Unfaithful (12 page)

She proceeds up the stairs, stops, and then retreats back down.

“Do you think you are the only one who feels desire?” Carly eyes him curiously. “Do you honestly think I am incapable of wanting what you want? Please! I’m not dead, you know. I walk down the street and feel what you feel—the same desire you experience to be with another. Yes, Ryan—it happens to
me,
too—it happens to all of us—that feeling—the wondering—what would it be like to lay with that man who just passed me by. The one with the sexy smile and the broad shoulders. I wonder. I fantasize. Just like you do. Do you honestly think I don’t?”

Ryan stares at her incredulously.

“Obviously you don’t. Your look gives you away! Isn’t that typical?” Her foot hits the bottom landing with a thud as she laughs. Ryan instinctively jumps back.

“Men are all the same, thinking they’re the only ones who pine away about being with someone else. As if the rest of us are lifeless inside. Well, I’m here to tell you, husband, I’m not dead. I think and feel the same things you do. I have desires just like you. I wonder what it would be like to be with another man. Difference is, I don’t act on those feelings.”

Ryan gulps.

“If I acted every single time I felt desire in these loins, well then,” she says, sauntering up to him until mere inches separate them, “I’d be nothing but a fucking animal, a baboon, a whore…nothing more.”

With that, she spins on her heels. Carly reaches the landing, pauses, turns to face her husband once again.

“I want you out of this house now. And you are not to return until I sort my feelings out. Whether a week, a month, or more, you—”

“Carly, it’s close to 4:00
A
.
M
.!” he pleads.

She ignores him.

“You will not set foot in our house until I say it’s okay, or I swear to God…”

Ryan’s eyes brim with tears. It is he who now quivers.

“Or what?” he whimpers.

Carly advances on him until her spit can be felt on his shivering cheek.

“Or by God, I’ll cut this baby from my womb myself.”

And with that, she pirouettes, retreating up the stairs until she is gone, out of sight.

It is relatively easy to find the house on 16th Street, thanks to MapQuest. Parking, however, is another issue. She has to drive around for several minutes due to the lateness of the hour. Finally, about two blocks up and one block over, on a narrow street with thick towering elm trees and dark ivy that covers quaint Tudor homes, she is able to find a vacant space. She glides to a stop, kills the engine, and reaches for her cell.

She glances at the tiny screen—four missed calls, two voice mails. Sighing, she dials her number to retrieve the messages, which are both from Olivia.

“Carly, it’s Olivia. I…don’t even know how to begin—can’t find the words to express how deeply sorry I am for hur—”

Carly hits delete.

Second message: “It’s me again. I need to say something else. I know I’ve violated your trust, know I’ve done something terrible, something you can’t possibly forgive me for now, but—”

It is deleted, as well.

She checks herself one final time in the mirror before exiting the vehicle and removing a wheeled travel bag from the trunk. The quiet of the street unnerves her. The block seems sinister from verdant foliage and she is alone—so she moves with a purpose to her step. Finding his house minutes later, she follows the concrete steps to the front door, sucks in a deep breath, and rings the bell.

He is asleep, of course. He hears the bell almost as distant thunder. He’s not exactly sure if what he heard is real. But when she rings the bell a second time, and then a third, he is roused from his sleep. He props himself up on one elbow while cocking his head to the side, eyeing the clock on the nightstand to his right…4:48
A
.
M
.

Who on earth could be at his door?

He rises quickly, wraps a bathrobe around his frame, and places his feet in comfortable house slippers before sauntering down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. The front door presents itself directly in front of him, a thick aging slab of hardwood with a tiny distorted lens for viewing. He peers through it, frowns, tilts his head as if a different angle will somehow give different results. He takes two steps back, deactivates the alarm, and unlocks the door.

Carly is staring up at Tyler Nichols with puppy dog eyes.

For a moment, neither speaks. He observes the travel bag behind her, and glances up the street before settling his gaze back upon her.

“How’d you find me?” he asks quietly.

“Senior Staff Directory.” She displays a weak smile.

Tyler nods, then says, “Need I ask?”

