Chapter Four

The next morning, Clive was cold to Kristy. When she arrived, he didn't come out of his office to say hello like he usually did. Instead, she found a list on her desk of the things that he needed her to do that day. Kristy felt a strange mixture of both relief and disappointment. She decided to ignore the situation and focused on her work. At lunchtime, she took her brown bag down to the employee break room, which thankfully was empty. Not too many people ate in the break room; rather, they preferred to hurry down to a diner or restaurant for lunch. Kristy took out her salad and diet Coke and began to eat.

While she was eating, Lindsay came down to the break room. "Hey, where did you disappear to last night?" Lindsay asked breezily as she sat down at the table with a bag of her own. Kristy watched as she unwrapped a tuna sandwich and a snack bag of potato chips.

"Well, I didn't have anyone to talk to," Kristy said pointedly, "so I went home."

Lindsay sighed. "Oh, Kristy, I'm sorry about that, but Brent was just all over me and what was I supposed to do?"

Kristy rolled her eyes. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"You aren't mad, are you?"

"No, not at all." But she was. "I brought your clothes. They're up in my office. I can give them back to you after lunch."

"Sure." Lindsay bit into her tuna sandwich and began talking about her fabulous night with Brent, the latest in Lindsay's search for the right man. Kristy tuned her out. She couldn't believe how immature these people were. Clive, who hit on her like she was some cheerleader and he was the star quarterback. Couples going for a quickie in private bathrooms. And Lindsay . . . It was amazing she didn't have any children or STD's yet. Though Kristy wasn't too sure about the STD part.

Ugh. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Kristy finished off her salad and then tossed her things into the garbage can, getting up in the middle of one of Lindsay's sentences. "See you," Kristy called over her shoulder as she swung out of the break room. She had fifteen minutes left on her lunch hour, enough time to sit outside and take a breather.

Kristy took the elevator to the bottom floor and headed out the door of Willow Books. Outside, she sat down on the front stoop and took a deep breath. The air was just beginning to smell of fall. It was the middle of September, the beginning of Kristy's favorite time of year. The leaves would begin to turn brown and amber, and there was a certain crispness in the air. Christmas would be there before she knew it. Despite everything else, Kristy did love Christmas in New York. There were lights and decorations absolutely everywhere, along with bell-ringing Santa's and Christmas carolers. Kristy thought of the previous Christmas. She'd spent the money from her Christmas bonus on buying Sarah brand new toys and books. She wanted to make sure that Sarah had a good Christmas. After Sarah opened her presents, they'd spent the day inside watching Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate (chocolate milk for Sarah). Sarah didn't understand a whole lot about Christmas. Maybe this year she would, though.

"Kristy?"

Kristy's head jerked up at the sound of a vaguely familiar female voice. It wasn't Lindsay or Maria. She saw a blonde woman striding towards her purposefully. Oh, shit, Kristy thought, frantically grabbing a pair of sunglasses from her inside jacket pocket. She put the sunglasses on--they were big, movie-star glasses that took up most of her face--and brushed her bangs even more into her eyes than they usually were.

"Kristy Thomas, is that you?" The girl, who Kristy now clearly recognized as Stacey McGill, had almost reached her. Kristy jumped to her feet and started to turn back into Willow Books, but Stacey caught up to her and grabbed her arm, whirling her around. Kristy prayed that the sunglasses wouldn't give away the details of her face. "Kristy," Stacey demanded again, but now she looked uncertain. It was the uncertainty that gave Kristy a little more confidence. She still had a chance.

"Pardonez-moi," Kristy murmured, taking her arm back and turning her face away. "Non parlez-vous Englais."

"Oh." Stacey was still staring at her. "I'm sorry." She let go of Kristy's arm and Kristy turned and flew back into the entrance of Willow Books. As soon as the front entrance was shut tight behind her, Kristy took a few deep breaths, turning to look cautiously behind her. Through the tinted doors, she could see Stacey still standing on the sidewalk, peering after her. But after a moment, Stacey shook her head and turned and walked away.

Kristy's heart was racing so fast that it physically made her weak. She put a hand up to her chest, feeling the pounding. Her head throbbed. Had Stacey really recognized her? Had she bought the fake French? Kristy had taken a year of French in high school. She never thought she'd actually use it. Oh, God, what if Stacey recognized her anyway?

Stacey McGill had been one of Kristy's best friends since seventh grade, and all the way through high school. Stacey had lived in Manhattan until she was in seventh grade, and when her parents divorced, her father stayed in the city. Stacey visited him all the time. Or maybe Stacey lived in New York now, too. Kristy didn't know. All she knew was that it was possible that Stacey had recognized her. And Stacey would tell her best friend, Claudia, who would tell Mary Anne, Kristy's former best friend, and word might get back to her parents that Kristy was possibly in New York City.

Oh, God.

