“And it’s Uncle Leo’s birthday. The three of us haven’t gotten together in a couple years,” Dane says. “He’s not getting any younger.”
Dane’s flat tone serves to remind me that Uncle Leo’s lifetime of smoking menthols and drowning in Miller Lites every night haven’t helped his aging process.
“He’s almost seventy,” Dane says. “Look, I know we’re both busy, but it’s no excuse.”
My brother neglects to say what he and I both know. We wouldn’t be where we are if it weren’t for the kindness and generosity of a gruff old bastard named Leo Fickbaum. The truth is, he’s not our uncle at all. He deserves a better title than that. I shudder to think of the man I’d have become if it weren’t for the unexpected benevolence of a middle-aged bachelor who owned a diner in Middle of Nowhere, Utah.
That was the name of the town, too. It was about a ten mile walk from the FLDS compound I’d lived in my entire life with my fifty-plus siblings and half-siblings.
“Odessa’s okay with traveling on short notice?” I ask.
“Sam,” he says. “Her name is Sam. And yes, I’ve been emailing with her. She’s available. She’ll bring her laptop and work from an empty office here. I’ll have Maureen email you the itinerary. You’ll leave Wednesday and fly back Saturday.”
Four full days together ought to be interesting.
The phone muffles and he comes back a minute later.
“See you tomorrow, Beck.”
I hang up and head to Odessa’s office. She’s on the phone, so I wait in the seat across from her desk. She stares at me as she cradles the receiver, her brows scrunching as if I’m being invasive, but I ignore it. She’s on my turf. I own this room. The desk. Her chair. That pen in the corner of her mouth.
“Yes?” she asks when she hangs up a minute later.
“Just spoke with Dane,” I say.
She nods. “And?”
“You’re okay with Salt Lake City on short notice?”
“If you’re asking if I’m okay spending four days with you on a work trip,” she says, “then yes. I think I’ll be able to handle it. I can even guarantee I’ll keep my hands to myself the entire time.”
“You didn’t need to take it there.” My lips twitch, but I refuse to smile. Smiling too much makes me look like a bumbling idiot, but I find Odessa thoroughly entertaining in the most confusing of ways. “Just wanted to make sure it was okay with your fiancé.”
She places her pen flat against her desk, locking eyes with me. “Do you want this trip to be as uncomfortable as possible for both of us or are you actually this socially awkward?”
I fight a smile. “No one has ever accused me of being socially awkward.”
“I’m sorry.” Her lips pull wide. “Poor choice of words. What I meant was socially moronic.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“You’re obsessed with me.” She stands up, plucking her phone and tossing it in her purse before flinging the bag over her shoulder.
“Where are you going?” I rise. “And I’m not obsessed with you.”
“I’m getting coffee. Taking a walk.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I can only imagine the lecture I’d get from Dane if legal were to get involved at any point during this consultancy. Then again, he has no room to talk, hiring women to do his sexual bidding during work hours.
And he thinks I haven’t seen the line item for his concierge…
She rushes to the door, stopping short with her hand against the frame. “No. I’m not uncomfortable. Just annoyed.”
“I’m not trying to annoy you, Odessa. If you pulled your head out of your ass for two seconds, you’d see I’m trying to figure you out. You’re an anomaly.”
“Why? Because I’m not drooling all over your obnoxious Gucci loafers?”
“For the record my personal shopper chose these. I couldn’t give two shits what brand they are.”
“Mm, hm.”
I smooth my palm against my left lapel and check the time on my wristwatch before brushing past her.
Something tells me Salt Lake’s going to be a fucking blast.
Chapter Ten
ODESSA
Hot coffee comforts me from the inside out. My feet ache. I walked eight blocks in pointy kitten heels to get this coffee. Of course I passed several other coffee shops on my way here, but for a moment, I’d forgotten where I was going so I kept trudging along aimlessly.
I’m not looking forward to four days by Beckham’s side, but the change of scenery will be nice. I hear Salt Lake City has mountain views. And Dane seems nice at least.
I stop at a nearby bench plastered with the likeness of some arrestingly attractive Realtor named Xavier Fox who claims to “sell New York.” His eyes remind me of Jeremiah’s. Bright blue framed with dark lashes. I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who naturally appear to be wearing eyeliner.
Another sip of coffee warms me from the inside. I tug the linen scarf from around my neck. The forecast was way off today. My skin breathes. I don’t want to go back. Today is the perfect day to pal around the city like a wandering tourist.
My phone dings from my jacket pocket, so I pull it out. A message from my best friend, Carly, flashes across the screen. She playfully berates me for being M.I.A. the last couple weeks. I owe her a call plus dinner and drinks. But it’s hard to be around her. She’s the one who set me up with Jeremiah. I can’t hang out with her and not be reminded of our history together. She was best friends with him long before I came into the picture.
Still is.
I’ll respond later. For now I want to soak in the refreshing spring air and be alone with my thoughts for a few more minutes.
A blonde in a plum jacket with a matching beret walks past, her eyes locked on me. Her face registers as familiar, and it hits me when I see the tiny quake in her fingertips as she shoves a leather-gloved hand into her front pocket.
It’s the girl who brought Beckham lunch last week.
“Hi.” I rise, intending to head back to the office. Now’s as good a time as any to head back. I give her a polite wave, only she takes it as an invitation, stopping and smiling like she’s bumping into an old friend.
“Oh, hi.” She adjusts her hat, swooping her long bangs across her forehead. Her nails are baby pink, almost color-matched to her baby soft voice, but the intense focus in her stare unsettles me.
“I never did catch your name.” If she dodges my question this time, I’ll know for sure something’s up.
“Annelise,” she breathes, her lips pulling wide at the corners.
“I’m…” I pause, debating if I should introduce myself as Sam or not. I’m Odessa in Beckham’s world, and this woman is clearly from Beckham’s world. No sense in making anything more confusing than it needs to be. “Odessa.”
“Yes. You are.”
I pretend not to notice as she casually sizes me up from head to toe.
“Is Beckham your boyfriend?” I cut to the chase. I hope she says no, if only for her sake since he blatantly denied the fact that he had a girlfriend.
She hesitates before saying, “It’s complicated.”
“I could definitely see that.”
“Beckham is…well, you know how he is.”
I nod, but not too vigorously. I don’t want her knowing exactly how well I know him.
“I’m doing some PR consulting for his company. I don’t really know him that well, but let’s just say I’ve noticed he’s a man living by his own rules.”
Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes glossing.
“Are you okay?” I reach for her arm, running my hand along her beautiful plum jacket. A glistening platinum and diamond brooch in the shape of a lotus flower anchors her lapel.
She smiles through tears, blinking them away and wiping the ones that slide down her cheeks with a gloved finger.
“Is this about Beckham?” I ask.
“Isn’t everything about Beckham?” She pulls in a long breath, her shoulders rising and sinking. And then she laughs. “I’m sorry. This is so not like me.”
The sidewalk fills with men in suits and silver-haired ladies walking teacup Yorkies. They’re all going about their days and here poor Annelise is falling apart at the seams in front of a woman she’s only met once.