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“You told me to go,” she added hastily, “but I went to him and told him everything. And look at us now. He even proposed in a bookstore.”
“I remember. He told me he was going to do that.”
Madeline blushed. “It was perfect.”
I heaved a sigh and looked at my friend. “Clay proposed to me in bed. We were just lying next to each other, nose to nose. He just put his hand on my chin and said he couldn’t see his life without me. And then he asked me to marry him.”
“Phe. . .” Madeline sighed.
I blinked. “Well, a week later, he dumped me.”
“But he’s here now.”
“Lying to me. He still hasn’t told me anything about his job or how he’s living. He’s closed off and a jerk, quite frankly.”
“He’s not a jerk. he’s just—”
“Just what?” I snapped. “I’m sorry, Maddy. But I am not his second chance. He’s not mine. I’ll text him, and we will plan the party, and I will be polite and cordial for the wedding, but afterwards, I’m going back to New York and he can just watch me flourish from here.”
“Phe, that was a bit harsh, don't you think?” Madeline’s voice lowered. “I get he upset you. I saw how excited you were to go out with him that night. Even though you claimed it was just for the wedding, I could tell there was something in your eyes. Then you left and came back a totally different person and have been ‘closed off’”—she air quoted—“ever since. You told me you showed only what you wanted us to see, and I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re doing now.”
I wiggled my foot on the floor, moving my body. Biting my lip, I took in her words. Madeline was never this blunt with me. It was always the other way around. I furrowed my brow and let the words sit, stew for a moment, before I answered her, and I could see in her expression that she was willing to give me all the time in the world. I had to be open and honest, even if I didn’t want to be.
Dropping my arms to my side, I spoke. “He gave me a look after dancing with Jamie. One that said he was falling for me. One that scared me shitless. I don't have time for this ‘second chance romance’ you are saying we are. Party planning? Yes. Designing clothing for a store I’m about to open? Sure. Being open to the possibility of Clay and I being friends again? Fine. . . but no romance. I need to ignore these feelings, these stupid butterflies, and focus on what’s really important.”
“You’re important, Phe, and those little feelings and flutters are there for a reason. Don’t ignore them.”
I exhaled, my shoulders slumping. “If I text him back, will you drop it?”
A smile grew on her lips. “Don’t hide anymore. I want to know what’s going on through that head of yours, and yes, I’ll drop it if you text him back. Doesn’t have to be right now.” She raised her hands in surrender. “He needs you. I know he does. Even just as a friend.”
I gave her a single nod and then walked back to the train, bending down to adjust the pins one more time.
“I know he does,” I said softly. “I’ll text him.”
I stuck a pin in the train, connecting the two pieces of thin satin. Shifting my mind, I sat on my legs and placed my hands between my thighs.
“If you and Milo are ‘friends to lovers,’ and you’re saying Clay and I are ‘second chance,’ what does that make Jamie?”
Madeline let out a long breath, “Ooh, I’m not sure on that one, but, man, that girl needs a good romance. There are so many tropes to choose from.”
Chapter Seventeen
-Clay-
What’s the worst that could happen?I took a deep breath, asking myself the simple question that had been ringing in my head since parking Milo’s truck in the parking garage.The worst that will happen is they will tell you no. Go up there, pretend like you are the most valuable person on the face of the planet, and land that damn job.
I had sent out several resumes and job applications over the last couple of weeks, and a few called back. Only one set up an interview. I had pulled out my best suit, ironed and pressed it—by myself, thank you very much—and shined my shoes. I flipped down the visor to give myself a quick look over before I grabbed my phone and Milo’s key fob, shoving them both in the inside pocket of my suit.
Stepping out of the truck, my hands went back to the familiar motion of buttoning up my suit, slipping a hand in my pants pocket. I took another deep breath, looked down to make sure my shoes were still shiny, and then took the first few steps to the building's entrance.
I’ll admit, I looked good. I channeled Seattle Clay with all my willpower, pulling myself out of the trenches for the first time in months, ready to conquer the world. They’d be idiots not to hire me with how I looked.Fake it till you make it, right?
The only interview I had been able to secure was a low-entry accounting position at a law firm in Portland, a start-up that had a low budget and even lower expectations. They wanted employees, and I wanted—needed—a job. Hopefully, they would bypass the background check. I didn’t need that mark hanging over me forever. I had my portfolio with my college degree, internship, and work at Jackson and Rye nestled inside of it. I had all the experience they would want.
The receptionist gave me a visitor's badge and told me to take the elevator to level five. Level five? My office was on the 33rd floor with Jackson and Rye, with glass walls and a view of the city. I always felt closer to the top, like my time was coming. In this world, the higher you worked in the building, the more important you were, right? And now, I was only worth a five. But I took the badge with a smile and pressed that five circle with so much confidence. Milo would be proud.
The waiting room was cushy, and two other men sat out there with me. Younger than myself. They looked fresh out of college and nervous. I inhaled, pulled my phone from my pocket, and opened Instagram.
