by Tia Siren
Stripping naked, I flopped on my back on my big king-size mattress. My eyes closed, and it was her face I saw as I let the buzz carry me into sleep.
Chapter Four
Mia
It had been another long day. We had all busted our asses to get our articles to print on time. The rest of the writers and editors had gone out for drinks. I’d chosen not to. I should have. I had somehow fostered a reputation for being a stuffy, stuck-up bitch. It was one of those things that had just happened. I wasn’t a big drinker and I didn’t even like most of the people I worked with. Turned out I was a bitch.
My eyes drifted to my calendar. May twelfth. It was a day I couldn’t forget. I had tried, many times. No matter how hard I pretended the day was just another day, I couldn’t. It was Brad’s birthday. The scoundrel.
I had been dumb enough to sleep with him. No matter how many times he had promised he wouldn’t, he got weird. The man had turned out to be like all the rest. We had sex and he got all weird and ran away and never called again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d sent some text messages and we exchanged silly Facebook Christmas cards and crap like that, but it had never been meaningful. It had all turned out exactly as I had known it would. He left and that chapter of my life was over.
“Happy Birthday, Brad,” I whispered into the empty office. I remembered the many birthday celebrations we had shared together. Those had been the best times of my life. I would always hold those memories close, but life marched on.
“Hey! You’re still here,” Tara said. “You going to meet at Bruiser’s?”
I shook my head. “No. I still have a lot of work to do. Then I have a hot date with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and my couch.”
“Mia, you never go out. Why not?”
I shrugged a shoulder. I truly had no good answer to offer. “It’s just not my scene. You guys are all younger than me. I always feel like the old lady.”
Tara threw her blond hair back and laughed. “You’re, like, five years older than me.”
“I’m just not the kind of girl who likes the bar scene. I prefer to be home in my jammies.”
“I take that back. You are old. Do you put curlers in your hair?” she teased.
“Ha ha. Have fun. I don’t want to see a bunch of hangovers tomorrow. Be responsible,” I called out in a sing-song voice.
“Oh God,” she groaned. “When did you become my grandmother?”
I smiled but didn’t answer. It had happened years ago. I had been out with some of the girls from work and realized I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t enjoying the excessive flirting and the musical bed game. It had all seemed so childish and pointless.
I was approaching thirty-five. My ovaries were drying up and taking the eggs with them. I had always put off finding a relationship. Now here I was on the verge of menopause. I would never have kids.
The thought was depressing. I closed my laptop, slid it into my bag, and grabbed my purse. I really needed to go home and drown my sorrows in a pint of rocky road. I would call it my tribute to Brad’s birthday. I was eating ice cream to celebrate the big day.
“You headed out, hon?” asked the older woman who cleaned up and generally kept the busy office running smoothly as I walked by the break room.
“I am.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a knowing look.
“Excuse me?”
“Not going out with all those young, anxious hopefuls. They are all hoping to find that hookup that gets them to your level. You don’t need that kind of thing,” she said with a serious look on her face.
My brain whirred as I tried to remember her name. I was a stuck-up snob. I couldn’t remember her name. “Thank you. I think I was once one of those young, energetic people.”
“You were. You were one of the most anxious young women I’ve seen come through those doors in a long time. Unlike the rest of them, you had something else—real talent.”
“You’re very kind. Thank you.”
The older woman nodded. I felt terrible that I couldn’t remember her name. I didn’t even realize she had worked here that long. I had only recently noticed her.
“Judith,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Judith. I’ve been working for Helga since she was your age. I don’t have a job title. I’m just the lady who takes care of all the little things that maintenance doesn’t do and secretaries refuse,” she said with a smile.
I nodded and smiled. “Your work is invaluable. Thank you for all you do, Judith.”
“Take care, Mia. Things will get better,” she promised.
I gave her a strange look, certain I hadn’t said things were bad. I must’ve had a look on my face that revealed how bummed I was.
With a wave, I headed for the elevator. As I rode down the many floors, I took stock of my life. I was a successful writer for a successful fashion magazine. My word was gold in the fashion industry. I had climbed the ladder and felt as if I’d made it. I had arrived. Here I was at the top of the world and completely alone with no one to share my joy and success with. Except my mom. My mom was thrilled. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
My night inside my luxury apartment was as expected: boring and totally comfortable. The following morning, I had managed to get rid of most of the melancholy. Brad’s birthday had triggered that pity party.
I couldn’t really complain about my life. I loved my life. I loved my closet even more. I grinned as I pulled open the double doors. It wasn’t actually a closet by normal standards. It was the spare room in the apartment transformed into a closet. I had paid a ton of money to have the space completely remodeled. I even had a small settee in the center I could sit on and contemplate what I wanted to wear.
Most of the stuff hanging in the closet had been given to me by various designers and young hopefuls, anticipating I would wear their stuff and write about it. Sometimes I did, and sometimes it went straight to the donation pile. I had more clothes than a well-stocked Barney’s. Whenever I was feeling down, I grabbed a cocktail and hung out in my closet.
