AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That was my goal, plain and simple. I wanted to do some good in this place. And selfishly, I wanted my family name to mean something greater in this town than what it used to. I never could make him proud, but I could sure as hell make myself proud. So, it was time to right the ship and get on with business.
All it would’ve taken was for some intern or receptionist to gossip about what Nicole and I were doing bashing around in her office for an hour. Then I’d be off the project and Ray Forrester would get to finish and screw up what I had started. Nicole would have been reprimanded or worse. She could’ve lost her job as well. There was too much riding on this for me to derail something so important by being reckless.
I had a restless streak, and I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I’d carry a lot of shame if I lost this opportunity. I was a hundred percent sure I was the best man for this job. So it was time for me to stand up and be the best man, not the distracted bro driven by lust and some kind of complicated feelings about the woman who was basically my boss. I let out a sigh. I had to do better. If I’d had the self-discipline and determination to turn around a failing family business and get my mom out of debt, I sure as hell had what it took to complete this community center without losing focus over a woman.
20
Nicole
The keynote speaker was even dryer than the crackers I was nibbling on. The conference ended tomorrow, and I could get back to work. The mayor had talked the convention up to the city council, and they’d been enthusiastic about it. That’s what landed me right here, listening to a long speech about the importance of local infrastructure.
The breakout sessions on cost-effective improvements and community initiatives had been more useful than the slide deck the overpriced speaker who had the floor before dinner. He’d been droning on for ninety minutes and had shown the cover of his latest book three times. He had some expertise, and was probably expensive as speakers go, but he wasn’t engaging. His examples were only from affluent suburbs with one urban project to his name. He had done nothing in a place like Rockford Falls, a rural community operating on a shoestring budget and reliant partly on the largesse of the county board to get anything done. What he had to say didn’t really apply to me. It was all I could do to keep my phone in my purse on silent. I wanted to scroll through TikTok with my AirPods in or message with Trix and Michelle about how crappy the speaker was.
I had to keep reminding myself I was a mature professional who didn’t take out my phone during meetings or bitch about the conference to her friends. This wasn’t high school. No matter how much it felt like it, when I was trapped in a boring, useless seminar that was about as helpful as the semester of Latin I took when I was fifteen—incomprehensible and pointless.
At the two hour mark I wondered if it was possible to die of boredom. The tedious lecture went on. I was given a meager glass of white wine that passed for ‘cocktail hour’ and it smelled and tasted like vinegar to me. The least they could’ve done was to spring for some good booze to make this tolerable, I grumbled to myself. What I really wanted was some cranberry juice. I never thought to buy any unless I had a UTI and the doctor told me to drink it but it sounded really good right now, tart and refreshing. My mouth practically watered thinking about it. When a waiter went by, I waved a little frantically. I handed him my wine glass.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, obviously confused.
“I didn’t care for it. Could you bring me some cranberry juice on ice?”
“I—I’m not sure we have that. I can check for you, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I said. I willed him to hurry.
It was as if the promise of cool cranberry juice was the only tether keeping me from freaking out. I was bored and tired and thirsty. The plain crackers that were on the table had been too dry and nothing tasted good. I started to despair that this obviously terrible catering company wouldn’t have any juice at all, or if they did it would taste like the can it came in. Eventually my pal the waiter emerged and crept toward me, a tall glass of something reassuringly bright red on his tray. He set it down in front of me.
It was too orange. It wasn’t on ice. It looked thick. Opaque. Repulsive. I recoiled.
