I sit on the carpet cross-legged, with my back resting against the couch, and flick my phone. I watch it spin until it slows in momentum, and I spin it again.
It’s been a weird day today—one of realization and the closing of a chapter in my life.
I’m not crying. I don’t have any tears left for Jameson Miles.
To be honest, I’m just angry, mostly with myself for meeting him last night and being his puppet once again.
Magic Mike XXL is on Netflix, and I’m watching it again. It’s ironic, really, that we started our love affair watching this movie, and now I’m watching it again on our demise.
I’ve been deep in thought. I’ve got some decisions to make—big decisions.
About where I’m going with my life . . . my career and my future at Miles Media.
I already know what I need to do. I glance up to the television, and it’s a campfire scene on the beach, and the men are talking about a woman one of them loved.
“When someone shows themselves to you . . . believe them.”
My chest constricts at the significance of that statement.
For weeks now, I’ve refused to believe that Jameson Miles was coldhearted.
He is, though; no matter how the man I thought I knew presented himself . . . his reality is a lie.
“Jim doesn’t exist,” he said.
My phone rings, and the name Tristan lights up the screen. I frown. “Hello.”
“Oh my God, Em. They think they’ve found it.”
I sit up. “What?”
“Lara Aspin’s computer—there’s evidence on there that it was used to log in to our bank accounts.”
“What?” I whisper, wide eyed.
“We don’t have details yet, but the computer analysts just called to let us know that the history is very promising.”
I smile. “That’s great.”
“I’ll see you in the office in the morning? Come up to the top floor as soon as you get in.”
“Yeah, sure.” I pause on the line. “Hey, thanks for letting me know.”
“See you in the morning,” he says chirpily down the line.
I hang up and, with a sad smile, stare into space for a moment. I get up and open my laptop at the kitchen table, and I begin to type.
I believe you, Jameson . . . I finally believe you.
“Oh my God, Em, did you hear?” Aaron smiles happily as he spins on his chair toward me.
I’ve just arrived at work for the morning and put my handbag down onto the desk. “What?”
“The headlines today say that they have made an arrest over the embezzlement.”
“Really?” I fake a smile. “That’s great.” I look around. “Is Moll here yet?”
“No, she’ll be here soon.” He turns on his computer.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a moment.” I take the envelope from my bag and swipe my card to get to the top floor. Funnily enough, it works today.
The doors open, and Sammia smiles broadly as if she’s happy to see me. “Good morning, Emily.”
“Hi.” I look around. “Is Tristan here?”
“Yes, he’s in Jameson’s office. Just go through.”
My stomach drops. “Okay, thank you.” I walk across the tiles and make a mental note of the sound. My shoes don’t click on the tiles anymore, and I think back to a time when they did. I look out over the view and take a picture in my mind. I do love this building—so many exciting memories of when I started coming up to this floor. I knock on the door and hear Jameson’s strong voice. “Come in.”
Here we go.
I swallow my nerves and open the door, and Tristan’s face lights up. “Here she is. The hero of the day.”
“Hi.” My eyes find Jameson’s across the room.
“Hi.” He dips his head as if ashamed.
“The evidence is all on the computer, Em.” Tristan beams. “You did it; you solved the case. I don’t know why you kept following her, but boy, am I glad that you did.”
“Happy I could help.”
“Thank you.” Jameson frowns as if pained. “I’m very grateful for your dedication to solving the case.”
Tristan looks between us and must sense the tension between us. “I’m going to leave you two alone. We need to celebrate . . . tonight,” he calls as he rushes from the room in an excited flurry. It must be such a relief to him to have the case against Jameson coming to an end.
I close my eyes. Damn it, just get this over with. I hand Jameson the envelope, and he stares at it in his hand. “What’s this?” he asks.
“My letter of resignation.”
He frowns as his eyes hold mine. “No, Em.” He shakes his head. “I can’t accept this.”
Emotion overwhelms me, and I blink so that I don’t cry. “I can’t work here, Jameson.”
“You love Miles Media—working here was your dream,” he whispers.
“No. You’re wrong. I loved you . . . and you were my dream. I’ve taken a position with Athena, the place I did my internships. I start next Monday.”
His eyes search mine. “Em . . .”
A tear escapes onto my cheek, and I wipe it away with a nervous smile. “You know, I watched Magic Mike XXL last night.”
He listens.
“And there was this poignant line that finally made everything make sense to me.”
“Which was?”
“When someone shows themselves to you . . . believe them.”
He frowns, not understanding.
“I finally believe you, Jameson.”
