Suddenly, I desperately wish that he was here, and I could talk to him. I feel sick to my stomach. Is he second guessing everything, now that we’re apart?
He has a phobia of relationships. He said so himself. Maybe his time in Japan is making him rethink what we have together.
Does he wish that our time in Rio never happened? Is he going to try to revert back to our original agreement, as if we never moved past it?
Or does he not want his girlfriend working for him as his secretary? I don’t feel like his girlfriend. But I don’t know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t sent me a text or anything.
With growing nausea in my stomach, I reach for my laptop and sign into my online banking account. It’s hard to breathe as I click through to my account.
As soon as I see my bank account balance, I know.
It’s fifty thousand dollars bigger than it should be. Upon closer inspection, I see the deposit: fifty grand from H. Larson.
My stomach flips upside down and inside out. At least that’s what it feels like. I have to swallow a few times to fight the urge to vomit.
Hunter is dumping me, isn’t he?
He’s doing it in the coldest way possible: through a Human Resources representative.
If he doesn’t want to see me again, he at least needs to call me and tell me himself! But even that, I realize as I snap my laptop closed, would be awful.
He’s dumping me. That’s the bottom line here.
Minutes drag on.
The nausea is replaced by a hollow, numb feeling.
I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. My mind recalls our last night in Rio. I’ve replayed that night so many times in my mind, I feel that I know each word of our conversation by heart. But this time, as I replay the words in my mind, the whole scene takes on a suspicious twist.
There I was, putting myself out there so desperately. He didn’t know how to handle my feelings. I pressured him into saying exactly what I wanted him to say. He was only humoring me! Trying to avoid an awkward conversation.
Here I was, thinking that his business trip to Japan was unfortunate timing and that he was as upset about it as I was. And yet, he hasn’t called once…
He was happy to get away from me, wasn’t he?
I feel like I’m walking through a funhouse in my mind, filled with mirrors that distort my memories. Every memory that I have of Hunter is suddenly twisted and deformed, and I see him differently.
I also see myself differently. I was such a fool!
I feel a fat tear well up in my eye and then slip down my cheek. I wipe it angrily away. I will not cry over this man, who won’t even grant me the respect of calling me to tell me that it’s over.
A second tear overflows and races down my cheek, and then a third.
As I give in to my sobs, I pick up my phone. I need to talk to someone. Jemma? Camila?
Camila. She will understand. I’ve listened to her for hours at a time as she went through her divorce proceedings with Dan.
Besides, I need to tell her about the money. She’s been waiting for this day, just as I have. She has to pay the loan sharks back—it’s been two weeks since they gave her the deadline.
I’m about to dial her number, but suddenly I have a terrible thought.
When I really tell her that I have twenty-five grand for her, she’s going to want the details. She’s going to ask me what I did to get the money. I’ve been able to evade her questions so far, but if I call her now, crying over my heartbreak and blubbering about Hunter, she’ll feel that all I’m going through is her fault.
It’s not.
I did this to myself.
A desire to get money for Camila started it all out, but I’m the one who let myself get so emotionally invested.
Stupid Maria. Stupid!
This chant plays through my head as I stand and stomp angrily to my bedroom. My nose is running, and the tears won’t stop coming. I need a tissue, badly. Blinded by tears, I begin searching the room.
Instead of tissues, on my nightstand, I find something that makes my tears come out faster and hotter.
The pictures, from the photo booth.
There’s Hunter and me, smiling into the camera. Hunter’s hands up behind my head, giving bunny ears; me with my eyes crossed and tongue sticking out. And then…
My chest hurts, I’m crying so hard.
The final picture. The two of us, kissing.
Our first kiss.
It hurts to look at it. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin tearing.
I rip and shred the strip of photographs until there’s nothing left. Nothing but black and white confetti.
Who was I kidding, thinking that my world could turn from black and white to color? Now, I don’t even have black and white.
Chapter 20
Hunter
“Hi, Candice. This is Hunter Larson.”
“Oh, Mr. Larson! Hello! How are your travels going? Well, I hope?”
“Very well.” I try to keep my tone light. “I’m calling to check up on the Maria Michaels situation. Did you have a chance to talk to her this morning?”
“Yes, sir. I spoke to her about an hour ago and told her not to return to the office per the instructions in your email. Was that correct?”
Candice hesitates as if trying to decide whether to say something or hold her tongue. After a few seconds, she speaks. “She did seem somewhat confused about the termination. Upset, really.”
“That was absolutely correct,” I say. “Thank you, Candice. I’m sure that wasn’t an easy conversation. I will follow up with Ms. Michaels myself. Thank you for executing so efficiently.”
“Of course, Mr. Larson,” Candice says.
“That’s all, Candice. Have a nice day.”
I settle back into my seat.
After a moment, an announcement floats over the PA system in my private jet, detailing our upcoming descent.
I lift the shade at my side and look down at San Bravado. The city seems to grow larger and larger as we approach the airfield.
