“Hello, Mr. Santos,” I say as I walk into his spectacular office. My legs are shaking, my stilettos a little wobbly. I ignore both, fake it till you make it and all that. Deep breath, Madison. You’ve got this. I hear the click of the office door behind me, Ms. Roy giving us privacy.
“Miss Hastings, it’s nice to see you again.” He strides around his desk and extends his hand. His handshake is warm, friendly, a nice compliment to his good looks. I hope he doesn’t feel my anxiety through my palm. The last time we were together, Elliot did most of the talking.
“Thank you for meeting with me. And please call me Madison.”
“I appreciate you considering me as an investor in your new company. Please have a seat.” He gestures toward a couch. “And call me Joaquin.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a seat. He sits across from me in a high-back chair. There’s a dark wood coffee table between us. And then because I’m nervous, I launch right into the pitch I’ve practiced over and over again since scheduling this get-together. It’s nerve-racking, approaching a businessman instead of a businesswoman, given most men don’t carry purses or bags so they might not understand my passion, but Joaquin has his hands in many different businesses, and we’d met before, so I figured it was my best place to start.
I open the hatbox, showing him several of my purse designs as I continue to speak. “The line includes shoulder bags, handbags, tote bags, lightweight travel bags, and special occasion bags. Each purse is a fabulous piece of unique and distinctive wearable art all handmade in California. And all of the bags are made from man-made upholstery fabric, not animal products.”
“Nice,” he says.
This is my biggest comfort zone, talking about my product, so I keep going. “Each bag features a decorative front panel with organza roses in a variety of reds, purples, and pinks with a splash of green. The insides are lined with satin and feature a phone pocket, as well as other pockets arranged at different heights and sizes, so contents can be organized rather than left in a jumbled mess at the bottom. All of the bags are surprisingly roomy and can hold loads of essentials. Or not. It’s up to the owner. And with an adjustable strap, each bag is versatile in how it can be worn or held.”
“May I?” He reaches for one of the bags.
“Please.”
While he checks out my handiwork, I open my tote and pull out a hard copy of my business plan, referring to specific numbers as I take the time to personally provide and interpret the financial information I sent him. He listens attentively.
“I also want to make a difference,” I add. “And would like to donate a percentage of sales to women’s charities across the U.S.”
Joaquin flashes his very nice white teeth. “This is all very impressive.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I say aloud. Inside I’m screaming, Holy shit he thinks I’m impressive! I’m also quite pleased I got through everything without throwing up on his Italian leather shoes.
He runs his hand across his strong clean-shaven jawline. “I’m in.”
My heart flips over. “Really?” Jeez, Madison. Could you sound any more like an amateur?
“Yes, really. I’d be happy to invest in your company.”
It takes all my willpower not to jump up and down on the couch like a ten-year-old. I’m an adult and need to act like one.
“Your plan is solid, but I do have a few thoughts.”
“I’m happy to hear them.”
He glances at his watch. “Unfortunately I have another meeting in a few minutes. Are you staying in town overnight? If so, we could grab dinner.”
“Thank you, but I’ve got to fly back tonight.” I gather my purses back into the hatbox.
“Phone call then.” He stands and helps. “Do I have a number for you?”
I made a few business cards with my cell phone number on them for just such an occasion. I pull the card out of the top pocket inside my tote.
“Another thing those pockets are good for,” Joaquin says around a smile.
“Yes.”
He walks me to the door, my legs much steadier now that I’ve secured my first investor. I give him a firm handshake. “I think I forgot to say thank you for investing in Madison Michelle. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ve no doubt. Have a safe flight home.”
The second I’ve got my seat belt on for the car ride back to the airport, I call my dad. He offered to finance my business for the first year, but I turned him down. This has to be all mine—my successes, my failures, my learning curves. All of it. He understood and told me there was only one other time he’d been prouder of me. And when I asked which time, he said the time I left my groom at the altar. It was the first time he’d intimated such a thing, let alone stated it out loud.
He apologized for waiting so long to tell me. I apologized for not calling off the wedding sooner. Then he hugged me close for a long time and said I had nothing to be sorry for, that I had the best heart of anyone he knew, and I should never apologize for it.
Dad doesn’t answer the call. I dial my mom. She doesn’t pick up, either. Harper and Teague are AWOL, too. Where is everyone? I’m bursting to scream this news. I reluctantly send texts instead. While doing so, I notice I missed a text from Brooks. I call him back.
“Hey, Madison.”
“Hi! Guess what?” I don’t even give him a chance to answer “what” before I launch into what happened with my meeting.
“That’s awesome. Congratulations. So where are you now? I think this calls for a celebratory drink.”
“I’m in the back of an Uber on my way to the airport.” I stare out the passenger window at the Seattle landscape.
“We’ll celebrate when I help you move then. You still want me on Saturday?”
“Yes, please.”
“So, how does it feel to officially be your own businesswoman?”
“Amazing.”
“I’ll be able to say I knew you when.”
I like the sound of that. Brooks has turned into a good friend. Someone I can talk to and rely on. “‘When’ what exactly?”
