Hate Notes Page 6

  We arrived at the Bridgehampton estate an hour before the first showing. The caterers were busy setting up. I needed to make a few phone calls and answer some emails, so I told Charlotte to tour the property to get herself acquainted with it. Half an hour later, I found her in the great room studying a painting.

  I walked up behind her. “The owner is an artist. None of the paintings are part of the sale.”

  “Yes. I read that. She’s pretty amazing. Did you know she goes around to nursing homes and listens to stories of how people met their spouses and then paints the image that she sees from hearing their love story? I wonder if this is one of them. It’s so romantic.”

  The piece depicted a couple on a date in a restaurant, but the woman seemed to be looking at a different man, one sitting at a table across from her, and sneaking a smile. “What part is romantic? The part where the woman is eyeing a different guy than the one picking up the bill, or the part where the poor schlep she’s checking out doesn’t yet realize she’ll be doing the same thing to him in a few months?”

  I looked at the painting and silently sympathized with the unsuspecting fool. Trust me, buddy, you’re better off finding out now that she isn’t loyal.

  Charlotte turned around and faced me. “Wow. You’re really a breath of fresh air, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a realist.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Oh really? Tell me something positive about me, then? A realist can see both positive and negative in people. The only thing you’ve seen in me since we met is negative.”

  Charlotte was short, even with the heels she had on. And from the close proximity in which we were standing, I had a view straight down her silky blouse. I didn’t think she’d appreciate the positive thoughts I had at the moment. So I turned and walked away. “I’ll be in the kitchen when the first clients arrive.”

  Even assholes give a compliment now and again when due. And maybe I’d just been too tough on Charlotte. But something about her riled me up. She had an innocence that I had the urge to shatter, and I wasn’t quite sure why. “You did a great job today.” I locked up the front door and put my hand out for Charlotte to walk down the steps before me.

  Being her usual pain-in-the-ass self, she couldn’t just take the compliment. Holding a hand to her ear, she smirked. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it. You’ll have to repeat yourself.”

  “Wiseass.” We walked toward the car together. I opened the passenger door and waited until she got in before closing it.

  Backing out of the long driveway, I asked, “How did you know all that stuff about Carolyn Applegate anyway?” The first client hadn’t been initially sold on the interior design of the house, but after Charlotte name-dropped a dozen celebrities who’d recently had their homes redone by the same designer, the woman seemed to view the place through rosier glasses. That little soft sell she’d done might’ve changed the entire outcome of today’s visit.

  Charlotte was unusual, that was for damn sure, but I had to admit my grandmother’s instincts were usually right. She hadn’t gotten to where she is today by accident. Iris reads people well, and it was starting to look like her read on Charlotte wasn’t totally off base. Perhaps I’d let my feelings for another beautiful blonde taint my initial judgment somewhat.

  “Google,” she said. “I put in the name of the current owners and found them listed as clients on the designer’s website. Then I stalked through some of their other clients. When I’d mentioned the designer had also done Christie Brinkley’s place a few miles away, Mrs. Wooten’s eyes lit up. So I called up the website and showed her that the photos from Christie’s house had a similar fabric on the couch throw pillows.”

  “Well, it worked. You changed her initial view of the house. And with the second couple, pretending to like their little monster worked like a charm.”

  She frowned. “I wasn’t pretending. The little boy was adorable.”

  “He was yelling the entire time.”

  “He was three.”

  “Whatever. I’m glad you could shut him up.”

  She shook her head. “You’re going to make one unlucky woman a miserable husband and impatient father someday.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Oh? Are you nicer to women you date?”

  “No, I just don’t plan on getting married or having children.” My knuckles turned white from the death grip I held the steering wheel in.

  Charlotte was quiet, but a quick side-glance at the expression on her face told me that I’d hit upon a topic she planned to analyze for the entire car ride home. I needed to nip that shit in the bud, so I turned the focus back to business. “I’ll need you to send a follow-up email from me to both couples. Thank them for coming out to view the property and secure a time that we can speak on the phone in the next week.”

  “Okay.”

  “Also, call down to Bridgestone Properties in Florida. Ask for Neil Capshaw. Tell him you’re my new assistant and ask the status of the Wootens’ Boca property they’re selling. We refer a lot of business to their agency, so they’ll be happy to share information. If the Wootens have a buyer for that, they might be more inclined to purchase the Bridgehampton summer home sooner, rather than later.”

  She’d taken out her phone and started to type notes into it. “Okay. Follow-up emails to buyers. Call Capshaw. Got it.”

  “There’s also an appointment on my calendar for tomorrow that I need moved from four o’clock. See if you can push it back to four thirty.”

  “Okay. Who is the four o’clock with tomorrow?”

  “Iris.”

  Charlotte looked up from her typing in her phone. “You want me to call Iris—your own grandmother—to change an appointment?”

  “Yes. You’re my assistant. That’s what assistants do. They make appointments, change appointments, and even cancel appointments on occasion. Did you not get the memo on that being part of your job function?”

  “But she’s your grandmother. Not every relationship should be treated like business, even when it’s business you’re discussing. Shouldn’t you call yourself?”

