Page 18 of Nothing But the Truth

Oh.

Her heart sank for multiple reasons.

“But I’m sure you can squeeze in a trip to the bar before you go to lunch with Lily.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and she knew how lucky she was to have a friend like him. One who’d conduct impromptu curse-reversal rituals in her office, entertain ideas of wishing gone wrong, and reassure her everything would be all right.

She just had to make it through a surprise meeting with the boss she didn’t like on the day she couldn’t control what came out of her mouth. No big deal.

—

Jonathan’s office could not have been more different from Joanna’s. Where hers was pastel, calm, feminine, his was sharp edges, black leather, an obscenely large TV. Again, it made Lucy wonder what their childhood bedrooms looked like.

She took a breath before she knocked on his open door.

He sat at his desk, a sweeping onyx thing shiny enough that she could see her reflection. “Lucy, right on time.” He welcomed her with a smile and said what he always said, the four words that made Lucy’s rabbit-trap heart kick up a gear: “Get the door, please.”

Dutifully, she shut it behind her. Her palms were slicked with sweat. She wiped them on her dress’s skirt and hoped he just wanted a quick chat and she’d be back at her desk in minutes, but she knew better.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs opposite his desk.

Lucy sank into one, hearing the soft leather hiss under her weight, and focused on the view out his window. Joanna’s window looked west: a straight shot to the ocean on a clear day and an angle that bathed the welcoming space in golden afternoon light. Jonathan’s looked east, toward smoggy downtown and the San Gabriel Mountains, which hovered like distant, pale ghosts. The view was yet another reason she didn’t like visiting his office.

“Lucy, I understand today is a big day for you, for multiple reasons—happy birthday again—and I wanted to take the opportunity to speak with you.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He wore a simple wedding band, and she knew he got regular manicures at a place in Beverly Hills. Not only because she could plainly see his buffed fingernails and trimmed cuticles, but because Annie had told her before that he couldn’t take a meeting because he was out getting a manicure.

“Thank you,” she murmured, unsure where he was heading.

“You’re welcome.” He held her gaze for longer than necessary, and she knew it was a power move. If he wanted awkward silences, he’d have them. “So, I know you’re up for a well-deserved promotion, and I’d like to know if it’s truly what you want.”

She blinked at him, wondering if it was some kind of test.

“Of course it is,” she said, and she knew it was true despite the fact that she couldn’t lie.

“I figured you’d say that.” He rose from his desk and buttoned his jacket. He was lean and toned and in fantastic shape for someone nearing fifty. “You know, you are one of the most talented publicists we have here. Watching you develop and succeed has been a pleasure.” He paused mid-step and faced her like he expected her to thank him for the compliment.

“Thank you.”

He circled to her side, unbuttoned the button he’d just done, and leaned back on the desk. His knee came within inches of hers. She couldn’t help but adjust her posture and smooth her skirt. He drummed his fingers on the desk’s lip, drawing out another silence that made Lucy itch.

“You’re the one I should be thanking for your commitment to the company,” he said. “I’m wondering though, with your promotion on the line and some stiff competition for the same position, just how committed you might be to advancing your career.”

She watched his jaw muscle twitch, his eyes held steady on her. A surge of dread lurched up her throat, and she hoped he wasn’t implying what she thought he was implying; that this was some thinly veiled solicitation, and normally, she wouldn’t dare ask. She wouldn’t let him know he’d cornered her conversationally because that would give him reason to doubt her, to question her intelligence. Normally, she’d use her own cunning to navigate to the heart of the matter. She’d correctly frame her response so that he heard her but wasn’t put off.

But because of her damned honest mouth, she came out and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

The efficiency of cutting to the chase felt like a blast of fresh air on a muggy day. For once, the mental tax she usually paid for doing verbal gymnastics stayed in her bank. Her brain wasn’t analyzing permutations of optimal word choice to get her point across. She wasn’t trying to interpret what he’d said and making her best guess at how to respond.

Lucy found it remarkably easy to say what she meant and wondered why she hadn’t been doing it all along.

Jonathan chuckled and took the opportunity to playfully knock his knee against her leg. “I’ve always admired your boldness, Lucy,” he said, confirming that cutting to the chase was in fact seen as bold. “Since we’re being honest here, let me make myself clear.” He reached over and squeezed her knee. “I’d like to know how committed you are to advancing your career.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her, but it was the first time she shoved him away.

Before she could even consider the practiced shift to make his hand fall, the friendly palm on top of his and gentle removal—any of the things she’d been trained to do to thwart unwanted advances but not come off as defensive—she pushed him away and stood up.

Her rabbit heart pounded like a jackhammer, but she felt the beats slowing into something steadier, stronger. She clenched her fists and took a breath to aid the calm.

He stood from his desk, his face full of fake concern. “What’s wrong?”

The urge to deflect, to excuse his behavior and apologize, flailed inside her, but the freight train of honesty plowing through her day leveled it dead.

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