Now dressed for the day, my earlier sadness forgotten, I headed into work.
“Hi, Helga,” I said, knocking on my boss’s door.
“Come in, come in,” she said, pushing aside stacks of papers on her desk.
The woman was a train wreck. She had to be the most disorganized woman on the face of the planet. Despite her hectic appearance and rather awkward personality, she was an extremely successful woman. She was the face of fashion. She wasn’t like an Anna Wintour but was equally famous and successful.
“I just wanted to stop by before I headed out to that launch.”
She nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Yes, yes. Today?”
“Yes. I’ll be out of the office all day.”
“Okay, good,” she said, looking around her sprawling office. She wasn’t actually looking for anything. It was just what she did. She was always looking for something, but nothing. It was part of her quirky personality.
“Do you know anything about this launch?” I asked, curious as to who’s it was. I had very little information on the designer. I knew he was fresh out of school and here from Seattle.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. That’s great, right. We need fresh and new. There has to be that one guy or gal out there. We’ve got to be the magazine that shines a light on the next big thing. We can’t lose our edge,” she lectured.
“I understand. Hopefully, this is it. I’ll give you a call and let you know if it looks promising.”
The woman continued pacing her office, looking for something. “Good, good. You do that,” she said absently.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” I told her, walking away and leaving her to whatever it was she was looking for. The woman’s disorganization was astonishing. I had no idea how anyone as successful as her could be so completely unorganized. It was one of those mysteries that would likely never be solved.
�
�Have a good time,” she called out.
I laughed. No wonder Helga had Judith. I had a feeling Judith was the only reason Helga functioned and stayed on top of things as well as she did. I used to have a Judith. It got too annoying for me. I did have an assistant, but she stayed out of my way. She wasn’t all up in my business and constantly yakking in my ear about where I should be or who had called. It was an efficient system. Every morning she left a sheet of paper on my desk letting me know about any appointments, lunch dates, or events that evening. I rarely saw the woman, which was fine by me.
When I showed up at the factory where the new designer was hosting his big launch, I grimaced. The latest trend in fashion shows did not thrill me. The designers went out of their way to find the scariest buildings in the city to host their debuts. It was supposed to be edgy, but I found it scary and difficult to concentrate on what I was seeing.
“Hello!” a handsome, young man said, opening the massive warehouse door. “You’re Mia Hunter!”
I smiled. “I am. You are?”
“I’m George’s assistant. He’s putting the final touches on his designs.”
Walking inside the warehouse, I did my best not to cringe. The man had created a makeshift runway with folding chairs in a row on either side. It wasn’t exactly luxury accommodations, but everyone had to get their start somewhere. The use of the warehouse had probably cost him a small fortune.
“You’re our guest of honor. Please have a seat,” the young man said, walking me to one of the folding chairs near the end of the runway.
I smiled at the other men and women already seated. I recognized a few of them. They were mostly fashion bloggers, and one was from a competing magazine. That was not a good sign. I was going to have to ask my assistant why she’d added this to my calendar. This could have been covered by one of the junior columnists.
“I’m David,” the attractive young man said. “I have to tell you, you’re stunning. I’ve seen you at other shows and your picture by your column of course, but seeing you up close is a totally different experience.”
I smiled. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
Inside, I was doing cartwheels. The guy had to be in his early twenties and was very good looking, and here he was flirting with me. It gave me a boost of confidence while helping to soothe away the anxiety I had felt yesterday. Yes, I was pushing midlife, but I still had it.
“The show’s about to start. Maybe I can give you my number in case you have any questions about the show?” he said with a grin I recognized for what it was.
“Thank you. If I have any questions, my assistant will get in touch with you,” I said as politely as possible. He was cute, but I wasn’t into younger guys.
He nodded and walked away. I pulled my notepad and pen out of my bag and prepared to take notes. I hoped the guy was good. I hated to waste time scoping out a new designer only to find out they were simply regurgitating the same old styles made successful by established designers. Then there were those designers who used Lady Gaga as their inspiration. If anyone walked out wearing a steak, I was going to walk out.
Chapter Five
Brad
Mia had become the star of my every thought. I couldn’t get through a single day without thinking about her. She had been on my mind ever since I’d thought about her and our silly pact on my drunken ride home. No matter what I did, it all pointed right back to her and our promise to get married if we were still single. I wasn’t sure if I was scared or thrilled by the idea.
I knew I should let it go. It had been a drunken promise made in a moment of weakness. Neither of us had been serious. Right? I shook my head. Wrong. I had been completely fucking serious. I just never imagined I would be sitting across the country wondering if I should hold her to it.
The walls were closing in on me. Getting out and doing something—anything—was the only way I was going to stop myself from hunting Mia down and demanding she marry me.