Good. Maria’s already been fired. I have no doubt that she’s already noticed the deposit in her bank account as well. I know that she was desperate for the money, and I’m sure such a large sum will catch her attention quickly.
Now I won’t have to chance seeing her in the office. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation to end things with her there, with the chance that my employees would hear or see our conversation. Maria could make a scene. It could get messy.
Not good.
Better that HR gave her a call so I won’t run into her.
Of course, I think, as I watch the earth below the jet come nearer and nearer, I’ll have to talk to her in person as well. Maybe a phone call.
Maria, I’m sorry, I’ll say. I close my eyes briefly as the jet glides downward, imagining our conversation. I thought that I was ready to try having a relationship, but I was wrong. My time apart from you helped me to clear my head. This was a mistake.
Yes. That’s what I’ll say.
But was it a mistake? Is that how I really feel?
There’s still a part of me that wants what Maria was offering—a chance at love. A chance to give and receive love.
But I’m still terrified at the depth of my emotions for her; the complete loss of control I felt when I was with her, in that capacity.
I’m not used to feeling this conflicted. Usually, when I make a decision, that’s that. I don't’ look back on it. I don’t second guess myself or dwell in doubt.
The jet lands, and my flight attendant emerges from the staff quarters with a big smile. “Welcome home, Mr. Larson. Are you excited to be back in California?”
I try to smile, but it’s forced. I’m still mulling over what’s waiting for me here: a conversation that I don’t know how to have. A woman that I care deeply about but need to say goodbye to. “It’s always good to come home,” I say, lying through my teeth.
Chapter 21
Hunter
&n
bsp; For the hundredth time today, I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts until I reach Maria’s number. Two weeks have passed since I arrived home, and I still haven’t called her to end things in person.
I stare at her name on my phone and the picture that accompanies it.
It’s a photograph I snapped of her while we were lying in bed. Her dark hair is fanned out across a white pillow. She’s smiling up at the screen happily. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips full and red. I can see my bare shoulder, in the corner of the shot. We were so happy. The sex was so good. We were just getting to know each other—really know each other. What is wrong with me?
If it’s better to end things, and I know she deserves a phone call, why can’t I press the damn button?
I’m sitting in my office, swiveling back and forth in my leather chair, staring at my phone. Suddenly, the phone in my hand rings. The abrupt tone slices through my paralysis.
“Hello?” I say, lifting my cell to my ear. “This is Hunter.”
“Hello! I’m calling for Mr. Hunter Larson. Is this he?”
The caller has a thick Brazilian accent. I don’t recognize the voice. I sit up straighter. “Yes, this is he,” I say.
“Mr. Larson! A pleasure to speak to you. I saw your review of my sailing tours online. You enjoyed your time on Dream Weaver?”
I recall my glowing review, and smile. “Yes,” I say. “Very much. It was a wonderful boat.”
“That’s why I’m calling, sir. You see, I’m wondering if you would like to purchase her. A man of your means must have several sailboats already?”
“I don’t, as it happens—”
“Oh! But you should, since you clearly enjoy sailing so much. Our sailboats have character, don’t they? A real history. You don’t want a shiny new boat. No, a man like you would be happiest on a charming boat with a rich history. What do you say? Ten grand and she’s yours. I can also have her delivered to you, no charge. I see you live on the coast of California?”
This guy has really done his research. I’m about to commend his efforts, but refuse the boat, when a sudden image comes to me.
It’s Maria. She has a halo of gold around her; reflected light from the setting sun. Her cut-off shorts are high on her toned legs which are stretched out long on the Dream Weaver’s wooden deck. Her bare shoulder is like an apple ready to be bitten. She’s looking over her shoulder at me, laughing at something I’ve just said.
“Okay,” I say, impulsively into the phone as I watch Maria laugh in my mind’s eye. “Okay. Yes. I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful!” my caller says. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Several moments later, I’ve taken down the details about where to wire the money, and I’ve given him my address.
As we hang up, I sink back into my chair.
Again, I pull up Maria’s contact information. There’s her smiling face, looking out at me as if I hold the key to the universe.
The feeling of her hugging me from behind on the bed to comfort me comes to mind. The way her breasts pushed against my back as her arms wrapped around me. She was not being sexual at that moment. No, she was being kind and caring and loving me in my vulnerability.
Maria does not expect me to be perfect. She likes it best when I am me. The me inside that I’m afraid to let out. That part of me that is afraid of being hurt. But that’s the part of me that adores being with her. That enjoys watching her sleep. That wants to hold her hand and protect her.
I’m a better man when I’m with her. More complete.
I want to see her, I realize. I want to see her in person. I need to tell her how I feel—how deep my emotions for her run.
But will she even speak to me, after what I’ve done? It was wrong to have my HR department tell her not to come back. What if she refuses to talk to me?
How can I tell her how I feel, without calling her?
A note! I think suddenly. I’ll write her a note.
Purchasing the sailboat has made it all so clear to me. There’s no one else I’d want to sail around the San Bravado Bay with. No one but Maria.
I have to win her back. With intense concentration, I begin writing.
