Page 37 of The Rival in South Africa
His seating section was called over the intercom, and we stood up.
“Okay, so…” Alex started.
“I’ll text you when I get home, and we’ll figure out our schedule when you’ve got a better grasp on the office situation.”
Alex’s hands came up to cup my face. “You’re pretty brilliant, you know?”
“We just spent a week together. We might benefit from some time apart anyway.”
A frown marred Alex’s face. “As long as we do see each other. Soon.”
“Entirely up to you.”
“Okay.” Alex looked less confident now, but a queue was gathering, and he needed to board the plane.
“Kiss me,” I demanded, and that seemed to relax him a little bit. He stepped into me and slid his palms up my back, holding me close and easing his mouth over mine.
“See you soon,” he whispered before breaking off and standing in the queue. I waved goodbye, gathered my own things, and departed for my gate. This would be fine. There was no way I would miss Alex, who’d only a week ago been a thorn in my side. Not when I had my own job to do.
FIFTEEN
Okay,I missed Alex. Not enough to be miserable, but still.
I had texted him when I had arrived home. He’d messaged back as I was unpacking, letting me know he’d woken up from a nap and was running late for dinner at his parents’. As tired as I was feeling, with a busy day’s worth of travel behind me, I couldn’t blame him.
Later, as I prepared for bed, I sent off another text. Alex responded.
Alex
Still at my parents. Mum and I have moved to her home office.
The next two days went like that. We texted back and forth a bit,I miss yousandgoodnights.
Finally, we made plans to have dinner together Wednesday night. I wasn’t sitting around, pining for Alex—much. I kept myself busy, editing my photos, scheduling my social media, and talking with Siviwe, making sure that I was meeting expectations for our deliverables and giving her feedback on my trip. Then I was looking ahead to my next trip and sending out pitches for new ones.
I picked up my phone and took a few deep breaths, navigating to the contact information for one of the travel magazine editors I’d worked for in the past, summoning up the courage to make the call. What is it with my generation and the absolute hatred of talking on the phone?
I squared my shoulders and pressed the call button.
It rang a few times before an American voice answered. “This is Tessa.”
“Tessa, hello, this is Nikki Kozlova. I wrote that article you published in your magazine on Chichen Itza?”
Her voice brightened. “Hey, yes, I remember you. Good to hear from you. It’s been a few months since that issue came out, hasn’t it?”
Seeing my photos and story in a major travel magazine had been surreal. I had been too nervous to pitch again, sure that, given time, someone was going to complain about a factual inaccuracy or write to the magazine about how terrible the article was. Imposter syndrome at its finest.
I took a deep breath. “It has been a while, but I wanted to talk to you about the trip I just took.”
Tessa listened while I described my trip and outlined three possible stories she might be interested in. Since the stay was comped, I avoided talking about the lodge in general, but I had taken all of my experiences on the trip and researched several topics that I felt I could write feature articles on.
“It’s been a while since you’ve featured a sub-Saharan region in the magazine, and that the lodge is owned by the tribe is important.”
“It definitely is,” Tessa agreed. “Why don’t you work on the conservation article and put me in touch with your contact at the lodge? Send me some pictures to share with our team, and we will discuss it, but I think it’s a great idea and your photos were a hit in the last article.”
My body relaxed, and Tessa and I discussed some details and logistics. “Hey,” she said as the conversation was winding up. “You live in London, right?”
“I do. You’re in the States?”