  “Why?”

  Charlotte shook her head and exhaled. “Never mind.”

  Luckily for me, we drove in silence for a little while after that. Traffic was light, and we managed to make it to the expressway without Little Miss Sunshine telling me how to do my job. I was about to merge onto 495 when Charlotte crossed and uncrossed her legs in the passenger’s seat, and my eyes drifted from the road for a fraction of a second. It couldn’t have been longer than that. Yet the next thing I knew, Charlotte was screaming and grabbing for something to hold on to.

  “Watch out!”

  Instinctively, I jammed on the brakes before I’d even had an opportunity to figure out what the hell I was watching out for. Everything that happened after that came in slow motion.

  I looked up.

  A furry little creature scurried across the road in front of us.

  My car came to a screeching halt, and I got a look at what I’d nearly hit.

  A squirrel.

  A damn squirrel.

  She’d scared the crap out of me because a rodent had crossed the road.

  Unbelievable. I was just about to give her a piece of my mind when a huge bang stopped me. Startled, it took me a minute to realize what had happened.

  Someone had hit us from behind.

  CHAPTER 9

  CHARLOTTE

  “Shit!” Reed spewed before exiting the car and slamming the door. He hadn’t been able to move the car to the side of the road. Whatever happened had rendered it undrivable.

  My heart was pounding.

  It’s okay.

  We’re okay.

  The squirrel, too.

  Everyone is fine.

  Still in shock as I got out, I was vaguely able to register the muffled sounds of Reed arguing with the driver of the red SUV that had rear-ended us.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

&n
bsp; “Call the police. We’re going to need a report. Then look up the nearest tow company while I get this guy’s insurance information.” He took something out of his wallet. “Here’s my AAA card. Tell them we’re just off Exit 70 in Manorville.”

  An hour and a half later, the police finally left and a tow-truck driver arrived and drove us to the nearest mechanic.

  After a long wait, the mechanic came out to see us. Unfortunately, the verdict on Reed’s Benz was not good.

  Wiping some grease off his forehead, he said, “You have a dented rear bumper that’s rubbing against your tire. I should be able to get this fixed for you by tomorrow morning.”

  A look of concern flashed across Reed’s face. “Tomorrow morning? We need to get back to the city tonight.”

  “This is the fastest service ya gonna get around here. Most people would probably tell you a couple of days or more.”

  Reed let out a deep sigh of frustration before raking his fingers through his hair.

  “How are we gonna get back?” I asked.

  “I don’t think we are going back tonight. You can call a car service for yourself and bill the company if you don’t like the idea of staying here in town. Otherwise, book us a couple of rooms nearby. It doesn’t make sense for me to rent a car and drive two hours back to the city if I have to pick up my car here in the morning.”

  The shop owner called Reed away to discuss payment while I mulled over what I wanted to do. Even though he had a tendency to get under my skin, I didn’t think that leaving my boss out here in the middle of Long Island was a way to make a good impression. I wanted to demonstrate that I was a team player, show him I was dedicated to my job. There was a lot of potential for growth at the company, and I needed to use every opportunity to prove myself—especially given my rough start. What I had to do was clear. I got to work looking up some phone numbers for local hotels.

  Reed looked even more frustrated when he returned from the front desk. “Did you decide what you’re doing?”

  “I booked us two rooms at the nearby Holiday Inn.”

  “Holiday Inn? Are there no other options?”

  “I’m sure you’re probably used to Gansevoort or The Plaza. But I love the Holiday Inn. What’s wrong with the Holiday Inn?”

  He muttered something, then said, “Nothing. There’s nothing . . .” He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

  “I’ve also ordered us an Uber. It will be here in a few minutes.”

  He smiled through gritted teeth. “Great.”

  I could tell he was pissed at this whole situation. The thought of spending more time with me than necessary probably annoyed him. It pissed me off, too, because we’d been getting along pretty well today. I was actually surprised by how well we worked together. This situation put a damper on what was otherwise a really productive day.

  Unfortunately, the Uber driver that showed up to get us drove a Mini Cooper. Reed and I were barely able to fit in the back seat. He grumbled under his breath as we squished together. His long legs were cramped. The driving was erratic, too. Sharp turn after sharp turn, I was thrust into Reed’s hard body. I tried not to think about the fact that my own body reacted with every bit of contact.

  I spoke to the driver. “Can you stop at that Walmart up ahead? I promise I’ll be quick.”

  Reed’s frustration was through the roof. “What do you need at Walmart?”

  “A few personal-care items, a bathing suit, and some snacks for the room.”

  His eyes widened. “A bathing suit?”

  “Yes. The hotel has a heated, indoor pool.” I smiled.

  “What are you . . . ten? This isn’t a vacation. Shall we do Chuck E. Cheese for dinner?”

  He was so condescending sometimes.

  “Adults can enjoy swimming, too, you know. It’s a great way to relax and unwind from a stressful day, and living in the city, I rarely have the opportunity to swim in a pool. So you can damn well bet I’m gonna get my money’s worth at this hotel. Well, your money’s worth.” I paused before exiting the car. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be back in five,” I said before slamming the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, Reed looked miffed when I returned to the car with my stuff. “That was not five minutes.”