The secretary was staring at Kristy. "Is everything okay, Ms. Thomas?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. Kristy realized that she was still standing there, breathing heavily, her sunglasses still on. Kristy took a deep, calming breath, taking off her sunglasses. "Uh, yeah, I'm just . . . I'm fine," Kristy stammered, hurrying towards the elevator. She had to go home. She was way too nervous to stay at work.

Upstairs, Kristy tapped on the door to Clive's office. "Come in," he called.

Kristy stuck her head in. When Clive looked up, his eyebrows raised. "Help you with something?" he asked.

"I need to go home," Kristy said.

"Oh?"

"Yes." Kristy's mind worked fast. "Something I ate at lunch must have made me sick. I feel nauseous." Which was actually true. The nauseous part, anyway.

Clive studied her for a minute, then nodded. Her pale, sweaty appearance must have worked to her advantage because he must have believed her. "All right then, Kristy," he said finally. "Call me in the morning to let me know if you'll be back tomorrow."

"Sure," Kristy agreed hurriedly. "Thanks." She shut the door and hurried back to her desk. She gathered her things into her bag and headed out of the office. Keeping her head ducked low, she took the elevator back down to the third floor. Just before exiting the building, she put her sunglasses back on and added a scarf around her head. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the streets.

Fortunately, Stacey was no longer there. Nor did anyone appear to be paying any close attention as Kristy made her way down the sidewalk. Still, she kept her head low and avoided looking at anyone directly. Her heart pounded the entire time that she was on the street, until she made her way to her apartment building. Taking a quick glance around to make sure that no one was watching her, she ducked inside.

Only when she was safe inside her apartment and her door had been locked behind her did Kristy's pulse slow down. She took several deep breaths before she took off her sunglasses and her scarf. Then she sank down into the big armchair in her foyer and dropped her head into her hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

What if Stacey didn't buy her "I don't speak English" bit? What if Stacey even suspected, and she told someone else her suspicions? Would they track her down through Willow Books? Would her mother and Watson come pounding on her door, wanting an explanation along with the stolen money? Would they take Sarah away from her?

Calm down, Thomas, calm down, Kristy told herself. Think about this rationally. Yes, Stacey had seen her. But she hadn't gotten a good look at her face. For all Stacey knew, she ran into a French girl who looked like Kristy from a distance. Maybe she'd mention it to someone, but maybe she brushed it off.

Kristy needed a drink. A strong drink. She went into her kitchen and poured herself the last bit of scotch from the bottle she'd bought the other day and downed it all in a couple of gulps. Her head instantly began to pound from the alcohol, but her heart slowed down slightly and quickly, the familiar feeling of being buzzed began to take over her. She needed some more alcohol. Searching through her cabinets, she found half-finished bottles of vodka and rum, and one unopened bottle of champagne that her last supervisor had given her the previous Christmas. Kristy took the champagne bottle, along with a bag of potato chips, some dip, and a bottle of plain water into her bedroom. She glanced at the clock. Sarah would need to be picked up from daycare in about four hours. That was plenty of time. Kristy kicked off her high heels and removed her blazer, tossing it onto the floor. Wearing her work pants and the tank top she'd put on under her blazer, Kristy crawled into bed with the potato chips and the champagne. She used her remote and flicked on the television set, tuning into a corny soap opera. She shoved a few chips into her mouth and then swigged back the champagne bottle, preparing to get good and relaxed.

Something was buzzing. Kristy frowned, shaking from a slightly drowsy sleep. Suddenly her eyes fell on the digital clock next to her bed, and she snapped fully awake. Oh, my God! she thought, sitting straight up. Oh, my God, she thought again, except this time the thought was out of pain. As soon as she sat up, her head began pounding. Peering again at the clock, which read 42 minutes after five, she saw that she'd polished off most of the bottle of champagne. Mumbling a few choice swear words under her breath, Kristy struggled to get out of bed. She was supposed to have picked up Sarah almost forty-five minutes ago. The daycare closed at 6pm. Suddenly she realized that it was her telephone that had been buzzing. They were probably trying to call. Kristy was never late.

Shoot, shoot, shoot. Kristy stumbled to her feet, but apparently, the alcohol in her system had done quite a job of knocking her out. Kristy cursed herself as she stumbled across the room, grabbing her blazer jacket and tossing it on over her camisole. She didn't bother with heels; instead, she stuck her stocking feet into the first pair of sneakers that she saw. How could she be so irresponsible? And how in the hell was she going to make it downtown when she could barely make it around her apartment. Her head was pounding so hard that it made it hard for Kristy to see. Her drunkenness, combined with her nap, made for a pretty bad hangover. She managed to make it to the living room before the apartment began to spin. Groaning, Kristy collapsed onto the couch, her face falling into a soft cushion. It was no use. She'd never make it to the daycare in one piece. She'd never get Sarah back safely. Sighing, she attempted to stretch to the table beside the couch, where she kept her phone. She'd call the daycare. Someone could bring Sarah home.

