Page 80 of One Night Only
“So you don’t think I’m coward?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being on your own because you want to.” She hesitates. “But,” she adds. “If you think you’re turning down something before it even starts just because you’re scared it might end badly then…yeah. I still wouldn’t call you a coward but definitely a pessimist.”
“How about emotionally damaged?”
“Who isn’t?” she scoffs. “Because of what your mom did?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe. I mean, of course I’ve thought about that. Seeing what my dad went through… What if the same thing happens to me?”
Or worse. What if I end up like my mom? What if I end up being the one who does the hurting?
Claire doesn’t speak for a long moment and I knock back the rest of my mojito.
“I think,” she says eventually, her words slow. “That in worrying so much about ending up like your dad that you’ve inadvertently become like him anyway.”
I pull out half a mint leaf from my mouth, staring at her.
“Too far?” she winces.
“No,” I say. “That’s…yeah, okay.”
“What I mean is not every second date leads to a third. And not every romantic relationship leads to love. It’s hard to make yourself vulnerable. And so… I don’t think you should do it just because you feel you have to. Just because that’s what your dad thinks is best or what society demands or whatever. I think you should do it because to you it feels right. Because you’re ready.”
“But how will I know when I’m ready?”
“That I can’t help you with,” she says. “But when you figure it out?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Someone whistles at us from below and I give him the finger as Claire empties the last of the mojitos into our glasses.
“It will work out,” I say as Claire opens her emails again.
It has to.
18
“Is that lipstick?”
“No,” I lie, checking my reflection in my computer screen.
Will swings side to side in his chair, looking bored. “You could undo the top button of your shirt. Really give them a show.”
I ignore him, too busy wondering if I should put my hair up. I’m overthinking it; I know I am. It’s only an initial meeting with my new client, a “tell me your ideas and let’s see if we connect” chat that I start all my projects with, but it’s the first real shot Harvey’s given me since the Grayson disaster and I want to make a good impression.
“Stop watching me,” I say, powdering my face. “You’re not helping.”
“You worry too much,” Will says. “You’ve done this a million times before.”
It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m back to being an assistant, shaking my way through meetings. I hadn’t realized how much losing out on the promotion had thrown me. How much I’d started to doubt myself.
I jump when the phone rings, our reception number flashing up.
“Don’t screw it up,” Will sings quietly as I pass.
I walk briskly to the front of the office to where our meeting rooms are. The underwire in my bra has poked through, jabbing my ribs with each step. Will’s right. I do worry too much. A project this size is something I wouldn’t have thought twice about a year ago but I’ve exhausted my contacts the past few weeks trying to bring in some business and Harvey isn’t exactly throwing any proposals my way.
…until he takes your main client and your job right from under your nose.
