When the Stars Align Page 2

  “I didn’t know you two still kept in touch.” I discreetly ball my left hand into a fist as my right circles my beer.

  “Oh, yeah,” he responds, focusing his gaze on the game.

  That’s it? My fist raps the table in frustration. Come on, man. Give me more.

  “How long did you guys date?” I probe. If they’re good friends four years later, the breakup must have been amicable.

  Chase looks at me, squinting in thought, as if he’s not sure he remembers the answer. “We didn’t date.”

  “No. Well, you definitely hooked up. I seem to recall some great ‘stories’ you chose to share.” I’d been so angry I avoided him the last few weeks of school.

  Chase gives me his signature I’m-a-badass-frat-boy smirk. I suppress the urge to reach out and strangle him. He sighs. “You remember that, huh? Well, we decided to just be friends. And she’s good friends with Angela, so don’t mention it, okay?”

  For some reason, that bothers the fuck out of me. I haven’t met Angela yet. But it seems wrong she’s hanging out with a girl who slept with her boyfriend and she has no idea. I huff. Isn’t that girl code or something?

  “What’s Anna up to these days?” I might be pissed about the past, but I still want to learn more about Anna now. I can’t help it. Not that I’d ever date her again. But still, I’m curious.

  Standing in the hall earlier today, when she pointed at her apartment door, I wondered if she lived with someone. Chances are she’s seeing someone.

  There’s something about Anna. A glow. A warmth. She’s natural. Down-to-earth. A brown-eyed girl you wish had been your neighbor growing up. Faint freckles you can really only see when she doesn’t have on any make-up at all. I close my eyes, trying to remember if I’d seen those freckles today.

  Chase breaks into my thoughts. “She’s a workaholic. Like you.” He adds the “like you” with emphasis as if it disgusts him. I roll my eyes and take a gulp of my beer.

  “She dating anyone?”

  I ask the question as nonchalantly as possible while feigning watching the game, but it still draws his attention. He jerks his head and grins. “You into her?”

  “Dude. Just making conversation. Even if I was interested in Anna, and I’m not, I don’t have time to date. These next few years will be crunch time.”

  He sips his beer. “You set your own priorities. But, yeah, the Jackson I remember had no reason to date. Girls made it way easy for you.”

  I don’t argue. Let him think what he wants. Guys like Chase Maitlin always love to believe every guy is getting tons of random sex. Back in the day, Chase loved to gloat about his own adventures. I’ve never been the kind of guy to kiss and tell.

  “Well, times are changing. You’ve got a girlfriend,” I say, tapping his drink in a soft salute.

  He gives a broad smile. “Yeah, you’ll meet Angela soon. We’ll be sure to invite you out so you can meet folks, expand your network.” He rolls his shoulders, eyes to the game. “I’ll take you out. Show you the New York singles scene. It blows Chapel Hill out of the water. Atlanta too.”

  “Thanks. But I need to get my bearings at my new firm. I won’t have much free time.”

  “Yeah, right. You’ll still find time to go out and get laid. And I want to hear all about it. Now I’ve got a ball and chain, so I’ve got to live vicariously through my single friends.”

  I rub the back of my neck to ease my frustration. “Man, I’m not the guy you want to be living vicariously through. Trust me. Even back then. I think you’ve built me up in your head.” I fall into my deeper lawyer voice to convince him I’m speaking the truth.

  He gives me a shit-eating grin. “Oh, fuck. Don’t try to deny it. You hooked up with a different girl almost every time you went out. I couldn’t believe how lucky you got. All. The. Time.”

  I laugh. Maitlin’s still such a frat boy. “First, I studied until almost eleven. Then on the random nights I would meet you guys out, I’d show up completely sober. Everyone else would be tanked. It was like low-lying fruit all around. And you know Chapel Hill...like, seventy percent female. If you had come out with me later at night, sober, you too would have had girls clinging to you. They don’t cling if you’re hammered.”

  Chase laughs. “Yeah, right. That’s what my problem was.”