But she couldn't even remember the number. Tears of frustration and self-loathing filled Kristy's eyes and she blinked them away. If she could make it across the room to the kitchen. All her phone numbers were listed on the refrigerator. . .

But before she could even get off the couch, she suddenly heard someone knocking on the door. And then she heard Sarah's voice. "Mommy! Open the door!"

Sarah! What in the world---? With a surge of adrenaline, Kristy forced herself off of the couch and stumbled over to the door. It took her a few minutes, but she managed to unlock all the locks on the door. Then she pulled the door open.

Standing there was none other than Clive Brighton.

"Clive?" Kristy mumbled, surprised. Clive looked concerned, and Kristy's gaze fell to Sarah, who was contentedly being held in Clive's arms. "Mommy!" Sarah cried.

"Sarah," Kristy whispered. Suddenly the earth began spinning rapidly and Kristy's head felt heavy, as if a weight were pressing down on her. As her vision began to go dark, she felt herself crumpling to the floor.

When Kristy woke up, she was aware of two feelings. The first was a physical pain. Her head was still pounding and she was dizzy. But the second feeling was much worse: pure, complete embarrassment.

She slowly realized that she was laying down on the couch again, this time on her back. Something cold was on her forehead. As her vision cleared, she saw herself gazing into the bluest pair of eyes that she'd ever seen in her life. For a moment, the intensity in his gaze made her even more dizzy. But then she realized that it was Clive, and her embarrassment greatened. Clive Brighton, her boss, the sexiest and one of the most powerful men at her office, a man who she felt nothing but contempt for, was sitting carefully on the edge of Kristy's second-hand, flowered couch, holding a cold cloth to her forehead.

"Clive," she said weakly, "What happened?"

"You fainted," Clive explained, his face still concerned.

Suddenly, Kristy remembered Sarah. "Oh, my God!" She started to sit straight up, but Clive caught her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. "Where's Sarah?" she demanded.

"Sarah's fine," Clive assured her. "She's watching a movie."

It was only then that Kristy realized their conversation was being accompanied by a Disney soundtrack. Kristy let out a slow sigh of relief. Then she froze again. "Wait a minute. How in the hell did you get Sarah here?"

Clive grinned. "The daycare called the office," he explained. "I was just heading out when the phone rang. It's a good thing I picked up. The receptionist was quite worried when you didn't arrive to pick up Sarah. She said she tried to call here but you weren't answering. I explained that you'd gone home sick at lunchtime and perhaps were napping. So I swung by and picked Sarah up."

Kristy should have been relieved, but she was outraged. "Are you trying to tell me that that daycare just handed my daughter over to a complete stranger?"

Clive laughed. "I had to show all sorts of identification and verification that I was who I said I was."

"Well, I still don't like that," Kristy said with a sigh. "But I suppose I should thank you for bringing her home. I was just attempting to figure out how to get there when you arrived."

"I imagined," he said, gesturing towards her sneakers and hastily buttoned blazer.

Kristy's head was beginning to clear, and she wondered just how long she had been conked out for. She glanced up at Clive again, startled to find his eyes still trained steadily on hers. "Are you all right?" he asked gently, and for the first time, his accent appealed to Kristy. Slightly.

Shaking her head to clear it, Kristy nodded and attempted to sit up. This time, with his help, Clive let her. Sitting up didn't make her feel as dizzy as it had before. Kristy decided that the alcohol must have been wearing off. "I'm all right," she said.

"Would you like me to stay awhile?" Clive offered.

"No, no," Kristy said hurriedly. "Thanks. But I'll be all right. I don't want to keep you, after you've done enough. I'm just going to put Sarah to bed early and then crash for awhile."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Kristy managed to get to her feet and offered him a tight smile. She was growing increasingly agitated by his presence. He smelled like cologne, again, and it was affecting her more than the alcohol. She needed him gone. Now.

"All right," Clive agreed, rising to his feet as well. He set the cold cloth down on the coffee table and turned to face her. "If you want to take tomorrow off as well, it's fine. Just make sure you get better."

His concern and consideration was almost . . . kind? Could a man like Clive really be genuinely kind? She eyed him, looking for any sign of mockery. But there was none.

"Thanks," she said finally. "And thanks again for. . .everything."

Clive smiled. "Don't mention it."

After he was gone, Kristy dropped back onto the couch, letting her head fall into her hands. She couldn't believe she had been so irresponsible. She, Kristy Thomas. Kristy Thomas was the most responsible woman in the universe. Or at least, she used to be. Now here she was, drinking her afternoon away into oblivion and forgetting to pick up her daughter from daycare. Not to mention humiliating herself in front of her boss. What was happening to her? Was her life really that bad?

"Sarah," she called weakly. "Let's have dinner and get ready for bed."

She would have time to think later.