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“For the record, I planned on surprising you. I’d hoped you’d come with me for a week before our work commitments kicked in. Thought we could explore London. Hang out. Fuck. Make some memories. Be a couple.“ He slams his suitcase shut. “But, c’est la vie. You want space, you’ll get your space. I’m going to take a quick shower, then I’m getting the fuck out of here before I lose my shit completely.”
Holy crap. Did I read the situation all wrong?
Maybe. Maybe not.
The fact remains, I’m the one with residual mental baggage.
I’m the problem. It’s me.
Before Harrison, this sort of gesture from a man would’ve been a dream come true. I learned that—at least in my marriage—these kinds of trips have nothing to do with romance. There are always galas or business dinners that I’m expected to attend where I’m supposed to smile. Shut up. Play the perfect wife—er, girlfriend.
Why would this be any different? Joar is a million times more important than Harrison ever was. Who’s he kidding? There’d be no hanging out in London doing couple stuff, I’d go and essentially be on my own all day.
At night, I’d be his personal fuck bunny.
So, while I appreciate the thought he could shoehorn some romance into his business trip, this gesture cements the fact we are not in the same place.
Because I’ve heard it all before.
It’s not what I want.
“I should go,” I state simply.
“That’s best.” He’s like a stone statue. Devoid of emotion. “No need to prolong the inevitable.”
I take a long look at him. He stares back.
“Okay. Have a great trip. Good luck on the transaction thingy.” I wave, grab my things and call an Uber to go home for the second time in a week.
Confident I’m doing the right thing.
I was fine before Joar.
I’ll be fine after.
Chapter twenty-four
Joar
Two Weeks Later
When it rains it fucking pours.
Especially in London.
In July. Typical.
I’m trying to pay attention to Basil, the Site Manager, who is rambling on about why construction on the new studio is behind schedule, which means I’m running late for my next meeting. This puts the rest of the afternoon into a spiral. This trip is turning out to be a shit show.
I hold up my hand. “Look. I’m done with excuses. You have one week to get this back on track. Stop nickeling and diming on stupid shit.” I kick the ground. “We have hundreds of millions of dollars of productions in the balance, Basil. If you don’t turn it around, I’ll find someone who will. Count on it.”
With that proclamation, I storm back to my waiting car. Seth is hot on my heels. “Joar, hold up.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I keep moving without turning around.
He catches me right before I slide into the back seat. “There’s trouble brewing, I just need you to slow down for a goddamn minute.”
“What the fuck else?” I whirl around.
