Maybe. I watched the car service pull up to the curb.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to kill that part of me also.
CHAPTER 20
LILLIAN
My large and crowded key ring sat in the middle of Fran’s neatly organized desk. I stared at it in shock, momentarily forgetting why I was there.
“Surprised at something?” she asked dryly, her New York accent perking its head.
“Those are my keys.” I pointed at one of the attachments, an outdated plastic photo of Jacob when he was starting kindergarten.
“Oh good,” she said warmly, in a sort of cat-who-ate-the-canary way. “So you admit it.”
Admit it? That didn’t sound like something that I wanted to do. “Admit what?”
“That you keyed my car last night.”
A protest both rose and fell on my lips, the result some sort of garbled scoff. I clasped my hands together. “I did not key your car.” Was it a lie? I wasn’t sure. “I didn’t.”
“Well, your keys were in the street near my car, and the blade on that knife was out, with bits of my paint still clinging to it.”
I looked at my keys, the pink Swiss Army knife one of the many attachments on its ring. “I don’t—”
“Stop,” Fran interrupted. “I told you yesterday that you needed to step up your performance. You didn’t want to hear it then, and I don’t want to hear your excuses now. The ice . . .” She paused for dramatic effect and planted her fingertips on the desk like spiders. “The ice has broken.”
“Please, Fran—”
“No.” She held up her palm to stop me. “It’s been a good run with you, Lillian, but it’s done. I didn’t call the cops last night, and I’m filing this with my insurance as an act of random vandalism. Consider that a favor and head on your way. Make this difficult, and you can forget any letter of recommendation or reference.”
Wow. I reached for my keys and pulled them slowly toward myself, then stood, trying to sort through the mess. Fran leaned back in her ergonomic chair, laced her fingers together on her belly, and gave me that same smug little smile from yesterday. She was, for some reason, enjoying this.
Maybe that’s why I did it. Maybe after a few drinks, and thinking of that smug little smile, I’d had a bad idea and told the taxi to take me to Ladera Heights instead of home. I could have done something worse. Keying a car wasn’t that bad. If I hadn’t dropped my keys, she probably wouldn’t have ever suspected me.
“Goodbye, Lillian,” Fran said coldly.
I didn’t respond, just held my head up high and left.
CHAPTER 21
LILLIAN
My first unemployed day, I dressed in a white off-the-shoulder sundress, purchased a pair of new wedge heels that tied around my ankles, and headed back to the coffee shop in Marina del Rey. David Laurent, who had been a text-messaging machine, was in town for three days and was, quote, “dying to see me.”
On the way, I rolled all the windows down and blasted Gwen Stefani, channeling my inner Taylor. Did I go by Tay-Tay? I hadn’t yet decided.
Now, with my hair wilder than usual, I strolled into the café with a nonchalance that felt almost natural.
“Taylor.” David raised a hand from a two-top by the windows and stood.
His hat was gone, and his hair was a mess of sun-kissed waves, his glasses now perched on his head and keeping them in check. I could see his eyes more clearly now, green, and there was a bit of peeling skin at the tip of his nose. I stared at it, fascinated, because no self-respecting Californian burned, not if they were over thirteen.
Without hesitating, he zoomed toward me, and there was a freeze-worthy moment when I thought he was going to kiss me, before I realized he was doing the French thing, a smooch on each cheek, and thank God I hadn’t gasped and recoiled, or puckered up and met his lips.
“You look . . . incredible.” He was cupping my shoulders, looking me up and down as if in awe of what he was seeing.
I laughed as if I hadn’t spent two hours in front of the mirror, in preparation for the event. “Oh stop.” Please don’t. Please continue, forever.
He released my shoulders and gestured for the table. “Should we sit?”
I moved toward the table and he pulled out my chair, a courtly gesture that Mike hadn’t performed in more than a decade. Sitting, I tried not to stare as he took the opposite seat. He looked good, and my attraction to him was interesting, because it wasn’t like the rough-around-the-edges, retired-surfer look did it for me. I liked . . . What did I like? The last time I was single, I was into scrawny builds, underfed abs, and boyish smirks. In this new landscape of grown men, I was a little lost. Listening to single women talk was a pros-and-cons list on steroids.
Well, he has hair, so I can overlook the extra thirty pounds.
Sure, he’s dull, but have you seen his home in Del Mar?
The sex is horrible, but at least he makes me laugh.
“How’s work?”
I let out an awkward laugh, and while I knew he was asking about my imaginary calendar-buying gig, I told him the truth. “Actually, I got fired yesterday.” As soon as the news left my lips, I pinched them together, surprised at the confession, which I hadn’t shared with anyone, outside of Sam.
“A true firing?” He looked intrigued, and I reminded myself that, as Taylor, I could spin this any way that I wanted to.
“Oh yes.” I picked up the coffee cup with my new name written on it. “Big dramatics. Quite the scandal.” I took a sip and smiled coyly at him. “I’d tell you exactly what happened, but then . . . well. You know.”
“You’d have to kill me,” he said earnestly, his eyebrows pinching in mock concern.
“Exactly.” I shrugged. “Killing you would be a pain. You look like you’d put up a pretty good fight.”
He laughed out loud, his gaze sticking on me as if he couldn’t get enough—and I didn’t know where my witty comebacks were coming from, but this role felt right, like one I was born to play.
“Well, seeing that you’re soon to be in the bread lines, I’m obligated to cook you a dinner while I’m in town. I’m also obligated to give you this present, which is probably in terrible taste, now that you have become a pariah of the calendar world.” He grinned in an aw-shucks way and reached between the table and the wall, pulled out a wrapped gift.
Lillian practically fell out of her chair in excitement. Thankfully, Taylor eyed the exquisitely wrapped box with the nonchalance of a woman accustomed to such gestures.
I shouldn’t accept it. It didn’t matter that Mike had given me a Costco membership for my last birthday. I was a married woman, and David had just invited me to dinner, and here was where I should draw the line and remind him of the ring on my finger. “Hmm . . . ,” I mused. “I’m not sure a married woman should be accepting presents from handsome strangers.” I smiled to soften the point, which I’d already wrapped in a cushion with the word handsome.
“There are some things a husband doesn’t need to know,” he scoffed, and pushed the box closer to me. “It’s an innocent gift. How do you say? Scout’s honor.”