AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Even if the story of our breakup doesn’t ruin my reputation, it will ruin my faith and trust in Right Match. How could I work for even one more day, without believing in the product I’m selling?
I clench my jaw as I head for the row of revolving doors. It’s early evening, and the panels of glass reflect the dark blue and indigo of the evening sky and a peachy glow from nearby lights.
I’m in the middle of pulling out my phone so I can call Mortimer and request a meet-up when the sound of my name stops me.
I release my purse and swivel my head toward the sound.
Jocelyn Radner’s walking toward me.
Each step seems to take huge effort, because her belly is swollen with pregnancy. Her back is arched and she has both hands propped on the protruding mound under her blouse like if she holds it, she might not give birth right here on the paved walkway.
“Thank goodness,” she says, as she nears, slightly out of breath. “Oooh, baby. Oh, mamma. Oh, Lordy.” Then she moans and looks up to the sky.
My personal crisis can wait. Pregnant ladies demand full attention. “You okay?” I ask, as I take her elbow and guide her toward a bench near the walkway.
The wooden bench feels hard and cool under me when I sit next to her. A tall planter of brown and faded mums nearby smells earthy and rotten. “What are you doing here?”
“Whew. Got excited there, for a sec. I think I nearly popped.”
“Don’t pop. Please. Gosh, I haven’t seen you in months. You’ve been trying to get in touch with me, right?”
It’s a surprise, seeing her here in central Vermont. We’re a long way from the South Shore, and I didn’t know she had any interest in economics.
“You are a hard person to get in touch with,” she grumbles, as she runs her hands over her belly, maybe soothing a kicking baby inside.
“Wait—you didn’t drive here from Mass just to see me, did you?”
“Yeah, I did. I was trying to get up the nerve to call you, but…Well, you know how that goes. Sometimes I’m a big chicken. Mark gave me your cell number.”
“I know… I’ve been waiting for you to call. He said you wanted to talk to me directly.”
“Exactly. And that’s why I’m here, really. I thought about the phone, but I kept talking myself out of it. Like I said,buk, buk, bu-gawk!A big old chicken. That’s me. Besides, some things shouldn’t be said over the phone, you know? So when I saw Mortimer’s post about how he was gonna pop the question, I got right in my car. I’ve been sitting here for—ooooh, mamma.” She sucks air through her teeth.
“You okay?”
“I get this back pain, when I sit wrong.” She shifts to the right and rests back against the bench. “Oof. That is so much better. What was I saying?”
“You heard he was going to propose so you got in your car…”
“Right. I feelsoincredibly guilty, Gemmy. You were a great boss. Can I just say that, first?”
“Um….” I glance over at the revolving doors.
I called Claire, during my drive. She said she wasn’t able to get in touch with Nikko. Which means he might already be here, in Broad Hollow. She also updated me about a dozen more interview requests, plus the growing online frenzy about me and Mortimer.
“I hate to be rude about this,” I tell Jocelyn, while still watching the doors, “but I am sort of in the middle of a catastrophic evening. I need to get inside and take care of something pretty major.”
“I know,” she says, wincing as she sits forward. “Mortimer’s going to propose. I know. And that’s why I’m here, and that’s why I feel guilty. I better say this. The more I stall, the more stress I feel, and right now I really shouldn’t let myself get stressed.”
“Goodness, no. Whatever it is, Jocelyn, you can tell me.”And please be quick about it. “Okay.” She sucks in a breath. “I did something terrible. I’m sorry. Really sorry. A couple years ago, I was going to this gym on the second floor of the Grafton Center. And Mortimer was a member, too, and we both used the rowing machines. One day we got to talking and he found out that I worked for you. He said how pretty and smart you were, and how he’d love to have a shot with you. I told him you only dated guys who were vetted by your own system. You know, guys with Right Match profiles, whose scores were compatible with yours.”
“Of course.” I swallow and fight off a wave of nervous nausea.
Out in the lot, a car pulls out. Near the doors, a couple of middle-aged men stroll out and laugh as they walk into fading light,
“Well, he wasn’t sure he’d get good numbers, with his profile. He sort of—oh, yikes, this is tough to admit. I feel like the worst human being on the face of the planet right now. Seriously.”
She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. When she speaks, the words come out in one big rush. “He offered me thirty grand if I’d fill out his profile for him and make sure the numbers worked with yours.”
