“What?”
“I’m going to get one of those little electronic scoreboards and hang it right over there.” She pointed to the wall opposite my desk. “Maybe if I tally how many times Gabriel bones someone and make it a competition, I’ll get the home team off the sidelines and back into the action. You’ll never be able to handle losing.”
While she was right that I liked to win, I wasn’t sure racking up numbers would make me feel like I was winning anything with Gabriel.
Luckily, our conversation was cut short before Maggie could delve deeper. My admin, Ellie, knocked on my office door and opened it.
“Mark Atkins has arrived for your ten o’clock meeting. He said he came early because he has a lot of prototypes to set up, so I put him in the conference room and told him I’d check on him in a bit.”
“Okay, great. Thank you, Ellie.”
I’d been working on a new product line with the vendor who made my vases. I thought it would be cool if people could keep their roses for a year and have them change colors. So we designed a vase with a removable bottom panel. Different interchangeable bottoms could be purchased that contained dye wells designed to infuse the stems of the roses with new color. After a few months with white roses, you could unscrew the bottom panel, insert a pink dye well, and twenty-four hours later, voilà: pink roses. It could be done a few times if you went from light colors to dark.
Maggie rubbed her hands together. “Today is turning out to be awesome already. You’re going to bang a hot hockey player, and we’re going to see your idea come to life.”
“I didn’t say I was going to see Max again.”
She winked and got up. “You didn’t have to. I’m going to go check if Mark needs help. You finish up your fantasy, and I’ll come get you when he’s ready.”
? ? ?
I’d missed two calls during the meeting today. The first was from Gabriel, who had left a voicemail. The second was Max, who hadn’t. I found myself a tad disappointed that it wasn’t the other way around. Nevertheless, I waited until I got home that night to press play and listen to Gabriel’s message.
“Hey, babe. Just checking in. I spoke to my publisher today, and he liked the early stuff I sent him on the book I’ve started working on. Of course, he liked the first one enough to buy two books and the first one flopped, so him liking it doesn’t actually mean much. But it’s better than him not liking it, I suppose. Anyway, we haven’t talked in a while, and I miss you. I’m sure you’re probably working late, busy kicking ass and taking names, but give me a call when you have time. Love you.”
I frowned and unzipped the back of my skirt, tossing it on the bed. After my trip to Paris, where I’d found out Gabriel had actually started dating and had slept with other women, I’d stopped being the one to initiate contact. Seems I didn’t feel like making all the effort anymore. So my every-other or every-third-day phone calls with Gabriel had dwindled to once a week or less. I wasn’t even sure if Gabriel had noticed the change. But so much bothered me about his message today. First, “I’m sure you’re probably working late…” It must be nice to assume that and not imagine I’m in bed with someone else. Because that’s certainly what had run through my head when I thought about him lately. And second, it irked me that he was calling to tell me good news about his publisher. We’d gotten engaged when he sold his book and separated when it flopped. It made me feel like the way I was treated depended on external circumstances. Is that how it would always be? The health of our relationship relying on his career successes and failures? How had I only realized this in hindsight?
Whatever. It was eight o’clock here, which meant it was one in the morning there, so I wasn’t going to call him back anyway. Plus, my phone was almost dead, so I plugged it into the charger on my bedroom nightstand and went to take a shower.
An hour and a half later, I climbed into bed and checked my phone. I’d missed another call from Max. As I nibbled on my lip and debated if I should call back, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. Normally, I had Siri read me my texts and send responses to save time because of the disconnect between my brain and letters, but when I glanced over and saw Max’s name, I started to read.
Max: Are you avoiding me or busy?
I smiled and texted back.
Georgia: I had a busy day.
Max: Busy now?
Georgia: No, I just climbed into bed.
A few seconds later, my phone rang.