Omens
Page 112
“You have.”
“Good. Because I have a proposition to make.”
“Really?” I waved at the bottle. “So that’s why you’re plying me with wine.”
His eyes glittered, and he opened his mouth to say something. Then he shook his head, smiled, and eased back in his seat.
“Rest assured, it’s not that sort of proposition. It’s a job offer. You proved an apt investigator. I’d like you to continue in that capacity. Particularly if you promise to do all the online research.”
“You’re too kind. Tell me more.”
“You’d do the research mostly from your apartment—I’ll set you up with proper Internet. You’d still need to come into Chicago to discuss cases and conduct interviews. While I can’t provide you with an office, I’m sure we could set up a desk with Lydia for when you’re in town. I can’t offer full-time hours, but the pay would be sufficient for you to quit the diner.”
“I don’t want to quit the diner.”
He fixed me with a look. “Don’t tell me you enjoy waiting tables, Olivia.”
“I don’t. I hate it.”
He pulled back then, gaze cooling. “You aren’t intrigued by my offer?”
“Oh, I’m very intrigued. But the part I don’t like? Having you as my sole source of income. If you do something I don’t agree with, I can’t argue. If you ask me to do something I don’t want to, I can’t argue.”
His gaze thawed. A faint smile. “I’d be fine with that.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“And the rest of the offer?”
“Sounds great. If we can work it around my job at the diner.”
His fingers tapped the table. “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll see how it goes. But you may lose better-paying hours with me if we need to work around your diner schedule.”
“I’ll survive. So when do I start?”
“Tomorrow is a holiday so perhaps Wednesday, if you can. I have a case . . .” He trailed off. More table-tapping. It seemed like annoyance now, his frown growing.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Just something we ought to take care of first. We need to . . .” A wave. “Talk.”
“Go ahead.”
“Not now. This is our celebration dinner. You said you’re going back tomorrow? To your parents’ home?”
My parents’ home. Not “my home” anymore. I liked the sound of that. It felt right. “I am. My mother isn’t back yet, but I’ve decided I’m being silly, leaving a perfectly good wardrobe there.”
“Come by the office Wednesday morning then. We’ll talk. Get this”—another wave—“other business out of the way. Then we’ll set you up for work.” Another few taps. Then he shook it off and picked up his barely touched wine. “A toast. To our next investigation.”
I lifted my glass. “May it go as well as the first. With fewer bullet holes.”
Gabriel laughed, quite possibly for the first time since I’d met him.
• • •
The next morning, I was up early. I couldn’t sleep in. I was still riding high from yesterday’s adrenaline rush.
I wasn’t the only one awake. I grabbed my phone to head out for a walk and discovered that Gabriel had texted me nearly an hour before, saying he needed me at his office by ten Wednesday morning. We’d already decided that last night. I could blame his forgetfulness on the wine, but he’d barely touched his. I think he was really checking to see if I’d had too much wine when I agreed to work for him.
I texted back that I’d be there and that I hoped he was using the cane. He replied that he no longer needed it. I responded with “Bullshit.” He merely replied that he’d see me at ten. Without the cane, I supposed. We’d need to work on that.
I smiled as I put the phone away. I was looking forward to working with Gabriel. In fact, the prospect was one thing that had me unable to sleep. Was I just excited to be doing work I really enjoyed? Or was I also a little bit happy to have the excuse to keep in touch with Gabriel?
Yes, I won’t deny it. Gabriel and I had shared something yesterday, something terrifying and life-changing, something that would transform our relationship. And afterward, he’d taken me out, just the two of us, for an intimate dinner, during which he’d propositioned me . . . with a job offer.
There was no need to worry that I was falling for Gabriel because any interest was clearly not reciprocated. Which was good. It was safe.
I could enjoy his company and not worry about it turning into more, because if it did, I’d get hurt. There was no question of that. Gabriel may have opened up a little, but that wall was still impenetrable. Life had taught him that people were resources to be exploited and used. That’s what I saw in his eyes. That was the emptiness. An inability to form the kind of basic human connection I’d need from a lover. Maybe someone, someday, could break through, but I wasn’t naive enough—or arrogant enough—to think it would be me. I’d gotten closer than most and that was enough. It had to be.
By the time I reached the park, my ebullient mood had begun to fade. Maybe it was thoughts of Gabriel, of his childhood, his youth. Which bled into thoughts of my own family and my life, and all those tangled threads. I’d taken the first steps toward unraveling them this morning. I’d told Howard I was coming home later today to collect my things. Ten minutes after I hung up, I got a near-panicked call from my mother. What did I mean I was getting my things? Was I moving out? Was I angry with her?
I could have laughed. I think I might have. It was as if she honestly couldn’t imagine why I’d be put out by her behavior over the last few weeks. The sad truth is that I wasn’t surprised she couldn’t. In her own way, she’s as self-centered as Gabriel. Maybe that’s why I understand him so well. But there’s a difference, too. Gabriel might always have his own best interests at heart, but he expects everyone else to do the same for themselves. To him, we are all the center of our own universes. My mother sees herself as the sun, the rest of us revolving around her.
Do I hate her for that? No. I think in her own way she’s as much a victim of her upbringing as Gabriel. The very fact that she didn’t expect me to move out proved that ultimately nothing had changed between us. My mother loved me as best she could. There was comfort in that.
