Page 55 of Christmas with Brother's Best Friends
“Well, that doesn’t matter anymore, right? You can just work remotely,” Dad replies with a hopeful look on his face.
“If the project is big, I usually travel to their office for at least a meeting. Sometimes, I’ll stay for the entire duration of the project,” I tell them. It’s not the most common workflow, but it’s one that has worked for me for years now.
I like traveling, and I like meeting my clients in person at least once, especially if they’re paying me a lot of money for my work. Admittedly, all of the moving around has been getting tedious, though.
I’m willing to settle down for the right long term project. That’s the goal. The client that I’m meeting today has already pitched me a big project, but I don’t know where I’ll be located for it.
“You’ll be leaving again?” Mom asks as she frowns. “I feel like you just got here.”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t even gotten the gig yet,” I tell her before setting my fork and knife down, a heavy, achy feeling settling on my body. I didn’t have much of an appetite to begin with, but this conversation definitely isn’t helping. “But it’s a big project. The work will last a while, and there’s potential for me to be kept on longer. Maybe even a salary job.”
Mom exchanges a small smile with Dad. “Well, that sounds nice.”
They love the word “salary” more than “freelance.”
I take a sip of my water and let out a tired sigh as I rest my forehead against my hand, feeling the urge to lay down and take a nap instead of going to a business meeting. These last few weeks have been exhausting mentally, physically, and emotionally, and I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel yet.
“Are you not feeling well?” Mom asks me, concern filling her voice.
“I’m just tired,” I murmur as I force myself to sit up straight, fighting through the ache in my back.
And my stomach.And my head.
It’s like my whole body has been quietly protesting for days, and I’ve just been too busy pretending I’m fine to listen.
I shift in my seat, trying to ignore the wave of heat that pulses through me—not a fever exactly, but something off.
“You might have a cold,” Mom replies. “I can give you some cold medicine.”
It wouldn’t surprise me if I was coming down with something, especially after the holidays, but I can’t take any drowsiness-inducing medicine right now. I want to nail this meeting and get back to work.
Distracting myself is the only way that I can stop feeling so miserable over the guys.
“I’m fine. I should get going, though. My meeting is soon,” I tell them as I stand from the table. I walk around to their side and hug them goodbye, thanking them for a quick lunch before heading out the door.
I swing by my apartment and change into a black dress and a matching pair of heels, pairing the duo with a red coat to battle the chill still lingering outside. There isn’t any snow today, but that doesn’t mean that more isn’t coming.
My Uber drops me off in front of The Ivy, one of the more luxurious hotels in the city where the nightly rate makes me pale in the face. I stride through the large lobby, passing by rich businessmen and women and wealthy retirees to get to the gold and black themed hotel bar.
My eyes scan the patrons sitting on the high stools until landing on a dark-haired man wearing a cream-colored suit jacket. Vincent Bradley, the CEO of Tomorrow Tech, another big tech company that’s popular in the city. Possibly my future boss if things go well.
“Mr. Bradley,” I greet him as I walk up to him with my hand outstretched.
Vincent’s attention abandons his Moscow mule to focus on me instead. His dark eyes roam up my figure before landing on my hand, prompting a pleased grin to cross his face. “Please, call me Vincent. You must be Emma.”
I shake his hand before taking the chair to his right, my stomach twisting and churning so much that I have to place my hand against it. I’m used to having nerves during meetings but not like this. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Vincent gestures for the bartender to come over. “Another Moscow mule for the lady.”
I’m not the biggest fan of lime-flavored drinks, but I don’t complain. I need to focus and get a read on him, and I canalready tell that he’s the controlling type if he orders strangers’ drinks for them without asking.
“So, I’m very impressed by your portfolio, and I’ve seen the work you’ve done for SyncUp,” Vincent tells me as he angles his body toward me. “I’ve been needing the help of someone as talented and versatile as you for a while, but no one has impressed me enough.”
When the bartender sets my drink on the bar, I smile at him, but I don’t pick up the glass. Honestly, even the smell of all its bold flavors makes my stomach feel even worse. Maybe I am coming down with something.
“Well, I hope to change that,” I tell him as my polite smile changes into a charming one. “I have many years of experience, and I’ve worked with plenty of companies in your industry. While I like the current look of your graphics, I do think there’s room for improvement.”
Vincent nods in agreement, his eyes not leaving mine. “I agree. I think it’s lacking…”
