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Chapter Eleven
Talia
Iresisted borrowing Archer’s car for a week. It was a busy week for him, so on the nights I’ve seen him (two) we had sex (two times per night) and then we hung out the next day until he went to work. He spends a lot of time shuttling between Columbus and Clear Ridge, and even stayed overnight at a hotel one of those evenings.
He didn’t call, but he texted me a few times. Usually a “Good night, Wildflower” or similar sentiment. I was tempted to ask if this-or-that was okay but then remembered the conversation we had in his shower. He told me to do my thing. So, I did my thing and checked with Jarod on budget.
I’ve spent time researching how to establish an LLC. The idea hooked onto some ambitious part of me and I can’t shake it. Neither my father’s warnings about stability nor Archer’s comment about how entrepreneurship comes with its own set of troubles scares me. The idea of my own business where I do what I want when I want tempts me like the largest, shiniest jewel in a treasure chest.
I’ve been working for other people since I was sixteen years old. I worked as a hostess in the restaurant my mom managed, and I worked as a receptionist one summer at the company that employed my dad at the time. I worked retail. I manned the phone lines at a vitamin company. I was a “customer service concierge” at an aquarium.
Lotus Leaf was supposed to be my forever job. Not because I loved it, but because I didn’t want to start over again. Working with Archer isn’t technically starting over. I’m doing what I did for Ed but with more freedom, and, face it, the company I’m keeping nowadays is leaps and bounds better. I spend most of my hours during the day planning and then communicating my ideas to Archer’s dream team. I spend most evenings searching online for styles and ideas for the perfect design for his debut as a night-spa kingpin.
By Sunday I’m desperately in need of a day off. I set my own hours, but I haven’t convinced myself to take a day off. I feel as if I need to earn my right to be here—in this deluxe townhouse and working on the most innovative, exciting project I’ve ever collaborated on. By noon, I’m on my third cup of coffee and have three different websites open. I’m comparing prices for the loungers for the wading pool. Archer wasn’t kidding about the budget. Jarod is as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. He gave me the numbers and warned me not to veer from the budget by a single dollar. He then explained margins of error and something-something. I tuned him out. I can stay within budget, and I’m sure his comment about not going over by one dollar was hyperbole. I mean, I can toss in an extra dollar personally.
My cell phone rings, pulling my attention from my online price comparison. I’m not sure if I should ignore a work call or take it. I’m crap at establishing new boundaries. Luckily, it’s Calista calling, so I answer right away.
“Lis!” I’ve called her twice this week, and both times she was at a work thing and promised to call me later. She didn’t right away, but I’ll forgive her. I’m sure she’s incredibly busy arguing with Julio over which beans to use for the three-bean chili.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called. I picked up two extra shifts this week. Webber quit—don’t ask,” she tells me before I can ask. “I’m heading to work for a double today. I haven’t had a second to myself in two weeks,” she shouts over the wind. I hear music from the car stereo. I picture her chatting on speakerphone, wearing her white chef’s coat, the gloriously warm Florida sunshine bathing her arms in golden, buttery light.
Mmm.
“Describe how sunny it is there,” I say, my tone wistful. “In graphic detail.” Outside my home office windows, wind rattles the bare tree limbs. I shudder.
My heartless sister laughs at my plight. “Ohio not treating you well, sis?”
“It’s gray here. Like, all the time. I need warmth!”
“It’s winter here too, in case you forgot. Fifty-eight degrees today.”
“Tropical,” I sigh, earning another of her wonderful laughs. “I miss you. What’s new?”
She tells me about her latest creations in our home kitchen, and I picture each dish, bursting with color, beautifully plated. My stomach growls. I had groceries delivered, but I’m due a meal out. Archer’s been working too much to invite me out to dinner again, which is a shame. There are a lot of cool places around here. He promised me we’d go out next week when he’s not so slammed.
“What about you?” she asks. “Anything new going on other than the kitchen you are definitely wasting?”
“I’m not wasting it! I’ve been cooking for myself all week.”
“What did you cook, Tal?”
I’m quiet.
“Tal.”
“Mostly sandwiches, but I did turn on the stove to heat some soup.”
She groans like it hurts her heart to hear I’m misusing the fancy stovetop for something as pedestrian as boxed soup. Hey, we can’t all be Giada De Laurentiis. I flip the light off as I step out of my office. My back is tight from hunching over the desk. I need to escape my luxurious four-walled cell.
Making a snap decision to take myself to lunch, I drop the key fob into my purse and collect my coat.
“What are you doing today?” she asks.
“I’m on my way out. I haven’t been exploring since I arrived, and I’m climbing the walls.”
“Good for you. You’re your own boss! Take advantage of it.”
“I’m quickly learning being my own boss means everything rests on my shoulders.”
