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With desperation looming over me like a black cloud after yesterday, I relent to the fact my options are slim given the predicament I dug myself into. When I got home last night, I did a little social media stalking and discovered quite a bit of information about Charlotte and what she’s been up to in the last twelve years, hoping it would help set the stage for my idiotic plan.
Senior Advertising Editor at Revision Magazine. UCLA graduate with her BA in Advertising and her MA in Business. Four girlfriends that seem to be in almost every picture she posts to social media, which isn’t a ton. Maybe one or two a month, or at least that’s what I can see publicly on her profile. We’re not friends, so who knows what she posts on a daily basis. Dear God, I hope she’s not one of the women that posts a shit-ton of selfies, or pictures of every meal she eats.
I might just have to find someone else if that’s the case.
Unfortunately, Charlotte is one of my only options, and I wouldn’t have even considered her in the first place if I hadn’t seen her yesterday. It was as if hearing her name conjured up her presence, but perhaps it was a little kismet timing as well. I did tell Dave that my girlfriend was someone I reconnected with from my past, so there’s no better person to fit that bill than Charlotte.
As I sit at my desk, stewing over my plan to put this scheme in motion, my mother calls me.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Damien. How are you, Son? Gosh, I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Mom.” Spinning around in my chair, I turn so I can stare at the buildings through the small window in my office, envisioning my mother sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in her hand. “Did you finish that book I sent you?”
“I did. And now I’m ready for my next one.”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile. “I’ll get one to your house in just a few days.”
When I moved out to California for college, my mother and I made a pact to send each other books back and forth. I’ve always been an avid reader, a love that my mom instilled in me from a young age. I got into thrillers and historical biographies as I got older, so my mother suggested that I recommend a book to her that I thought she’d love. So once I did, she returned the favor, and we’ve been doing this back and forth since then.
“So how’s work? Anything exciting coming up?”
I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’m going to be working on a pitch for a very high profile client in the next month or so.”
“Really? What’s the product?”
“Uh, it’s for Remedy,” I say, slightly nervous for her reaction.
“Wait…the feminine products company?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh, honey! That’s amazing. Congrats! Who would have thought that my son would be selling tampons one day?” She laughs and I can’t help but reciprocate.
“Thanks. I know it’s not my norm, but I wanted the challenge, and it might help me get that promotion I’ve been after.”
“Well, that will certainly be music to your father’s ears,” she says, and a spike of irritation runs through me.
“It’s none of his business,” I counter, far more surly than I mean to be with my mother.
“Damien…”
“No. Please don’t involve Dad in my business, okay? Besides, who knows if my campaign will win, so there’s no need to get him riled up for nothing.”
She sighs. “I just wish you two could see eye to eye…”
“It’s just better this way, Mom.” I spin back around to face my computer, eager to get off the phone now. As soon as my father is brought up, my body goes into fight response. Old habits die hard. “But look, I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, so I should probably be going.”
“Oh. No worries. I understand. I am so proud of you though, sweetie. I know you’ll do great.”
“That means a lot, Mom.”
“And I’m so glad I get to see you next month for the Montgomery’s anniversary party.”
That twinge of concern builds up again for that encounter, but I push it right back down. “I’m glad I get to see you too.”
“Talk to you later this week?”
“Absolutely. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, Damien,” she replies, and then the line goes dead.
I heave out a sigh of relief, and then shake off the conversation with her. Anytime she brings up my dad, it raises my blood pressure. But I have far more important things to worry about at this moment—like getting Charlotte to agree to be my fake girlfriend.
With the intent of reconnecting first before asking her for a favor, I decide to take a long lunch today to head to her office. I have no idea if she’ll be available, but perhaps I can at least secure an appointment with her for later this week if she blows me off. I might have to bribe her secretary to keep my name off her schedule so I can keep the element of surprise, but we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.
Revision Magazine’smain office is three blocks away from Goldstein Advertising, where I work. Go figure. The woman has been within a one-mile radius of me for years, I never knew, and we never managed to cross paths. See? Los Angeles is plenty big for the two of us.
But now I need Charlotte in my space. At least for the next two months. I just hope to God she doesn’t try to kill me the second we lay eyes on each other.
Straightening my jacket and taking a deep breath of courage, I open the doors to her building and head straight for the elevators, looking up the location of her office on the directory framed on the wall of the elevator car I’m in. I hit the button for the twentieth floor, and then wait anxiously to arrive at my destination.
When the elevator dings, I step off and am instantly assaulted by shades of white and pink everywhere. It looks like the inside of a Victoria’s Secret, minus the lingerie and headless models, which in my opinion are the best part.
The reception desk at the front with a glass wall behind it, displaying the name of the magazine blocks my entrance to any of the halls, so I straighten my tie, make sure my hair is in place, and get ready to charm my way back to my target.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Revision. How can I help you?” The receptionist behind the counter greets me.
“Hi there.” Smirk, wink, and smirk again. “I’m here to surprise an old friend.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The cheery blonde jostles her mouse to wake up the computer in front of her. “And who might that be?”
“Charlotte Montgomery.”
