That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (25 page)

A Holocaust monument.

He read the plaque before joining Esme at the wall. He knew that the sculptures were made out of painted bronze, but the description didn't prepare him for the sight of the white bodies piled below, or the solitary statue standing by the barbed wire at the edge of the monument, staring out at freedom he couldn't grasp.

Esme exhaled deeply. "Doesn't it give you a sense of
saudade
?"

Frowning, he glanced at her. "
Saudade
?"

"Longing," she said. "Yearning. Nostalgia."

"For the past?"

"For what you gave up," she said, facing him. "In case you didn't notice, these are sculptures."

"I didn't give anything up." He looked into the distance. "I couldn't sculpt anymore after she was gone."

"You needed to heal, but
you
didn't die."

He chuckled bitterly. "Believe me, I know."

Her palm shot out and smacked him right in the center of his forehead, between his eyes.

The pain was sharp, and he put a hand over the spot, glaring at her. "What was that about?"

"You're healed," she proclaimed.

He had the odd desire to laugh, so he just scowled harder. "You just won't back down, will you?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully.

"Aren't you supposed to be a love psychic? I didn't think your job description included job counseling."

"I'm full-service for some clients." She grinned at him. Then her expression sobered, and she took his arm. "This is an important moment in your life. You're at a crossroads. Are you going to fade and die alongside Giselle, or are you going to choose to live?"

Georgina's face flashed in his mind, the way she'd looked up at him when they were standing at the edge of the ocean. He felt the longing to hold her, tango with her—to kiss and make love to her over and over again.

He reared back.

Only Esme was there, and her gaze wouldn't let him run away. Her eyes were the purest white-gray, almost glowing, piercing through his walls to his soul.

"In one hand"—she flipped her right palm up—"you have life and love, a blank canvas waiting to be filled. In the other hand"—she revealed her left palm—"you have nothing but loss and emptiness. It's your choice. Which is it going to be?"

He swallowed, looking from palm to palm. Something prodded him toward Esme's right hand.

He shook his head. "She doesn't want me."

Esme snorted. "George wouldn't admit that she needed air if it was going to save her life. Don't you know her by now? She needs you to show her the way. She needs you to see her for who she is."

He looked into the distance picturing Georgina's lovely face. A longing, so gentle and sweet and pure—so strong—filled his heart.

Saudade.

He waited for the guilt to follow, for the sadness of losing Giselle, but all he felt was a kiss on his forehead and loving words whisper through him:
Be happy, my love
.

Tears filled his eyes, overflowing and running down his face unchecked.

Esme's eyes filled, too, and she took his hand and silently held it as he let the past drain from him.

Remy wasn't sure how long they stood there like that, but finally he wiped his face. As he looked up, the sun came out from behind the low clouds.

"She's happy for you," Esme said, beaming at the sky.

He glanced at her. "You really believe that."

"Of course I do." She glanced at him. "So do you."

Maybe. He looked up again and mentally whispered,
I'll love you always
.

Esme tugged on his hand. "Come on. We have things to take care of."

"Like honoring your landlady?"

Esme laughed. "We just did that. She was always such a fiendish matchmaker, and George was a special project of hers. She's thrilled actually."

"You're weird, you know?" he said, handing her the motorcycle helmet.

She smiled. "I'm starting to see that word as a term of endearment."

"His teeth," Dana said to herself, stuffing another chip in her mouth as she watched the daytime TV doctor. Those couldn't be his real teeth. They looked like dentures made for a horse.

She ate another chip. If only she had a margarita, too. A margarita would be delicious. Everyone who got fired, had no means, and was down on their luck should mainline margaritas and Kettle Buffalo Bleu chips.

The doorbell rang. It had to be a package for Jeannie, because she wasn't expecting anyone and couldn't afford to buy anything. "Just leave it at the door," she yelled over the exuberant clapping from the TV audience.

The doorbell rang again. Twice.

Sighing, she swung her legs off the couch and went to answer. As she opened the door, she said, "You could have just left—"

But she stopped midsentence when she saw Beth standing in the threshold, nervously shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"Hi," the other woman said, raising her hand. She winced. "I haven't seen you at the yoga studio so I thought I'd stop by."

Dana shook her head. "How did you know where I live?"

"I looked it up on the computer when Aaron wasn't watching." Dana winced. "Is that stalkerish?"

"Only if I didn't like you." She stepped aside to let her in. "So it's a good thing I think you're cute."

