Page 92 of Never Your Valentine

“No.”

“It might help.”

“It won’t.” What I have buried inside me needs to stay inside. The person who would emerge in a rage session is a person I don’t want to be.

June slides the box of tray pieces toward herself. “Someday, you’ll meet an amazing woman, and you won’t push her away. You’ll show her how you feel.”

“Not going to happen.”

“It might. But first you have to admit you have feelings.”

“I need to sweep the rage room.”

“No one’s been in there since Annabelle, and I already swept.”

“I’m going to sweep again.”

I grab the big broom and head to the back. June reset the room yesterday, leaving only small bits and dust.

A bright pink shard catches my eye. I stop, gripping my broom handle, debating whether I should pick it up. Let it go, I tell myself. Some things are meant to stay broken. But it belongs to Annabelle’s tray. June might want it. Against my better judgement, I lift it out of the pile.

Before I know it, I’m looking through every speck I’ve swept up, making sure I didn’t miss any pieces. It’s utterly irrational. June is never going to fix that tray. Even if she did, Annabelle isn’t going to want it back. She’s on the other side of the country, looking for a new life, and looking for a new someone to share it with.

I hope she finds a man who lives up to the ridiculous standards she has in her head. I truly do. But I know she won’t, because love’s not real.

No matter how much we all want it to be.

Chapter 37

Annabelle

The car they send for me smells like citrus and leather. I’m wearing a sleeveless top and light pants and kitten heels. My hair behaved this morning, unbothered by hats or humidity. I sit up straighter as we glide through Los Angeles, past trees that have never known winter and people who don’t own snow boots.

We pull up to the Western Greetings building and park behind a coffee cart that started its life as a VW bus. It’s half green, half white, and covered in flower-power stickers. I imagine myself getting coffee here every morning on my way into the office. I’ll take a picture of it for my Instagram. Or…maybe not? Western Greetings has its own corporate Insta. There are probably rules about content.

I thank my driver and step out of the car. The building rises above me, twelve stories tall, with lots of glass. In the lobby, there’s an installation of oversized greeting cards suspended from the ceiling like a mobile made of feelings. A fizz of recognition flows through me. These are my people. For the first time since Truly Penrose showed the world my card, I let myself believe this isn’t a fluke. This is more than a viral accident. It’s the next step in my career.

A woman named Candace meets me in the lobby and introduces herself as a studio lead. Does that mean I’ll be working for her? Or will she be working for me? I guess I’ll find out. Candace is thin and sleek, with a smile that could be on a movie screen. It’s distractingly white. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “I hope the hotel was suitable?”

“More than suitable.” They put me up at the Four Seasons. I ordered sushi and champagne from room service.

“How was the flight from Minnesota?”

“Michigan,” I correct her.

“Oh right, right,” she says, waving it off. “All that same area.”

It’s not important, I tell myself. Geography is hard. I don’t know where Burbank is in relation to anything.

The tour is incredible. Western Greetings has open-plan offices filled with designers sketching with serious faces. I catch snippets of conversation. They’re discussing kerning, paper stock, and whether you can still say beloved or if it’s become cringe. My shoulders relax. This is the language I speak. I imagine my desk here. A tiny eucalyptus plant. A mug with a flamingo on it. Strolling down the hall to bounce an idea off a colleague. Being asked to lunch.

People’s heads pop up as we pass. A few whisper. One person openly mouths, Is that her?

In the conference room, they’ve laid out pastries that look like art objects and a place card with my name in Pacifico font. That alone thrills me. Someone chose that font. Someone thought about me. Candace gives me a bottle of water that came from a glacier with a brand deal. I’m being wooed. That’s what they said in one of their emails. We’d love to fly you out and really woo you.

We’re joined by Gavin from marketing, and Elise, who’s head of Talent Partnerships.

“We’re thrilled to finally meet you,” Gavin says. He’s wearing a dress shirt and fleece vest. I thought only tech bros dressed like that but maybe it’s spreading. “You represent such an exciting opportunity for us,” he says.