“Believe what?”
“That you’re a coward.”
He clenches his jaw.
“That you’re too scared to love me.”
Our eyes are locked, and an undercurrent of anger runs between us.
“And I deserve someone who knows that I’m worth the risk.”
He clenches his jaw as he watches me.
“You’re just not brave enough to love me.”
“That’s not fair,” he whispers.
“No.” I shake my head softly. “Falling in love with you is what isn’t fair. I never stood a chance . . . you knew that all along. You keep your heart in a tightly sealed Miles-High icebox, only to be looked at.”
His face falls, and I turn and walk from his office. I close the door quietly on my way out, and I stare at it for a moment as I gather the gumption to walk out of his office for the last time. In a strange kind of irony, this has been the best and worst time of my life.
Goodbye, Mr. Miles.
I will always miss you.
With a tight chest, I watch Emily leave the office. The door clicks closed, and the walls begin to close in around me.
On autopilot, I pour myself a scotch and walk to the window. I stare out over New York as I fight an overwhelming sense of sadness.
She’s gone.
Knock, knock. Tristan appears and smiles broadly as he sees my drink. “We celebrating already?”
“Seems that way.”
He looks around. “Where’s Emily?”
“She left.” I sip my scotch and feel the warmth of the amber fluid. I stare at it in the glass. “She resigned. Effective immediately.”
“What?” His face falls. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s for the best.”
“What the fuck? How is it for the best?”
“We were never going to work, Tris; you knew that.” I pause. “There’s always going to be an asshole like Ferrara prepared to step on her to bring me down. I don’t want her dragged through the mud any further.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” he huffs.
I stare out the window.
“I don’t fucking get you, man; you’re madly in love with her. Why are you really letting her go?”
I pause as I contemplate his question. “She deserves better than the life I can give her.”
“Fuck off,” he scoffs. “She couldn’t get a better life than the one you could give her. She would never want for anything.”
“It’s not the money she wants,” I mutter dryly.
“What does she want?”
“Things . . .” I frown as I try to articulate my thoughts. “Things . . . I’m incapable of giving her.”
“Like what?”
“Time.”
He stares at me, lost. “But you committed to Claudia no problem.”
I raise my eyebrows as I sip my scotch.
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t care if Claudia was waiting at home for me. I didn’t care how much time I spent away from her. I could travel, work, focus . . . I was content to put her fourth or fifth in line, and she never expected anything different.” I exhale heavily. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. “Claudia was easy.”
“Because you didn’t really love her?”
I shrug, unable to put a label on my feelings.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re more than a CEO, Jameson. You deserve to be happy too. Why do you think it has to be one or the other?”
I frown, pained.
“Don’t let the love of your life walk away because you’re scared that you’re going to lose her.”
“It’s inevitable, Tristan . . . eventually, she will leave. Her hand will be forced.”
“And then what will you be?” he snaps. “A lonely, stressed-out, alcoholic CEO?”
My eyes rise to meet his.
“Oh, wait.” He gestures to my drink. “That’s already happening.” He shakes his head in disgust. “When I find my woman, I’ll move heaven and hell to keep her.”
“Get out.” I sigh. “You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about.”
“Actually, I’m kind of glad I’m getting to watch you fuck up your life,” he calls as he walks toward the door. “Now I know what not to do.”
I sip my scotch as the door slams hard behind him.
My buzzer on my desk sounds, and I push the button. “Yes, Sammia.”
“The detectives are here to see you, sir.”
I drain my glass . . . good, a distraction. “Thank you, send them in.”
“A toast.” Molly smiles as she holds her glass up.
Aaron and I hold our glasses up to touch hers.
“To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” we all repeat.
“You’re going to be great.” Aaron smiles. “You watch—you’ll be taking over the news floor within no time.”
We’re out to dinner in a bar and celebrating. I start my new job tomorrow. It’s been a week since I left Miles Media.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
I was going to go home and see my parents, but I just didn’t have the mental energy. I stayed home for some self-love instead. I needed time alone to lick my wounds and heal. I had a few massages, got some Reiki done to calm my heartache, ate healthy, and went for two runs a day to exhaust myself so that my body had no choice but to sleep at night.
I’m okay . . . empty, but doing okay.
I’ve stopped reading the paper so that I don’t have to see his name. On my runs, I go the other way so I don’t have to see the Miles Media building or restaurants or anything that would remind me of him or our time together.
Him . . .
I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
He’s been put into the vault, and nobody dares mentioning him to me. It’s like he never existed . . . and maybe he never did.
