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My hand flew up. “I’ll take it! I’ve got it! I’m in!”
“—set up the office there and get it established,” Glenn finished. “For two years.”
Hello? London? Going to London with a huge project that would require so much workaholism that nothing else would even matter for two whole years?
Screw the vacation. Sign me up.
Just the thought sent relief breaking over me like waves: A life-obliterating work project like that could potentially distract me from all my problems forever.
Yes, please.
But that’s when I noticed Robby and Glenn looking at me funny.
“What?” I asked, glancing between them.
“It’s going to be one of the two of you…” Glenn said then, gesturing between Robby and me.
Of course it was. I was the protégée Glenn had been grooming for years, and Robby was the sexy hotshot he’d stolen away from the competition. Who else would even be in the running?
I still didn’t see the problem.
“And that means,” Glenn went on, “that whoever doesn’t go will need to stay here.”
But that’s how much I loved my job: Even the prospect of a two-year separation from my boyfriend didn’t faze me. Like, at all.
That’s also how desperate I was to get back to work.
“I’ll announce the London decision after New Year’s,” Glenn said. “And until then, consider yourselves in competition for the spot.”
There was no competition. I was getting that spot.
“It’s fine,” I said with a shrug, like What? “We’ve competed before.” I nodded at Robby. “We like competing. And two years is not that long, no matter who wins. We can make that work, right?”
If I’d been paying better attention, I might have noticed that Robby was less eager about everything than I was. But I was a little too desperate in that moment to think about anyone but myself.
I was afraid to feel the full impact of losing my mother. I was terrified to get stuck at home with nothing to distract me. I was tunnel-visioned on escaping—preferably to a distant country—as soon as possible.
Next week, Robby and I were scheduled for a three-week assignment in Madrid together, but I wasn’t even sure how I’d make it that long.
First, I had to survive my remaining bereavement days.
“From what I just eavesdropped,” I said, gesturing back at the doorway, “I was expecting bad news.”
“That wasn’t the bad news,” Robby said, glancing at Glenn.
I looked over at Glenn, too. “What’s the bad news?”
Glenn refused to hesitate. “The bad news is I’m taking you off Madrid.”
Looking back, me showing up at the office like that—all wild-eyed and bed-heady and desperate—probably wasn’t helping. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming.
But I didn’t.
“Off Madrid?” I asked, thinking I must have heard wrong.
Robby fixed his gaze at the window.
“Off Madrid,” Glenn confirmed. Then he added, “You’re not in the right headspace.”
