One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

13

Two weeks later

You up?

The text comes through at 2:06 a.m. on a Saturday night.

I am up. I’ve been watching a twelve-part documentary series about serial killers and signing random petitions about microplastics.

Now I have a booty call.

I roll onto my back, squinting at my phone. The number is saved under the helpful description of “Glasses. Has a cat.”

Strangely, that does help me place him. The blond-haired analyst from Denver who I hooked up with a few months ago.

I can’t remember his name.

But his cat’s name is Derrida.

Which honestly tells me a lot.

I think about replying, toying with the idea for about thirty seconds before I toss my phone to the side again. I don’t have the energy. Maybe two in the morning will be my new cutoff point.

I stretch until I feel my bones crack and press pause on Episode Seven: The Killer Next Door.

Maybe I should cut my hair. I’ve always worn it long and used to take great pride in it but in the last few months I’m pretty sure I’ve traded the “luscious locks” look for a “why doesn’t that girl own a comb” vibe. Maybe I’ll cut it and lose ten pounds and suddenly have cheekbones.

Maybe then I’ll feel better.

I groan, rolling onto my stomach and hear the crinkle of a candy bar wrapper somewhere beneath me.

Well. That’s sad.

My phone buzzes again.

Sorry.Cat man texts. Wrong number.

My mouth drops open at the indignity of it and I immediately block his number. “Rude.”

I swipe through my notifications, looking for some distraction. But there’s nothing. No new messages. No emails. No likes. No news updates. No nothing.

Made you look.

The last text Declan sent me. It’s saved under “Dark hair. O’Shea’s.”The name of the bar where I met him. I didn’t know his name when I got his number. I didn’t know his name when I slept with him.

He still hasn’t collected his watch.

I still haven’t asked him to.

Maybe he forgot about it. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me again.

He certainly hasn’t tried to get in touch. I thought he might the first few days I was back. Then the first weekend and then…

I stare at the screen and, like I dared myself, click on the reply box, the flashing line taunting me, goading me to type.

But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what I want. I know what I should want, which is nothing. Nothing to do with him anyway. But I don’t like how we left things.

Closure. That’s all I need. One moment of Hey! Wasn’t that crazy? Also goodbye forever! to put him behind me.

There’s a noise on the other side of my wall and a moment later I hear Claire’s door open. Eager for anything other than my own company, I slip out of bed and hop through my discarded clothes on the floor. I find her sitting in the dark, perched on our kitchen counter, eating crackers straight from the box.

“Did I wake you?” she asks when she sees me.

“No, I can’t sleep.”

“Join the club.” She shakes the box at me and we’re silent for a few minutes as we crunch our way through them.

“I got invited to the Griffiths’ party,” she says, licking her fingers.

“The what now?”

“My boss’s annual party. The one they host every year in that amazing penthouse because they’re gazillionaires.”

“Right,” I say. “Cool. That’s a good thing, right?”

“A very good thing.” She pops another cracker into her mouth. “I need you to come with me.”

I make a face. “It’s not really my thing.”

“Supercool rich-people parties aren’t your thing?”

“Maybe when I was nineteen and didn’t know any better. They’re not fun. Just a bunch of boring old people sipping on heavy wine. I’ll pass.”

“You can’t pass.”

“Bring someone else.”

“I don’t have anyone else. I don’t have time for friends, remember? Only you. And even that is purely because we’re forced into proximity.” She puts the box down. “Mark will be there.”

“I thought Mark was in Seattle?”

“He’s coming back for the party,” she says as understanding dawns. “And this is the perfect opportunity for me. I can show up and look stunning and—”

“Take off your glasses and flick your hair?”

“Please Sarah. You’re better at this stuff than I am. I need you to be there. I need you to help me.”

I can’t deal when she looks at me with those round, soulful eyes. She’s better at flirting than she thinks she is. “When is it?” I sigh.

“Not for weeks. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you.”

“Fine.” I’m already worried about what the hell I’m going to wear. “Of course, I’ll go if you want me to.”

“It won’t be that bad. You’ll see. You can find a rich hookup.”

“Yay,” I say, my voice flat but she looks relieved enough that I don’t try and get out of it again.

We’ve finished the crackers. I should go back to bed, but I don’t move, wrapping my arms around me despite the warmth of the apartment. “Do you want to bring me to your fancy gym tomorrow?”

That gets her attention. “For real?”

“I’m not going to go if you’re going to make a big thing about it.”

“It’s not a big thing. It’s just unexpected. Is this the new you?”

“Maybe,” I mutter, going back to my room to sign more petitions or read about black holes or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when you can’t sleep.

“I give it one week,” she calls after me.

I doubt I’ll last one minute.

* * *

“Amanda’s gone.”

I look up at Will’s whisper to see him drawing a finger across his throat.

Oh my God. Amanda? Three desks down, parakeet-owning Amanda? “She’s dead?”

“What? No.” Will looks bewildered. “Harvey let her go.”

I stare at him in horror. “That’s the sign for someone dying!”