Maria,
I’m sorry it has taken so long for me to contact you. I’ve been a mess since Rio—this is all new to me. I need to see you. I want to talk to you.
If you’re willing to see me, meet me on the pier where we had our first date. I’ll be there tonight at sunset, hoping to see you.
Please, give me another chance.
Hunter
Once it’s written, I fold it carefully and leave my office in search of one of my assistants.
As soon as I spot him, I hold up the note.
“I need this delivered to Maria Michaels at her home address, as soon as possible,” I say. “Along with flowers,” I add. “Roses. Three dozen.”
“Three?” my assistant asks as if he isn’t sure he’s heard me correctly.
“Actually, make that six dozen,” I say, changing my mind suddenly.
My assistant jots this down in a small notebook and then turns away from me and takes a few steps toward the elevator. “Got it!” he calls over his shoulder.
“Oh, hey—” I jog to catch up to him, digging in my wallet as I go. “Wait up. Get an envelope for the note. And put this in there too. Okay?”
I hand him the item I’ve retrieved from my wallet. It’s the strip of photographs, from our first date at the pier.
My assistant nods. We’re in front of the elevators now, and he punches the down button. “Will do, boss,” he says.
Once he disappears, I walk distractedly back into my office. My mind is a million miles away. It’s only three in the afternoon, but I’m too excited to stay cooped up in here.
I’m barely able to concentrate as I wrap up a few last things in the office, including wiring money to the man in Brazil. The act has me daydreaming about what it will be like when the boat arrives in San Bravado. Will Maria join me on it?
My heart is pounding as I pack up my bag and say my goodbyes. Soon I’m out on the sidewalk. I’m far too charged up for driving, so I refuse an offer from my chauffeur and instead start walking toward the pier.
It feels good to burn off some energy. Despite the long walk, I still arrive hours before sunset. I’m so amped up I can barely sit still. Maybe she’ll get here early, too! This thought has me examining every dark-haired woman that approaches, only to sigh with disappointment when I see they are not Maria.
The hours stretch on, and soon it is seven o’clock.
The sun is sinking lower and lower in the sky. I should have told her where to meet me on the pier, I think, pacing the entire length for the sixth time this hour. The sun’s orb meets the water’s edge, and I still haven’t spotted her.
Is she going to show?
The sun continues sinking. If I could, I would spend my fortune to suspend it in the sky. Another hour passes, and by eight o'clock the sun has completely disappeared.
She’s not coming. I’ve just walked the pier again. Now that it’s dark out, the crowd has thinned. Maria is nowhere in sight.
I’ll wait another twenty minutes.
In my mind, I silently plead with her. Please, Maria. Give me another chance. Please… I need you.
Chapter 22
Maria
I can’t look at the roses.
I can’t look at the strip of photos—our smiling faces.
If I do, I’ll forget my anger.
I don’t want to forget my anger. I’ve cultivated it so carefully, these last two weeks. I’ve nurtured it with resentful thoughts, like I can’t believe he dumped me with a phone call from HR!
I’ve nurtured my anger until it grew up, like healthy, thick vines rich with thorns around me. It’s a protective layer now.
If I look at the roses, the note, or the photos, that protective layer is going to come crashing down.
I stand in my kitchen, facing the refrigerator. Come on, Ma
ria, just think about cooking some dinner, I urge myself.
It’s nearing eight, and I haven’t eaten a bite in hours—not since the young man arrived with the sealed envelope and six dozen roses in tow. I was in the middle of a phone call with my temp agency when he knocked on my apartment door, and I could barely finish the conversation with my coordinator. I finally made an excuse, saying that I had an unexpected visitor and promised to call her back.
I didn’t.
Now, looking into the fridge, I’m confronted with a startling lack of food. It’s been two weeks since Hunter deposited money into my account, fired me, and broke up with me, all on the same day. I gave twenty-five grand to Camila, and I haven't touched the other half.
It feels…dirty. It makes my heart hurt. I can’t use that money. Not yet. Not until this wound heals a little.
I open the cupboard and pull out a box of noodles. Plain pasta it is, for the fourth night in a row. I need to find work soon and make a paycheck big enough to properly grocery shop. Then, maybe I can afford some sauce for the pasta.
Work would be a great distraction, too. These long, lonely days of unemployment are killing me.
If I can just move on with my life, it will make it easier to forget Hunter.
The hurt he caused me.
The pain.
I close the cupboard and turn to the countertop, which causes me to catch sight of the deep red, velvet roses again.
Damn him! How am I supposed to forget about Hunter when he does something like this so unexpectedly?
A sensation like being punched in the gut overwhelms me, and I let the box fall onto the counter. There’s no way that I can eat right now—not while feeling like this.
I see the window beyond the roses. My single living room window reveals a bruised, purple and blue sky. The sun is setting. Right now, Hunter is on the pier, waiting for me.
I feel drawn to the window. I walk, zombie-like, through the kitchen and into the living room. I weave through the six vases of roses that are placed across my little living room floor.
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