Page 44 of Somewhere Along The Line
Whatever bubble of oxytocin I’d been living in breaks open.
“Shit! Ahhh. Shit, okay. Okay.” I rush over to Piper, pushing gently on her shoulder in an attempt to wake her up before I move on to saying her name and then shouting it. She comes alive with a jolt, and it’s clear that she has no idea where she is or what’s happening.
“P, hey, it’s me. You’ve gotta get up. We overslept. I’m so sorry. It’s 8:20.”
Her eyes grow wide and she sits straight up before diving to grab her clothes and throwing them on.
“No, no, no… it’s not… it can’t be, right?” She stares at me wildly as she hauls her skirt up to her waist, desperate for me to change the answer to the question, to tell her what she knows isn’t true.
“It is. I’m so sorry. What can I do? Can I bring you to your house to change? Drive you to work? What do you need?”
I liked that question a hell of a lot more last night.
“Shit, is it Tuesday? I think it’s Tuesday.Damn it.” Piper starts palming at her clothes, at the couch, lifting the cushions to look for her phone. “I have a donor meeting on Tuesday at 8:30. It’s a referral from the man who committed to the scholarship fund. I should’ve been at the office ten minutes ago.”
She’s a tornado as she moves, hopping on one foot as she puts on a shoe, wrapping her hair up in a bun with the tie she keeps on her wrist, locating her things and throwing them in her bag before sprinting for the door.
“Please, let me drop you off.” I hobble after Piper, ignoring the guilt seeping into my chest and my rational desire to grab shoes before leaving. “I can get there quickly; I’ll speed if I have to.”
I grab my keys from the hook and we race to the car, throwing open the doors and peeling out before we even pull them closed.
Apology after apology spills out of my mouth. I didn’t know Piper had a meeting, much less that she’d be spending the night, but it doesn’t matter. All I can think about is how important this job is to her and that I’m the reason she’s not at her best this morning. The knowledge twists painfully in my chest.
We arrive at her building at 8:32, Piper rushing inside with an “I’ll text you” and a frantic wave as she disappears behind the door.
My life, and whatever is growing between Piper and me, went from perfectly right to horribly wrong in the span of fifteen minutes. Reality crashes down like thunder, splitting apart whatever dream state made me believe, even for a night, that I wouldn’t ruin her.
I head back to my place, dying to take a shower to try and rinse away the unease that’s sitting like a brick in my stomach. For the first time since we started this ruse, I don’t know when I’ll see Piper again outside of our commute.
While I have to drop off the boxes for the event on Saturday, she could send out an intern to greet me.
“Just wait for her to text,” I tell myself out loud as I put the car in park in front of my house. Hesitant to go inside and see the evidence of the best night and the worst morning, I sit for too long and stare aimlessly. “Wait for her to text.”
I burst into thebuilding and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. I’m late, of course, but I’m also disheveled. Yesterday’s clothes hang on my body, my tangled hair is in a messy bun, and the remnants of last night’s mascara are smudged beneath my eyes.
This is not how I’d like to present myself for work any day, but today? This is the worst-case scenario. Byron Cargill oftheCargills, one of the city’s wealthiest families, has an appointment with me for 8:30 a.m.
He’s already seated at the table when I swing open the conference room door.
“Mr. Cargill! Thank you for being here. Piper Paulson, great to meet you.” I stick out my hand, hoping it’s not sweaty from running up the stairs or from my nerves. Of course, it is.
He rises to take it and gives me a quick shake before sitting back down in his seat. His eyes scan me curiously as he raps a pen on the table.
“So sorry I’m late, I’m normally more organized. I appreciate your patience.” I smile weakly as I grab my notebook from my bag, desperately wishing it was my laptop but unwilling to waste the time it would take to retrieve it from my office. “I heard from your assistant that you’re interested in learning more about the scholarship program?” I finally sit my butt in a chair.
He nods, leaning back in his seat. “I am,” he says, his mustache rustling as he talks. He looks to be mid-sixties, and he’d remind me of my dad if my dad was frivolously wealthy and incredibly intimidating.
“Honestly, though,” he pauses briefly, “I’d like to get to know you first. There are thousands of organizations that have ideas about how to use my money, and thehowis less important to me than thewho.”
I take a big inhale. I could talk about the scholarship fund and why it’s important for hours. But to talk about myself? I’ve never been overly articulate that way.
“Of course,” I start, trying to keep my voice steady. “We always want our donors to feel like a partner in this work. It’s natural to want to know the kind of partner you’d be getting in bed with.”
The second the words are out of my mouth I want to stuff them back in. This is a business meeting, for God’s sake. Plus, the unfortunate phrasing brings up memories of last night. I push them out of my brain with superhuman strength.
Get it together, Piper.
Mr. Cargill shifts in his seat. I’m not sure if he wants to ask questions or if I should offer up information. I decide on the latter.
