by Kendall Ryan
Reviewing the digital marketing campaigns takes about three times as long as expected. Turns out, Brody was totally out of the loop on all the ground that Josh and I had already covered, which means an insane amount of backtracking and re-explaining our choices. It’s infuriating, to say the least. All the momentum we gained on our trip upstate is suddenly gone, and without Josh steering things, it feels like we’ve taken three steps back. And with only seven days until boxes hit shelves. Lord help us.
Brody wraps things up just as the sun slips behind the Manhattan skyline, leaving the conference room bathed in an eerie orange twilight. How appropriate. Both Manhattan and I have been left totally in the dark this evening.
I’m not three steps out of the conference room when I whip out my phone and text Josh, asking for an explanation.
Peyton: Brody said you asked to be taken off the launch. Is there a reason you don’t want to work with me anymore?
I can instantly see that he’s read it, but I don’t get so much as the three little dots suggesting he’s going to grace me with a response. So, I try again.
Peyton: Seriously? You have nothing to say? Please, just tell me what’s going on. Are we okay?
Again, he reads it, but no response. My stomach starts churning at top speed. Something is up, and I need to know what.
Pivoting on my heel, I head back to the conference room where Brody is chatting with the marketing director, still trying to make sense of an ad Josh and I came up with together.
“Hey, Brody?” I say, interrupting. “Do you know if Josh’s phone is working?”
Brody’s shoulders tense, his mouth forming a perfectly straight line. “Yeah. His phone is working fine. He just texted me a second ago.”
My jaw clenches as I try to force a smile. Whatever is going on here, Brody is clearly in on it. And I don’t like it one fucking bit.
“Could you let him know that I would like to speak with him, please?” I say tersely.
Brody’s shoulders fall back into place as a long sigh leaks from his mouth. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll tell him, Peyton.”
I can tell by his voice that he means it. I can also tell that it’s not going to make a difference. Josh fucking Hanson got what he wanted from me, and now he’s disappearing.
Just like every other knuckle-dragging douchebag that came before him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peyton
Two weeks later
When my gift boxes hit store shelves last week, I had to remind myself over and over that good things take time. It took years of hard work to build my business to this point. Although this business deal was a huge step, it was just one step, not an escalator. At least, that’s what I told myself.
And then, after a week of my products being stocked, the numbers came in. The glowing blogger reviews. The immediate demands for increased stock at nearly every store. A mere seven days later, and my cut of profits has already surpassed a whole year’s worth of income from my online store.
Maybe good things take time, but it turns out, great things can happen in the blink of an eye.
“Another bottle of bubbly!” Libby calls out to the bartender on a laugh, and Sabrina encourages her by slamming what’s left in her glass.
Needless to say, drinks are on me tonight.
I didn’t even know Speakeasy had champagne available, but they’ve somehow dusted off whatever stock they have for us. With an echoing pop, the second bottle of the evening is opened, foaming out of the beer glasses we’re drinking from, which was the closest thing to champagne flutes the bar could offer us. Champagne in a beer glass. I think it sums up the three of us perfectly.
“Say cheese!” I pass my phone off to one of the bartenders, and Libby tugs Sabrina and me into a tight hug, the three of us posing in front of the CONGRATULATIONS, PEYTON! banner they hung over our usual table.
“No, don’t say cheese!” Sabrina says. “Say Wish Upon a Gift!”
The bartender snaps the picture, but when he passes my phone back to me, the result is anything but flattering. Turns out saying my company name doesn’t make for quite the same smiles as saying cheese does. We all look like we’re in the middle of chewing something tough.
“Oh my God, we need to retake it,” Sabrina says, but I just laugh, instantly uploading the picture to Instagram and tagging them both.
“It’s perfect,” I tell them. “The perfect picture of a perfect night.”
Well, almost perfect. Even amidst all the celebration, there’s still a hollowness in my gut that no amount of champagne seems to fill. It’s ridiculous that I’d feel anything but over the moon. I’m with my best friends at my favorite bar, celebrating the spectacular success of my company. What more could I possibly want?
My stomach shifts, and not from the champagne. I know exactly what more I want, but I can hardly admit it to myself.
It’s Josh. I want Josh.
The realization instantly sobers me up. It’s been two weeks now since I scrambled out of his bed, swearing that, although he may have doubled my personal orgasm record, sleeping with him was a mistake that could ruin everything.
That same day I was given a new point of contact at Wine O’Clock, and since then, he hasn’t so much as texted me to check in. I thought that maybe he’d left the project so that things could be strictly personal, not professional, between the two of us. But instead? Nothing. Not a word.
The silence stings. Hell, I should hate him for it.
But somehow, deep in the bottom of my heart, I’m desperately hanging on to a maybe. Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe he’s thinking of me too. Wanting me. Wondering if we had something worthwhile. Maybe, by some miracle, he’s holding on to that maybe too.
“Peyton? Are you okay?”
I didn’t realize I’ve been staring into my glass of champagne like it was a crystal ball that would tell me how I’m going to solve all of this. “What? Oh, no, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
I force a tight smile, but Libby and Sabrina both give me identical knowing looks, completely not buying it.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Libby’s smug smile tells me it’s a question she already knows the answer to.
