“Maynard Realty referred us for a major contract. Major. I didn’t even want to entertain the idea without talking to you first.”
Maynard Commercial Realty is our biggest client, not to mention the best-paying. But the research is devastatingly boring. Real estate is a lot of basic design and antiquated marketing strategies. It’s simple color schemes, basic fonts, polished, professional, pristine, and absolutely no creativity. I’m not sure if I want to take on their referral. It’s mind-numbing work.
“What kind of contract? And more importantly, with whom?”
He pauses for seemingly dramatic effect. I’m not amused. I put my phone on speaker and place it face up on Dex’s coffee table. I nestle backward into the oversized navy sectional and watch Cherry dart around. The tank’s dimmers are on an automatic schedule, so she’s swimming in what she probably assumes is moonlight.
“Legacy Resorts.”
My mouth falls open. “As in Sandals’s biggest competitor?”
“That’s the one.”
I’m quite familiar with Legacy Resorts. I helped my dad and his new wife plan an anniversary trip with Legacy once. He’s computer illiterate and nearly paid an upcharge of thirty percent to book through a travel agent. I had to swoop in and save him from getting swindled. I spent quite a bit of time on that website. Their branding is spectacular.
“What do they need help with?”
“From what I understand so far, they need help relaunching some of their larger properties as kid friendly. Right now, they are doing quite well in the adult-only vacation space, but to stay competitive, they’re learning they have to be family-friendly, meaning—”
“They are going up against companies like Disney.”
“And if Disney doesn’t hand their ass to them, you’ve got Airbnb, VRBO, direct rentals—”
“All the more budget-friendly options that are making fancy all-inclusives obsolete for the middle class.” I nod along as I keep my eyes on Cherry, who seems to be slowing down.
“Exactly.” Mason clears his throat. “It’s more than just consulting. They want long-term strategists. They’re looking for a five-year commitment.”
“Five years?” My stomach twists. Normally, our contracts are on a six-month basis. We’re consultants. We do the research, develop a strategy, help implement the strategy, and then hand over the baton. Never did we plan to work with a specific client for five years. Plus, this isn’t just a five-year commitment to a client. It’s a five-year commitment to Mason. I haven’t even thought that far ahead…how in the hell can we keep working together in our current situation?
“I know, but, Aves, it’s a seven-figure contract. And there’s room for negotiation.”
“Seven figures?” I lean forward, smacking my elbows against my knees. “Are you kidding me?”
“One million, at minimum. But I think we could ask for more if you can come up with a killer presentation.”
“Holy shit, Mason.”
“I know,” he says through breathy huffs. “I was in shock. I’m not trying to put the cart before the horse. We still have to earn the contract, but we should be fucking proud we even get to have these conversations. I’m so proud of you.”
“Proud of me?” I grab the phone off the table, take it off speakerphone, and press it against my cheek. Mason’s voice becomes much clearer in my ear.
“You are who they’re impressed with. They specifically asked for you after Maynard Realty told them all you did for them. It’s you, Aves. I’ve said it from day one. I’m just the numbers guy. You’re the talent. It’s your way with people.”
Every wall I built instantly crumbles.
The tears fall as fast as they form and I have to mute the phone to hide my sudden outburst of hysteria. We should be hugging. We should be dancing in celebration. We should be so excited that we have the best sex of our lives.
We should not be having this conversation over the phone because we’re broken up.
We’re not spending our lives together.
Mason doesn’t want me.
I’m alone.
I. Was. Dumped.
“Aves? You still there?”
I sniffle hard and suck in a deep breath and hold it for a moment, collecting myself. Unmuting the phone, I say, “What do we need to do?”
“For now, preliminary research. But if you’re interested in moving forward, we’ll get in touch with their head of marketing. They’ll probably want an official proposal.”
“Okay,” I grunt, trying desperately to save face. “I can do that.”
“So…we’re…interested?”
I’m numb. I’m numb. I’m numb.
So why does it hurt so fucking much?
“Yeah, Mason, I’m interested. Set it up. I’ll start the industry research right away.”
“Okay, great. I’ll do that. I’ll email you all the details.”
The line is silent between us for a moment. It’s easy to talk business. It’s all we’ve been talking about for months now, apparently. How do we sign off? How do I say goodbye to the man who ripped my heart to pieces but apparently still has the power to put it back together?
“Thanks for calling—”
“Hey, Ave—”
We both try to speak at the same time.
“Go ahead,” I say.
He pauses for a moment more before he says, “I, um, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll take care of the rent here while you’re in Vegas.”
I clear my throat as it catches. “You don’t have to do that—”
“No, it’s only right. You’re not living here. You shouldn’t have to pay for it. As for the furniture and stuff—”
“Mason?” I interrupt.
“Yeah?”
I decide to acknowledge the hurt for the first time since my birthday dinner. It took almost two weeks, but I finally let my heart shatter. “I don’t want to talk about all that right now. I’m still hurting over everything. Can we deal with furniture after the summer?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, good night—”
“Avery,” he interrupts.
“What?” I ask in exasperation. Let me go, so I can melt.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this…but I’m hurting too. I don’t want you to think I don’t miss you every day.”
And that does it. I hang up the phone and become a puddle of hysteric, blubbering tears. Curling up into a ball on the couch and clenching my eyes shut, I see her face. Her shiny rich brunette waves, her tan skin, flawless smile, flat stomach, and the perfect curve of her ass.
The woman he wants.
The woman I’m not.
6
Finn
I charge through the gate separating my yard from Dex’s. I’m not angry. The damn springs have too much tension. You have to rip through it or it’ll snap back and smack you in the face. I learned that lesson the tough way.
Innocent or not, me barreling through the gate like a bull startles the woman who is already in the hot tub. Her eyes bulge in surprise as her arm instinctively flies across her chest, sending a spray of water in my direction. I recognize her immediately from outside of Dex’s driveway today.