Page 27 of Make-Believe Match
He was two years younger than me, and once upon a time, I’d been something of a mentor to him. He was the new guy, I was the rising star. He asked me for advice, and I gave it. I gave time. I gave effort. I gave a fuck, and I tend to reserve those for people who really matter to me.
But within six months, Bob had proven himself to be all the things I hated.
A liar. A cheater. A backstabber.
He’d stolen my research. He’d stolen my ideas. He’d passed off my work as his own. He’d blamed me for his mistakes. He’d used shady, underhanded tactics to poach clients from me, and now he was engaged to McKenna Hotchkiss, the boss’s daughter.
My ex-girlfriend.
Whom he’d fucked at the company Christmas party last year.
It made me sick to think of him making empty promises to Martha McIntyre over lunch. Or Lexi—my blood nearly boiled thinking about him in the same room with Lexi. Lying to her. Giving her false hope.
“I don’t want Bob Oliver anywhere near this,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Bob gets things done.”
“I can get this done.”
“Two weeks, Buckley.” Hotchkiss’s expression was threatening. “Or you can kiss that promotion goodbye.”
As I left Harvey’s office, I nearly ran right into Bob, who was standing right outside the door eating a bag of microwave popcorn. He reminded me of one of my little sister Mabel’s Ken dolls, blond and plastic, with a permanently smug expression and insincere eyes. “How’d that go for you?” he asked, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
I had at least three inches on him, which I used to full effect as I scowled down at his face. “Stay the fuck away from my accounts.”
He smiled and tipped the bag toward me. “You look hangry. Need a snack?”
“Fuck off.” Shouldering past him, I strode down the hall and into my office. After closing the door, I sat down at my desk and called Lexi.
As I expected, it went straight to voicemail. “Hey Lexi, it’s Devlin. I’m really sorry about the way things went down yesterday, and I’d like to continue the conversation. I’m happy to come back there if you’d prefer to talk in person, or you can feel free to call me back any time. I hope you’re having a good day.”
She didn’t call me back.
I gave her a few days to cool off and tried again. Left another message. “Hi, Lexi. It’s Devlin Buckley. I know you’re upset with me, and I understand. If I were you, I’d probably think the worst too. But I swear on my Camp Lemonade T-shirt that I had no idea who you were at The Broken Spoke that night. I saw you across the room and thought you were beautiful, so I wanted to talk to you. That’s the truth. If you knew me better—maybe if we’d done a little more talking that night—you’d know I don’t believe in lying to get what I want. I don’t like cheaters. I always play fair. That’s why I didn’t make your grandmother any false promises at the table. I want to be straight with her. And with you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the ache at the back of my skull. “All I want to do is talk things through. Please call me.”
Nothing.
Sunday was my birthday. I woke up early, jogged from my apartment on Dalton Street over to the Public Garden and Boston Common, logged five miles on the trails, and headed home. After a quick shower, I got dressed and drank a cup of coffee while standing at the counter checking emails, scanning the news, and returning texts from family and friends wishing me happy birthday.
There was one from my dad, my oldest brother Austin and both his kids—they loved texting me from their iPads—and my sister Mabel, who was in graduate school at William and Mary. My brother Dash was an actor out in L.A. and probably not up yet, and my brother Xander had likely forgotten, given how much he had going on. After a stint as a Navy SEAL, he’d worked private security for a few years, and now he was opening a bar back home. But he’d gotten sidetracked when an old friend had roped him into providing security for his country music star sister, who was staying in a cabin not too far from Cherry Tree Harbor. They’d been at The Broken Spoke over the weekend too, and it was obvious something was going on between them, even though he’d tried hard to deny it.
At quarter to ten, I packed a lunch, threw a Red Sox cap on my head, and headed over to the meeting spot for today’s Camp Lemonade excursion—a trip to the Charles River Bike Trails, where a guide would take us on a hike, after which we’d have a picnic.
When the kids heard it was my birthday, they sang a loud, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” on the bus and had fun guessing my age—I heard numbers from nineteen to fifty-five. After the hike, the kids wanted to race me, and I must have run twenty-seven different footraces, giving each of them a chance to “beat” me.
On the bus ride back to the city, I was typing a text to Lexi when a little girl named Sara came up and pointed at the empty seat next to me. “Can I sit here?”
“Sure,” I said, giving her a smile. She was maybe eight or nine, an adorable little thing with two blond braids and big brown eyes who loved asking me for piggyback rides. She’d lost her dad two years ago.
She climbed onto the seat and held out her closed fist. “I have a birthday present for you.”
“You do?” I shifted to face her. “What is it?”
Turning her hand over, she opened her palm, revealing a colorful beaded bracelet that spelled out FEARLESS. She had about fifteen of them going up her arm. “It’s a friendship bracelet. It’s one of mine, but I want you to have it.”
Touched, I slipped it onto my wrist. It barely fit and looked ridiculous, but I held out my arm to show it off. “How does it look?”
She grinned. “Great. It saysfearlessbecause that’s one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs.”