Carly shakes her head. “Please don’t. Not now…”

He nods again and reaches for her, pulling Carly into the folds of his bathrobe. They remain like that for a moment, the distant sounds from a passing car the only intrusion.

Tyler releases her an instant later, opens the door wide, and ushers her quietly inside.

Ryan drains the last of his coffee.

Presently, it’s ten minutes to nine. He’s been in the office since six. Didn’t get any sleep. Grabbed what belongings he could, stuffed them into an overnight bag and left, heading for Reese’s, then thought better of it. Needed to clear his head, figure out his next move. His wife had thrown him out of the house. So what was his next play? Go back to Reese? Ryan wasn’t sure. Instead, he drove straight to the office, took a shower there, changed, and tried to bury himself in work.

Rodney had called an emergency meeting with all department heads for 9:00
A
.
M
. sharp, having to do with this annoying problem that wouldn’t go away. Ryan’s domain was manufacturing; the problem was with engineering, or so his people said. The customer in Tokyo was demanding answers as to why their shipment was delayed. Fingers were being pointed in all directions. Ryan thought his people were on top of it last week, but he was in and out of the office, and things had a habit of falling through the cracks when he wasn’t around.

The past fifty minutes had been spent around his conference table, head down with his engineers, being brought up to speed, looking at alternatives. Ryan’s team seemed convinced the problem was a design flaw and not a manufacturing problem, and this was the part he loathed—going into a department head meeting and pointing fingers at someone else. Therefore, he wanted to make doubly sure his people were correct in their assertion.

Ryan calls the meeting to a close at five minutes to nine. His team gathers their things and leaves. He grabs his jacket and heads downstairs, spying Olivia coming out of her cage. The two do not make eye contact. He is conscious of her movements, and he feels constrained, as if he’s moving with an injury.

Rodney is already in his conference room, a large spacious area off of the main space, with floor-to-ceiling glass. He’s at the head of an enormous cherrywood table, palms pressed flat, a dull expression on his face. The department heads file in, taking their seats. Olivia is the last to arrive. She takes a chair diagonally across from Ryan, purposely avoiding him as he stares straight ahead.

“Let’s get to it,” Rodney says. He makes eye contact with each one: Ryan, Olivia, Dennis, from Engineering, Randall, from HR/Legal.

“We’ve got a problem in Malaysia. Chipset shipments are behind schedule. NTI is complaining big time. At this point, I want to know exactly what the problem is, and what we need to do to correct it ASAP. Ryan?”

Ryan has been listening with his head down so as to not glance at Olivia. Now, he stares at her for a split second before panning to Rod. He opens his mouth to speak.

“As best we can tell, the problem does not lie with manufacturing. The chipsets are failing QC at the tail end. Chinny has gone through the line with a fine-tooth comb, so we’re fairly confident.”

“But not one hundred percent?” Rod asks.

“Nothing is ever one hundred percent, Rod. It could be with the line, but I doubt it.”

Rodney nods, pivots his head to the other side of the table. “Dennis?”

“We see no design problems with the prototype, which incidentally was fabbed to the same specs as this production run. But that doesn’t mean the issue doesn’t reside in the design. We have seen similar problems on other chipsets, so we can’t rule out a design flaw.”

“The prototype was manufactured in Malaysia, correct?” Rod asks Ryan.

“No,” Ryan answers. “It was fabbed in Taipei. Malaysia had another run when that job came down.”

“So it could be the plant, then? Wrong set of instructions programmed or something like that?”

“Again, Rodney, we’ve gone through the line; it checks out. I suspect we missed something when we went from Proto III to Prod I. A sample from the line has been Fed-Exed to us. We need to put it under the microscope and find the bugs.”

“And in the meantime?” Randall asks. “We need to ensure we’re not violating any agreement with NTI by delaying shipment.” He glances around the table, making eye contact with each department head before settling his gaze upon Rodney. “The size and scope of the contract worries me.”

“Which is exactly why we need to do a preemptive strike. Head off any further issues by addressing NTI directly.”

“Little late for that,” Olivia says.