“What are you wearing tomorrow?” Molly asks as she cuts into her steak.
“I thought my navy suit.” I chew my food. “I want to look professional and smart.”
“No gray skirt?” Aaron smirks.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “I threw that fucker out.”
“What?” Molly shrieks. “I loved that skirt! I would have had it.”
“That was a troublemaking skirt,” I reply. “Trust me; you don’t want that kind of negativity in your life.”
“Here, here.” Aaron lifts his glass, and we clink again.
“Michael asked me out on a date on Saturday night,” Molly says casually.
My knife and fork hit the plate with a clang as my eyes rise to meet hers. “What?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know what to make of it, really.”
“Did he ask you out for a casual dinner? Are you sure it’s a date?” Aaron frowns.
“No, his exact words were, ‘Would you like to come out on a date on Saturday night?’”
I smile. “Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “So much water has passed under the bridge between us. We’ve just got to a place of trust and friendship again. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“By fucking him?” Aaron smirks as he bites into his food.
“Well, if I did fuck him, and he didn’t use double Viagra on me, I would be mortally offended. I know what tricks he has in his toolbox now.”
We all giggle.
“God, that night was funny,” I add, remembering him passing out from all the blood in his dick.
Molly rolls her eyes. “For you, maybe.”
We fall silent as we eat.
“Good luck for tomorrow, babe,” Aaron says.
“Thanks, guys.” I smile. “You are the best two things about New York.”
“God, you’re so right,” Molly mutters into her glass. “And these margaritas.” She raises her glass to show me. “So should I go out with Mike?”
“Yes,” Aaron and I gasp. “Go.”
“Emily.” Athena smiles as she wraps her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you. Welcome.”
“Hi.” I smile nervously.
“You’re going to love it here.” She pulls me through the office by the hand. “Here is your office.”
I smile, surprised. “I get my own office?”
“Of course you do.”
I look around the little office. It’s definitely no management top floor, but it suits me just fine. There’s a window and a desk and a chair in the corner. It’s kind of homey. I turn to her. “Thank you for taking me on. I am so grateful.”
Athena smiles and rubs my arm. When I called her asking for a job, she never once asked what happened with Miles Media or my relationship with Jameson. But I know that she knows that I’m probably broken with nowhere else to go, and running home with my tail between my legs isn’t an option.
She’s right.
I’m going to make it up to her; I’m going to be the best damn reporter that she has ever had.
“I’ll leave you to it.” She smiles. “Staff meeting at ten to introduce you to everyone. We have welcome doughnuts.”
I smile. “Thanks, that would be great.”
She disappears down the corridor, and I take a seat at my new desk and look around the lonely space.
I miss Molly and Aaron . . . and the buzz of Miles Media.
“With this projection here, the forecast is a growth of ten percent over the next eighteen months.” Harrison from finance taps the graph on the projector whiteboard as he addresses the board meeting.
The table is alive with chatter and enthusiasm. The comeback strategy from the drama over the last four months is alive and well.
Me . . . I’m miles away.
I can’t concentrate . . . I can’t think . . . I feel like I can’t breathe.
Maybe I’m not okay.
Emily started her new job today, and I wanted to call her and wish her luck.
I couldn’t sleep thinking about it and even picked up the phone a few times. I drop my head.
But what’s the point . . .
I wonder if she ran this morning. Did she wear her runners that she said have motors on them? I smile softly to myself as I remember Elliot thinking I was talking about Zuckerberg having the motorized runners.
Idiot . . .
I twist in my chair to stretch my back. I need a massage.
Emily doesn’t like me getting massages. I think back to the kind of massages I used to get, and it seems like another lifetime ago.
BE—Before Emily . . . stop it.
“Jameson will be addressing that in the morning.”
I look up, lost. What are they talking about?
The board members around the table all stare at me as they wait for my reply. My eyes flick to Tristan for guidance.
“When you fly to Seattle tonight.” He raises his eyebrows as a gentle reminder.
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s right.”
Tristan is limping me through work at the moment, well aware of my state of mind.
The meeting continues, and I sip my water to try and bring my mind back to where it needs to be. This isn’t good enough, Jameson.
Focus.
I walk onto the plane.
“Good evening, Mr. Miles. Your seat is here, sir. 1A.”
“Thank you.” I fall into the seat in the front row of first class.
The plane slowly boards, and I stare out the window. Flying never used to bother me. I hate it now.
I hate that it reminds me of her . . . of how we met. Of the night we had together.
Of how badly things turned out in the end.