  We sit there, watching the game, and have another round. I pull out my phone and check apartment listings. Pop questions to Chase about neighborhoods when I come across something interesting. Text back and forth with a few agents to set up some more appointments.

  As the game ends, Chase downs the last of his beer and levels his gaze at me. “So, next weekend. Angela and I are going to meet some friends at Central Park. Supposed to be a nice fall day. Throw some Frisbee. Picnic. Take advantage of the nice weather before winter. You in?”

  “Sure. Text me the deets, and if I can, I’ll make it.”

  “Great. Angela definitely wants to meet you.”

  I pause. “Will Anna be there?”

  He sticks his lower lip out before answering. “Maybe? Not sure. Probably. She hangs with us. Is it gonna be a problem?”

  My eyes go to the ties hanging on the ceiling. A symbol of men rebelling against the institution. “Nah, it’ll be fine.” Four years have passed. It’s fine.

  We toss some bills on the bar for the tip and head out. Chase pauses by the door. “Man, about Anna. She’s actually become a good friend. Like, a good friend of mine. So, don’t treat her like the others, okay? We’re in NYC. You can get plenty without having to muddy the waters with friends. My friends.” He taps his chest.

  Oh. Is that the way you want to play it? You short little fuck.

  I glare at him as he continues talking. “I’m telling you, she’s good people. You’ll see. Don’t fuck with her, man.” He sighs. Then, as if remembering he and I are actually friends too, he adds, “Good to see ya, man. Glad you’re here.”

  I scratch my jaw, incredulous, as we leave the bar. Chase is worried about Anna. Meanwhile, she crushed me. Still don’t understand why, but I gave up trying to figure our situation out a long time ago. Pretty much gave up the same day Chase described her as “the best lay of his life.”

  Chase doesn’t need to worry about Anna and me. No way am I going after that for a second round. Nope, never again.

  Chapter 3

  Anna

  Music drifts through my office, an upbeat Jack Johnson tune. Music without headphones. Some would think a raise would be the best thing about a promotion. Nope. My recent promotion to creative director meant a private office and music courtesy of Alexa.

  I had my choice of art from the agency’s archive, and decided on a vintage Heineken life-size subway ad for one wall. The far wall showcases my favorite print ads for my clients. Brightly-colored throw pillows dot my off-white sofa, and fresh flowers sit in a vase on my desk, a Monday morning pick-me-up ritual and love note from me to me. Something I especially appreciate this morning, after my blast with the past.

  This morning, I felt like the Pink Panther music should be playing on stereo as I stealthily opened my apartment door and carefully peeked out. After verifying a vacant hallway, I headed out for my morning walk. When we exited the building, I saw an athletic man who looked a bit like Jackson stretching. It might not have been him; it’s hard to see in the low morning light. But I turned right and headed to the river. Silly, really. I’ll run into him from time to time. Today, though, avoidance struck me as the best plan. Of course, four years ago, I chose avoidance, and then he stopped talking to me.

  My office door pops open, and a blonde messy bun faces me, muttering as she searches the ground.

  Grabbing my purse and standing, I laugh. “Delilah, what are you doing?”

  “My earring popped out right as I was opening your door. Ah, here it is!” She retrieves a long orange plastic feather and stands, looking up at me. “I forgot to put the thingies on the back, and these keep falling out everywhere I go. They’re too light.”
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  I grin at my friend, walking toward her to head out of my office. “Wardrobe issues. Bummer.”

  “Yeah. Hey, where are you going? I was coming by to see if you wanted to grab lunch.”

  “Sure.”

  A large shadow steps up behind her. Delilah glimpses Nick, then spins around to face me. Her back to Nick, she scrunches her face up and tilts her finger into her mouth to mimic a vomit face.

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  Oblivious, Nick taps the door frame and asks, “Do you have some time, Anna?”

  I grin and say, “Yeah,” as Delilah whirls out of the office.

  Nick Norwood, the group account director and a senior executive in our agency, isn’t stopping by my office for business reasons. He’s not my friend. He shifts a few throw pillows and settles into the sofa, acting as if he’s stopping by for a lengthy chat.

