When It Hooks You (It #1) (27 page)

“Relax. I’m not suggesting you run off into the twilight with him forever and ever. I’m merely saying…Trish, he’s the first guy who’s ever made you so much as consider tossing everything else aside to be with him. That says something.”

“You told me that was crazy,” Trish said.

“Because I knew he was hiding something. I thought you should find out what that was before taking any big steps. Now you know.” Lyssa swished her hand in the air as if that should be that.

Trish could only chuff, shocked at her friend’s sudden change in attitude.

“His secret was a pretty freaking bad one,” Cliff said.

“Was it?” Lyssa asked. “I mean, yes, of course it was…but…was it really that bad?”

Trish nodded, still dumb. Cliff spoke for her. “Yeah, it was.”

“He messed up royally,” Lyssa admitted. “But he owned it, and he seems really and truly sorry. What else can he do?” When Cliff rolled his eyes, she asked him, “Have you read the letter?”

“Trish told me the gist of it. Did you read it?”

Lyssa nodded. “She scanned it and sent it over after she broke down crying when she tried to read it over the phone.”

“Oh? And why did she break down?” Cliff asked. “Because he made her happy? I know you’re her best friend, but you didn’t see her during the weeks right after Tropical Storm Adam blew through. She was a scalding, hot mess.”

Trish scowled at the assessment, but neither Cliff nor Lyssa seemed to notice.

“Because she misunderstood his motivation,” Lyssa said. “Now that he’s explained, maybe he’s forgivable.”

Apparently Cliff didn’t have a comeback to that. He stayed silent and both he and Lyssa turned to Trish, the question lurking in their tentative gazes.

“Well, look at that,” Trish said. “You remembered I was sitting
right here.
I guess I better seize this moment of silence to ask the favor I need from both of you.” Her friends remained silent, continuing to stare at her, so she trudged on. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the whole Adam affair wasn’t a complete waste of time. Something good did come from it.”

Lyssa shot a triumphant glance at Cliff. He responded with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know exactly how,” Trish continued, “but during our time together, he lit a spark in me to do more with my life. I’ve been on cruise control, biding my time at a job that doesn’t challenge me, avoiding long-term commitments with guys.” Tilting her head toward Lyssa, she said, “Meanwhile you’ve gone on to grad school and started a new life in a new city.” Turning to Cliff, she added, “You’ve finished law school and are an up-and-comer at a great firm. Even JoAnne’s gotten herself a big promotion. It’s time I put on my big girl panties and grow up. I want more than a job—I want a career.”

“That’s wonderful!” Lyssa said.

“So this favor you speak of,” Cliff said, “do you want us to do some networking for you? What kind of career are you leaning toward?”

“You’re not mad that I plan to abandon you at River South?” She’d been especially nervous about breaking the news to Cliff.

“A little sad, I’ll admit. But how could I be mad? You deserve to move forward like the rest of us.”

“Great. Because the favor I want to ask is for you two to be my references. I don’t want to let anyone else at the firm know I might be leaving until things are final, but…” The rest of her words came out in a gush. “I’ve made it really far in the interview process for the management training program at Mji Teas, and I think I’m going to get it because they’ve asked for references. One of the partners hinted that it was just a formality, so…”

Cliff and Lyssa laughed.

“What?” Trish asked.

Cliff shrugged and smiled. “It’s nice to see you so excited about something. Mji’s a great company.” Mji Teas and Coffeehouses was a young, quickly expanding chain of coffee shops serving high-end tea and coffee grown in developing nations throughout the world, primarily in Africa. “Tell us more about the management program.”

Trish went on to explain that it was a three-year training process that would involve one year as an assistant manager at a local shop, a year traveling abroad to meet and work with Mji’s partners in Africa, and a year at the corporate office learning various marketing and financial aspects of the business. At the end of it all, she’d sit down with Mji executives to determine in which role she’d be most effective going forward.

Their food arrived, and as they passed the condiments around the table, Trish said, “They don’t care that I have very little experience in any of these areas. It’s more important to them that I can learn and that I fit in well with their corporate culture—which is very laid-back but still passionate.”