With my elbow leaning on the armrest, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I just want to get there and go to my hotel and sleep. I’m tired and not in the mood for this shit.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Miles?”
“Scotch, please.”
An elderly man takes the seat next to me. He nods. “Hello.”
“Hi.” I smile. I turn my attention out the window to the baggage crew down on the tarmac, all doing their job and rushing around doing the safety checks.
They’re driving on carts, flashing lights, and waving flags.
I wouldn’t even care if the plane fucking crashed.
Burning in hell would be better than this.
Four days later
I smile at Alan as he stands next to the limo at the airport. “Hello, sir. Did you have a nice trip?”
“It was fine; thank you.” I smile as I get into the back seat.
“Would you like to do the normal route, sir?” he asks through the door.
“Yes, please.”
He smiles. “Very well.” He shuts the door, and moments later, the car pulls out into the traffic.
Half an hour later, he slows down as we drive past Emily’s apartment, and I peer through the window.
Is she there?
We do this every night on the way home—my own stupid way of saying good night to her . . . if I don’t, I end up running back here later.
Who am I kidding? I run back here most nights anyway. I hold my breath as we drive past, hoping to catch a glimpse of her . . . I’ve never seen her once.
My heart drops; she’s not here.
I look back through the back window as we disappear down the street.
Emily . . . where are you?
I sit on the bus on my way home from work and read my Kindle. It’s dark and just around six o’clock in the evening. I’m happier . . . stronger. I’ve been at my new job for three weeks, and I love it. I did the right thing. People are all really lovely, and thankfully, I’m not the office gossip anymore, and I have a more integral role than I did at Miles Media. I still see Molly and Aaron all the time for drinks and dinner, and I’ve planned to go home for the weekend.
I’m running a lot . . . funnily enough I don’t need to pretend a man with an ax is chasing me. I’m so angry that I can’t help but sprint.
Gleeful jogging is no longer in my repertoire. The bus slows. I close my Kindle and stand as I wait for the bus to stop. I climb down the steps and begin to walk the two blocks to my apartment. The season is getting colder. Fog puffs as I breathe, and I wrap my large coat around me for warmth as I stride it out.
I might have Indian for dinner. No . . . stick to your budget; there are leftovers in the fridge from last night. I approach my building and fumble around in my bag for my keys.
“Hello, Em,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn, startled. Jameson stands before me, and the sight of him tightens my chest. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes search mine. “I had to see you.”
The sight of him brings an unexpected wave of emotion that I previously thought I had under control. I stare at him through tears.
He carefully steps forward. “How are you?”
Suddenly, I’m furious . . . like a raging bull, and I drop my head and fumble through my bag. I need to get away from him. Where are my fucking keys? “Fine,” I snap. I find my keys and turn toward the door.
I stop and close my eyes.
“I can’t . . .” He pauses. “I can’t move on until I know we’re okay.”
I frown and turn back toward him.
His face is pained, and he appears nervous.
Our eyes are locked, mine filled with tears . . . his with regret. He turns back and looks at his car, which I didn’t notice parked in the dark. “I brought you something.”
He nearly runs to the car and then retrieves a huge bouquet of yellow roses and walks back and passes them to me.
I stare at him in confusion. “Yellow roses?”
He smiles softly. “Yellow roses are supposed to symbolize friendship.”
“You want to be my friend?”
He nods hopefully. “We can start fresh?”
Something snaps deep inside of me. “You’ve got a fucking nerve,” I sneer.
His face falls.
“You waltz back here after breaking my fucking heart and give me yellow fucking roses!” I scream.
He steps back, shocked by my venom.
“I wouldn’t be friends with a selfish prick like you if you were the last fucking person on earth!” I yell as the angry tears run down my face. I completely lose control and start ripping the roses to shreds, and I break the heads and smash them up and then throw them on the ground and jump and stomp on them. I want to hurt these stupid roses like he’s hurt me.
His haunted eyes watch on.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, and still unsatisfied with the state of the roses, I pick them up and walk out to the road and throw them as hard as I can out onto the asphalt. A passing bus runs them over.
“That’s what you can do with your friendship,” I sneer as I stomp past him.
I open the door and walk into the building without looking back. I hit the elevator button with force, and I can see him standing at the glass door, watching me, in my peripheral vision. Tears are streaming down my face, and I’m furious that I let him see how crazy I am.
How crazy he’s made me.
The elevator doors open, and I march in and hit the door button.
The doors close, and I screw up my face in tears and sob out loud.
Damn you, Jameson Miles . . .