“Good. Because I have a proposition to make.”
“Really?” I waved at the bottle. “So that’s why you’re plying me with wine.”
His eyes glittered, and he opened his mouth to say something. Then he shook his head, smiled, and eased back in his seat.
“Rest assured, it’s not that sort of proposition. It’s a job offer. You proved an apt investigator. I’d like you to continue in that capacity. Particularly if you promise to do all the online research.”
“You’re too kind. Tell me more.”
“You’d do the research mostly from your apartment—I’ll set you up with proper Internet. You’d still need to come into Chicago to discuss cases and conduct interviews. While I can’t provide you with an office, I’m sure we could set up a desk with Lydia for when you’re in town. I can’t offer full-time hours, but the pay would be sufficient for you to quit the diner.”
“I don’t want to quit the diner.”
He fixed me with a look. “Don’t tell me you enjoy waiting tables, Olivia.”
“I don’t. I hate it.”
He pulled back then, gaze cooling. “You aren’t intrigued by my offer?”
“Oh, I’m very intrigued. But the part I don’t like? Having you as my sole source of income. If you do something I don’t agree with, I can’t argue. If you ask me to do something I don’t want to, I can’t argue.”
His gaze thawed. A faint smile. “I’d be fine with that.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“And the rest of the offer?”
“Sounds great. If we can work it around my job at the diner.”
His fingers tapped the table. “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll see how it goes. But you may lose better-paying hours with me if we need to work around your diner schedule.”
“I’ll survive. So when do I start?”
“Tomorrow is a holiday so perhaps Wednesday, if you can. I have a case . . .” He trailed off. More table-tapping. It seemed like annoyance now, his frown growing.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Just something we ought to take care of first. We need to . . .” A wave. “Talk.”
“Go ahead.”
“Not now. This is our celebration dinner. You said you’re going back tomorrow? To your parents’ home?”
My parents’ home. Not “my home” anymore. I liked the sound of that. It felt right. “I am. My mother isn’t back yet, but I’ve decided I’m being silly, leaving a perfectly good wardrobe there.”
“Come by the office Wednesday morning then. We’ll talk. Get this”—another wave—“other business out of the way. Then we’ll set you up for work.” Another few taps. Then he shook it off and picked up his barely touched wine. “A toast. To our next investigation.”
I lifted my glass. “May it go as well as the first. With fewer bullet holes.”
Gabriel laughed, quite possibly for the first time since I’d met him.
• • •
The next morning, I was up early. I couldn’t sleep in. I was still riding high from yesterday’s adrenaline rush.
I wasn’t the only one awake. I grabbed my phone to head out for a walk and discovered that Gabriel had texted me nearly an hour before, saying he needed me at his office by ten Wednesday morning. We’d already decided that last night. I could blame his forgetfulness on the wine, but he’d barely touched his. I think he was really checking to see if I’d had too much wine when I agreed to work for him.
I texted back that I’d be there and that I hoped he was using the cane. He replied that he no longer needed it. I responded with “Bullshit.” He merely replied that he’d see me at ten. Without the cane, I supposed. We’d need to work on that.
I smiled as I put the phone away. I was looking forward to working with Gabriel. In fact, the prospect was one thing that had me unable to sleep. Was I just excited to be doing work I really enjoyed? Or was I also a little bit happy to have the excuse to keep in touch with Gabriel?
Yes, I won’t deny it. Gabriel and I had shared something yesterday, something terrifying and life-changing, something that would transform our relationship. And afterward, he’d taken me out, just the two of us, for an intimate dinner, during which he’d propositioned me . . . with a job offer.
There was no need to worry that I was falling for Gabriel because any interest was clearly not reciprocated. Which was good. It was safe.
I could enjoy his company and not worry about it turning into more, because if it did, I’d get hurt. There was no question of that. Gabriel may have opened up a little, but that wall was still impenetrable. Life had taught him that people were resources to be exploited and used. That’s what I saw in his eyes. That was the emptiness. An inability to form the kind of basic human connection I’d need from a lover. Maybe someone, someday, could break through, but I wasn’t naive enough—or arrogant enough—to think it would be me. I’d gotten closer than most and that was enough. It had to be.
By the time I reached the park, my ebullient mood had begun to fade. Maybe it was thoughts of Gabriel, of his childhood, his youth. Which bled into thoughts of my own family and my life, and all those tangled threads. I’d taken the first steps toward unraveling them this morning. I’d told Howard I was coming home later today to collect my things. Ten minutes after I hung up, I got a near-panicked call from my mother. What did I mean I was getting my things? Was I moving out? Was I angry with her?
I could have laughed. I think I might have. It was as if she honestly couldn’t imagine why I’d be put out by her behavior over the last few weeks. The sad truth is that I wasn’t surprised she couldn’t. In her own way, she’s as self-centered as Gabriel. Maybe that’s why I understand him so well. But there’s a difference, too. Gabriel might always have his own best interests at heart, but he expects everyone else to do the same for themselves. To him, we are all the center of our own universes. My mother sees herself as the sun, the rest of us revolving around her.
Do I hate her for that? No. I think in her own way she’s as much a victim of her upbringing as Gabriel. The very fact that she didn’t expect me to move out proved that ultimately nothing had changed between us. My mother loved me as best she could. There was comfort in that.
