Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  I did it. I did something scary! Wait till I tell…

  That’s when it hits me again, just like it has so many times in the past few weeks. I won’t be calling Noah to tell him about it, because he doesn’t want to talk to me.

  I notice Hazel nudge Amelia’s arm. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s take a selfie to commemorate Elle’s big step.”

  “Brilliant idea! You’ve got the longest arms, Chloe. You do it.” Hazel hands her my phone.

  “A topless picture? Oh, no, no, no.” I slash the air with my hands. “That’s too far.”

  “No, silly, just head and shoulders of all of us. You and Hazel can stand behind Amelia and me and we’ll kneel. The girls won’t be in it,” Chloe wags her fingers back and forth between her pert, tanned breasts.

  For some reason I don’t fully understand, I agree and Chloe snaps several damn cute pics of us, head and bare shoulders, huddled cheek to cheek on the beach.

  The exhilaration of my brave little step stays with me through lunch and into the evening. I’m proud of myself for trying something terrifying, and I feel like it gave me a little boost of confidence.

  That’s good, because with the webcast coming up, I’ll need all the confidence I can get. This project will allow me to prove just what I can do, and could secure my future with Banshee. I also can’t help but love the idea of showing Donovan what he missed out on by not finding the money in the budget to put my promotion through.

  On the other hand, I’ll have to see Noah, and I have no idea what to expect. What if he has forgotten all about me? For all I know, he might be with someone else. It might even be my replacement at the office. She looks like a mashup of Scarlett Johansson, Sophia Loren, and Zoe Kravitz. She’s beautiful and built and has an MBA with a marketing concentration from Northwestern.

  I might’ve looked her up on LinkedIn. And Instagram. And Facebook.

  At any rate, the event is less than two weeks away, and I have to bring my A game. I can’t be distracted by Noah, or my replacement, or what gorgeous babies they’ll make together. I’m just afraid that no amount of boobs-out bravado in the world will help me soothe the knot in my stomach that seems to be growing bigger the closer I get to seeing Noah again.

  Chapter 32

  Five fucking weeks.

  That’s how long it’s been since I talked to Elle. Of course, part of that may be my fault, since I told her that talking to her hurt just too damn much. Still, it was her that rejected me and fucked off to another country. Would she have even told me goodbye if I hadn’t found you about her leaving on my own? I’ve played that question over and over in my mind so many times that I don’t eve know anymore.

  As is so often the way, though, when part of your life goes to total, complete shit, another part sometimes presents you with spectacular opportunities—opportunities that are yours for the taking if you just keep your shit together. That’s exactly what’s happening, but the keeping my shit together part is posing a challenge these days.

  Jordan is leaving the company. After fifteen years with Summit, he got headhunted to the country’s biggest outdoor retailer as president of purchasing. At least I know we can count on him to throw a few orders our way but damn if he doesn’t know every single one of my negotiating tactics. When he told me he was out, he said that Donovan expects me to apply fo this open seat, and he thinks the job is mine to lose.

  Aside from a higher title and more pay, one big perk would be moving out of my office. The woman who took the job Elle left, since I can’t bring myself to call her Elle’s replacement, moved into the office across the hall from mine. A dozen different times, I’ve been on conference calls, throwing a stress ball up into the air, then catching it, and I’ve looked across the hall, absentmindedly thinking I’d toss it at Elle, but Ell’s not there anymore. Natasha is.

  I’m pretty sure she has mistaken my glances at her door for flirtation or at least some sort of interest, when in reality, all I’m thinking about when I look over there is how I want her out of Elle’s office.

  She’s nice enough. Smart. Professional. She’s also the reason every guy on my sales team suddenly needs to swing by my office half a dozen times a week. They were getting on my nerves it was so bad. I had to meet with them out in the bullpen and tell them to cut it out.

  I guess I can’t blame them. A few years ago if I had met Natasha out with friends, she’d have been just the type of woman I’d go for. She’s made it pretty clear that she’d be happy for me to go for it now, but she’s registering zero on my interest meter. There’s only one woman for me, and I blew it with her by rushing things.

