Bring Me Back(32)

My nose wrinkles. “I’m not hungry.”

“Blaire—”

“I’ll grab a bagel from the coffee shop or something.” I wave a hand dismissively. I’d say just about anything right now to get her off my back. I’m horrible, I know. She’s only doing what any concerned mother would do in her situation. I’m just testier than normal—I think I have that right.

I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and stick it in my purse.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say.

“Good luck,” my mom says, giving me a thumbs up.

“Bye, love you guys.” I wave and head out the door.

My mom might be driving me up a wall, but I am thankful that they’re here. A few weeks ago I wanted nothing more for them to leave, and now I’m dreading the day they fly back to Florida. The last thing I want is to be alone in this big house.

I get in my car and drive over to the local coffee shop. I end up ordering a caramel latte and a croissant, then I park my car in the lot so I can eat in relative peace. I still have thirty minutes before I have to meet my client.

I take a bite of the chocolate croissant and moan. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks—completely unhealthy but wholly delicious. I eat the whole thing in a matter of bites. I should probably be embarrassed by that fact, but I’m so happy that something actually tasted good that I can’t bring myself to care.

I take a sip of my latte and—oh no.

I throw open my car door and spit up the coffee.

That was awful. I take off the lid and eye the amber-colored liquid. It looks normal, and I’ve had this drink plenty of times, but man it was strong today. I end up dumping it out, tossing the cup on the floor of my car to throw away later.

I drive over to the hotel and park across the street in the parking garage. The hotel is fairly new in a busy part of town. I’ve never been here before. The outside is nice, in a minimalistic modern way. It’s gray on the outside, four levels, with long glass windows everywhere. The name of the hotel is spelled out in blue neon cursive letters on the outside of the building. I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder before I head inside.

The inside has concrete floors and long gray couches with no backs. The front desk is directly in front of you when you walk in, and the front of it shimmers with blue light that matches the sign on the outside of the building.

My client isn’t here yet, so I take a seat on one of the uncomfortable couches and wait. I grab my compact mirror from my purse and check my makeup. I haven’t worn any in so long that applying it this morning took some effort. Luckily, it doesn’t look cakey, but my lipstick is fading so I reapply it.

A few minutes later, a tall woman dressed in a business suit with long red hair comes into the lobby.

“Jessica?” I call.

“Blaire?” she responds. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I stand and offer her my hand. She gives it a quick shake and lets go.

“Have you checked out the space yet?” she inquires.

I shake my head. “I was waiting for you.”

“Do you know which way it is?” she asks.

I frown. I should’ve asked the receptionist that before Jessica arrived. In fact, that’s what I normally would’ve done. My brain isn’t working right.

“No, sorry. Let me ask. Wait here.” I leave her by the couches and go to ask. Once I have directions, I lead her through the hotel the event room.

The room boasts large, glass, double doors that are tinted so you can’t see inside. I open the door and motion her in first.

The space is large and currently empty since they don’t have any events happening today. One wall is lined with windows while the others are solid. Three modern chandeliers hang from the ceiling.

“We could hang some draperies around the windows,” I say. “To soften it,” I add.

“I think this space will be perfect. It’s large enough to section space off into rooms, right?” she asks.

“Yes.” I nod. “We can do that.”

“I think this will be perfect for the reception.” She smiles and looks around some more. “You don’t plan weddings too, do you?”

I flinch, but she doesn’t notice. “It’s not really my thing,” I say. “I prefer parties.”

“I understand,” she nods. “I think my wedding planner was disappointed I didn’t use her for the reception, but I love your style.” She shrugs. “I’ll admit to stalking your website.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m glad I could help make your day special. We’ll get the place booked and then we can meet again to discuss your ideas. Or you can email me, whichever is easier.”

“I think I’d prefer to meet. Lunch next Friday?” she asks.

“I’ll check my schedule, but that should be perfect.” I pull my planner from my purse and check the date. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m writing you in now. You can email me where you want to meet.”

She smiles. “Great, I’ll see you then. I hate to run out, but I’m missing work for this so I have to go.”

“Oh, of course.” I wave my hand. “Go on, I’ll take care of this.”

“Thanks so much.” She smiles gratefully and leaves.