“Not in an office environment. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean Harvey let her go?”

“Her and Chris. Happened last week. She’s started telling people.”

“Chris too?”

“We’re definitely not getting bonuses this year.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“I’m sorry, do you not want your bonus?”

We both shut up as Amanda walks past and I feel a shot of fear. She started only a few months after I did. Will sends me a pointed glance but I ignore him, opening my inbox to see Annie’s emailed a bunch of photographs from the wedding.

I look so beautiful!She writes in the accompanying message. Remember we’re back in New York on the seventeenth. Can’t wait to see you.

Back.

But not for good.

They’re coming over for a few weeks before Paul transfers officially to the Dublin office. A few weeks of Annie in the city and then she’ll be gone.

I click through the photos, still distracted by the Amanda news. The first shots are of the hotel, looking as elegant as can be in the rare Irish sunshine. It’s hard to believe I was there only a few short weeks ago.

I linger on one of the group pictures we took after the ceremony. She included all the outtakes and there’s a lot of dress arranging, fly-swatting and squinting at the sun.

Short of holding my hand over the screen I can’t do anything to avoid seeing him.

Declan smiles at the camera, charming and handsome, and ugh. There’s a few of just the two of us, his hand politely around my waist, almost hovering. Do I imagine the rigid set of my shoulders? The frozenness of my smile? I lean toward the screen, trying to read between the pixels.

Will coughs and I look up to see Harvey approaching. I quickly close down the tabs and spend the rest of the day trying to do my work. Harvey’s loose with hours. If the work gets done, people can leave and they usually do. Especially in the summer. But I stay until the bitter end, trying to make a good impression. Will leaves at five fifteen with barely a goodbye. Harvey passes at six twenty with a knowing look in my direction and a tap at his watch.

I pretend I’m on the phone in the classic “I’m very busy and important” move.

But the floor empties once he’s gone. I spend another twenty minutes clicking blindly through my emails, watching everyone go until, finally, I allow myself to leave too.

I pack up quickly, rearrange a few of Will’s things to annoy him and get into the elevator, humming to myself.

I thought the office was empty, so I jump when I hear a faint shout before a hand reaches through the closing doors. Matthias pushes them back open with an apologetic look and gets in.

He has a folder of blueprints under his arm. I resist the urge to look at them.

“Hot out there,” he says by way of greeting.

I smile automatically. “I feel like I’m going to melt. I don’t know how you guys do without shorts.”

“The alternative is much worse,” he jokes. “No one wants to see these legs. Trust me.”

I think about how the new receptionist ogled him all week. I wouldn’t be too sure of that.

I take out my phone, pretending to get a text message so I don’t ask him about the Grayson project like I want to. It still hurts that Harvey took it off me. That work was supposed to take up my life for the next year. Without it, it’s like I’m scrambling around, trying to find things to fill my time, to prove myself.

And while I’m not one to hold a grudge, it’s not like Matthias and I were best friends to begin with, so I’m little surprised that he keeps pace with me when we hit the lobby despite my friendly nod goodbye.

Outside my skin starts to prickle with the heat, despite the evening hour. In about a minute boob sweat will be a real problem.

“Have a good evening,” I say, rooting in my bag for my headphones.

“Are you doing anything nice?”

“Tonight?” I glance down at my crumpled summer dress. The last of my makeup melted into my face about three hours ago. “I think I’m going to lie on my bed and catch up with my AC. What about you?”

“I’m meeting some friends at The Greenerylater.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ve been meaning to check that place out.”

“Yeah? You can join us if you like.”

“At The Greenery?”

“Sure. I’m not meeting them until later. We could grab a drink beforehand.”

“Tonight?”

He nods. I’m confused. And I hate being confused. Is he just being polite? Does he want me to meet his friends? Did he invite anyone else from the office? All these thoughts do not go through my head quickly and Matthias pushes on through my silence as I just stare at him.

“Not that you’d have to stick around,” he says. “We could just get a drink.”

A drink. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“No,” he says instantly. “We work together. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Right.”

He smiles at me and he looks almost… Is he flirting with me?

“Right,” I say again.

Matthias? I’m surprised. Pleased but surprised. He’s one of the last remaining single guys in the firm who isn’t a complete creep. I mean, of course, I’ve thought about what he’d be like in bed. No doubt half the office has. But that’s where I thought he’d remain. In my mind. Not here on a hot summer’s day. Not asking me out on a non-date.

“I better not,” I say, secretly thrilled when I catch a flicker of disappointment in his face. “I have to get up early to go to the gym. I promise you that’s not a fake excuse,” I add. “Even though it sounds like one.”

“Another time?”

“Sure,” I say, though it comes out more like a question. The little flutter of excitement inside surprises me. Especially as it only grows when he smiles.

“Enjoy the AC,” he says and parts with a small wave as he heads across the street.

I stare after him, wishing someone else were here to witness this.

Matthias Scott just asked me out on a date. Or, to look at it another way, I just turned down Matthias Scott for a date.

Will is going to freak.