He clears his throat. “When I had to thread a needle for you.”
“I was drunk!” Brooks invited me over to his condo for dinner to cheer me up after I quit working at ZipMeds. He cooked a frozen vegetarian lasagna and made me cocktails from a bartender’s recipe book his roommate has. We ate and drank on the couch and watched John Oliver. When he asked if I could sew a button back on his uniform for him, I said sure. Talk about hilarious. I couldn’t focus on the needle and poked myself a gazillion times.
“I’ll leave that part out.”
“Brooks!” That makes it worse. I think.
He laughs. “You are so easy.”
“You wish.” I press my lips together. I have no idea why I said that.
“You flirting with me across state lines?” he teases.
“Not on purpose.” There’s only one person I want to flirt with and we haven’t said a word to each other in weeks. It hurts, thinking about Elliot and how much I miss him.
“I know. I’ll see you Saturday, Mad. Congrats again. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks, Brookie.”
He groans. He hates when I call him that, but it’s his fault for plying me with enough drinks to come up with the nickname. A minute after I hang up with him, my dad calls. Then my mom. They’re proud of me, too. Texts with Teague and Harper follow and go like this:
Yo the Boss Woman! So excited for you.
You’re legit, girlfriend. So happy for you.
Drinks on us!
Will you name one of your handbags The Harper?
Congratulations! Love you.
XOXOXOXOXO
There’s one more person I should text: Mateo. He’ll hear the news from Teague, but I know he’d like to find out from me. The thing is, I’ve mostly avoided him the past two weeks through no fault of his. He’s reached out. Called to make sure I was okay. I just need a little more ti
me away from anything that reminds me too much of Elliot.
The flight back to L.A. is uneventful. When I land, I see a text from Auggie. Besides losing Elliot, I’ve kind of lost her, too. It’s my fault. It’s hard to talk to her and not ask about him. How’s he doing? Is his new assistant nice? Does he ever mention me? But Auggie insists we keep in touch (I love her for it) and when I told her about my plans and that I was meeting with Joaquin, she was thrilled for me.
How did your meeting go????
Great. He’s in. This is really happening!
Oh my God. That is fantastic. Congrats! We’re going to lunch to celebrate. I know you don’t want to, but tough shit. We’re going. I’ll meet you somewhere one day next week, k?
Okay. Thank you. I include a kissy face emoji.
She sends a bunch of happy, congratulatory emojis back.
It’s past nine o’clock by the time I get on the freeway, so traffic isn’t bad on my way home. The house is quiet when I get there, the usual lights left on for me. Only two more nights, then I move to my own place. I did accept a small loan from my dad so I could rent an apartment. I’d told my parents about the place I found with Harper before I quit my job, and after I quit, Dad said he understood how much I wanted to live on my own, so why not let him help. I agreed as long as he understood that when I could, I was paying him back. I may be living on cereal for a while, but I’m cool with that.
I turn the light on in my bedroom and immediately latch on to a huge bouquet of yellow and pink roses on my desk. The arrangement is gorgeous. Their floral scent fills the room. My parents shouldn’t have. There’s even a note card. I slide the card out of the envelope.
My heart jumps to the back of my throat.
Congratulations, Madison. Your successes are just beginning, and I look forward to watching you soar. Best wishes with your new company, Elliot.
Shock barrels through me. My body shakes from a mix of happiness and bafflement. How did Elliot know about Madison Michelle? And does this mean he misses me? Is this his olive branch? He threw our relationship away so carelessly, if he thinks flowers are going to win me back, he has no idea who he’s dealing with.
He promised me we’d figure things out. We. And then he broke that promise when he decided what was best for both of us. I’m still not over the hurt. Not even close.
I plop down on my bed. Nothing in the note indicates he wants me back. I’m delusional. Harper or Teague probably told Levi or Mateo, and one of them told Elliot and he felt the need to congratulate me, is all.
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I start to text him a thank-you. That’s the polite thing to do. Thank you. The flowers are beautiful. Delete. Thank you for thinking of me. I love the flowers. Delete again. I try a third time. Thank you. I stare at those two little words. They’re innocent enough. Simple. Meaningful without meaning too much by themselves. People say them all the time, even to strangers.
Still. I delete them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elliot
I don’t want Madison taking up all of my thoughts, but fuck if I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s been in every single one of my dreams for the past three weeks. I picture her at her desk constantly. I imagine her naked and pressed against me a million times a day. I’m not exaggerating this. I’m a finance guy. I know about numbers.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. I’ve been fucking wondering it for the past hour. It’s Friday afternoon and I’m getting shit done because the only thing I want to do is be in the same room with her. I miss her to the point of pain. Seriously. My chest hurts. Maybe I should have reached out immediately after she quit.
Maybe I should have done a lot of things differently.
It’s not too late.
Screw it. I shut down my computer and tidy my desk. I have to see her, if for no other reason than to find out if she received the flowers I sent. I’d hoped the gift would spark conversation between us again, but I didn’t hear a word back. I’m so damn proud of her for starting her own business. I couldn’t have timed a call to Joaquin better. He’d just finished a meeting with her and filled me in. If he knew my history with her, he probably wouldn’t have.
