“You have not spoken to Pix,” he said.
Monica’s words came back to him. No, Cal wasn’t in a hurry to see Pix—there really wasn’t anything left to say. His mum could live her life, and he’d live his. So this is what you call living, mate? Fighting with the few people you care about? But this wasn’t about Cal and his life, this was about Pixie abandoning Babcock.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do, Paolo. Pixie and I had a row.”
“And?”
He couldn’t do it. Not today. Cal couldn’t stand any more confrontations. He wanted to lose himself in the Mustang’s transmission. Working on cars had always been Cal’s therapy. He needed it today, before the women in his life sent him ’round the bend.
* * *
Monica finished her fourth cup of coffee. While it kept her alert, it didn’t help her nerves. Allie made her batty. She insisted on sharing Monica’s desk, and they’d been calling every suitable spot for hours now, with zero results.
Standing, Monica stretched her arms over her head. “I need a break. Ten minutes.”
Allie crossed off another hotel. “We’re not going to find a place on such short notice. It’s never going to work.”
“I like your optimism.” Monica grabbed her coffee cup and left the office. It had been like that most of the day—Allie complaining, insisting they cancel the gala. It gave Monica a headache.
Stella found her in the break room, a gift bag in her hand. “This just came for you.”
Another gift from Ryan? She hoped to hell not. Monica took the bag and pulled out a bright pink phone and a note.
I’m an asshole.
She smiled at that. This was Cal’s apology.
He’d been way out of line this morning. She’d said some really hurtful things to him too. Monica had been on the defensive. He claimed she was living a lie. Was he wrong? She still couldn’t merge the two separate sides of herself—maybe she never would. But that wasn’t the same as living a lie.
Monica gazed down at the brown pantsuit she’d changed into after he’d left that morning. So maybe she had gone overboard when she’d done a complete one-eighty—she had her reasons. And she probably didn’t need to look like a pilgrim to do her job well. Fair enough.
She couldn’t think about it right now though. She had to figure this gala thing out, ASAP. After refilling her cup, Monica made her way back to her office.
In between listening to Allie making calls, Monica set up her new phone and synced it, discovering she had twenty-three voice-mail messages.
She deleted all six of Allie’s automatically. No need to put herself through that. She deleted Ryan’s messages as well. One from Cal, apologizing, asking if she liked the phone. As arrogant and cocky as he was, he had a side of him that liked to be reassured. It was sweet and unexpected.
Everything about Cal was unexpected. Like this morning. His anger had sprung out of nowhere, but he was furious that she was living in a virtually unfurnished, blank house. He’d said she needed color and pillows and curtains. He was right. She’d been living like a guest in her own house for months, but she didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. She wasn’t even sure she liked that house.
Allie glanced over, her eyes focusing on the gift bag. “Who’s that from?”
“Cal sent it to me.”
Allie’s full lips rolled inward. “So is this serious? This thing with Cal?”
Monica shrugged. “We’re hanging out.” This morning hadn’t been fun. It had been powerful and intense, like a thunderstorm—all sound and fury, leaving a flood of emotional destruction in its wake.
“I wasn’t sure about him at first,” Allie said, “but I like him. He’s sweet with Jules, and he’s been letting the twins help him fix the Mustang. He’s very patient.”
“We’re not serious.” Monica’s stomach clenched. She wished things were different with Cal, but she couldn’t expect him to turn into someone else, someone who stuck around. That wasn’t fair.
“I just worry.”
“You don’t need to, Al. I’m a grown woman.”
“Listen, I know I come off all nosy—”
“And bossy,” Monica added.
“But—”
“And condescending.”
Allie narrowed her eyes. “It’s only because I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She leaned back in her chair. “You have the worst taste in men. Except for Ryan, of course.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, Al. Ryan was the wrong choice for me. We would have been miserable.” Monica knew it was true, had known it all along, but she’d kept trying to make him fit, like a too-tight designer shoe from the sale rack.
“What was so wrong about him?” Allie tilted her head to one side. “He had his shit together. A job. A life. He wanted to marry you.”
Monica stroked the pink phone with her thumb. “He didn’t mind that I wear gray pantsuits.”
Allie’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s get back to work.”
At one thirty, Allie called it quits. She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’m so sorry, Mon, but this is a bust. We did everything we could.”
Monica rose from her desk. “We haven’t exhausted every possibility. We need to look for offbeat places. Can Trevor call in a few favors?”
“I’ll ask, but I think you need to face the fact that it’s over. We’ll try it again next year.”
There had to be one place in Vegas still available. “I’m not giving up.”
Allie walked to the door. “Your time would be better spent figuring out new projections for next year’s goals. There’s going to be a hell of a lot less money to work with.”
After Allie left, Monica snarled at her computer. More projections, more numbers and spreadsheets. It made her head pound that much harder.
She needed to call Cal, thank him for the phone, but she was reluctant to talk to him just yet. Her anger had faded, but she was hurt by his accusations. Monica did the best she could to prove to Allie and the rest of her family that she’d changed. Why was that so hard for him to understand?
As she worked up the courage to call him, her phone buzzed. Ryan again. Grabbing her purse and her new pink phone, she walked to the outer office and stood next to Stella’s desk, waiting as the older woman wrapped up her call.
Stella hung up and shook her head. “I’ve crapped out. Not a place in town that’s available on the date we need. So what’s next?”
“We brainstorm. I need to run an errand, but I’ll be back in an hour. Hold down the fort?”
“You may have to admit defeat on this one, kid.”
“I may. But not yet.”
Monica had a ton of work to do, but she couldn’t put off Ryan any longer. It was time to cut ties, once and for all. She couldn’t accuse Cal of not confronting life head-on and then be afraid to do it herself.
As Monica drove, Cal’s words about hiding kept coming back to her. Hiding what, her racy underwear? That was just something she indulged in. It made her feel good, but it wasn’t an insight into her psyche.
Cal didn’t know her, not really. They’d been hooking up for a few weeks—that didn’t make him an expert on all things Monica. Evan agrees with him. Well, Evan dated bimbos, so he wasn’t the most reliable source of advice.
She pulled her car into Ryan’s driveway and closed her eyes. She hated to go through this again. It had been hard enough the first time, seeing the disappointment and understanding in his eyes. She felt cruel, but she couldn’t let him continue to hope. Rock, meet hard place.
Getting out of the car, Monica walked to the house and rang the bell. She heard uneven thumping on the other side of the door. Ryan’s crutches.