Page 56 of Love Out Loud

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiona ran her fingers over the pages in the printer tray on the desk in Jake’s bedroom and smiled. He’d finished the magazine article he’d been working on for so long. No wonder he was horny. Well, he was always horny, but today he was in rare form.

She tipped her head to read the title page.

The Pygmalion Project: A Study in Increased Success and Self-Esteem

Based on the Cultivation of Improved Public Speaking Skills.

She snorted. Public speaking skills didn’t increasehersuccess or self-esteem. Poor client, if their self-worth revolved around speaking in public. She shook her head and lifted the cover sheet to read the first page.

The subject in this study (Eliza) is an attractive female in her early thirties with an advanced degree, successful career, and debilitating social anxiety.

“No,” Fiona said, resisting the urge to rip the papers out of the printer. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t. He had lots of clients. Could be anyone.

She lifted a few pages and read another passage, but only a few words and phrases registered:award acceptance speech… refusal to attend group preparation sessions… limited preparation time… initial expectation of failure for this subject requires intense one-on-one interaction with the coach.

Intense one-on-one interaction? She glanced over her shoulder at the rumpled sheets and clothes strewn around like confetti. This time she did rip the pages from the printer and turned to the end to read the conclusion of the study. Her hands were shaking so hard, it was difficult to read.

It has been observed that Eliza has well-developed coping skills and perhaps chooses not to employ them in order to avoid low-interest activities, like public speaking. She is highly motivated by positive feedback and personal rewards, especially in the form of emotional returns. Subject is transforming nicely under direction and, like Eliza Doolittle from literature, is expected to pull off the performance without revealing her true nature.

Her true nature? Her breaths were coming in quick gasps as she dropped the pages to the floor.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jake in the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ve gotta go, Ben,” he said into his phone.

No,shehad to go. Right now. She snatched her shirt off the floor and pulled it on over her head, then stepped into her pants, yanking them up and ripping the zipper closed. She glanced down at her shirt that read, “Ilet the dogs out.” No wonder he didn’t take her seriously.

No, no. Hedidtake her seriously. He took her for a serious fool.

She pointed at the papers scattered on the floor. “This is about me.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t respond. Simply stood frozen in the doorway.

“Motivated by emotional returns?” she asked. She’d give him an emotional return.

“Fiona—”

“Eliza, you mean?” She grabbed her bra and underwear off the floor and shoved them in her back jeans pocket. “You know, Eliza Doolittle, the wretch from the gutter, plucked out of obscurity by the almighty Professor Henry Higgins and transformed from a lowly caterpillar into a butterfly.”

Jake remained silent and still. Clearly, he recognized explosive anger when he saw it and was making the wise choice to keep his mouth shut. Good. Because she wasn’t done yet. All those years of being forced into nightmare situations by her psychiatrist parents, of being studied like that very butterfly with her wings pinned to a board, came rushing back.

“My parents wrote study after study on me, just like that one. And just like that one, they werewrong.”

She stomped into her sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces.

His eyes were wide with horror. “Fiona. I didn’t know… Your parents… I had no idea. I would never—”

She held up her hand to cut him off. True, he hadn’t known she’d been the subject of studies in psych magazines before, but that wasn’t the only issue here. Not even close. “So, what precisely is the emotional return I respond to, Professor Higgins?” She pointed at the bed. “Is it sex?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it wordlessly.

That was the worst part about this whole mess. He’d used her. She blinked back her tears. “Of course it is. Sleep with the poor, wretched, shy woman with… What was it? Oh, yeah! Sleep with the wretched, shy woman with debilitating social anxiety in order to give her confidence to make a speech so thatyoulook good.”

She shoved by him and snapped her fingers. Both dogs abruptly stood and came to heel, clearly sensing her mood.

“Here’s the thing, Higgins,” she said, spinning to face him. “I told you from the start that I don’t need fixing. I told you I’m not Cinderella, and I’m sure as hell not Eliza Doolittle.” She stomped to the door and wrenched it open. “Have you read the playPygmalion, Jacob?”

“I have.”

She swallowed hard, chest aching to the point she thought her ribs were shattering. “She falls in love with him. Like a total fool, she completely falls for the asshole.”

He appeared to be holding his breath as she wiped away a tear that had escaped despite her best efforts.

She stepped into the hallway with her dogs, then turned to face him. “How does it end, Jacob? Not the musical—the source play. The original. Tell me howPygmalionends.”

He blinked rapidly several times before saying, “She leaves him.”

And at that, she slammed shut both the door to his apartment and the door to her tattered, broken heart.

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