth to them. “Please help me.”

Captured in the middle of the floor, I’m searching for the nearest escape route. Certainly my military training can help me with that. It’s under a minute before I feel Robyn start to rub on me. With Bob out of commission tonight, I’m her number two man. Like a SWAT team poised to go in, Beverly and Monica flank me before Robyn finishes her first full rub.

Each grabbing a hand, it looks like the three of us are dancing, as we slowly snake our way through the crowd. When we get to the edge of the dance floor, I motion for them to follow me.

Pulling out my keycard, we get into the elevator that serves the penthouse floors and I punch twenty-two. As soon as the door closes and it’s only the three of us in there, I look at them, “I owe you.”

“She’s special, that one.” Beverly’s voice drips with sarcasm. Clearly Robyn is not her favorite person.

“Where are we going?” asks Monica.

“Someplace where we will not be disturbed by Robyn, Susan or anyone else. And the booze is unlimited and free.”

Opening the door, I flip on the light to the Presidential Penthouse, and before us lays an impressive living room richly decorated with a baby grand piano, fireplace and expansive terraces overlooking both the Mississippi River and downtown New Orleans.

“Are we putting you up here?” Beverly asks.

Laughing, “No. I wanted this suite, so I’m putting myself up here.”

“Is this the only one like this?” Monica has my number.

I nod, smiling.

“So, Bob doesn’t have the biggest suite?” She’s smiling back at me.

“That would be correct.” Pausing, “I don’t like the way he treated Sierra.”

“We don’t like the way you treated Sierra.” Beverly turns from her inspection of the room.

“I’m not thrilled with myself either. I would do anything to go back and handle that whole situation differently.” Stepping behind the marble-topped bar. “What can I get you two?”

“Vodka and orange juice.” Beverly doesn’t look up from examining books on the roll-top desk.

Monica takes a seat on the bar stool across from me, “I’ll take a white wine.”

“How is she?” I finally ask. I’m dying to know everything. I want even the smallest detail to help make me feel like she’s real and was part of my life, that I didn’t imagine her. My mermaid.

“She’s good.”

I know that I’m going to have to keep these liquor glasses full to get anything out of these two.

“Is she working?”

“She is.” Monica sips her wine.

“Give me something here, I’m dying to know how she is and what is going on in her life.”

“Why?” Beverly comes and sits on the other bar stool.

“Because I care about Sierra. I worry about her.”

“She can take care of herself.” Monica takes another sip.

“I know that. She’s very self-sufficient. But that is not going to stop me from thinking about her and being concerned about her well-being.”

“You think about her?” Beverly is looking at me through squinted eyes.

“All the time,” I admit. I realize I need to be very candid with these two for them to share anything back. They are loyal to Sierra and very protective. “I think about her all the time.”

“Why? Why do you think about her?” Monica takes another sip and I take the opportunity to refill her glass.

“Why do I think about her?” I repeat. “I didn’t stop caring about her the day she walked out of my life. I never stopped caring about her.” They don’t say anything, so I continue. “I love her and I miss her and I’d do anything to make things right.”

“So why haven’t you?” Monica comes at me like a whip, stinging.

“She was very clear that she wanted me to stay away from her. Not contact her. So I’ve tried to respect her wishes.”

“You sent her shoes.”

Turning to Beverly to address that, “Yes I did. She lost the exact same pair in the flood. I know she loves her shoes, so I wanted to replace them.”

“And you wanted to contact her.” Monica takes another sip.

“Of course I wanted to contact her. I was hoping she’d be ready to talk to me. But that wasn’t the case.”

I refill Beverly’s drink and place it before her. With her lips to the rim, she says, “She wore them New Year’s Eve.” Monica gives her a look for divulging the information.

My shoes on New Year’s. I smile. There’s something very Cinderella about that. “Was she wearing the mermaid?” That slips out of my mouth without my thinking.

They both shake their head. And we’re silent for a moment. I pour scotch into a rocks glass and announce. “I want her back. And I need your help.”

They are shocked at my admission and I know they are thinking why should we help this guy? He hurt her.

Cutting it off at the pass, I lay out my cards. “I love her and I’m not going to get over it, so I need her back. I want her as my girlfriend, I want her as my business partner and when we’re ready I want her to be the mother of my children.” Both their jaws have now dropped. “I handled a situation poorly and unfortunately it was at the beginning of our relationship where we really hadn’t had the time to build up that foundation of trust. So tell me, what do I need to do to get her at least to listen? I’m miserable. Maybe she’s fine and doesn’t give a shit and I’ve gone down this dark road on my own, but make no mistake, I am miserable without her.”

After way too many weeks of feeling a depression I haven’t felt in years, experiencing loss and heartbreak, I have just opened myself fully to these two women. I have laid my heart in their hands and asked them to squeeze it just to keep me alive.

This time it’s not their glasses I’m refilling. It’s my own.

Beverly is the first to speak. “She’s miserable too, Hale. She’s not over you. Not by a long shot. She’s hurt and she’s heartbroken and feels how can she trust or give her heart to a man who will put her at the bottom of the list and manipulate situations to his advantage without thinking about how they affect her.”

“I understand. But that is not who I am and I don’t need to learn a lesson twice. When I make a mistake, I learn from it and change the behavior. That’s where my success comes from. I’ve learned so much about myself in the past few months, well, actually since the day I met her. I think I’m a better man for it and I’d like her to meet that man.” I look from Monica to Beverly, “Can you help me figure out how to make that happen?”

“Hale, we need to stay out of this,” Monica informs me, so I fill her glass again.

“But I want her to have my babies.” I am shitfaced and they have to be too with the way I am pouring.

“Are you drunk?” Beverly is peering at me through those slitted eyes again. She is intense. Very intense.

Nodding my head, “I am. But I still want Sierra to have my babies.” Earnestly, I add, “Four of them.”

“Four of them,” Monica spits out her wine as we all descend into gut-wrenching laughter. “You want Sierra to have four kids, good luck with that.” Tears are streaming down Monica’s face.

“I can hire help. I can afford that.”

“She’s going to need it.”

“I just have to knock her up. Four times.” As if I’ve just delivered the funniest punchline on the planet, we are all in hysterics. “So Auntie Monica and Auntie Beverly, I need your help.”

“Knocking her up?” Beverly looks confused and I pour her more vodka and orange juice from a carafe.

“No. I can do that myself. I can. I just need you guys to let her know I love her. Very, very much. But I’m going to tell her that myself, too.” Pausing, I smile at them, “We need to start working on the babies. She’s not getting any younger.” Monica is pounding on the bar she is laughing so hard.

“We’ll help if you promise to keep a picture of you and pregnant Sierra on your desk for Robyn to see.”

“Done.” I pound the bar with my fist like a gavel.

“So what kind of babies are you going to have?” Beverly is lost in a fog world.

“Humans and maybe a few animals, too.”

“No, girl or boy?” she clarifies.

“Oh. I want three boys and the last one to be a girl.” I am totally serious when I spell that out.

A minute later we are all howling like drunk hyenas.

I think this is the first time I’ve smiled since Sierra walked out of my office.