The Truest of Words Read online

  Cover

  Title Page

  The Truest of Words

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  Georgina Guthrie

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  Omnific Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Copyright Information

  The Truest of Words, Copyright © 2014 by Georgina Guthrie

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor

  Los Angeles, California 90067

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, November 2014

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, November 2014

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  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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  Guthrie, Georgina.

  The Truest of Words / Georgina Guthrie – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623420-79-6

  1. x—Fiction. 2. x—x. 3. x—x. 4. x—x. I. Title

  ...

  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  To my readers, with gratitude.

  Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken…

  (William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116)

  John William Waterhouse (England, 1849–1917)

  Miranda and the Tempest, 1916, oil on canvas

  Private collection

  Aubrey

  Chapter 1

  Beginning

  I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your

  ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do…

  (As You Like It, Act I, Scene ii)

  “MATT, CAN YOU HURRY the hell up?” I banged on the bathroom door. Surely he could hear me? I tested the handle. Locked. “Matt!”

  Behind me, Matt’s bedroom door swung open. He appeared wearing a holey T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

  “What are you doing in your PJs?” He yawned and squinted at me. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  “I’m trying. I slept in. I’m supposed to be at work in less than half an hour…” I looked at the bathroom door. “But if you’re out here and Jo is out running—” I pointed to the Post-it note Joanna had left for me “—then who the hell is in the shower?”

  “It’s Sarah. She has a job interview at nine thirty.”

  “Oh.”

  I clamped my mouth shut. Everyone’s doors had been closed when I’d returned from the Grant family cottage the night before. Sarah had stayed over on a Sunday night before a Monday morning interview? That was serious business.

  “Sarah had to move out of residence on Saturday,” Matt said. “She might hang out with us for a while—if that’s okay with you, of course.”

  Hang out? Did he mean live here?

  “I already ran it by Jo. She’s cool with it.”

  So, if I don’t like it, I’m uncool?

  “Yeah, that’s cool. I’m completely cool with it. Absolutely cool.”

  I needed to stop saying that. The more I said it, the more uncool I felt.

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  I bit my tongue hard and nodded.

  “Awesome. Thanks.” He jiggled the bathroom door handle. “Sorry about this. Maybe you could shower later?” He looked at me hopefully.

  Um, yeah, I had sex while showering yesterday morning, followed by afternoon pool table sex, after which I whore-bathed with baby wipes. Shower later? Nuh-uh.

  “I really need to shower. Like…really.”

  “Ooooh, gotcha. Sarah?” he bellowed through the door. “Can you hurry up?” He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall. “So, good weekend, huh?”

  Ah, Matt. Quick on the uptake, as usual.

  Half an hour later, I texted Daniel as I raced across the quad, not sure if he was awake but compelled to share my misery.

  We should NOT have talked on the phone until one!

  I slept in and now I’m gonna be late for work!! -A

  As it turned out, Daniel was awake and in fine form.

  Good morning, beautiful! Sorry for bending your ear

  until all hours. You should have stayed here!

  As for you being late for work,

  I’d take that as A SIGN. -D

  Haha. How did you sleep? Why are you up so early? What time are you going to your dad’s office

  to help him unpack?

  (See how I changed the subject there?) -A

  (Yes, kudos. Masterful avoidance, as usual.)

  I slept like a baby. Helping my dad at nine.

  You busy later? -D

  You slept like a baby?

  Sucked your thumb and soiled yourself repeatedly?

  That’s attractive. And I’m not sure.

  Who’s asking? -A

  Your favorite snooker instructor. -D

  In that case, my afternoon is wide open. -A

  Will anything else be “wide open” this afternoon?

  I’m sure he’ll ask. What should I tell him? -D

  Tell him he’s a pervert. -A

  You know him well! ;) I’ll be in touch later.

  Good luck with the Snow Queen. -D

  Thanks for the vote of confidence.

  Ttyl. Love you, SAILOR. xo -A

  I love you too, poppet. You’ll do great at work.

  Although…never mind. You KNOW what I think.

  Miss you already. -D

  Though I hadn’t risen to the bait, Daniel’s not-so-subtle hints that I should quit my job weren’t lost on me. He was right about one thing, though—I got so little sleep, I might as well have slept at his place.

  Dashing up the stairs to the dean’s office, I recalled Daniel’s face when he’d given me my own set of condo keys the night before. He’d been so sincere—desperate for me to know I could come and go as I pleased and feel at home. I smiled, rubbing my fingers across the Swarovski keychain in my pocket. But when I reached the top step, my smile withered. On the other side of the office windows, the new dean, Elaine Armstrong, was tapping her fingers on the counter, her eyes aimed at a spot above the door. She was staring at the clock.

