Page 114 of Mad Rivals
I thought Madden had it in the bag. Turns out he’s too much of a coward to face me…or something like that. I’m letting my bitter anger toward him win when the truth is that I think he might have done something nice for me.
Grace didn’t say what happened, just that I was the only one coming in with an edited bid today. She loved my new plans. I took everything she gave me in her notes and implemented it into my strategy, and then I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.
But when I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best, I still thought I had some competition. I still thought Madden would show up today—that I’d get to see him, at least. That I’d get to judge the look in his eye and determine if he’s already moved on or if he’s sitting around sulking the way I’m trying not to.
Grace told me she loved my plans from the start and that she had to compromise with her uncle to be sure we had the right number of sustainability features to keep him happy.
I guess it worked. Newman Winery is mine, and in two to three years, I’ll get to stay in the luxury resort that I planned and executed for this land.
I wish I felt more excited about the prospect. It doesn’t feel like I won it the way I wanted to. It feels like Madden backed out because he didn’t want to face me.
I wish I felt anything other than numb, but numb about sums up how I’ve been feeling for the last week or so.
I’ve had to numb myself. If I didn’t, I’d spend the better part of every day with the heavy grief that the best thing in my life has ended, and that’s no way to live. So I’ve numbed myself with work. And vodka.
I’ve started taking daily walks along the beach. I find the water to be calming and tranquil in the rush of chaos my thoughts have become.
I miss Madden.
I miss the dynamic we shared together even though it was short-lived. Maybe we didn’t have all the answers, but it sure felt like we did when we were together. It felt magical anyway.
I’ll move on. It just sucks that I’m moving on in a new place where I really don’t know anyone. It makes it harder not to focus on the heartbreak.
I decide to fly to Chicago to spend the weekend with Clem. I debate going home to see my parents or not, and eventually I decide to stay with them.
Even though my parents don’t really know me all that well, they can immediately tell something is wrong.
“Darling, you know they make fillers to help with those dark eye circles,” my mother tells me.
I try my hardest not to roll said eyes with dark circles, but it’s impossible.
My mother is offended anyway. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Ruth, give the girl a break,” my father says, nudging me like we’re old pals. “She’s been partying it up in California.”
Partying it up. Yeah, right. More like sulking and crying.
“I’m meeting Clem for dinner in a bit, so I better go get changed,” I say. “But thanks for the advice.”
Everything feels dark and heavy until I get to the bar where I’m meeting my best friend, and her wide smile immediately puts me in a better mood, but her warm hug is what I needed even more.
We each order a drink and some appetizers, and she asks me all about life in California. I don’t really have a whole lot to say. “Mostly I’ve just been busy with work.”
“Liar. You’ve been busy pouting.”
She knows me well. “So what do I do?”
“Give yourself some time to get over it, and then you move forward. Have you thought about coming back to Chicago?” she asks. She stirs the cherries around her glass with the little straw.
“I’ve thought about it, but I know how it would look to my father. I just scored a big client out there, and there are responsibilities for me there now that he rearranged things here for me.” I shrug and make a face.
She makes a face back. “Then he can rearrange them back. I miss you.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“I miss you too. Move out there with me.”
She laughs. “You know I’m a city girl, though I can’t pretend like the beach doesn’t call to me. It’s why I spend all my time at North Avenue Beach.”
“I wonder whether my dad will want me here or there once I’m CEO,” I muse, stirring my cherries, too.