  So here I am, on the cusp of a big promotion, and the only person I want to share it with rejected me completely and fucked off to foreign lands. So, I go to work, I come home, and a ramble around in my new house, the one I bought for us to start our life together, and I’ve never felt more alone.

  Even though she’s never been here, she never even had the chance to set foot in the place, she haunts every corner of the place like a ghost. The sofa where we’ve spent so many nights of TV and movie marathons, the one she picked out, is in the living room. The painting on the wall above it is one she bought me at the flea market the she said my place looked like a sad dorm room. Even the damn t-shirt I’m wearing is the one we bought at the park shop at the Grand Canyon. Elle permeates every part of my life.

  Except, she doesn’t. Not anymore.

  I’ve started running every night before dinner, trying to burn off some of the anger and the hurt that I feel. So far, it’s not working. When I got back to the house earlier, I showered, and now, I’m staring mindlessly into the fridge. The ingredients for salad, a packet of ham, and beer stare back at me. I shut it and open the cupboard. When I do, one bag of sour gummy cherries stares back at me. I pull it down, dig my finger into the bag, and pull one out, stuffing it into my mouth. Before I even finish chewing it, I dig in and pull out two more, and shove them in as well. When I’ve got about five pieces all pushing at my cheeks as I chew, the package is empty, a fact that makes me unreasonably angry.

  I try to throw the empty bag, hard, into the trash, but the empty plastic just floats down to lay on top of the garbage in the most unsatisfying way. My feet are planted solidly on the floor, my hands on my hips as I stare straight ahead, staring at nothing as I chew furiously. Just as I swallow, my eyes fall on the hook beside the kitchen door, landing on my keys. There, hanging from my keychain, is a brass key with an oval hilt, the number 413 etched into it.

  I snatch them from the hook, slide into a pair of canvas loafers that sit by the door, and jump into my car.

  It takes me about eight minutes to arrive at the building I know so well. I take the elevator up to the fourth floor, and when I get to her door, I just stand in front of it. I’ve burst through this door more times than a character on a popular sitcom. It’s practically as iconic as the one with the picture frame around the peephole on Friends. If this were a sitcom, I’d walk in and find Elle on the other side, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table across from her sofa, wearing sleep shorts and my favorite tee shirt—the one that’s been missing since she left. I’d look surprised, and she’d say Australia was too hot so she decided to come back. Then she’d hop and say it was just a joke, that she has loved me all along, and all she wants is me. Cue the aww from the studio audience, and a few whistles when the hero kisses the girl he loves.

  This isn’t a sitcom, though. This is my real, sad, fucked-up life. Elle isn’t on the other side of this door. Instead, I’m here to retrieve the last remnants of a really good day with her—the day she came back from Germany.

  I turn the key, hoping to God that this is still her place, open the door, and step inside.

  This was a bad plan.

  The place still smells like her. Nothing looks like it has been touched. It’s not as messy as usual, but it wouldn’t be. She’s gone, after all.

  I walk into the kitchen and open the cabinets, pulling dow
n the last four bags of gummy bears she brought me back from Germany. I rip one open and stuff a handful of gummy fruits into my mouth. As I chew, my body relaxes, as if the simple act somehow delays the finality of her being gone.

  I open the door to the nearly-empty fridge, and pull out a beer. I’m taking a sip from it, leaning back against the counter, when I’m startled by a sound from the back of the apartment.

  Elle? Could she really have come back?

  “I’m calling nine-one-one. I have a weapon!” The familiar male voice calls out.

  I step forward, tentatively peeking around the corner of the kitchen door and down the hallway, and my shoulders relax as I come face to face with a very nervous-looking Doctor Bailey, who is holding a small pair of scissors by the handles in a stabbing position that would make Norman Bates proud.

  “Noah! Son, you scared the crap out of me. How the hell are you?”

  He puts his arm out, giving me a pat on the shoulder and a squeeze. I slide my arm around him and return the half-hug.