"What are you doing?" Beth asked, taking in the chip crumbles on the couch and the loud TV.

"What my God-given right as an American is." She grabbed the remote and turned it down. "I'm wallowing."

"Cool." Beth frowned at the television. "Are his teeth real?"

"I read that he got his teeth transplanted from a horse." She swiped the crumbs from the couch and plopped down. "I'd offer to get you something, but all I have are these chips."

"I'm okay." Beth sat down angled toward her. "But I don't think you are. What's going on?"

"Oh, you know, my life going down the toilet." She shrugged. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Start with your bonus."

"No bonus." She cringed, remembering the scene in Scott's office. She hoped his face was okay. It'd be a shame if it was permanently harmed. "I almost got a settlement but Kevin screwed it up."

"Who's Kevin?"

"My ex-husband." She frowned. "Well, he was my lawyer in the moment."

Beth gaped at her. "You used your ex-husband as your lawyer? You must have a nice relationship."

"Not really, and especially not after he punched Scott."

"Who's Scott?"

"An in-house lawyer at my previous employer." She pursed her lips. "He's also majorly hot. He looks like Harry Potter."

"Ew." Beth cringed.

"A grown-up Harry Potter." Dana frowned at her. "I'm not pervy."

"I didn't think you were."

"If you saw Scott, you'd understand." She thought of him, pictured his glasses, and remembered his kiss. His glasses were hot, but his lips were even hotter. She had a feeling she'd never be kissed again the way he'd kissed her. "The thing is, he was nice, too. Really
nice
."

"Oh jeez, you like him," Beth said, hands in front of her mouth.

"Yeah." She looked at the other woman. "I'm a mess."

"You really are."

The phone rang. Dana looked over at it, wondering if creditors were after her. Not that she'd neglected any bills yet, but with the way life was going she figured they'd be after her.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Beth asked.

"I don't think so."

Sighing, Beth reached for the phone. "Hello?" she said.

"What are you doing?" Dana whispered harshly.

The woman held it out. "It's for you."

Drawing a line menacingly across her neck with her finger, she took the phone. "What?"

"Is this Dana Olsen?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"This is Annabelle Warren. We met at Aaron's yoga studio. I have an athletic clothing line."

She bolted upright. "I remember. How are you?"

"Better now that I've tracked you down. I wanted to talk to you more about your social media and ad sales expertise. I hope you don't mind that I got your contact info from Aaron."

She glanced at Beth. "Well, it's not like you showed up on my doorstep like a psycho."

Beth blushed but just shrugged.

"So"—Annabelle continued—"I discussed what you'd done at the yoga studio with Aaron some more. I'm looking for someone who'll drive our social media presence and also drive our ad sales. We do okay, but we should be doing better. I know you did it from the other side, but I think that probably gives you good insight into what we'll need."

She sat up. "It really does."

"I wonder if you'd be willing to do a trial period with us. I'll pay you a regular salary for three months, you show me what you've got, and at the end of the trial if we're both happy we'll figure out a package deal that works."

"What sort of starting salary are you thinking?" she asked with calmness she didn't feel. Frankly, she'd have taken French fries in exchange.

The number Annabelle quoted stunned her into silence.

Beth poked her, nodding at the phone.

"Right." She cleared her throat. "That's fine to start, Annabelle."

"Great," the woman chirped on the other end. "Are you available to come in tomorrow? I want to get started on planning for the spring collection."

"I can be in around eleven."

"I'll text you the address," Annabelle said. "See you then."

Dana hung up and stared at Beth.

Beth raised her brow. "So your job situation seems to be on the mend."

She pumped her fists in the air. "I got a job!"

"So now you need to fix things with Harry."

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter," Beth clarified. "Your hot lawyer."

She plopped back against the back of the couch. "Will he be interested in seeing me? I was mean to him, and then Kevin punched him. That's a lot going against me."

"But you have a lot in your favor, too."

"Like?"

"Like your pretty, tree-like hair." Beth grinned. Then she shrugged. "You don't know unless you try, and you're going to try."

Dana rolled her eyes. "When did you get so bossy?"

"I'm not bossy," her friend said, shaking her head. "I'm being caring. It's what you do for your best friend."

Dana sat up. "When did I become your best friend?"

Beth lowered her head. "I don't know, but I like the idea of it."

Dana smiled, happy for the first time in so long. She took Beth's hand in hers. "Actually, I do, too. But I'm still not going to bed with you."

Beth looked startled, and then they both broke out into laughter as they fell back against the couch.