“Well, I saw you haven’t arranged a fitting for Sidney like usual, so I was wondering if you needed a date?”
I stare hard at my assistant, “I don’t need a date.”
“Well,” she rolls her lips, “you can’t go alone and I’m free. So maybe we could go together? I’d love to support you in any way I can.”
Shit.
“Lauren,” headache forgotten, I sit up straighter and place my coffee down, wondering how best to approach this. Lauren is great, a hard worker, reliable and trustworthy, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass her. “Sidney is still my date as usual. It would be inappropriate for you to accompany me.”
“Oh,” her face falls, “but there’s no fitting. She always gets a new dress.” The way she says that last line has my hackles lifting. It’s said with a slight sneer, tipped in malice and judgement.
“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern.”
“Sorry, you’re right,” she nods quickly. “I just thought that maybe she was busy.”
“She isn’t.”
“Of course,” she starts to back out of the room, a placating smile pulling up her lips, “Let me know if you need anything.”
The door closes behind her, and I slump in my chair, glancing at the clock. Only eight hours to go before I can go ahead and get my daily fix, but until then…
Pulling out my cell, I place an order for coffee and some breakfast pastries for delivery at nine-thirty, and then place my cell face down and on silent. Maybe it’ll help with the obsession, but I doubt it.
When it comes to her, that obsession knows no bounds.
Chapter Fifteen
Ihave my design folder, an empty coffee mug, and my purse balancing in one hand while the other tries to get the lock open. We had a rather wet night last night, and this lock sticks when it gets damp. The landlord was supposed to get them changed last winter, but of course; it was an empty promise.
“Come on you piece of shit,” I grumble, wiggling the key around until I hear it catch and twist it.
I slept like shit last night. I was exhausted after Noah left, but I laid in bed for hours, staring into the dark, waiting for sleep to come. It came eventually, but then I overslept my alarm, only just managed to get myself ready in time, and I skipped breakfast. Now my stomach is growling; I haven’t had nearly as much caffeine as I need, and my cell is sadly empty of all notifications.
He didn’t text me.
The fact that I’m sad about it is catching me off guard. We don’t do good morning texts, not really. Most of the time our conversation just rolls over from wherever we left it the night before, but we had a rare ‘good night, love you’last night, but nothing this morning.
I mean, I could just text him, right?
But is that too needy?
Why am I even questioning this? If overthinking had a face, right now it would be me. It’s only been a week since we started whatever this is; I need to get a grip. Maybe my sister was right; maybe the only way this ends is in heartbreak and regret.
No.I need to stop that train of thought. I’m already on the edge of a spiral. I can enjoy this, have fun with it until it comes time to go back to normal. It’s not like I’m getting it anywhere else, and I love being with Noah. Everything will be fine. Better than fine.
This is fine.
I stumble in through the door, catching myself before I face-plant the floor and place all my things down on the front desk. I have my consultation with my bride today. I’ve worked hard on the concepts for her wedding day, and I’m not going to lie, I’m a little nervous about showing them. Betty has been a massive help, providing me with images and inspiration via email, and I’ve used that to put together the design concept for the arch, the colors, and arrangements.
I haven’t spoken to the bride yet, though; everything has been done through Betty.
I’m just about to head through to the back when the door opens, and a guy walks in with a brown bag and a takeout cup.
Immediately I know it’s from Noah and whatever crash out I was just on the border of, leaves, a smile widening my mouth.
“Sidney Adams?” The young guy asks.
“That’s me,” he hands me over the food and scurries away. The smell of the fresh breakfast pastries waft out from the bag and my stomach grumbles in response, but before I dig in, I pull out my cell.