  “Fine, sir. Sorry to have startled you. I assumed no one would be here.”

  “It didn’t occur to me that anyone else would be here either.” He shrugs. “Are there more of those, because I could sure use one.” He points to my beer and I nod, walking to the fridge and grabbing one for him.

  After I hand Elle’s dad his beer, I grab the bag of gummies again, throw several in my mouth and start chewing. It’s stupid, I know, but I feel like eating these things, something she brought back for me the last time an ocean separated us, is somehow going to transport me back in time to before things got so completely fucked up in my world.

  “So, she called you, too?”

  I tense a little, then hold up the bag of gummies. “Just retrieving the last of the candy from Germany.”

  His question means he has no idea about what happened with Elle and me.

  He opens one drawer in the kitchen, then another.

  “Any idea where she keeps the packing tape around here?”

  I chuckle. “Doctor Bailey, Elle has no idea where she keeps anything around here. She’s kind of a mess, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “That’s why I’m glad she has you to take care of her.” He gives me a nod. “She said she was going down there alone, but I assume you’ll be joining her at some point?”

  My brows furrow. “No, sir.” I swallow hard with my reply. “She made it pretty clear that she can do things on her own…that she doesn’t need me around. I’m pretty sure she wants me out of her life, to be honest.”

  He furrows his brow and lets out a little snort of air as he crosses his arms. “You know, I always thought you were a smart guy, but that’s one of the most asinine things I’ve ever heard anyone say.” He shakes his head and goes back to rummaging under cabinets.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  He stops, still stopping in front of the sink and steadies himself with one hand on the counter as he turns to look up at me. “My daughter’s in love with you, Noah. If I can see that, surely you can.”

  If she does, or ever did, rejecting me and fleeing the country is a damn funny way of showing it.

  I put my beer on the counter and run both palms down my face.

  “Sir, I…I love her. I put it all out there, too. I told her everything. I even bought a house right in this neighborhood, so we could put down roots, ya know? She didn’t want any part of it. She just…left.” I put the heels of my hands on the edge of the counter and lean back. “Who knows though. This is just like her, right? Maybe she’ll get this out of her system, and when she gets back…,” as I say the words I only half-believe, Doctor Bailey stands up to face me, one hip leaning against the counter as he crosses his arms.

  “So, you haven’t talked to her, son?” His eyes are soft, brows raised above his glasses as he meets my eye. I shake my head back and forth slowly, afraid of what’s coming next. “That’s why I’m here, Noah. She asked us to ship some of her things.” He steps forward and puts one hand on my shoulder, softly, firmly, in that way dads do when they’re delivering bad news.

  This isn’t just bad news, though, it’s the worst news.

  “Son, she’s taken an apartment. It looks like she’s not coming back.”

  I suck in a breath, and when I do, the tiny ember of hope that was burning in my chest is extinguished.

  Chapter 33

  You’ve totally got this. You know your shit.

  You know you’re shit. My hateful little inner demon spews.

  Shut the fuck up, you. I’m a smart, competent business woman. I’m a grown-up lady. I got my boobs out in public. I’ve got this.

  “Elle? Sweetie, you in here?” I hear Amelia’s voice echoing against the tile of the posh, executive floor ladies’ room.

  “In here!” I step out of the stall and look at my clothes one last time, smoothing the front of my Summit Apparel travel-ready wrinkle proof dress. I chose a lavender color, thinking it would stand out with the Australian sunset backdrop we’re using.

  “Ian wants you in his office before we get started. I did a walk-round for ya. Everything seems to be in order up top.” She points her finger toward the ceiling, indicating the office rooftop where everything is set up for the webcast.

  “Thanks, Amelia. You’ve been so amazing these last few weeks.” I reach up and hug her neck.

  “Oh, you’re so welcome, but that’s what friends are for, ay?” She pats my back as we release the embrace.

  Down the hallway, I knock tentatively on the doorframe of Ian’s impressive office.