Rod snaps his head to her, purses his lips, yet remains silent for a second. Only a second.

“We’re about to change that.” He doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “I want Olivia and Ryan in Tokyo day after tomorrow. Right now, what we need is damage control with NIT. Olivia, that’s your specialty. Ryan, you tag along to appease their technical folks. If need be, you’ll re-route to Malaysia on your way home if the line becomes the issue. In the meantime, Dennis, I want all of your available resources looking at the chipsets when they come in. Day and night until we fix this thing. Randall, anything he needs, you give it to him.”

“Understood.”

“I’m in Geneva day after tomorrow giving a speech to one of the study groups of the ITU. After that, I’ll fly on to Tokyo if need be; that is, if you all haven’t wrapped things up.” He’s staring at Olivia and then Ryan.

They both nod.

“I don’t need to remind anyone of the potential value of this contract to our company. NTI has shown great faith in us with their initial order. We need to go to general quarters on this one and do whatever it takes to get the problem solved.” Rodney stares each department head down in turn.

“Questions?”

There are none.

“Olivia, Ryan, stay. The others, back to work.”

When the room has emptied, Rodney clears his throat. “Get the door, would you?” he says to Ryan.

“Ryan, Olivia, I’m just going to say what’s on my mind; not going to make any apologies for my words. So, here it is. I’m not sure what is going on with the two of you, but something’s wrong. The dynamics have changed, and that has me worried. Very worried. Normally, you two are like Lucy and Ricky—joined at the hip—hell, each used to finish what the other started. Remember that? But no longer. Like I said, I’m not going to try to second-guess everything that has happened. I know both of you are under tremendous stress; I recognize that. We all do. But I need you to get back to the way things were—where the two of you were
dazzling
. I want to see the fire in your eyes. I need that in Tokyo—need the two of you to appease NTI, make them our brethren again. I’m not telling you how to do your job—because both of you are top-notch, the best this company has. But somewhere along the way, something has changed. Now I need you to put it back the way it was. Kick ass and take names. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Olivia responds.

Ryan nods.

“Good. Olivia, would you excuse us?”

Olivia rises and leaves without another word. When they are alone, Rodney rises from the table to stretch. He goes to the window, glances out for a moment, hands behind his back before he turns to Ryan.

“Look, Ryan, I’m going to level with you. I’m worried about you. You look like shit and your work is suffering.”

Ryan presents a sheepish smile.

“Now I know you and Carly are having problems. I was disappointed not to see you at Olivia’s party. Hell, everyone was.”

“I know, Rod—”

Rodney waves his hand. “You don’t need to explain your whereabouts to me. But I do need you to get back into your zone, because you’ve left that place and it concerns me greatly when your work begins to suffer.”

“I’m sorry, Rodney. Things between Carly and me are just hard right now.”

“I know. I know. Marriage is a tough business; you don’t have to tell me. But my first priority is to the shareholders of this company. I’m sure you understand that.”

“I do.”

“Good. So, listen to me—as your friend—whatever you need, you’ve got it, but get yourself together, please. Get this personal stuff behind you. As your president, I have to insist you turn things around here. There is no choice in this matter. The company cannot tolerate poor performance. I need you back in the zone, Ryan. I need you back up there, and I need you back there yesterday, you follow?”

“Yes.”

Rodney moves to Ryan’s side, places his palms flat on the table so he can bend down; he is eye-to-eye with Ryan.

“I need to be clear on this, Ryan. So, are we?” Rodney asks.

“Crystal…”

“Good, man,” Rodney says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The gesture is meant to console, but all Ryan feels is a deepening chill, spreading slowly throughout his extremities. He doubts even Reese can warm his spirit now.

“Have a minute?”

She glances up from her phone, sees him in her cage—a long time since he’s been here—and frowns.

“I’m busy,” Olivia responds, then goes back to her messages.

“One minute, Olivia.” Ryan shuts the door behind him, but makes no attempt to go farther. “Can we have some privacy?” he asks, referring to the windows. Olivia shakes her head.

“You won’t be here that long.” She busies herself, not making eye contact with him. Ryan ignores the comment.