  “I’m sorry. The man ahead of me in line was arguing with the cashier about the price of nose-hair clippers.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I couldn’t make that up if I tried.”

  Reed let out an exaggerated sigh. As mad as he looked, he was still so gosh-darn handsome, sometimes even more so when he was angry. He was dressed a bit more casually today, in a navy-blue polo that fit snug across his broad shoulders and a pair of khakis. He looked damn sexy.

  I dug into the Walmart bag and took out the candy I’d bought. Opening it, I stripped off a piece of the strawberry licorice and held it up in front of his face. “Twizzler?”

  He shook his head and chuckled, finally seeming to concede to the situation he was forced to endure. To my surprise, rather than mock me again, he took the Twizzler and began to devour it. His teeth sunk into it so good as he pulled that I could practically feel the bite in my flesh. I shivered. When he finished, he stuck out his hand in a silent request for more. For the first time, it was evident that he had a lighter side buried beneath that stuffy exterior. That made me hopeful about the possibility of a better working relationship with him.

  The Mini screeched to a halt, letting us out at the Holiday Inn.

  Reed got us our keys, and just as he was paying, his wallet slipped out of his hands, falling onto the marble floor. A photo that must have been tucked into it lay on the ground. I recognized it immediately as the engagement photo from his Facebook profile.

  Oh my God. He still carries her photo.

  Why?

  This was the first time I truly realized that the same man who’d written the blue note was still somewhere inside of him. Maybe he really hadn’t changed all that much. Maybe he was just pretending to have changed.

  I needed to know more but had to act nonchalant so that he didn’t suspect I knew anything I wasn’t supposed to.

  Bending down to pick up the wallet and photo, I played dumb as I handed everything to him. “Who is that woman?”

  “It’s no one.”

  My heart was pounding as we made our way to the elevator. We took it up to our floor in silence.

  He walked me to my room, which was three doors down from his.

  That was it? He was going to just pretend that he was carrying a photo in his wallet of someone who meant nothing to him? He expected me to believe that?

  My excitement at the prospect of figuring out a missing piece of the Reed Eastwood puzzle caused me to push further. “I don’t believe you when you say that was a picture of no one.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The words vomited out of me. “I stalked you once on Facebook. This was your engagement photo. Her name is Allison. I know it’s none of my business, but that’s how I know that you’re lying.”

  Oh. Shit.

  What is wrong with me?

  “You what?” he spewed.

  “I’m sorry. But you can’t tell me you’ve never done that . . . looked someone up.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m not a career stalker like certain people.”

  I was almost afraid to ask. “What happened to her?”

  He ignored my question. “This is out of line.”

  “I often wonder if she’s the reason you are the way you are.”

  “Excuse me? The way I am?”

  “Closed off and bitter. You seemed so happy in that photo.”

  And then . . . there was the blue note. That was what I wanted to say.

  I had just dug myself into a deeper hole.

  His eyes darkened, and this wasn’t boding well for me.

  “You’re crossing a very dangerous line, Charlotte.”

  Desp
ite his harsh words, I somehow thought if maybe I shared the fact that I could relate to getting my heart broken, that maybe he’d open up a little.

  “I . . . I don’t know what happened with you and her . . . but I understand what it’s like to be hurt by someone you cared about—or thought you cared about. Maybe if you talk about it, you can let out some of the anger.”

  His voice echoed through the long hallway. “The only person making me angry is you. You’ve been nothing but trouble from the moment you weaseled your way into my life.”

  He shut his eyes as if he immediately regretted the harshness of his words. But it was too late. The damage was done. Even though I felt ashamed for putting him on the spot like that, his continuing to insult me was not acceptable. I wasn’t going to sit around and take it tonight. Shit, I wasn’t even on the clock anymore.

  Screw this.

  “I’m done being spoken to that way. I’m out of your hair for the rest of the evening. We can meet for the continental breakfast in the morning. Starts at seven a.m. It’s free . . . not that you care.”

  I could feel tears forming in my eyes, but I fought them. I refused to let him see how upset his words made me.

  Reed walked a little way down the hall to his room. He stood in front of his door, watching me as I kept unsuccessfully scanning my room card. A red error light repeatedly flashed.

  Are you kidding me right now? Way to make a swift exit from this scene.

  Footsteps approached me. Humiliated, I refused to look at him. He took the keycard from me, and the brief touch of his hand didn’t go unnoticed. The door beeped, flashing a green light as he opened it.

  Of course he was able to get it on the first try.

  I still wouldn’t look at him as I whispered, “Thank you.”

  He started to walk away when I stopped him. “Wait.”

  I’d bought three packages of Twizzlers. Taking an unopened one out of the Walmart bag, I handed it to him before disappearing inside and shutting the door.

  CHAPTER 10

  REED

  My thoughts were racing in the shower as the water poured down on me. No amount of hotel soap could wash away how shitty I felt.