Normally, that joke would get at least a pity laugh out of me, but not right now. Instead, I just swirl the champagne in my glass, watching the bubbles pop and disappear. “I don’t know. I’m just . . . sad? Pissed? Is there a word for that?”
“Sissed?” Libby suggests.
This gets a laugh out of all three of us. Then out of the blue, Sabrina’s giggles come to an abrupt stop and the color quickly drains from her cheeks.
“You okay, Sabrina?”
She doesn’t respond to me. Instead, she tugs on Libby’s sleeve and whispers something in her ear, and suddenly, both of them look like a ghost just walked into the bar.
“Hey, Peyton? Can you pull up that picture of Josh? The one you showed us on the company website after your first meeting?”
Skeptical, I lift one eyebrow. “Um, sure? Why?”
I don’t know what’s gotten into them, but they’re insistent on me pulling up his head shot, so I type in the website and hand them the phone. They huddle together to examine the picture, then look back up over my shoulder, then down at the screen again.
“Um, guys?” I try again. “Everything okay?”
“Depends,” Libby whispers, drawing out the word cautiously. “Were you expecting Josh to show up here tonight?”
My stomach drops to my knees. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s talking about the fact that Mr. Left You on Read for Two Weeks is standing at the bar,” Sabrina says. “Does he know that this is our spot?”
My head starts to spin with memories of telling Josh about girls’ nights at Speakeasy. Did he actually remember, or is he just here by accident? Either way, they’ve got to be having a joint hallucination. There’s no way in hell this is happening to me right now.
Libby shakes her head. “I would recognize that jawline anywhere.”
“And damn, he’s hot as fuck.” Sabrina’s lips pinch together. “Sorry. I realize that was poorly timed.”
I suck in a deep breath, chasing it with the rest of my champagne. “All right. I’m gonna look.”
With as much subtlety as I can manage, I glance over my shoulder and immediately lock eyes with him. He’s wearing the same suit jacket he had on when we pitched to the stores upstate. Underneath it is a bright blue shirt that makes his eyes absolutely sparkle.
Screw him for looking so damn handsome.
He’s leaning against the bar, martini glass in hand, but whatever he’s drinking doesn’t hold his attention. By the way he’s staring me down, his focus isn’t on drinking tonight.
“Yup, that’s him.” My heart is threatening to leap into my throat. “What do I do?”
“Go talk to him,” Sabrina and Libby say in unison.
Like it’s that easy. I want to bury my face in my hands, but I don’t want that asshole to see how much he’s messed with my head. He doesn’t deserve that kind of power trip. Not tonight when I’m supposed to be celebrating.
“What am I even supposed to say? ‘Fuck you very much for completely ghosting on me’?”
Panic flickers in Libby’s eyes. “Whatever you want to say, you’d better think fast. He’s walking this way.”
Next thing I know, I can feel a presence towering behind me, the familiar smell of a summer storm, although fall is nearly over. It’s him. I guess there’s no escaping now.
“Good evening, ladies,” Josh says, his voice low and as sweet as the breeze. I hate that it sends goose bumps climbing up my arms. “You must be Sabrina and Libby. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Josh, one of Peyton’s business partners.”
Is that all we are? Because it felt like a fuck of a lot more when he was inside me. I hold my breath, trying to suffocate the butterflies in my stomach.
“We know who you are,” Libby murmurs through pursed lips, earning her a swat on the arm from Sabrina.
“Do you mind if I steal Peyton for a moment? I don’t mean to interrupt your evening, because I’m sure you must be celebrating Peyton’s success.”
“Steal me?” I blurt out, jumping to my feet and whirling to face him. “Why are you even here? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me like the freaking plague.”
I’m not usually one to lash out like this. Maybe it’s the champagne or the heartbreak, or a mixture of both. But, seriously, unless he’s here to beg for forgiveness, I have nothing to say to him right now. Actually, I have a lot to say to him, but none of it is very ladylike.
By the way Josh wrinkles his forehead, he clearly didn’t mean it as a joke. “Things have just been complicated.”
“That is such a line,” I snap. “You’re exactly like every other douchebag I’ve dated before. You only wanted me to think you were sweet and sensitive so you could sleep with me and then bail.”
“Peyton, please. Listen to me.” He’s speaking under his breath, trying to avoid drawing any more attention from the bar than we already have. “Listen, I don’t know what Brody told you, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
I fist my hands, praying he can’t hear the quiver in my voice as well as I can. “Brody made it quite clear you wanted nothing to do with me. And if that’s what it means to keep it professional, then you’re not nearly as business savvy as you pretend to be.”
My throat is constricting, and it’s all I can do to hold back the tears. I won’t do this. I won’t let him see me cry.
Composing myself, I continue. “And yeah. There’s been a misunderstanding,” I manage to say through my sniffles. “Because you seem to think you can disappear from my life and come back when it’s convenient for you, when I’m a bottle of champagne in and you think you can get me to sleep with you again. That, Josh, is a massive misunderstanding.”
