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“Okay, okay, suppose we do that. We’re not gonna hit the deadline,” Clay says. “And we still have to deal with the size.”
“You deal with the deadline. Or get your PR people to deal with that. And as for the size, we just have to reduce it by fifty mils,” Rocky argues matter-of-factly.
“What do you think, Rob?” My brother looks at me.
I sigh. I can’t deal with this shit right now. “Stick with the design, stick with the size. Whatever material you think best, just use it.”
“Let’s reconvene tomorrow,” Clay says, staring at me like my head is about to crack.
Rocky gives us a silent nod, and then plods out of my office.
“I can see you’re trying hard not to be a dick,” my sidekick quips. “What’s up?”
I lean against my executive chair, tilting it back and forth, hands behind my head. “Is it her? Or is it me?”
“You,” he answers without even asking what I meant. I suppose he knew anyway. “You want my advice?” I can see his wise stare trying to penetrate my defenses.
“Please.”
“I’m gonna be cheesy. Be prepared.”
“Go on! Melt on my nachos.”
“Listen to your heart.”
I can taste the cheesiness of Clay’s statement on my tongue. Yet it’s sticky, in a way that makes me think.
My rules for love are simple:no love. Right now, alarm bells warn me there’s an intruder in the vicinity, and the only thing I should do is repel her and get on with my life. I haven’t forgotten the hurt and the humiliation of the breakup with Karolina. It was worse than a shitty business deal or a messed-up engine room arrangement—it came like a wrecking ball. Then I tried to put the pieces of me together, superglue-style, filling my days with nothing but work until I didn’t even know who or where I was.
Then came the accident.
“I told you it’d be cheesy,” my brother says into my silence.
For what it’s worth, Clay’s advice is a classy kind of cheesy, like Marin French’s brie paired with California green olives. It’s complex and rich, just like how I feel about Amber-Rose. The easy way out would be to walk away from her, but she makes my heart smile, and I’m not one who backs down from something because it’s hard.
“I will, then,” I decide.
“So get to it!” Clay slaps my shoulder and leaves me.
I smirk as an idea springs up. I’m not going to call her, I’m not going to send a rose (whoever that jackass was, I’m not going to let him get ahead of me!). I’m going to invite Amber-Rose for dinner with something a bit different.
9
AMBER
I’m usually an early bird, but today I’m almost half an hour late. When I get to Amber The Mender, I find a customer peeping through the shop window.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Elle.” I fumble with the lock.
“Don’t worry about it. Take your time.”
“You’re gonna love how Bruce looks now.”
Bruce is an early 1900s British-made Farnell Bear. One of his eyes was missing, and the stitches on his face had unraveled quite badly. The bear used to belong to Elle’s mother, who has just passed away.
“Amalia!”
I drop my keys. Hands numb, like I was holding a clump of ice, I angle toward the direction of the call. A man is crossing the road, trying to catch a woman’s attention.
