Page 45 of A World Without You
“No.” His answer isn’t sharp on the surface, but it still manages to cut. It reminds me this is normal in this life—overworked and hyper-focused.
I shoot for a soft yet searching innuendo. “So no watching Christmas movies and having sex on the couch—”
“I gotta go,” he cuts off my statement and ends the call with aloveyoubye.
I stare at the phone in my hand. The call ended. My ego shattered. My heart aching for him to just cancel everything and meet me at the apartment. I want to taste his lips and feel his warmth. I want all of him all the time, but I only get him in glimpses of this life.
Petra appears like a ghost in my office and jerks me out of my ponderings in half a second. “We’re all set with Jansen Enterprises,” she says.
My eyes flit to her and back to my phone, the screen now black. “What?” I ask.
“The photoshoot is set. They loved your ideas and were happy to negotiate with you over the last few days.” She squeals. I find my confusion rather annoying. “You did it, Ms. Baker! Bella Mae is landing Jansen Enterprises.”
“Cool...” I say, my hesitation playing the main character in my tone.
Her face blanches, and she practically glares at me. “You should be more excited! You’ve been hunting this account for years.”
“I have?” My shocked question is met with a very confused expression from Petra. “Right. I have.”
She takes a hesitant step and then begins to speak with more confidence. “Okay, so you’ve already mapped out their social accounts, but the trip to Paris—”
“Paris?” I turn, not hiding my shock.
“Yeah, Paris. You chatted with them yesterday. They said they want to remain upscale and you suggested a photoshoot in Paris—said you’d do it yourself.”
“I did.” I state, but it sounds like a complete conundrum in two words.
Petra steps closer, her eyes buzzing with concern and her red hair extra fiery. “Yes, Ms. Baker, you’re the most talented photographer on the West Coast. You have a knack for marketing, but your photography is what sets you apart.”
“It does?” A question and a relief in one breath. I kept up with photography in Roslyn because I needed to fill my time, but I’ve only really photographed families for Christmas cards, not upscale clients...in Paris.
Petra’s face is unmoved, so I collect myself. “It does,” I say with affirmation. “Well, then, Paris. Let’s do it. When is it?”
“You fly out December twenty-fifth.”
I cackle. It’s loud and obnoxious, cutting through the quiet hum of music in the office. Petra looks at me inquisitively.
“Oh, you’re also serious. I forgot what it was like to live with workaholics...” I mutter the last part.
To which Petra says, “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I press my lips together. “Paris on the twenty-fifth. I’ll tell Colin.”
“He already knows. Both of you knew you’d land this account and be able to travel for a year. He’ll be in New York on Christmas anyway, right?”
The blood drains from my face, and I stare at my assistant.
“Right,” I say, but I want to scream,tell me more! Tell me why we aren’t married! Tell me what happened!“Thank you, Petra.”
As she leaves my office, I’m left with a million questions. Every dream I spend here is like opening Pandora’s Box again and again and hating what I find.
––––––––
IT TAKES ME TWO EXTRAhours to get back to the apartment because a water line burst on the street downtown. It quickly turns my whimsical dream into a disaster movie. Between the flooding, the rush hour traffic, and the angry and inconvenienced pedestrians, I barely make it home.
But I do, and three hours later, with my gyro from Pike Place eaten and my apartment buzzing with solitude, I decide to search it high and low for clues about this life, hoping to sneak a peek at what happened five years ago.
What’s going to happen when I leave for Paris? Is that why Colin said we only have a few weeks left? Why are we fine right where we are? Not moving forward and not turning around?