The second I feel a tear spill down my cheek, I grab my purse and storm out the door, booking it toward the nearest subway station before the waterworks start. I feel bad for leaving without paying our tab, but there’s no looking back now. Sabrina and Libby will understand.
I have to get away from here, away from him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Peyton
“Can we come in?” a familiar voice calls from the other side of my bedroom door.
After my emergency evacuation from Speakeasy, I should have known that Libby and Sabrina would follow me home. What I don’t know is if I’m ready to have company yet.
Instead of replying to their knocks, I scoop up another bite of double-chocolate-fudge ice cream and pop the spoon into my mouth, doing my best not to drip any on the comforter. I don’t need a stain on my sheets reminding me of Josh’s affinity for ice cream. As it is, I can’t even enjoy this ice cream without thinking about how it’s his favorite food.
Screw him for making me think of him when I’m trying to mope. Can’t a girl eat her feelings without being reminded of the man she’s trying to get over?
“Peyton. You’re gonna have to pee eventually,” Sabrina calls from outside the door. “Either you can let us in now, or we’ll stand here and wait until you have to open this door.”
I groan, dropping my spoon into my half-empty pint. She’s right, but I’m not happy about it. Setting the ice cream on my nightstand, I pull myself out of bed and unlock the door to let them in.
“Oh, honey, are you okay?” Sabrina’s face scrunches up as she takes in the sight of me in all my breakup glory. The mascara trailing down my cheeks, the messy bun on top of my head, and wearing my coziest pajamas.
The second I got home from the bar, I grabbed the pint of ice cream I’ve stored in the freezer for a rainy day and took the stairs two at a time, yelling out to Gram that no, I don’t want to talk about it. Gram has been crazy obsessed with the idea of Josh and me together. How am I supposed to tell her that he’s just another asshole who wanted to get in my pants?
“Girl, you don’t really want to be alone right now, do you?” Libby asks, flopping down across my bed. “You don’t need to do that to yourself.”
“She’s right.” Sabrina shakes the plastic grocery bag in her hand. “What you need is more ice cream. Which we have graciously provided.”
“And makeup wipes!” Libby pulls a package of them from the plastic bag and tosses them my way. Sabrina gives her a weird look, but Libby just shrugs. “What? I figured she might need one. Sue me for being prepared.”
I drag a makeup wipe across my cheeks, the clean coolness of it feeling like a fresh start. Which is something I could really use right now.
Once I’m cleaned up, I toss the wipe and settle back onto the bed with my girls. As much as I wanted to wallow in sadness by myself, I’m happy I gave in and let them in. Having them here makes me feel less empty.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” I say, exhaling slowly.
“Here, finish this and tell us what’s on your mind.” Sabrina hands me what’s left of my pint of ice cream, then leans back against the pillows, ready to hear whatever I have to say.
The only problem is that I don’t know where to start. My head is in a million places at once, and I don’t know how to make sense of any of it.
“I just . . . I thought he was different, you know? And then when we finally sleep together, he totally ghosts on me? And then shows up without notice? I mean, who does that?”
“Men,” Libby and Sabrina say in unison, which makes them giggle.
Meanwhile, I’m near the end of this pint and hoping there’s an explanation at the bottom. If not, I’ll be forced to move on to the next pint.
“Maybe he has a good explanation, who knows?” Libby says as she takes the lid off another pint of double-chocolate fudge and passes it my way.
“Yeah, or maybe he’s just exactly like every o
ther guy I’ve ever dated.” As I plunge my spoon into the softened chocolatey goodness, I can’t help but remember that these aren’t the kind of pints I thought I’d be throwing back tonight. We should be celebrating my business success, not moping in my bedroom. Fuck Josh for taking this night away from me.
“You won’t know unless you talk to him,” Libby says. “If he’s ballsy enough to walk up to you at a bar, I think he’ll probably have the guts to actually answer your calls this time.”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug, licking chocolate off my lower lip. “He’s already called me three times tonight. So I’m guessing he’s probably willing to talk things out.”
Their jaws practically hit the comforter at that update.
“He’s been calling you?” Sabrina’s screech is so high-pitched, I’m surprised our neighbors’ dogs don’t start barking. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? Did you pick up or what?”
“No, of course not.” Frowning, I take another bite. “What would I even say to him right now? The only men I want to talk to are Ben and Jerry.”
Both my friends roll their eyes. I guess I deserve that.
“You don’t want to talk to him, but you’re mad that he wouldn’t talk to you? That doesn’t add up,” Sabrina says, giving me a pointed look.
Defensively, I take an enormous bite of ice cream so I don’t have to respond to that.
“She’s still mourning, Sabrina. Cut her some slack.” Libby throws a pillow at Sabrina, who swiftly ducks it. “Here’s what I think. I think he’s either calling to apologize to you or to explain himself. But it’s up to you to decide if you want to hear it or not. Because it could be legit, or it could be total bullshit.”
“Right now, this all feels like bullshit.” I whine, passing my ice cream to Libby so I can bury my face in a pillow.
