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If this is Cole seeing me, I don’t want it. I thought it was enough, but… something has off about our relationship for the last few days.
Why am I taking on all the risk here?
“I don’t know, Cole. Can we?”
“Sav, I just need to take this call. Please.”
“You can take all the calls you like.” I lift my hands and take a step back. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Cole slides me a frustrated look. “Don’t be like that.”
He glances down at his phone. My heart feels like it’s bleeding out from a thousand tiny papercuts. Cole glances back up at me, mouths “later”, and then turns his back as he picks up the call.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I whirl and hurry back through the swinging doors of the auditorium. I slink back to my seat in the last row. The show is about to start, regardless of whether Cole is here or not. I swallow hard.
Cole is going to miss the performance of the play that I put on for his kid. The same play that we’ve been practicing for months! It’s unacceptable.
My hands are clenched into tight fists. My heart is pounding.
I can’t remember ever having felt so angry and confused. What on earth is Cole’s problem?
32
Cole
$18 mil a year base plus 70% percent commission on any athletes I bring in.
I type it out quickly. My finger hovers over the send key. It’s a lot of money to demand for a year’s salary. But I know I’m worth it.
I know that if Andrew Mayes turns me down, my fall-back plan is to wait right here in Cape Simon until I’m approached by another firm.
And then Savannah won’t ever have to know about my indecision over whether to leave.
I hit send. Seeing the three dots appear below, I hold my breath.
I’ll need 48 to get the partners to meet and agree on the compensation package. But go ahead and pack your bags. London is waiting.
I gulp and let my phone drop to the carpeted ground by my feet. I picture how angry Rex is going to be when I tell him that I’ve accepted the job.
And Sav… I can’t imagine the hurt in her eyes were I to admit that I’ve been negotiating my salary for close to a week.
On top of all this, there is still the question of Holly’s visit. She emailed me her flight info, but I am still not telling anyone. I can’t disappoint Charlie if his mother flakes out again.
Part of me prays that she’ll be a no-show. I have enough muck to wade through without adding Holly’s nasally whining to the mix.
I wander out the back door, turmoil filling my chest cavity. I missed the beginning of Charlie’s dress rehearsal and when I returned, Sav was nowhere to be found. I texted her… and eventually, she texted back.
Now I’m just sitting on the back deck of the beach house when Sav arrives in a taxi. She steps out of the car as I bound down to the street to press a hundred-dollar bill into the driver’s hand. She smiles at me as the taxi leaves.
But it’s a hollow, plasticine smile. It lifts her lips but doesn’t even attempt to reach the hazel depths of her eyes.
“Hello.” Sav clutches a large tote bag, and makes no move to embrace me.
“Thanks for bringing the new proposals from the planning commission to me. I know your car is still in the shop. But Charlie is upstairs lying down. He isn’t feeling great, he says.”
“Not a problem. That’s what personal assistants are for, right?”
Her tone is cold and formal. Her expression is standoffish, like she’s a filly that’s about to bolt from the training ring.
