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As has been previously established, waking up to a feeling that all was right with the world had, these last weeks, become de rigeur for Zoe Blanchard, and the morning of Nick’s meeting was no exception. She had a sneaking suspicion that waking up in bed that was in a French vineyard would have been better, but as long as Nick was in the bed beside her then exactly where the bed was mattered little. It was into a kick-ass world that she was waking, and the fact that New York was not the South of France was of no consequence.
They had had time for a pleasant breakfast together before Nick headed off to do business stuff and Zoe reveled in the uncommon domesticity of it. That was something they had not previously enjoyed, they had always been ‘staying somewhere’ so far in their relationship, now they had, for the first time, woken up in her apartment. It no longer felt like a holiday romance, it was different, it was settled, it was wonderful.
Nick kissed her goodbye and headed off to the office. Zoe was slightly grateful that Alisha was off at her own boyfriend-of-the-month’s place and wasn’t there to ask any questions about who Nick was.
There was, Zoe considered once he was gone, something amusing about Nick heading to the office. He was, in name at least, CEO of one of the biggest corporations in America, and had all the business sense that God gave an artichoke. She on the other hand was a lowly PA, and had the skills to be so much more. Which she would be, one of these days, she promised herself, but for now she had messages to check and emails to send and phone calls to make concerning exactly what her position was following her lengthy sabbatical learning how to pretend to be her boss.
As it turned out, nothing seemed to have changed, and while Vanessa Reese had a good laugh at Zoe’s expense when they spoke on the phone, Zoe still found herself almost glad to hear her boss’s voice and to hear that Vanessa was back to work once more. It was not Vanessa she had missed; it was the work. The last three and a half weeks had been interesting and, as has been intimated, the most recent of them had been luxurious in its sexual excesses.
But Zoe was not one of those people for whom work is just a pay check – she enjoyed what she did, she was good at what she did, and most of all, she enjoyed being good at what she did. She was looking forward to getting back to the cut and thrust world of business, a world in which ballet played almost no part whatsoever.
Although she was glad of this, she also realized that it would put pause to her and Nick’s planned return to the French vineyard, at least for the time-being. In the future she certainly looked forward to another holiday there, perhaps a honeymoon… Was that getting ahead of herself? Perhaps. But one of the best things about being in a new and exciting relationship was that it gave you license to do that.
You were allowed to day dream, and the dream of her and Nick getting married was one which had featured more and more prominently in her head over the last few days.
Crazy? Perhaps. But, right now, she was fine with being crazy.
Still, it was bound to be a disappointment to Nick, who had been planning a return to the vineyard as soon as his business in New York (whatever that might be) was concluded. Zoe smiled and shook her head as she thought of him - he really had no idea how other people lived or that some people could not just take off on a romantic getaway without any concerns about work. She kind of liked that about him; he might be from another world but he strove to do his best in this one, and that was to be admired.
With her future employment sorted and the comforting knowledge that she would be back to work on Monday firmly established. Zoe cast about for what to do with the rest of her day. She found herself unaccustomed to leisure time – for the last few weeks her every waking moment had been taken up with either learning how to be Vanessa or having sex (which could not be called leisure – not the way she and Nick did it). Now she was seized with an odd feeling that she was supposed to be memorizing the names of opera singers, tasting wine or going through her flashcards on which champagne bottle was a Methuselah and which a Nebuchadnezzar; information which was now of limited use to her.
And even if she could dispel the sensation that she was supposed to be learning something fatuous right now, Zoe did not think that she would be able to dispel the wider sense that she was supposed to be doing something. Zoe was not someone to whom inactivity came easily. On beach holidays she could not simply lay on the sand and soak up the sun, at the very least she had to be reading at the same time, more likely she would go exploring. On her days off from work she did not lounge about the apartment or kick-back in front of the TV, she went out shopping, she tidied, she organized her tax receipts, anything. Maybe it was growing up in a family where everybody worked, but the idea that doing nothing was a terrible waste of time was pretty heavily engrained in Zoe.
Alongside this sensation of thwarted purpose, came the sensation of missing Nick. Zoe shook her head. He had been gone for a matter of hours and she was missing him? What did that say about her? She had never wanted to be one of those women who lived for their man, and wilted when he was not there. And yet she was.
Was he missing her? She hoped so. And whether he was or wasn’t, it gave her an idea on how to fill her morning. If she hurried, she could go out shopping now and put together the ingredients for a picnic, then she could surprise Nick at his office.
With this productive use of her time firmly in mind, Zoe sprang into action and by half twelve she was riding the elevator up to Nick’s office at the top of the RothCo building.
“Hi Eddie.” She grinned to see the ever-harassed assistant, staring in bafflement at the screen of his laptop.
“It just went,” he moaned.
“It’s not plugged in, Eddie,” Zoe pointed out kindly.
Eddie frowned. “It’s never needed to be before.”
“You’ve been running it off battery.”
“I guess.”
“I’d say the battery is out.”
Eddie took this in, and then shrugged. “That’s as good an explanation as any I guess.”
“Is Nick busy?” asked Zoe, keen to move the conversation away from the intricacies of laptop repair and onto the purpose of her visit.
“He’s in with his brother,” said Eddie, keeping his voice low and conspiratorial. “Mr. A.”
“Okay.” Zoe deflated a little. She had known that Nick might be busy and did not mind waiting, but, if past experience was anything to go by, his conversations with his brother did not put Nick in the best of moods. “Do you know how long they might be?”
Eddie shook his head. “Sorry, no. Would you like me to let him know you’re here?”
“I don’t want to disturb him.”
“I can use the intercom,” said Eddie, unable to disguise a tone of pride in his voice. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Thanks,” smiled Zoe.
Eddie, pressed a button. “Mr. Rothberger? Miss Blanchard is here.”
No response.
Eddie bit his lower lip in bafflement. “I don’t think that was the right button.”
“I think…” Zoe began but Eddie held up a hand.
“I’ve got to learn. Maybe it’s this one.” He pressed another button, a light came on, and before Zoe had the chance to say, ‘That’s not the right button, Eddie,’ a voice came out of the machine.
“The way I see it, you should be grateful; not only have I given you the chance to stand on your own two feet for the first time in your life, but thanks to me you got a few weeks of no-strings sex. Seems like we all got something out of this bet.”
The voice was that of Adam Rothberger and Zoe realized that she and Eddie were, quite unintentionally, eavesdropping on the conversation going on within. In another instance she might have quickly told Eddie to turn it off, as she had been very properly brought up to believe that eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation was rude, but what she had heard had put her southern manners to one side for the moment. They could only be talking about her, unless Nick was having a few weeks of sex with some
one else, which she did not believe (partly because she trusted him and partly because it did not seem physically possible –something would have dropped off). She did not much like the term ‘no-strings’ when applied to her and Nick, but this was Adam speaking and perhaps he did not know the full story. What made her frown in concern and made her keep listening in defiance of basic politeness, was the word ‘bet’. What bet? An unpleasant, cold feeling crept through her stomach.
“I’d better…” Eddie reached for the phone, but Zoe smacked his hand away.
“Sorry, but… shhh!” Now Nick was speaking.
“…you’re right. She was just part of the bet and, yeah, I was angry as hell when you pointed her out in the bar. One look at her and I thought: how the hell can I teach that to be sophisticated? She was just part of the bet, and the most irritating part of it. She was slow, dumb, completely ignorant of anything that could even vaguely be called class, and…”
“Trailer trash,” Adam added his devastating summation to Nick’s description of Zoe.
“Yeah,” Nick agreed, apparently without concern.
“Zoe…” Eddie began.
