Fight or Flight(97)
“Emergency,” Stella clipped. “Gabe is supposed to be going to New York this weekend to get the specs on that Fifth Avenue penthouse he’s been bragging about.”
I liked Gabe. But he was a bragger and, yes, he had not shut up about that penthouse for the last week, not just because it was on Fifth Avenue, but because it was owned by a famous actress. “Okay?”
“He has the flu. And did not tell me but proceeded to get ready to leave for New York only to faint at the top of a flight of stairs in his apartment building. Now he’s in the hospital and his fiancée is blaming me for putting too much pressure on him.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said immediately. “And is he okay?”
“He has a concussion, and of course the flu. As sorry as I am for that, if he’d just told me, he would not currently be hospitalized and I would not be panicking about losing this client. A Hollywood A-lister, Ava. We haven’t had one of those in a while. If she likes what we do, she will tell her friends.”
Realization hit me and my exhaustion actually doubled. “You want me to go to New York.”
“Yes. First swing by the office. I’m here and have all of Gabe’s notes, so you’re going in prepared.”
“I’ll be right there.”
We hung up and I stared dully at Harper, who was scowling. “Guess I’m going to New York.”
My friend’s hands flew to her hips. “You just had your heart broken. You should have told her that.”
“Well, Gabe has the flu and a concussion, which kind of trumps broken heart at the moment.”
“Do you hear yourself? Your voice is all flat and sad. Not the greatest impression to make on a client.”
“I’ll pull it together. In fact, this is just what I need. A distraction.” I began making my way back down her apartment building steps. “I’d better call another cab.”
“Maybe I should come with you,” Harper suggested.
I threw her a grateful smile over my shoulder, one I knew didn’t quite make it to my eyes. “Hey, I’ll be fine.”
She did not look convinced. “Call me when you land.”
I hugged her. “Thank you.”
As it turned out, the trip to New York was exactly what I’d needed. It forced me to stop myself from crumpling up into a ball in my bed and sobbing until there was no water left in my body. Anytime my thoughts turned to Caleb and our confrontation, my throat seemed to thicken with too much emotion. I felt like I was choking on it.
So I buried my head in the client file Stella had given me.
Once I was in New York, I got to my hotel and could barely eat, but I had a couple of glasses of wine knowing it would make me sleepy. It worked and I thankfully slept, my alarm waking me early. On Monday I was much too busy taking specs at the penthouse to dwell on anything else. Just as I assumed would happen, I didn’t meet with the actress, but with her personal assistant. We spoke at length about the design and she hovered over me the entire time I was taking measurements with my laser distance meter. It was a smart little tool that worked out lengths, heights, and area volume. After I’d taken copious amounts of photos of the space, the PA and I talked even more. I spent a total of six hours with her, leaving just in time to catch my evening flight back to Boston. The entire time on the flight I worked on the project, jotting and sketching ideas.
I updated Stella in the taxi ride back to my apartment, and I did it with the same calm I’d approached the entire weekend. Somehow, I’d even managed to convince myself that I was okay.
So when I stepped into my empty apartment and closed the door behind me, I was taken aback by the overwhelming pain that squeezed my chest like a vise, forcing out the first sob.
My ass hit the floor and I cried like I’d never cried before in my life. Big-hiccupping, can’t-breathe-properly, might-throw-up-all-over-my-deep-pile-carpet crying.
When the tears eventually stopped, I was left with the horrific unease in my gut and tightness in my chest. Panic. Panic and loneliness.
“No,” I whispered to myself, shaking my head, seeing images of him everywhere. Lounging on my armchair, staring at me with that distinctive, brooding intensity. Leaning on my kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee and smirking at me like he thought I was funny and cute.
My head rolled to the side and I looked through the doorway to my bedroom.
I closed my eyes against the memories I found in there.
Loss.
The feeling … that terrifying, incapacitating feeling that was creeping over my body like a phantom pain that couldn’t be explained … it was loss.
The next morning I dragged my butt out of bed and got ready for work. I prepared myself for the day like it was any other day, faltering only when I looked at the jewelry on my nightstand. The watch I put on, the earrings too. But the diamond tennis bracelet I’d loved so much only yesterday was a beautiful dagger to the heart today. I clutched it tight in my hand, feeling its sharp edges bite into my skin, and I promptly found an old shoe box buried at the back of my wardrobe. I stuffed it in there, where I wouldn’t have to look at it.
Where Nick’s bracelet had chafed with the memories, Caleb’s wounded me too deep to pretend otherwise. It would stay in the box, image be damned.
The rest of my preparation went as well as could be expected. Makeup was a wonderful thing. I didn’t know what I would have done without it, because the puffy dark circles under my eyes from all the crying and lack of sleep were no longer visible under my magic makeup.