Page 177 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

DIXIE

I ’d been working with Eric. Things were going well. After days of searching, we finally made some headway. We had a lead. I was feeling pretty good about life.

Then Eric tells me he’ll handle the Kevin Hughes situation himself, and the air goes out of me.

He said Kevin will get belligerent, and that’s undoubtedly true, but so what? Kevin gets in my face ten times a day about something or the other. It’s not pleasant, but it’s part of my job, and like it or not, I’m used to it.

No, this is something else.

If Eric were the type to hog credit, I’d say he’s trying to make it seem like he’s made this breakthrough on his own. But that’s not who he is.

Which leaves me with just one conclusion.

Xavier Leforte still hasn’t forgiven me for the Thailand incident. He’d apologized for snapping at me, and he’d even given me a bottle of champagne (which I haven’t found time to drink—the story of my life) but clearly, the incident is still on his mind.

Eric’s trying to shield me from Xavier to spare my feelings. Or maybe he’s trying to keep me from discovering that I’m not in the running for Pierre’s old job.

I haven’t seen much of Xavier in the last two weeks. He canceled the weekly huddle, and then he rescheduled our monthly one-on-one. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it—Xavier Leforte is a busy man, and, according to Elisa, he’s been traveling.

But is Xavier’s travel schedule the reason for our missed meetings, or does my boss simply not want to tell me his decision?

The idea that he’s avoiding me because he doesn’t want to give me unpleasant news is ridiculous, but then again, Pierre Valade was terrible at his job, and Xavier had kept him on for far longer than he should have.

Maybe he’s just really bad at confrontation.

And maybe I should be using my time to polish up my resume.

I feel tears gather in my eyes as I walk back, and I blink them away. Once I’m in the relative safety of my office, I let myself cry for five minutes. Eric told me not to be defensive about my ambition. Xavier seemed to like my directness. I believed them.

You could ask Eric why he doesn’t want you there. What the real reason is.

I could, but I’m not going to. When Eric had asked me for help, I’d asked him if Xavier wanted me on board. He hadn’t answered my question then, and I doubt he’s going to answer it now. We might be sleeping together, but Eric’s first loyalty is going to be to his long-time friend. Not to me.

If I needed any more proof that his feelings aren’t involved, this is it.

I blow my nose and wipe away my tears.

I need to smarten up. For weeks—months—I’ve been working fourteen-hour days.

I’ve burned the candle at both ends. I haven’t cooked—I’ve been relying on takeout.

I haven’t done laundry—I’ve been ordering cheap underwear on the Internet instead.

My nails look like crap. I need a haircut.

I’ve rescheduled three appointments to get my ladybits waxed, opting instead for a quick trim.

I’m overdue for some me-time. And, if I’m being honest, I need a day off to rebuild the shields I’ve dropped around Eric. His decision to exclude me from the conversation with Kevin Hughes stings. I thought that we?—

What did you think? That he’d stand up for you because we’re having no-strings-attached sex? Since when did you become such a sentimental fool, Dix?

It’s a little after four. I send Xavier a quick email telling him I need a personal day. He’s not in the office again, so I make my way to Elisa’s cubicle to tell her the same thing.

She’s not there. Her laptop is still on, and her purse is on the desk, so she hasn’t left for the day. I wander to the kitchen, hoping to find her there, and walk in on a conversation between Elisa and Zoe, John Stone’s assistant.

“—not answering his phone,” Elisa is saying, her voice frustrated.

“Why do you need to reach him?” Zoe asks.

“He has a note in his calendar that it’s his friend’s mother’s three-month death anniversary today,” Elisa says with a grimace. “I don’t know what he wants me to do; he hasn’t left any instructions. Am I supposed to send flowers? I’ve tried calling him all day, but I can’t reach him.”

It’s been three months since Hunter’s mother died? Oh God. Poor Hunter. He’d seemed a little lost on Saturday, and when Eric had suggested getting together mid-week, he’d declined without explanation. “I can’t this week,” he’d said, his eyes shadowed. “Let’s just do Saturday night.”

I’d wondered about it, but I hadn’t asked him if he was okay—I didn’t want to cross a line.

Some people don’t notice dates. My brother Michael is one of them. But for me, that first year after my mother’s death, I marked the thirteenth of every month, and every time that date rolled around, I felt her loss anew in my heart.

Elisa looks up and notices me standing there. “Oh, hello, Dixie. Sorry, I didn’t see you. Are you looking for me?”

“I am,” I confirm. “I’m not going to be in tomorrow. I’m taking a personal day.”

“Good,” she says approvingly. “You’re overdue for one. Are you doing anything exciting?”

“Unfortunately, no. Just laundry.”

I drive home, my thoughts bouncing around in my head.

When my mom died, people had been there for me.

My mom’s church group, her choir friends.

They brought casseroles, and they had stayed with me, sharing stories and photos of my mother.

I hadn’t expected their company to help, but it had.

It had made me remember that my mom was more than the cancer that took her.

That she’d lived a vibrant life, she was loved by many, and that she would be missed by more than her family.

Hunter doesn’t discuss his mother. At all. Ever. But he loved her deeply. He seems to want to get through her death by sheer willpower, but it doesn’t work like that. I should know—I’ve lived through the death of a parent.

He shouldn’t be alone today. That doesn’t seem right.

Explain why it bothers you.

I don’t want to. Because the answer to that question is to confront something I’m trying to avoid thinking about. Whether I want to admit it or not, I’m invested in Hunter’s mental state. I care about him.

You are blurring the lines, I warn myself. You’re too involved. After what happened with Eric today, you should be untangling yourself from this arrangement. Not heading over to console Hunter in his time of need. You’re not his friend. He has other people in his life who will play that role.

But does he? Eric hasn’t mentioned the death anniversary. Xavier isn’t in town. Does anyone else remember, or are they busy with their own lives, their own problems?

Hunter deserves better, a voice inside me whispers. He listened to your fantasies. Without judgment, without condemnation. When you told him about William, he was there for you. Do the right thing, Dixie. Be there for him in return.

At home, my refrigerator is empty except for the rotisserie chicken I bought yesterday. Thankfully, my pantry yields better results. I find both dried macaroni and a can of condensed mushroom soup.

Perfect. I shred the chicken, boil up the pasta, add the peas and carrots I find in my freezer, dump the soup over it, mix in some herbs, cover the dish with foil, and stick it in the oven to bake.

You’re cooking for Hunter? That seems really intimate.

It’s not really cooking, I rationalize. Store-bought chicken, soup from a can, veggies from the freezer. What I’m doing is glorified reheating.

Faster than I expected, the oven timer goes off. I remove the glass dish out of the oven. If I think about this too much, I’m going to lose my nerve. Go over, drop off the food, make sure Hunter’s okay.

And if he is polite but distant? If he sends you away?

That’s not a bridge I’m prepared to cross.