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“Well…” Tyler glances toward the front of the room, where my dad is talking to Albert Langley, one of the more experienced agents who’s been with Garner Sports Agency since its inception. No one will dare interrupt them with a reminder that the meeting should have started two minutes ago. “I don’t have much of a weekend planned, either. But I’m heading to New York on Monday for some meetings, and I’d love to have a second opinion at the discussions.”
I nod, only half-listening.
“Dean suggested I ask you to go.”
Thatgets my attention. “Da—Dean told you to ask me to go with you…toNew York?”
Tyler nods. “You don’t have to, obviously. It’s short notice. I’m sure he’d agree it’s your call.” He chuckles.
And…there’s the main reason I’ll never date anyone I work with. Because there’s always that undertone of nepotism, of the jokes how I’ll never have to do this or will get a free pass out of that.
I wonder how Oliver handles it at Kensington Consolidated.
Maybe he doesn’t have to, since he’s a man.
“I’ll go.”
A wide smile splits Tyler’s face. “Awesome. I’ll have Marjorie send you all the flight details. I know she already booked the Carlyle.”
“Great.”
My father finally starts the meeting, and I open my notebook to take notes. But I’m not registering a word of what’s being said, even as my hand moves across the paper.
When Oliver left, I was certain we’d never be in the same city again. And this trip might be for work, but the main reason I just agreed to go is…him.
* * *
I’m close to leaving for the day when my phone buzzes with a new email. It’s to my personal account, not my work one.
And…it’s from the Los Angeles School of Architecture.
I almost upend the watery remnants of my iced coffee as I grab my phone and open the email. I don’t have to scan past the first line. TheCongratulationsis bold and big, the response to my application summarized in one word.
I stare at the email in shock.
I got in.
I’m stunned, both by the news and by my reaction. When I applied, I had no one to tell. No one I wanted or was ready to tell, rather. But the first thought that flickers through my head now is that I want to call Oliver.
The realization stills a little of the happiness bubbling inside of me. Instead of gaining a dream, it feels like I’m letting something slip away. And I’m not sure what to make of that. How to fix it. Especially since I’ll be in New York starting Monday and am conflicted about whether to tell Oliver.
Practically speaking, there’s no reason at all why I should contact him. Our attorneys are working out what mine has assured me will be the simplest divorce she’s ever worked on.
We don’t have children or joint property. We’re not dividing assets or deciding alimony. We don’t shareanything.
Our divorce is a clean break.
But it feels a little jagged.
I turn off my phone and focus back on my computer screen, rushing through the remainder of the work I need to get finished.
Marjorie, one of the assistants, forwarded me the New York itinerary. I scan through it quickly—Monday morning flight, Wednesday afternoon return—and then shut off my computer.
The weather has been drab and dreary the past few days, a stark contrast to the past weekend, which felt like an early summer. Maybe that’s what I should blame for my melancholy mood. I grab my umbrella and walk out into the hall, almost colliding with my father.
“Hannah! Perfect timing. Your mother just called, and she wanted me to see if you’re free for dinner. Susan dropped off fresh tomatoes and cucumbers from her garden, so she’s planning to make your favorite.”
I’m not sure I’m in the mood for company but heading home to sulk doesn’t sound all that appealing either. “Yeah, sure.”