  At first glance, some might say he’s attractive. With an expansive wardrobe of tight-fitting designer clothes that would fit in at most high-end trendy clubs, he’s easily the best dressed executive at our agency. Even so, his hulking demeanor and willingness to forego personal space creeps out most of the women, myself included. Year-round, he rocks a fake tan, styled blond hair, and too-white teeth. At the very least, it’s fair to say he’s not my type.

  About six months ago, I went to one of Nick’s notorious apartment parties with my team and had way too much to drink. I didn’t eat before arriving, and after a couple of drinks, I blacked out. The whole night is a complete black hole. The last time I drank so much I blacked out was in college, and even then, nothing so extreme.

  I woke up in his bed and could tell by the absence of my panties I was fucked, both literally and figuratively. I grabbed my clothes and left his apartment as quietly as possible, hoping against hope he’d remember as much, or as little, as I did. My luck was shit. Since our sexcapade, Nick has hovered around my office like a hunter seeking prey.

  When it was clear he remembered the night’s events, I gave him my best “it really should have never happened” speech and “holy cow, I had way too much to drink” explanation. Smiling, he leaned down to my ear and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll keep us under wraps,” then smirked, ran his finger up and down my arm, and swaggered away. Gross.

  Last month, he asked me to hang out after work, and I said I had plans. He glared at me, eyes roving up and down my body. I summoned my Jedi powers and stayed strong. I’d thought the Force had been with me, but an hour later he barged in with an urgent project, and my whole weekend became a whirlwind because of a last-minute request from his client. It seemed a stretch he’d concocted said emergency because he was pissed at me, but still.

  Think quickly. What is he doing here? Get out of the office. Get out. Get out. Get out.

  “Not sure if you saw, but the Giants are playing the Packers this weekend. The Giants are going to have a pretty kick-ass season...” Nick continues, as I sit half-listening. Nick spends his weekends with our agency’s founders and has been here since it opened. If it weren’t for his senior executive status, I’d let my inner bitch out. But I like working here. I love my accounts. So, I try to play nice. Nice enough. I still make it clear at every opportunity I am not interested in him. At all.

  A blonde with a messy bun bouncing outside my door catches my eye.

  I jump out of my chair and shout, “Delilah! Wait, I forgot, we still need to review the Greenpeace concepts.” I give a timid smile to Nick as I grab a paper and pad from my desk. “Sorry, Nick, but I need to meet with Delilah. Can I catch ya later?” The man has wasted thirty minutes of my time, rambling at first about a new business pitch, and then nothing else to do with work came out of his mouth. He has to have some work of his own to do.

  Nick stands, looking Delilah up and down in his own special, skeevy way.

  What’s that about? Why does he always do that?

  “Yeah, just come on down to my office later,” he says, and he reaches out and slides my hair behind my ear. I jerk back instinctively.

  Seeming unmoved by my reaction, he gives a polite nod to Delilah on his way out.

  Delilah walks in and softly closes the door, plopping down onto Nick’s vacated spot on my sofa, a knowing grin plastered on her face.

  “We don’t have any creative to go over, do we?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “We do, but we don’t have to go over it right now. Thanks for saving me from Mr. Touchy. Just hang out for a minute. I don’t want him popping back in.”

  “Does he still ask you out?” Delilah asks, eyes narrowed and focused on me.

  “Sometimes. He doesn’t seem to be getting the hint. And I swear his ‘urgent’ requests are timed to coincide with when I say no to him. It’s making me paranoid.” I crumple the piece of paper in my hand, frustration seeping out.

  “Anna, you should totally go to HR.”

  “Have you lost your mind? I don’t want to be that girl. I just want him to leave me alone.” I hadn’t told anyone about the night. Not even Delilah. It’s just too mortifying. But I’m certain my story to HR would be tremendously weakened if they knew what had happened between us. And Nick would certainly tell them. Other than creeping me out with his suggestive looks and touches, he hasn’t really done anything. The timing of his emergencies could totally be in my head. No, HR isn’t the solution.