“Hey,” Jaxon said, answering his phone on the third ring. He sounded groggy and I knew right away he was still in bed. “Why are you calling me so early?”
“It isn’t early. It’s ten.”
“That’s early when you didn’t go to bed until four,” he said.
I shook my head. “You’re getting too old for that shit,” I said with exasperation. “You’re going to need to take some vitamins or some shit. One of these days you are going to keel over from exhaustion.”
“No, I won’t. I’m healthy as a horse. And I have the stamina of a horse by the way,” he added.
I scoffed. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Whatever. You’re jealous.”
“Get up,” I grumbled.
“I’m already up,” he said, laughter in his voice.
“Gross. Get out of bed and go to the beach with me.”
“No.”
“Get up. Let’s go surfing.”
“No.”
I growled. “Jaxon, you can’t sleep all day.”
“Who said I was sleeping?”
I rolled my eyes. “Same chick from the other night?” I asked.
“No.”
“You need to expand your vocabulary. No wonder I’m the one on the radio and you’re the one pedaling my show. Come on. We’ll go to the beach and you can look for fresh meat,” I said, really not wanting to spend the day alone.
“I can’t. I have things to do,” he said in that same sly tone.
I heard a soft moan and held the phone away from my ear. I did not want to hear Jaxon pleasuring a woman. We were friends, but there were some lines I wasn’t prepared to cross.
“You can do her later. Get up.”
“No,” he said. “I’ve got to go, unless you want to stay on the line and listen to how a real man takes care of a woman.”
“Fuck you. No, you pervert,” I said, and I hung up the phone.
I was going to go stir-crazy if I didn’t get out of the apartment. I didn’t want to stay inside on a gorgeous spring day and stare at the walls. I had to get out. Maybe I could go for a run or do some paddle boarding. I hadn’t done that in a while.
But not yet. First, I had to satisfy my curiosity. I pulled out my laptop and quickly Googled Mia’s name. Within seconds, her beautiful face was staring back at me. There were pictures of her posing with famous designers at various fashion shows and out and about in the city. I clicked on the professional picture of her and was taken to her biography page at the fashion magazine she worked at.
I smiled as I read about her accomplishments. My Mia had made it big. I felt an unwarranted sense of pride as I stared at her picture. Damn, she was gorgeous, and from what I could see, single. The years had changed her little. She looked a bit more mature, but hot as hell. I was only pissed the picture was a head shot and not a full-body shot. I went back and scanned the images of her that had been posted on the society pages. I didn’t see any of her with a man on her arm. That had to be a good sign.
I enlarged a few of the pictures and looked at her wedding ring finger, searching for a ring or signs of a tan line. Nothing. That made me a happy man for no real reason. I should have felt a little bad that she was alone and single in the world. I didn’t. I was a terrible person because it made me happy to know she was somewhere out there waiting for me. Well, she may not have purposely been waiting for me, but I wanted to take advantage of the situation.
We would both be thirty-five in a matter of months, and a promise was a promise, right? If she was single, I was ready to call and remind her of our pact. We had said we could have affairs in our marriage if the sex was bad, but that wasn’t going to be a problem. The sex had been amazing. It had become the yardstick all other women were measured against. No one could compare to Mia.
Closing the search engine, I felt a bit like a stalker and headed for the shower. I had to call her. I had to know. I cut my shower short and looked up the number for the offices of Mia’s magazine. It was Saturday morning and it was unlikely she was in,
but I had to call. I had to do it before I lost my nerve and carried on with my miserable life while wondering what if.
I waited, pacing around my living room in just my swim trunks. As expected, her extension went to voice mail. I left a message. I doubted she checked her messages. I didn’t check mine at the station. There were a lot of crazies in the world. I had an assistant who filtered the messages, passing along those that meant something or were worth hearing.
I had done all I could, and I still had plenty of time to hit the beach before I had to head into work myself. I worked Saturday nights. It was one of my most popular nights on the radio. Dinner with Brad had jumped to the top of the syndicated radio shows.
Tonight, I was going to be doing dinner with a newcomer to the music scene. I avoided the hip-hop guys and most of the teeny bopper singers. I needed to keep my audience happy, and nobody wanted to hear what those manufactured people had to say. I certainly didn’t.
After a long day on the water working out all the old frustrations that came along with the realization that I had lost Mia, I was starving. Thankfully, part of the Dinner with Brad format was that various restaurants and food truck owners catered the show.
“Hey,” I said, greeting Tina as I strolled into the office.
“You’re going to love the dinner for tonight. It’s right up your alley: healthy cardboard-tasting something or other.”
I laughed. “I love me a good piece of cardboard. A little ketchup makes it all taste good.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s disgusting you look as good as you do, but I am not about to give up steak and potatoes just so I can have a smoking-hot body,” she said.
I winked. “Tina, you already have a smoking-hot body.”
She laughed. It was a joke between us. The woman looked amazing. No one would ever know she had three little kids at home.
