“Em? Emzee?” I called out.
I went into the bedroom and found the bed still made from earlier this morning. Then I checked the guest room. Empty. The office. Empty. The whole apartment was empty.
All that remained was a note that I finally found stuck to the fridge with a magnet.
Going to a business convention in NY with my brothers, it said.Munchkin staying with Brooklyn for the weekend. Back on Monday.–MZ
My wife was gone, and she’d taken the dog with her.
Emzee
Chapter 21
Since Ford had no problem ditching me to go party it up with Claudia and the mean girls, I figured I might as well do my own thing too and be with the people I loved most—my family.
But it just so happened that my brothers were spending the weekend at the Borderless Business Convention in New York. So that was where I had ended up.
After Ford had taken Claudia’s arm and left me in the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, I’d called Stefan and jumped into action. By the time I’d packed myself a bag and gathered up Munchkin to drop off with Brooklyn, Stefan’s assistant had already booked me a late flight into JFK and a hotel room at the convention center.
I arrived at the hotel with just enough time to shower and roll into bed, completely exhausted. The next morning I took advantage of a quick room service breakfast and then headed down to the convention floor to meet my brothers.
“Glad you could make it,” Stefan said, giving me a quick squeeze before handing me my nametag lanyard. “Nice suit by the way.”
“Thanks. It’s Alexander McQueen.” This was my first big business convention, and I was relieved the dark plaid met with his approval.
“Rock’n’roll aesthetic on point as usual,” Luka said as we strolled past the booths. “What made you change your mind about the convention?”
Shrugging, I fibbed, “Just thought it would be good to do a little networking outside of the greater Chicago area. Plus, it’s New York. You know I’m mostly here for the pizza.”
They laughed, and we got into a brief but heated debate over the merits of Chicago deep dish vs. New York style pies. It was great seeing them, even though I knew I’d probably be on my own for most of the day.
After making loose dinner plans, we split up. Just as I’d suspected, they both had lots of meetings and seminars on their schedules and all the usual industry people to visit with. Meanwhile, I was tasked with exploring the convention floor to suss out if there were any new connections to be made—particularly outside of the agenting world, since Danica Rose already had those networks covered.
At first, I felt pretty useless.
By 9 a.m., the convention center was packed. I was doing everything I could to fend off my anxiety as I wove my way down rows of buzzing booths, reminding myself to smile at every passing stranger. Large, noisy crowds always made me feel small. Like I was an awkward teenager in school again, wondering if every aside or giggle was about me.
What made it even harder to concentrate on my deep breathing (and generally acting professional) was that all I could think about was Ford. How his night out with Claudia had gone, and whether he’d even made it home afterward. Maybe they hadn’t even made it to the bar for Roxana’s birthday. Maybe the “birthday” was just an excuse for them to run off together.
Trying to shake off my worries, I dragged myself to the keynote address. Then I went to a panel on search engine optimization, after which I wolfed down a bagel in the food court while checking my phone for the umpteenth time, but of course there was still nothing from Ford.
Why hadn’t he called or texted me by now, even just to say he’d gotten my note? What was he doing? I was sick at the possibility that he’d slept with Claudia—and that I was at least partly to blame.
Had I done the wrong thing by leaving town? Had I pushed my husband and his ex back together by refusing to be a part of Ford’s lifestyle? I still couldn’t believe how brazen Claudia had been in her flirting—but the thing that really hurt was how Ford hadn’t seemed to mind at all. And how, ultimately, it didn’t matter how flirty they’d gotten or how inappropriate their behavior was. Because Ford wasn’t really mine.
I needed to get that through my head once and for all.
Okay. Chin up. Time to focus on the task at hand: promoting Danica Rose. Not zoning out during every seminar I could duck into and mooning over my fake husband.
Or maybe I should just track down my brothers and see about tagging along with them. That would keep me on my toes. I’d just step out to the lobby and give Stefan a call.
Whipping around abruptly, I walked right into someone, bouncing off a hard male chest.
“Well, if it isn’t the last person I expected to bump into here,” an amused voice said. “You okay?”
I looked up—right into the deep blue eyes of Andrew Apellido, oflookingglassmagazine. “Andrew!” I exclaimed, immediately comforted by his familiar face. “How are you?”
“Even better than I was five seconds ago,” he said. “Delighted to see you, Emzee.”