“Rita, I’m leaving for the day,” I tell my assistant on the way out. “Why don’t you go home early, too. Have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay. Thanks. You, too.”
Rita is the third assistant I’ve had since Madison, and I’m thinking she’s a keeper. For thirty years she assisted a finance exec at Disney. She retired to spend more time with her family, only to find herself bored. She’s no-nonsense, smart, and has no trouble putting me in my place in a motherly sort of way. I like her.
I’m out the door, in my car, and steering toward Madison’s parents’ house a couple minutes later. I’ve reached my breaking point, expecting a response from her about the roses for the past week. You’ve been hoping for any word from her since she quit, you fool.
Traffic sucks, so I’ve got time to think on the drive over. I’ve always enjoyed working, even on tough, nothing-goes-my-way days. It’s more than a source of income. It’s what gets me excited about waking up every morning. It’s what gives me purpose and a sense of accomplishment. More so since I started at ZipMeds. But in the past couple of weeks, I’ve lost something. Something I didn’t even know was missing—someone to share it with.
Going into work every day knowing Madison was there made it better. Being so familiar with someone, and counting on that someone, eliminated the shitty days I’d occasionally have.
The more I recall the weeks we worked together, the more I remember all the things we talked about. It was impossible not to get personal with her, our conversations during lunch or in the break room or over a chocolate croissant in the mornings slipped into friendly territory without us realizing it. Madison was more than my assistant, she was my…family.
It’s fair to say that recognition has me almost continuing to drive past her house. I’m no chicken, though, so I park my car. I am nervous when I knock on the front door. I’ve no idea what to say to her, only that I need to say something. The door opens and a woman—I’m guessing Madison’s mom—says, “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Hastings?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“I’m Elliot. It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand. Her expression remains friendly, but neutral, which leads me to believe Madison hasn’t said much about me. “I’m a friend of your daughter’s and was hoping I could talk to her.”
Her expression turns skeptical. “A friend?”
Maybe Madison did mention me more than in passing. “We also worked together at ZipMeds. Is she home?”
Mrs. Hastings crosses her arms. “You were her boss.”
“Yes.” I give Mrs. Hastings my Boy Scout smile—it’s sincere and sweet and usually gets me what I want. Right now I want entry into the house. The woman is an exceptional door block.
“And the one who sent her flowers.”
“She got them?” Great. One question answered, a few more to go.
“Yes.” She drops her arms to take a more relaxed stance, but her eyes narrow, like she’s contemplating turning the tables and asking me a bunch of questions.
I tug at my shirt collar. I wasn’t expecting a discussion with her mom and don’t want to screw it up. When she doesn’t immediately say anything else, I jump in with, “Would it be okay if I come in?”
“She’s not here.”
“Oh. Will she be back soon?”
“She doesn’t live here anymore.”
For a second I’m sucker punched. How come I didn’t know this? She’s wanted to move out of her parents’ house for a while and this is big news I should have known about. Who helped her into her new place? Is she living alone? Where is she?
“She moved last weekend,” Mrs. Hastings supplies, picking up my slack. It’s taking me a minute to find my voice.
“Can I get her new address?”
Smart answer, I suppose, given Mrs. Hastings has only just met me. The thing is, if I call her I lose the element of surprise and risk her turning me down. Wait a second. I bet my dumbass roommates know about this and their girlfriends probably asked them to keep their mouths shut.
“I’ll do that. Thanks.” I turn to go, then pause. “Your daughter is an exceptional human being and I hope I see you again.”
She smiles. It’s warm, appreciative. “Thank you. We think so, too.”
My grip is tight on the steering wheel as I drive home. I’ve hated myself for how things ended with Madison, but it seems our parting of ways was the best thing to happen to her. She’s unstoppable—new career, new place to live. Is it selfish of me to reach out to her now? I don’t want to complicate her life again.
Fuck it. Yes I do. I want to be her must-have, the essential part of her day. Because that’s what she is to me, and if she gives me a second chance, I’ll never let her down again.
As luck would have it, Mateo is at the house when I get there. Perfect.
“Hey, you’re home early,” he says from the couch. As usual, my mind takes a detour to Madison and all the places I had her naked. Since spending the weekend with her, the house isn’t the same. Her essence fills every room, sparking memories and a desire for more.
I sit down next to him. He’s got his laptop in his lap. “Yeah, I thought I’d go see Madison only to find she doesn’t live there anymore.”
He stops typing, looks at me. “Go ahead and say it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“Look, she asked me not to tell you.” He quickly types something, then his attention bounces back to me.
“I’m your best friend.”
“She’s my oldest friend and like a sister to me.”
“Fine.” I settle back into the couch. We’re both quiet. Mateo is loyal to a fault, and I don’t want to come between his and Madison’s friendship, but this is a special circumstance. “I understand.”
Too Hard to Resist Page 24
