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Graham ends the call and turns back to me with a huff of breath. “Babies.” He laughs once. “They don’t come on a schedule, do they?”
My brow pinches. Am I supposed to answer that? But I don’t need to because he keeps going. “I have to head into the office. Brian was putting the finishing touches on our new ads tonight so our ad agency can finalize the package for the board by Monday afternoon. But his wife—”
“Is having a baby.” I force a smile, pretending I’m not in the middle of an emotional meltdown. “I heard. You go take care of business. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here starving to death.”
“I can order food. I’m a big girl.” I make shooing motions with both hands, pathetically thrilled that I haven’t broken down in front of him. “Now go on, get everything handled. I’ll be fine.”
And I am fine.
Or I will be. I even manage to kiss him goodbye without falling to pieces and crying like an idiot virgin who had no idea how easy it would be to let love become inextricably bound up with pleasure.
But once Graham is gone and I’m alone in his house, with his leather-bound books chosen by an interior decorator, and the pans he never uses, and the sterile decorations in the bedroom that make it clear all this man does here is sleep, the truth settles on my chest, crushing in its weight.
Graham is married to his work.
Work is his steady date, his primary focus, and the drumbeat that makes his heart dance. Women have always been a passion for him, but never as anything more than entertainment, something fun to appreciate and enjoy in his spare time once the work day is done. He told me so himself at brunch when he said he was on a sex-batical because sex complicates everything. Let alone more than sex…
And I am no different than the women who’ve come before me.
I. Am. No. Different.
Tears are rising in my eyes when I’m saved by the bell a second time. Though, this bell is a pack of baying wolves – my landlord’s ringtone.
“Hello,” I sniff as I listen to Arno’s heavily accented voice droning on the other end of the line, telling me that my apartment is all fixed and ready to go. “Really?” I ask, unable to believe such a massive mess was set back in order so quickly. “The sink and the tile and everything?”
“Everything, all done,” Arno confirms. “They fix it all first day and just call me now to say they check and grout is dry. All done. Good as new.”
Well. It looks like the universe is having at least a little mercy on me.
“That’s wonderful.” I stand, heading toward the bedroom to pack my bag, my mind already made up. “Thank you so much, Arno. I’ll be home tonight.”
And then I pack. Because I believe in signs. And all the signs are telling me it’s time to get out before I give any more of myself away to a man who isn’t interested in what I have to give.
24
Graham
Almost done.
Another slide.
Another photo.
Another set of ads to review.
As I click on the final proof for the new campaign, I study it carefully, making sure every detail, every word is top-notch. Does it reflect the high-end brand we’ve crafted?
The new models look fantastic—they are every size, shape, and color, and each woman is beautiful in her own way—but I keep seeing CJ in the corset. CJ wearing it better than anyone’s ever worn it.
At least in my eyes.
And that’s when I realize what this campaign needs.
She was right.
CJ was damn right.
It’s not enough to change the images. The cake tagline is crap. These corsets aren’t about food. They’re about how they make a woman feel.
With a renewed focus, I tap out a few lines. Then I tweak them. I tighten them, and I send one final change back to the ad agency.
“This holiday season, feel sexier than you’ve ever felt before.”
Simple, but on point. That feels so much better than a slogan about candy or food. Women love gorgeous lingerie because of how it makes them feel. And men can’t resist a woman who is confident, passionate, and feeling sexy in her skin.
That’s what I need to convey. That’s what CJ has always shown me when she’s worn Adored.
I call my agency contact, not caring that it’s Saturday night. He doesn’t either. Sometimes you have to burn the midnight oil. I give him the change, and he tells me he’ll make the adjustment and send proofs back to me shortly.
As I wait for him to reply, I review the slides one more time, then head to the conference room where the meeting will be held on Monday. I flick on the lights. All the chairs are empty, of course. It’s late on a Saturday night. But as I wander through the room, I picture Monday morning and the big pitch before the board. Before the shareholders. Making it clear I’m 100 percent committed to delivering on my vision.