“What is going on here?” he asks.

“What are you talking about?”

“You should know, Olivia. My wife throws me out of the house after conversing with you. Jesus, what exactly did you tell her?”

Olivia glares at him while jamming her hand down on the button, forcing the windows to go opaque.

“You have one hell of a nerve coming in here after being AWOL for practically a week. You didn’t return my calls, or the calls of my husband. Hell, you didn’t call your wife even once while she was staying with us. You disappeared, Ryan…God only knows to where; only He knows what you’ve been up to. So do not chastise me for my behavior.”

“I’m not chastising you, Olivia, but my marriage is on the line, and I want to know what transpired between you and my wife!” Ryan works to control his voice.

Olivia simply laughs.

“Guess you should have thought about that before going AWOL! You are quick to point your finger at everyone but yourself. You’re the one with the issues, Ryan,” she says, rising from her desk, eyes glaring. “You’re the one who needs to check himself before checking others.”

Now it’s Ryan who emits a short grunt.

“You have no fucking idea what is going on here, Olivia…none whatsoever. You sit there, secure in your own shit, as if you’re sitting safe in a glass house, throwing stones at me. Well, I’m here to tell you, baby, you have no fucking idea what’s really going on here…none.”

Olivia considers his words. She swallows hard and glances away for a moment before leveling her stare at Ryan’s.

“Let me clue you in on something, Ry, and I’m only going to say this once—you’re on your own. I’m out of this; so is Miles. I fucked up once, but as God is my witness, I will not screw up again. I apologize to you and I apologized to Carly for my part in all of this. But I’m done. So leave me out of it. It’s you against your wife. I suggest you handle your business and salvage the best thing that ever happened to you—your marriage. Now leave me
alone
.”

Olivia glares at Ryan for a few more seconds before adding, “I may have to work with you, but I don’t have to talk to you any longer. Now kindly get the fuck out of my office!”

With that, she punches the button, forcing the windows clear. Head down, Olivia returns to work, and Ryan has no choice but to heed her words and leave the same way he came in.

Miles rubs his cell between thumb and forefinger. It fits nicely in his palm. He glances at his watch, notices he has a few minutes before his next meeting. He decides now is as good a time as any to make the call.

First ring. Second, third, fourth, and then to voice mail. Miles sighs.

“Ryan, it’s Miles,” he says, a seriousness in his voice. “I need to talk to you immediately. It’s kind of an emergency.”

Miles holds the phone to his lips for a few seconds more before ending the call. Cradles the phone in his palm as he goes to the window, glancing downward to the courtyard below.

The phone vibrates a minute later.

“Hello?”

“It’s Ryan.”

“Ryan…” A long exhale of breath. “You’re a hard one to get a hold of. How are things?” Miles tries to lighten the mood, immensely grateful for the connection to his best friend again.

“You said it’s an emergency—is it?”

Miles emits a short chuckle.

“Damn, bro—can two best friends catch up for a minute?”

“I don’t have time for this, Miles! Is there an emergency or not?” Ryan spits, voice low, as if he’s whispering. But his ferocity can be felt where Miles stands.

“Can you calm down for a second? Ryan, I just want to talk to you. We really need to—”

Miles hears the snap of the cell as Ryan ends the call. He pulls his cell from his ear, stares at it incredulously. Stabs the SEND button to redial.

Call immediately goes to voice mail. He ends the call, then hits SEND again. Curses to the window.

“Fucker!”

Redials twice more before his assistant pops her head in, breaking his concentration. He snaps his head from the window.

“Your eleven-thirty is here,” she says before retreating.

“Thanks. Ah, give me a minute,” he says distractedly.

Redials. Voice mail picks up again.

Miles sucks in a breath.

“Nigga, I’m so tired of your shit, you know that? So let this be a warning to you. You think you can just move on and not talk to me? Think again. I’m not done with your ass, not by a long shot. Be seeing you, Ryan. Be seeing you real fucking soon! Believe that!”

This time, it is Miles who snaps the phone shut, dropping it on his desktop, clenching his teeth as he wills his heart rate to slow to a dull roar.