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I click thru the emails until I see the one from Layla’s boss.
The full article. Complete with Layla’s name on the byline.
I start to read, and instantly, I am transformed. I’m no longer sitting in my office.
Now I’m experiencing The Elysian through her eyes. I’m seeing it for what it’s supposed to be, for the magnificent space that Layla’s words have captured.
When I first met her, I knew she was special, but reading the way she immersed herself in my world, and then how she spun it out in a way that others would want to do the same thing as well, has me stunned.
As I keep reading, I notice the tone of the article changes. In the beginning, her first impressions and her voice in the article were excited and enthralled, but as it proceeds, the spark goes missing from the story. Something has changed, and the ending feels like writing it was a chore for her.
What happened?
Something is different with this woman.
I’m not sure how I know this, how I know in the bottom of my soul that something is off with her, but I know it.
Go to New York. See what happened.
I need to see why the spark is missing from the story. It’s clearly there in the beginning. The end doesn’t feel right, and I need to know why.
I pick up the phone and call Barbara, telling her I’m going to New York City.
She doesn’t offer any comments, but I wouldn’t expect her to. I know it’s not a good idea. The timing isn’t right. There’s nothing smart about going in the middle of wrapping up the final preparations to open.
Going to the city right now is a luxury I don’t have time for. I cannot afford to leave here at the moment, yet something says I can’t afford to stay.
I need to make sure this article is perfect.
That’s what I tell myself, but I know I’m full of shit. This isn’t about the article; this is about the writer.
No. No. No.
It’s about the article. This is the final piece to secure that the grand opening is everything I need it to be in order for it to be perfect. We need to make a splash. Show the world something no one has ever seen before.
“I’ll be gone for the rest of the week,” I tell her.
That should be enough time to figure out what’s going on.
* * *
Obviously, I can’t be a normal guy. I can’t just call ahead and tell her I’m on my way. I have to sit across the street like a stalker. Taking up a table in the coffee shop across the corner from her building, just waiting for a chance to see her.
It was bound to happen. I was always destined for this.
I’ve never been normal, clearly . . .
This isn’t the first time I’ve let this part of me out, the part I try desperately to push away, but I thought that time of my life had passed.
I thought I had the urges under control.
Wrong.
My mom said I would wind up this way. That there was no escaping the way the men in my family behaved. And here I am, proving her right.
If only she could see me now. Hope she’s happy wherever she is.
But my self-deprecating thoughts are interrupted when I see her walk out of her building and to the curb to hail a cab.
She’s beautiful.
My breath catches, and there’s that warmth radiating through me again.
That’s all I needed to feel like this was all worth it. Everything I’ve done so far was to get me to this point. Where I can see the woman who I’ve become infatuated with.
I can’t let her see the real monster inside. I know it’s there, and my feelings for her keep him locked down.
Mostly.
20
Layla
I’m back at the office. Finally.
Sitting at my desk, I have the article open in front of me. I’m looking over the notes my editor left on my first preliminary copy.
The article is good, but it’s not great. Not yet, at least.
The editor mentioned that the first half was stronger than the second.
Most of the first half was written at night while I was still on the property.
Now I need to go back from the beginning and make sure the tone and voice are consistent throughout the piece.
I start to read from the beginning, and as I do, it feels like I’m back there reliving it.
This part is good, really good.
It’s probably the best work I have ever done.
Placing my hands on the keyboard, I scroll down, but I’m not even halfway down the page when I hear the sound of a knock on my cubicle wall.
Looking up, I see Mara leaning over the divider.
She has a funny look on her face. It’s almost comical. She looks like a cartoon, like when the cat ate the canary.
