Page 26 of The Physical Attraction Seminar
“She’s late,” I groan.
This morning, I was counting on Lyla to come through for me, but her behavior fell short of my expectations. Admittedly, I’m disappointed by it, but I know the past week has been stressful for her. I’m trying to give her grace for the situation, but right now, the stress that’s been transferred onto me is creating a haze that’s affecting my judgment.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
A beep interrupts our conversation, and I instinctively move my phone away from my ear to find Greg’s name flashing on the screen.
Fuck.
“Harrison, I have to go. Good luck with Nicolette.” I hang up the call and immediately answer Greg, giving him a warm greeting, and ask how he’s been.
My eyes flicker to the clock in the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen—8:59 a.m.
My only saving grace here is that Greg is a talker. You ask him one question, and he will go off on a tangent, recounting a completely unrelated story for five minutes. While he continues to babble in my ear, I hastily open a new tab and navigate to the resort’s website. When you buy tickets from them, they handle the booking process and room assignments, streamlining the experience.
If we miss it this year, it won’t be catastrophic, but it’s the only event that I eagerly look forward to attending. Although it is disguised as an industry seminar for continuing education, the hushed whispers and exchanging business cards makes it obvious that networking is the real focus. And for those of us, like myself, who have connections in every corner of the world, it’s a week of much-needed rest and time spent catching up with old friends.
A couple of my buddies from business school join me, and we spend the week indulging in beers, reminiscing about the days before meetings and emails took over our lives. In a gesture of appreciation for their hard work, we extended the invitation to our assistants, treating them to an all-expenses-paid vacation.
I couldn’t help but wonder if bringing Lyla this year would change the dynamic. I had no obligation to invite her, but I want her to be there and meet my friends.
Over the past few days, I’ve barely left the confines of my office, isolating myself from the outside world. Balancing professionalism with my own emotional turmoil is proving to be a challenge with Lyla. Everyconversation twists my stomach into knots, a constant reminder of what could have been. I hope that this conference will provide us with an opportunity to start fresh and build some sense of camaraderie.
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about the timeline for this project,” Greg prompts, just as the browser refreshes, filling the screen with a pop-up to purchase tickets.
Shit.
I find it ironic that the one time I need him to keep talking, he’s suddenly all business.
I fumble through my explanation of the timeline projections to Greg, my mind elsewhere, desperately trying to keep him from noticing my distraction.
The sound of my rapid mouse clicks fills the room as I frantically search for the usual conference dates on the website. For the last eight years that I’ve been attending, the dates have consistently fallen the second week of June. I quickly select the dates on the website, my heart pounding, and I click the checkout button without hesitation.
Still rambling to Greg, my fingers race across the keyboard while entering my credit card information. Just after I hit the confirmation button, the website crashes, leaving me staring at a blank screen.
An email confirmation notification appears in the right corner of my screen with a subject line that reads:
CONFIRMED JUNE 10TH-15TH AT THE SHORELINE BEACH & RESORT
It’s past midnight, and my office is silent except for the steady ticking of the clock. The feel of crisp paper and the faint smell of freshly printed ink fill the air as I delve into the stacks of blueprints and financial projections for the Wyndemyer project. My only source of light is the soft glow emanating from my computer screen.
I’ve been here for hours, carefully fine-tuning the details of the proposal, fully aware of the weight it carries. If Greg accepts our proposal, this will mark a milestone in the company’s history as the largest project to date.
I reach for the cup of lukewarm coffee on my right, swirling the contents as I contemplate whether it’s worth it to take another sip.
The office door opens with a sudden creak, jolting me out of my trance. Lyla steps in, a mix of surprise and concern flickering across her face when she sees me.
“Hey,” she whispers softly. “You’re still here.”
“Don’t tell me that you’re also one of those people who bury themselves in work when they can’t sleep,” I goad, trying to mask my surprise at her sudden reappearance.
She shakes her head, her loose ponytail bouncing with the movement. Setting her bag down on the floor, she takes a seat across from me and lets out a deep breath. “No, I… I realized I forgot my laptop charger earlier. Thought I’d swing by and grab it in case I wanted to get ahead this weekend.”
There was a brief moment of awkward silence that settled over the room like a heavy fog. There is an underlying strain in our working relationship, almost as if we’re walking on a tightrope with each interaction.
“You shouldn’t work on the weekends.”
