Chapter 22
MADDY
“Are you ready?” Chanda asks, poking her head into my office just as I’m logging out of my laptop.
“So ready!” I push myself to stand with so much force that my desk chair slams into the wall behind me making both of us jump. I grab my coat and start to walk to the elevator. The fact that my boss needs to jog to keep up with me tells me that I’m speedwalking.
“Sorry,” I say, forcing myself to slow down. “Guess I’m just eager to go.” Or eager to get this over with.
The Star of Christmas Gala is just over six weeks away, and most of the big-ticket items are already checked off my list. Invitations?
Sent weeks ago. Menus? Approved and sent to the caterers.
Décor? Locked in, from the towering fir tree in the lobby to the glittering centerpieces that will catch the light just so. On paper, it looks like smooth sailing.
But this is the stage in planning where everything either comes together or falls apart.
Back at my desk, there is an avalanche of swatches of fabric, seating charts, and a schedule that looks like a game of Tetris.
Throwing myself into this event has been my lifeline. Every moment spent planning, organizing, and perfecting it keeps me from obsessing about the things I’d rather not think about.
Like how despite not hearing from Derek again, his mother has left me eight voicemails, each angrier than the last.
Or how I’ve been avoiding my mom’s calls since I called off my engagement because I can’t handle her being disappointed in me.
Most of all, how it felt standing on that frozen balcony three days ago watching the long-legged goddess put her hands and mouth on Ben.
I’d gotten out of there as quickly as humanly possible. I wished Ben a happy birthday, thanked Beth for inviting me, and fled so quickly I’d almost forgotten my coat. I walked the three blocks to Ben’s condo, grateful for the cold night air for drying my stinging eyes.
The next morning, I’d woken to concerned texts from both Beth and Ben.
She apologized for the way the evening went and asked if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee.
The truth is, I would have loved to have said yes.
I would give anything to be able to talk to someone I trust about the cyclone of confusion that is my mind right now.
But as much as I love her company, pursuing a friendship with Beth is just too difficult right now.
So I wrote to her to say that I was really busy but I’d reach out when things calmed down.
Responding to Ben’s texts were a bit harder to navigate.
Hockeyboi17: Are you okay?
Hockeyboi17: I’m not sure why she showed up here, but I promise it’s not what you think
Hockeyboi17: Can you call me? Let me explain?
Hockeyboi17: Please text me to let me know you got home safe.
The last one made the chasm in my chest grow wider and deeper.
I’m not confused.
Ben’s words from the morning after he rescued me from that hotel bar ring in my ears like they’re playing on repeat.
If he’s so in love with me, why was his ex-girlfriend at his birthday party? I recognised her immediately. There had been enough pictures of them circulating online last year that they were hard to ignore. Valentina Dobrev. High-end fashion model and influencer.
I thought I’d been familiar with jealousy before, but I was so wrong.
When girls used to fawn over Ben when we were younger, it was annoying.
When Alyssa flirted with him at the donor breakfast, I’d been irritated.
But when Valentina looked at him, when she walked up to him and claimed him while I stood there, frozen?
That was a new level of jealousy and heartbreak that I’d never come close to experiencing. A raw, acute pain with no relief. It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
I’m not confused.
How nice for you, Ben, I think as I stab the elevator close button. Because I certainly am.
Not about everything. I know in my heart that I made the right decision leaving Derek.
I’ve never second-guessed my choice. Not when I left, not a few days later when I cleaned out my remaining clothes and personal effects from his condo, and not any time his mother’s name appeared on my phone screen since.
Even after the disaster at the bar on Friday night, I didn’t question whether ending our engagement was a mistake. I know we’re not right for each other and we would never be able to make one another happy.
I’m not confused about my career either. Despite the hurdles and growing pains I’ve faced, I know I’m where I want to be. The work is challenging, but I still wake up every morning looking forward to the day ahead of me, and I come home tired but fulfilled.
No, the only real uncertainty I’m faced with is Ben.
It’s not a question of what my feelings are for him, it’s what to do with them.
I know I want him, but it’s not that simple.
Do I think I can have him? Really have him and not lose him again like before?
