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Not that I'm complaining. I don’t want to stop seeing her, so I’m drinking in every last precious second I have with her. Thinking about never seeing her again is breaking my heart. It’s funny because I never even thought I had a heart to get broken in the first place.
“Well, you've got my number,” I say, giving her my very best boyish grin. “Call me anytime. I'm just as good over the phone.” I wink to cover my cringe. Here we are, supposed to be having a big goodbye, and I just totally ruined it by making a stupid sex joke.
Now she’s gonna think I’m an even bigger idiot than before.
“Uh-huh,” is all she says, and I know in that second I’ve lost her forever. Clenching my fists around my bags until my knuckles are bone white, I steel myself to go.
“Well, goodbye then,” I say. “Thank you for everything.” I say it with the most sincerity I can muster, but I don't know if she can tell.
There’s a long pause, like she’s trying to collect herself, then finally she says, “Goodbye, Miles. It was good to have met you.” It’s almost a clinical send-off, and it feels like being stabbed all over again. I have to get out of here before I say anything else that could make it any worse.
Uncertainly, I step forward, slightly holding my arms out to invite her into a goodbye hug. To my surprise, she takes the hint, meeting me to wrap her arms around my body, giving me one big squeeze as she presses her face into my chest. I’m choosing to believe it’s her way of telling me she really did care after all. The squeeze I give her means that.
It is so hard to let her go.
But I have to. I give her one last smile as we split apart, then take a breath, grab my bags, and turn around to head to the bag drop-off. My feet thump against the polished floor as I set off, echoing the pounding of my heart.
I want to look back and smile at her one more time. I want to see her smile. But I know if I do, I’ll crack. It’ll break me to see her there, and it’ll break me to see that she’s gone. And if she is still there, I don’t want her last memory of me to be of tears running down my face. If she remembers me at all, I want it to be good.
Because I know for sure, I’m never going to forget her.
CHAPTER 26
OLIVIA
Part of me wants to linger and wait until Mile is gone from sight. Until I can say with absolute certainty that he’s not coming back. But lingering will be awkward for both of us because he doesn’t want to watch me standing there watching him. And I don’t want him to know just how strong my stupid feelings are.
Our last ever conversation bounces through my mind as I leave the terminal. Of course, his final words to me were a joke about sex — I would expect nothing less of him. As if I needed more proof that I was nothing but some cheap fun for him, though. That thought twists my heart and drops it right in my stomach. The sooner I get over this, the better.
I have to put my business face back on now anyway. Even though I want to go home and sleep off the whirlwind that’s been the past few months, I’ve been told to get back to the club for a meeting as soon as possible. Performance review were the exact words Tim used. Not words I like to hear.
Today, not only am I losing the best lover I ever had, but I might also be losing my job.
As soon as possible isn’t an exact time, though, so I take a long route back to the club and sit in my car in the parking lot for as long as I think I can get away with. I walk as slowly as I can from the car to Tim’s office, taking the stairs instead of the elevator and taking them real slow so I don’t look breathless when I arrive.
But finally, I can’t put it off any longer. Here I am. I could not be less ready for the inevitable. With a lump in my throat, I rap on Tim’s door. From within comes a muffled “Enter,” and I close my eyes hard, gritting my teeth as I grab onto the cold metal of the door handle and twist it.
“Olivia,” he smiles as I walk in. I can never tell if Tim smiling is a good or a bad thing. He’s the kind of guy whose face never matches his emotion.
“Good afternoon,” I say, trying not to fidget nervously.
“Take a seat,” he says, and the knot in my stomach pulls even tighter. This is it. This is the end of my career. I'm washed up at twenty-six.
“I just want to say thank you,” he says in a tone so incongruously harsh for his words that I have to take a second to really understand what he’s saying. “Miles has been hard work for everyone,” he continues, “and you've handled him like a champ. There’s been hardly any press reports on him at all, and the handful I’ve seen have been, overall, pretty positive. I knew I could rely on you to do this.”
“Rely on me?” I squawk back like a parrot.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially over his desk. “Between you and me, Mia wanted this job. But I said to the others, no. Terrible idea. Mia won’t be able to handle him. She won’t keep a tight enough leash and it’ll be a disaster. Let’s give this one to Olivia. It's good to see my trust wasn’t misplaced.”
“Thank you,” I stammer, my mind reeling with the confusion of knowing that all of this was Tim's idea to begin with. And all this time I’ve assumed he’s been ready to cut off my head and throw me to the wolves. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.
“Here,” he says, sliding an envelope over the desk. “Open this.” I stare at it for a moment, not sure how many more surprises I can handle today. Tim laughs kindly. “Don’t worry. It’s not a bomb.”
With shaking hands, I pick up the envelope, fumbling with the paper under my nails. I’m glad it wasn’t sealed, because the embarrassment of trying to open an envelope neatly and failing would probably kill me right now.
Inside, there’s just one sheet of paper with the official club letterhead, signed by the club owner. This is important news, then. I blink and force my eyes to read the words in order instead of letting them dart around the page. It starts with the usual formalities, a thanks for my work with Miles, a recognition of some of my other work — the stuff I’m actually paid for and am proud of.
Then, there at the bottom, the words promotion and raise are written in stark, black ink.