  I breathed deeply, held my head high, and hefted the door open.

  “Wow, what a crazy morning—” I started, but she stopped me with a blistering glare before I’d even reached the counter.

  “Eight thirty?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s what time your shift starts, correct? Eight thirty? You are Aubrey Price?”

  I peeked at the clock. Five minutes late.

  Attempting to take a chip out of her frosty demeanor, I held out my hand. “Yes, of course. Aubrey Price. Nice to meet you.”

  Whereas my hand was sweaty, hers was cold and dry. Bony claw seemed an apt description.

  “I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” I continued, trying to fill the stony silence. “I had the most insane—”

  She retrieved her hand and interrupted me again.

  “Perhaps David Grant wasn’t concerned about things like punctuality, but
I have a fondness for reliability. Call me a stickler.”

  Her blue eyes were humorless and flinty.

  A stickler? I can think of a few things I’d call you, but “stickler” doesn’t come to mind.

  The acid in my empty stomach churned. So, she had no time for apologies or explanations. Fair enough.

  “It won’t happen again,” I said, meeting her eyes and refusing to let her intimidate me.

  “I’m glad we understand one another.”

  I escaped to my desk, wiping my palms on my skirt. She sauntered over and ran a manicured fingernail along the front of the desk. I fought the urge to shudder.

  “I came in last week,” she said. “If you’d been here, we could have talked about my expectations.”

  “You must have come in during one of Gisele’s shifts. I work in the mornings on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” I explained.

  “I’m aware of your schedule. I came in Monday morning. You weren’t here.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Dean Grant let me switch shifts with Gisele to accommodate my exam that day.”

  “I see.”

  What do you see, you bitch? I had a fucking exam!

  “I’m surprised Dean Grant didn’t suggest that you come on Wednesday or—”

  She cut me off with a flick of her hand. “Never mind. And please don’t forget, David Grant isn’t the dean anymore. I am.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll get used to the new order. In time.”

  Lady, there ain’t enough time in the world for that to be true.

  “I want some coffee,” she announced. “Skim milk and one sweetener.”

  She turned on her stiletto heel and strode into her office.

  Okay, Miss Manners. Coffee it is.

  I started a pot brewing and returned to my desk to open my email account. After several unsuccessful attempts to log in, I gave up. I poured Elaine a coffee and approached her door.

  “Dean Armstrong? Here’s your coffee.” I perched it on the bookshelf near the door, fearing I’d get zapped by an invisible electric fence if I stepped beyond the threshold. “And we’ll need to call the IT department. My email password isn’t working.”

  “I’ve had the email access protocols changed.” She addressed the shelves in front of her as she pulled catalogs from the bookcase and dropped them on the floor. “As a Victoria student, your access to that email account isn’t appropriate. I wouldn’t have hired a current student for this position if it were up to me. Gisele can deal with emails.”

  What? Dean Grant had always sought my opinion when he made decisions that would affect the student body. My opinion was no longer valid, apparently.

  “I’ll get the filing done, then.” I grabbed the pile of folders from the outbox tray.

  Elaine appeared in the doorway behind me, coffee cup in hand.

  “There’s no need for you to access the filing cabinet either. I’ll take your key.”

  I dropped the folders and slid the key off my key ring, gritting my teeth as I placed it on her outstretched hand.

  “Good grief, what kind of coffee is this?” She put her cup down with a scowl.

  David and I had often laughed about the sketchiness of our morning coffee, but we’d always drained our cups anyway. It was a bit of a running joke. Armstrong and I apparently wouldn’t have running jokes about the coffee. In fact, jokes of any kind, be they running, walking, or immobile, were improbable.

  “It’s President’s Choice, Great Canadian Coffee,” I said.

  “There’s nothing great about that.” She retreated to her office and returned with a ten dollar bill. “I’d rather have Starbucks, but for now, go to Wymilwood and get me a cup of Bold Morning Blend. Leave it black. I’ll do the rest.”

  “You want me to go buy you a coffee?”

  She took in a sharp breath through her pointy nose, and I half expected her to expel fire as she breathed out.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all. That’s fine. I thought with everything you need to get done here—”

  “Somehow I’ll cope for ten minutes.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her office.

  Well, ten minutes away from her wasn’t a bad thing, I reasoned, grabbing my purse. I texted Daniel as I walked outside.

  Elaine thinks my coffee tastes gross. -A

  He answered as I was waiting in line to pay for the coffee.

  What did I tell you?