Am I brave enough to even try? After seeing the competition last weekend, I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that we need to get through the next six weeks, and in order to do that, we need to reestablish a professional working relationship. And it’s my responsibility to help put us back on course.
And this is what I focused on when I drafted my response Saturday morning.
Maddy: Hey! No need to explain anything. I just really needed to get home and warm up! I will see you next week at the appointment with the stylists. I hope you had a great birthday!
I hoped it sounded like the text of a friendly professional and not like it was from someone with a tension headache caused by crying herself to sleep.
Today’s task is all about wardrobe. I arranged to meet Ben and Annika Lei at Soiree, a high-end boutique downtown.
Did I invite Chanda because I desperately needed a buffer in case Ben wanted to talk about something other than the Gala? Yes. Yes I did.
“So what are your thoughts on the hosts’ attire?” I ask as the elevator doors open and we walk into the lobby. “I’m thinking formal, of course, but not stuffy. Their outfits should be cohesive, but not matching, festive, but not cliché.”
“Absolutely,” Chanda agrees. “Do you remember the jewel green costume Annika wore at the last Olympics for her long routine?”
“Of course.” She deserved a medal for that outfit alone. It had fit her like a second skin, showcasing every graceful line of her figure. The rich green hue was perfect against her pale, porcelain skin and jet-black hair. The ensemble was as breathtaking as her performance that night.
“I’d love to see her in something like that. Full-length, obviously.”
“Definitely. And less bedazzled.” We laugh before I ask, “And Ben?”
Chanda gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Let's be honest–we could put him in a paper bag and he’d still look mouth-watering.”
I feel the heat flush my cheeks again. She’s not wrong, as much as I wish she were. “Be that as it may, I believe paper bags are out of fashion this year.”
“Pity. What about running shorts? What I wouldn’t give to get a glimpse of that man’s thighs. They look like they could do damage. And his shoulders?” She sighs wistfully.
I’m so grateful when we arrive at the boutique and my boss is forced to stop talking about my ex-boyfriend's various parts.
We step inside, and I’m grateful to get out of the bitter early November wind. Immediately, we’re greeted by a slim man in sleek, black attire.
“Welcome to Soiree. My name is Claus and I’ll be assisting you today.”
Claus leads us towards a back room. Rows of perfectly tailored suits and sleek dresses surround us. The gowns almost glitter in the soft light. Every piece is meticulously displayed, almost as though it’s been prepared to be displayed at a museum.
Mannequins stand poised in the middle, showcasing outfits so perfect, they almost seem too flawless to wear.
“I believe we are still waiting for one more from your party,” Claus says as he holds back a curtain for us. I hold my breath as I walk through, wondering which host arrived first.
Ben stands at the center of the room. His broad shoulders effortlessly fill out the slim-fitting crew neck sweater that clings to his frame.
The dark jeans sit snugly on his lean hips, complementing his height.
He holds a champagne flute that appears to be filled with orange juice, the delicate glass nearly dwarfed by his large, strong hands. He looks so good, it’s almost unfair.
“Ben!” Chanda exclaims, her voice bright and welcoming as she strides toward him with open arms. “It’s so good to see you again.”
His smile is warm and genuine, the kind that could make anyone feel like the most important person in the room.
It makes his sharp, clean-shaven jawline even more prominent.
“It’s good to see you, too.” He pauses, his eyes landing on me.
There’s a flicker of something in his gaze I can’t read. “Both of you.”
“Thank you for working the fitting in.” My voice is steady, but my throat feels parched.
I glance at the champagne flute in his hand, wondering if it’s just orange juice or something stronger.
If it is stronger, I’m half-tempted to steal it and down it in one gulp.
Maybe a little liquid courage would make this easier.
Chanda checks the delicate rose gold watch on her wrist. “We’re still waiting on Annika?”
“I haven’t seen her yet,” Ben replies.
“I can message her,” I offer quickly, latching onto the idea like a lifeline. “See if she has an ETA?”
“No, no,” Chanda waves me off. “I’m sure she’ll be along shortly. Why don’t you two look around, and I’ll see if Claus has any suggestions for where to start?” She’s already moving away, heels clicking decisively, before I can object.
And just like that, it’s only the two of us. Again.