“Why’d you keep this a secret until now?” Lyssa asked.

“I don’t know.” Trish let out a laugh, but her lips tightened and the corners of her mouth drooped. “I guess I was afraid to hope anything would come of it.”

The sober look exchanged between Lyssa and Cliff indicated she didn’t need to explain why she’d been afraid to hope. The Adam debacle had left its scars.

Trish had never before been the vulnerable one in a relationship. She’d always cared for the guy just a little bit less than he’d cared for her—not intentionally; that was simply the way it had worked out. She’d figured that dynamic was to be her fate, making the three-date rule the perfect plan for her. Adam had wrecked all of that. He’d shown her that she had the ability to swoon like the lyrics of the sappiest love song. Now that she knew she was capable of caring with such strength, she wanted to swoon again one day…with someone else…eventually.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” Cliff set down his burger and wiped the ketchup from one corner of his mouth. He leaned back and examined Trish with his discerning, dark eyes for a long moment. “Maybe Lyssa’s right. Maybe you should give Helms another chance.”

Lyssa smiled. “I knew you’d see the light.”

“It makes sense,” Cliff said. “He slammed the door of the relationship firmly in her face. She’s the kind of person who prefers to shut it for herself. Maybe the only way she can get her closure is by opening the door again.”

Lyssa nodded. “And maybe this time it’ll shut with both of them on the same side.”

“Lovely analogy,” Trish said. “But you’re both ignoring one very important fact. He hasn’t come knockin’ on my door to ask for another chance.” She lifted her iced green tea and took a long swig. The icy streams slid down her throat, soothing the sting of what she’d said. Not until that moment did she fully acknowledge that his radio silence was what hurt the most.

“What would you say if he did?” Cliff asked.

Trish paused, considering the question. In the days after receiving the letter, she’d fought the urge to contact Adam, thinking it would be best to let him come to her when he was ready. As more time passed, her restlessness had taken her to the Internet where she’d searched for assurance he hadn’t been lying about his wife. The scant information she’d found backed up his sad story. After a month of not hearing from him, she’d realized he wasn’t going to call, text, or even send another letter.

She believed he’d cared for her during their time together, but obviously not enough to see if they still had anything worth resurrecting. In answer to Cliff’s question, she said, “There’s no point in speculating about something that isn’t going to happen.”

Chapter 23

Don’t hate me.

Why would I hate you?

You wouldn’t. Because I told you not to.

What if you hadn’t told me not to?

But I did.

I’m giving you a virtual death stare right now. Spill it.

Sorry. I’m sworn to secrecy.

I hate you.

C
LIFFY
C
OULD
B
E
S
TUBBORN
, and Trish had work to do, so she growled at the phone and set it aside to focus on the forms in front of her. He’d probably call after work to taunt her some more. She’d get it out of him then.

Playful moments like this made her miss seeing Cliff nearly every day at work. She’d gotten the job with Mji and had left River South Partners several weeks earlier. Her first assignment was as assistant manager at a Michigan Avenue coffee and teahouse near Chicago’s historic water tower.

She finished with the supply orders and leaned back in her chair, fingering the Swahili phrasebook on her desk in the back office. Her training involved learning about various African cultures and languages. Before she fully committed to cracking open the text, Mark, one of the baristas, poked his head through the doorway. “There’s a guy up front who asked to talk to you. He looks important. Way awesome threads.”

She followed Mark to the main counter. The lunchtime rush was well over, so it wasn’t difficult to spot her visitor—though she was certain he’d have stood out to her even in the midst of a dense throng at Lollapalooza. He stood off to one side of the large, richly textured dining room, his hand fidgeting at a pocket of his tailored suit pants. Afropop music played in the background.

“Adam,” she said, pushing through the shock that threatened to close her throat. The instant his hazel eyes landed on hers, all the emotions she’d combed through during the past months knotted into a tangled mess. She balled her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. The rational parts of her brain worked double-time to keep her from leaping over the counter straight into his arms.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Finally, Adam cleared his throat. “I come bearing a message.” He dipped his restless hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded Post-it square. He read from it: “Please don’t hate Cliff.”

