Page 135 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“She is,” I confirmed. “But I asked for you.”

Alessia blinked, a rare flash of genuine surprise crossing her features. “You asked for me?”

I nodded, holding her gaze. “Yes. I told her either you were the one doing the PR, or I was backing out.”

“Mrs. Garcia, with all respect, this collaboration only makes sense for me if Alessia Quinn is the one who brings it to life. She’s the only one who understands what we’re both trying to build here. If that’s not possible, then I wish you the best, but I’ll have to step away.”

She tilted her head, her gaze sharpening with skepticism. “And she just… agreed?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” I shook my head, a dry, quiet laugh escaping me. “She said a lot of things to me. Something along the lines of ‘Who are you to give me ultimatums?’ and a very clear ‘Go fuck yourself, Sterling.’”

Alessia’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile she quickly suppressed.

“But I kept trying,” I continued, my voice dropping, becoming more earnest. “I called. I emailed. I laid out, in excruciating detail, why you were the only logical choice. That you’re the best in this business. That we’d be fools not to hire you.”

“And that worked?” The doubt was still there, but now it was laced with curiosity.

I gave a slight, humble shrug. “It helped that Mr. Garcia was on my side.”

Confusion flickered across her face, sharp and immediate. “Why would he be on your side?”

I hesitated, the next admission feeling more vulnerable than the business proposal. “Actually,” I said, choosing my words with care, “we’ve been spending our weekends together. At their estate upstate. We… do gardening together.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, her gaze piercing. “I’m sorry, did you just say you do gardening with Mr. Garcia? As in Mrs. Garcia’s husband.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Ever since I’d forcibly carved balance into my life, I’d discovered vast, echoing stretches of free time. Weekends, in particular, were a void. Before, they belonged to Alessia. She used to fill them with her plans, her energy, her quiet companionship on the couch. Lazy mornings, aimless drives, her head in my lap while she read. I’d sacrificed them to the altar of Velaré without a second thought, not realizing I was burning the only light I had.

Now, with the light gone, the emptiness was absolute. So I’d dug out the crisp, forgotten business card from Mr. Garcia and called. I’d asked if his offer to teach a rookie still stood.

As it turned out, gardening suited me. The patience of it. The tangible result of consistent, careful effort. The silence that wasn’t empty, but full of growing things. Every weekend since, I’d been there, kneeling in the dirt beside a man who spoke more about soil pH than stock prices.

That was how I spent my days, at least. The nights were a different story—quieter, longer, filled with the kind of thoughts gardening couldn’t prune away.

Alessia looked down at her desk, a slow, disbelieving shake of her head. “I don’t even know what the most shocking part of this entire conversation is,” she murmured, more to herself than to me.

You letting me sit across from you.

She gave a slow, definitive nod, as if confirming something to herself. “Maybe this,” she murmured under her breath. Then her gaze lifted to mine, clear and decisive. “I’m in. Send the contract to Naija.” She pushed the file back across the desk toward me.

My mouth opened. Closed. My brain stuttered, trying to process the simple, impossible sentence.

She’s in?

“You’re in?” The words blurted out before I could filter them.

“Yeah.” She nodded and shifted her attention to her computer screen, her fingers already moving toward the keyboard. The meeting, for her, was clearly over.

I stayed seated, rooted to the chair, staring at her in disbelief. The rehearsed scenarios in my head—the polite refusals, the counterarguments, the gradual persuasion—dissolved into pixelated dust. She was right. This was the most shocking part.

“Are you… sure?” I heard myself ask, the question absurd even as I said it.

Her eyes lifted from the screen to mine. “Am I sure?”

I nodded, a frantic motion. “Yes. I thought you were going to say no. I had a whole speech prepared. To outline the mutual benefits. It’s a good speech,” I added, almost defensively. “Mr. Garcia helped me workshop it.”

I paused. “It’s only fifteen minutes long.” I glanced at my watch instinctively. “We don’t have that now. I guess I can shorten it?”