  “There’s my girl!” Ian stands and steps around the desk toward me. At the same time, I hear a jingle and look over to see Bosto running over, his little butt wiggling with each hurried step.

  I lean down and scoop the little guy up into my arms. He weighs less than my handbag, and though he has the classic Boston Terrier black and white coat, the little bit of Schnauzer in him makes him fluffy and so snuggly I never want to put him down.

  “He likes you, he does.” Ian nods as he steps closer, petting the top of Bosto’s head as he covers my chin in puppy kisses.

  Ian’s hand moves from Bosto’s head to my shoulder. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

  “Good! We’re ready. But I thought Bosto was going to wear board shorts today?”

  “He told me he thought they made him look like a wanker.” He steps over to his desk, leans across it and grabs something from the drawer. He sits up on the edge of the desk, one foot still touching the floor and motions for me to walk over.

  I step forward, still clutching little Bosto to my chest. Ian holds up what I can now see is a bowtie, made from signature tropical print fabric, something Banshee creates and offers as a limited edition each year. His big hands work to undo the tie, and he reaches up, clipping it around Bosto’s neck.

  “There you go, little buddy. Very handsome.”

  “Now, back to what I was asking. I’m not asking about the event, Elle. You’ve got that. I’m not worried. I’m asking about you. How are you doing? You’ve been here, what, about six weeks now?”

  I nod, feeling a little heat in my throat as the number sinks in.

  “Are you happy, sweetheart? Your apartment is to your liking? I see you going to lunch with some of the girls, so it looks like you’re settling in. Are ya?”

  “I am. It’s still really different from North Carolina. A lot of culture shock at times.” I shrug and smile, patting Bosto’s head. “It’s good, though. I’m good.”

  He stands, takes both my shoulders in his palms and gives them a light squeeze. “I’m glad.” His soft smile reaches all the way to his eyes, and I know, in that moment, that Ian really does care—about the business, about the customers, and about every one of us that work for him. He might be a shark in the business sense, but this shark has a pretty big heart.

  Up on the rooftop terrace, I have my iPad in hand and a bluetooth earpiece in as I do the final walkthrough.

  A
tall, broad-shouldered Hugh Jackman look alike comes bounding over in black cargo shorts and a black t-shirt with the white audio-visual company logo emblazoned on the chest. “Ms. Bailey, I’m Jeremy. We spoke on the phone before. Just checking on the team. Is everything up to spec? Anything you’d like to change?”

  The company I hired to do the audio visual engineering was worth every Australian penny, since they’ve taken a lot of the stress out of the process. I confirm that they have the setup just like I wanted it, and he heads back to the soundboard to oversee things.

  I then talk with the catering manager, and swing by to check on the models, each of whom looks spectacular. As I’m walking back up to the stage where Ian is sitting with Bosto, I hear a chime in my earpiece. I look down to see an incoming Skype call on my tablet, and answer.

  “Elle? Hi! It’s so incredibly good to meet you, finally! I’m Natasha.”

  Holy shit. The subject of my LinkedIn cyberstalking is even more stunning on video than she is in still photos.

  And she has my old job. My old office. The office across from Noah.

  Perfect.

  “Hi, Natasha. Good to meet you too.” I am a lying liar of epic proportions. It is decidedly not nice to meet her.

  “We’re all set on our end. If you have a minute, I can do the walk through and show you everything.” Her pillow-y lips curl up into a smile that reaches amber colored eyes. “Oh, and is this okay? I picked the trail running tights and jacket. It’s cool here, after all. I’m looking at you, though, and I feel totally underdressed.” She tilts the iPad so I can see her long, lean form and enviable curves.

  “You look great.” She looks spectacular. “We’ll be in the background anyway.”

  “Okay, so, here’s the stage setup,” she pans the camera across the courtyard in back of the building I know so well. A huge stage has been constructed at one end, and there are rows of chairs for the employees and press that will be in the audience.

  I see so many familiar faces, and it makes my heart pang to be there with them. “Oh, here’s Jessica…wave to Elle!”