  Condescending, patronizing, superior bitch. Right? -D

  Not to mention pompous, arrogant and demeaning. ;)

  I’ll never mock your use of redundant adjectives again. Forgive me? -A

  Maybe you can make it up to me… -D

  I could make you dinner tonight…

  How about another massage? Back scratch? :) -A

  Yes please, fuck yes, and YES! ;)

  You’ve made my day. Talk to you in a bit. -D

  How was Daniel always able to turn my mood around, just like that? I hummed as I strolled back to Northrop Frye Hall, hoping the hot coffee might defrost Armstrong’s frigid digits and improve her mood. Wishful thinking. For the next hour and a half, she was as vile as she’d been during the first fifteen minutes of our unfortunate acquaintance. When Daniel waltzed through the front office door at quarter to eleven, my mood lifted instantly.

  Short-sleeved T-shirt. No jacket.

  Ogling his lovely forearms, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks for springtime. Then I remembered where I was. Elaine was in her office with her door wide open.

  Daniel and I had talked about a gradual revelation of our relationship, at least on campus, especially in front of admin types. A personal visit at work three days after the end of term didn’t strike me as particularly gradual.

  “Daniel,” I hissed, my eyes darting to Elaine’s door. “What are you doing here?”

  He frowned playfully and waved his hand back and forth. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve been over at my dad’s office,” he said, throwing his voice so Elaine would hear. “He misses you already. He especially misses the way you make his coffee.”

  I frowned a warning at him. What the fuck was he trying to do?

  “That’s nice to hear,” I said, my voice laced with sweetness. “I miss him too. How’s his morning so far?”

  Elaine barged out of her office carrying a collection of old catalogs.

  “Oh, hello, Daniel,” she snapped. “Forgotten how to find the Provost’s Office?”

  “No, I was just over there—helping my father unpack,” he added, inclining his head toward her deferentially.

  “And how is he enjoying things at the Boys’ Club?”

  “He’s got quite a learning curve ahead of him.”

  “Bitten off more than he can chew?” she asked, lifting a hopeful eyebrow.

  “I don’t think so. Looking forward to a job that will challenge him, I should imagine.”

  She looked at him speculatively. Had she caught his insult?

  “And what brings you over here?” she asked.

  “My dad asked me to drop this off for Aubrey.” He winked at me furtively, handing me a white envelope. Reference Letter was written on the front, but the handwriting was Daniel’s, not David’s. “He wanted you to have this for your job search. Later in the summer, of course,” Daniel added. “He’ll email you an electronic copy as well.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look at it later.”

  I slid the envelope into my bag. Elaine looked at Daniel as if to say, Okay, you’ve done what you came here for. You’re dismissed.

  Daniel didn’t push his luck.

  “I’d best be going. I’m exhausted. I think I’ll grab an afternoon nap,” he said, a playful glint in his eye. “Nice seeing you again, Aubrey.” He tilted his head at Elaine, his smile tightening as his back stiffened. “Dean Armstrong.”

  All that was missing was a heel-click and a Heil, Hitler. He breezed out the door, whistling Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience” as he crossed the
lobby. Smartass. The frosty fraulein dumped the catalogs on my desk with a thump.

  “He’s so conceited,” she mumbled. “No wonder he gets himself in trouble.” She gestured to the catalogs. “Throw these away. We won’t be ordering supplies through them.”

  “But they’re the vendors of record.”

  “Not any more. Order catalogs from these suppliers.” She handed me a list of companies I’d never heard of. “Then we can sort this mess out.”

  This mess? What mess? It wasn’t easy, but I stifled my hostility with a forced smile.

  “I’ll get right on it after I use the washroom.”

  She mumbled something under her breath and returned to her office while I headed to the bathroom with my purse, locking myself in.

  Conceited? No wonder he gets himself in trouble? Bitch!

  I put my purse on the vanity and pulled out my phone. Daniel had sent me a text.

  Don’t open that envelope in front of Jack Frost’s sister. NSFW. ;) -D

  I left the envelope tucked in my purse and dialed his number.

  “Hey, there’s my glutton for punishment.”

  “Don’t start with me,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “I can’t help it. How will you put up with her for…how long?”

  “I don’t know. Seven weeks? Eight?”

  “Eight weeks? Christ.”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? What was the deal with your visit? Living on the edge, aren’t we?”

  “Not really,” he said. “It’s part of my campaign to legitimize our relationship.”

  I laughed quietly. “You have a campaign?”

  “Yep. I’ve got it all worked out. There’re bar graphs and pie charts cross-referenced with outcome-based hypotheses—”

  “I’m way too tired to decipher what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m rambling. I’m bagged, too.”

  “Are you really going to have an afternoon nap?”

  “Absolutely. Care to join me?”

  I smiled and traced the lines on the bathroom countertop. “Thought you’d never ask.”