  Besides, filing a sexual harassment claim, even if they decided in my favor, would probably mean I wouldn’t move further here, and it would definitely make me less attractive if I tried to move to another agency. My dad owned his own business, and I grew up hearing stories. Women who spoke up weren’t viewed favorably, or at least weren’t as preferable as job candidates without a sexual harassment suit in the past.

  Delilah pulls her legs up and stares at me, the bun on top of her head shaking slightly as she shifts on the sofa. Wearing an old gray sweatshirt, black leggings, and Converse sneakers, she could easily be mistaken for a college student.

  I sit back down at my desk and spin in my chair, suppressing the urge to give out a little “wheee” to relieve some of the tension in the room. Large brown eyes continue to study me intently.

  “What?”

  “You know you’re hot, right? Long, dark, glossy hair, athletic body to kill for, smart, successful. You’ve got it going on, girl. Nick is a creep, but most of the people here are in their twenties, and reality is it’s kind of like a fraternity mixer here half the time.” She tilts her head and looks thoughtful. “You are constantly turning guys down. If you refuse to partake in the goodness, why don’t you just fake a boyfriend?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, you don’t seem interested in the guys here, so what’s the harm? You know Clarissa in accounting? She had the same issue with Nick until she got a boyfriend. Once she became unavailable, he started sending his underlings to deal with her. Nick is a group account director. Maybe if you get a boyfriend, he’ll lose interest, and you can start dealing directly with Darren.” Darren is an account director, and he’s in an equivalent position to me. From an organizational structure, he should be my day-to-day account side contact. “It could mean a better life for all of us,” she says, emphasizing all of us. Delilah raises her eyebrows, clearly insinuating Nick’s questionably-timed client emergencies are cutting into her life too. She’s on my team, so she’s not wrong.

  “Fake a boyfriend? Really? That’s your answer to the creepy account guy who’s a little slow to accept I’m not interested?” I huff.

  She huffs right back. “No. My answer is HR. But if you aren’t willing to do that...” She lets her sentence hang in the air for a dramatic second. “A boyfriend is an idea,” she mutters while twisting the friendship bracelets lining her wrist.

  “I think faking a girlfriend would be more fun.” I grin, joking around.

  Delilah rolls her eyes. “So, how was your Sunday?”

  I rub my hands up and down my face, trying to joggle Nick Norwood from my thoughts. It’s Monday mo
rning. The weekend flashes before me. Delilah and I saw a band together Saturday night. Then, Sunday. Hazel eyes.

  “Small world story. An ex from college moved into my apartment building.”

  “Is that good or bad?” She’s twirling a loose piece of hair that escaped from her messy bun.

  I play with the pad on my laptop to pull up my email. Good or bad? What a good question. When I don’t respond, she stops searching for split ends and watches me, waiting for an answer. I doodle on the corner of the desk calendar with a pencil as I explain. “It’s not good or bad. Things didn’t end well with us. I get the feeling he can’t stand me, which doesn’t really make sense.”

  “What happened with you guys?”

  I sigh. I’ve spent a lot of time strolling through Memory Lane since hanging up with Olivia yesterday. “Nothing. And, I don’t know. Everything. We met my last semester of school. I was interviewing, working. He was preparing for the bar, interviewing. But, for a few months there, it was like, well, it was pretty amazing.”

  Delilah bites her lip, smiling. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Yeah. And then, I guess reality hit. Tough talks. He wanted me to move to Atlanta. But he didn’t ask. He pissed me off, is what he did. I didn’t return his calls for a few days. Then suddenly he wouldn’t even talk to me. Look at me.” An email about a project catches my attention, and I skim through it.

  “And then what happened?”

  I return my attention to Delilah. “That’s it. Graduation happened. I moved to New York. He moved to Atlanta. Yesterday was the first time I’d seen him in four years.”

  “And what was it like?”

  Shocking as hell. He’s still gorgeous. My stomach still flutters around him. I bite the inside of my lip and remember his short answers. How he seemed to want to get away from me as quickly as possible. “He’s still an asshole.”