Trish let out a quick, nervous laugh. “At least tell me you had to exert a tremendous amount of torture before he gave up my location.”

Adam tilted his head and peered at her, allowing himself a small smile. “Hardly any at all, I’m afraid.”

Trish nodded. If Cliff didn’t think it was a good idea for her to see Adam, he never would’ve told him where she was. She tried not to be so shallow as to worry that her uniform khakis and pale green polo-style shirt was hardly the ideal ensemble for an encounter with an ex—especially when that ex looked so debonair and achingly familiar in his steel gray suit.

“I also have this.” Adam reached into his breast pocket and produced a flat bar wrapped in colorful paper. He held it out to Trish, and she noticed the tiny, blond worry doll tied around it. “Our first batch of market-ready chocolate bars. I thought it was only right that you should get one.”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping past the end of the counter but leaving the thin, swinging door between them. He moved in tandem with her and stepped closer. Taking the candy in both hands, she admired the doll as she pushed at it with her thumb. “Was hand delivery also necessary?”

“More than you know.” She glanced up in time to see a wistful glint pass through his beautiful eyes while he stared at her.

She swallowed what little moisture was left in her mouth. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

He nodded, his gaze falling to his fingertips as they lightly tapped on the top edge of the swinging door. “There’s no reason for you to be sorry. It’s all so…I’d hoped…” The force of his sigh seemed to cause his head to jerk up, but instead of looking at her, he turned his attention toward the tables in the open room. “It doesn’t matter what I’d hoped.” After a brief pause, he swiveled his face toward her, wearing a melancholy but genuine smile. “Congratulations on your acceptance into the management program. Cliff told me how selective the process was. This is quite an accomplishment.”

“It will be if I make it through the full three years.”

“You will.”

She warmed at the confidence in his tone. “Thanks. And thanks for this.” She gave the chocolate a small shake. “I’m glad the business is progressing. Maybe you should talk to Mji about getting into our shops.” She nodded toward the small collection of fair trade mints and candies near the cash register.

His gaze wandered in that direction. “Maybe I will.”

The gentle drumbeat of a tribal-influenced rhythm filled the silence that lingered between them. Without realizing how or when exactly it had happened, Trish was again drawn straight into the gentle intensity of Adam’s brilliant eyes. Her mind flashed to their early meetings at the River South offices. His heated glances had caught her attention from the very beginning. Now here he was, stealing back her affection with a simple look.

“Trish.” His deep voice dropped to a murmur. “Is there any way—”

“I can’t,” she interrupted, her tone quiet but firm as she found her answer to the question Cliff had posed at lunch so many weeks ago. Getting over Adam had been too prolonged, too difficult. She’d finally begun feeling truly happy again and wouldn’t derail that. “Sincerely, thank you for stopping by with this. But I’ve got a lot of work to do and should get back to it. Good luck with…everything.”

For one brief second his fervent expression pleaded with her to reconsider. But that spark of passion was quickly replaced by sad acceptance. “Of course. Thank you. I wish you the best of everything, too.”

“Thanks.” She heard the wobble in her voice and took a step backward. He gave a curt nod and turned toward the door. Just shy of running, she made it into her office and plopped into her chair, out of sight from anyone else. With her elbows on her desk, she dropped the candy bar and pressed her palms flat against her face, fighting to keep her slow exhale from turning into a sob.

The muffled ding of the front door opening jarred her raging emotions. “Oh, hell no,” she growled, pushing up from the desk and taking long strides to the counter and past the swinging door. She watched Adam disappear beyond the coffeehouse window. Glancing at Mark, she asked, “You got this if I step out for a bit?”

“No prob,” Mark said.

“I have my cell, so call if anything comes up.” Exiting the shop, she jogged a few yards along the sunny sidewalk to catch up to Adam. Clamping her hand around the firm muscles at the back of his arm, she said, “We need to talk.”
More accurately,
she thought to herself,
I need to scream a few things at you
. Ignoring his surprised expression and without waiting for an answer, she pulled him along the sidewalk, weaving around slower pedestrians.