Page 49 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
Beth is unbelievable!
But I tried not to think about it anymore, got dressed, drove to the office to focus on work and clear my head. I didn’t text her. Maybe later.
******
"Damn it," I curse when I finish the detailed analysis of the last quarterly report in the afternoon and have gone over the recommendations again.
Why does this all have to be so complicated? I need the store on 4th Street. Beth’s shop. Strategically great location, and the projected revenue breaks every record. The store would be up there with the best in the city. Not to mention the mall idea.
If I buy the whole block—and Eric is already out having preliminary talks—it’ll be the best store I’ve ever had. But for that to happen, Beth not only has to vacate the shop, her landlord has to sell, and he’s dug in his heels.
Either way: it’s time to bring Beth into the loop about my situation. No more excuses and no more delay. I’ve had my fun, although a strange pang hits my chest when I think that.
Because I know it was more than the usual fun. What happened with Beth was different somehow. And somehow I wanted it to be.
Annoyed and with no plan for how to broach the topic, I flip through the mail Eric put on my desk this morning.
RING RING RING
"Yeah, what’s up, Eric?" I ask as I pick up the phone.
"Sir, about tomorrow night. Should I send the tux to the cleaners?"
"Tomorrow night?" I ask, frowning.
"The charity gala. At your home."
"Oh right," I say, even though I’d completely wiped it from my memory. Those silly receptions were just annoying. That constant mutual back-patting got on my nerves. Although, some buildings on this block are city-owned. So it couldn’t hurt to knock back a few cognacs with the mayor and give his wife a nice wave.
"Yeah, go ahead," I say.
"Will do. As always, no plus-one?" Eric asks me.
"No. This time with a plus-one," I say, even though nothing’s settled yet, but I know how good it looks at events like that to show up with someone. And I do have someone in mind. One person, and I hope she’ll say yes.
"Who will that be? Should I have her picked up?"
"No. I’ll pick her up. And as for who it is—let me worry about that. I have to go," I say, get to my feet, and know exactly where I need to be. With Beth.
I hope she says yes, and I hope we can shake a few hands there and talk about everything. I really do.
******
"Beth. There’s something I want to ask you," I say, looking at her seriously.
"Yeah?" Beth replies, and even in her work clothes with the green apron she looks so tempting that just the sight of her nearly makes me lose my mind. She takes a step back, and again I get the feeling I’ve said something wrong. She looks a bit abashed.
Maybe she’s embarrassed because I asked why her friend’s kid’s diaper bag and toys are lying around her place.
Okay, I take a deep breath in and out. Better not say another word about kids. I should focus on what really matters.
"Beth, there’s a charity gala at my place tomorrow. A very official reception with some important people from the city," I begin and clear my throat. "Would you be my official date for the evening?" And when she doesn’t answer right away and just stares at me a little blankly, I add, "We’ll shake a few hands and then we’ll have plenty of time to talk. Those events are usually boring as hell. And we’ve been meaning to talk about a few things for a while..."
"Your date—what exactly does that mean?" Beth asks in a low voice.
I pause. Fair question. I hadn’t really thought that through. Why do people even say it like that? I don’t want to tell her that we’ll pretend we’re together that night and then go our separate ways. That’s not what I want at all.
On the drive over, I went through everything again in my head, and one thing became clear: I don’t want this—whatever this is between Beth and me right now—to end. I want to take it further and see where it leads.
