Chapter 11 #2
Afternoons stretch into late evenings as we huddle around whiteboards, our ideas sprawling across the glossy surface in a riot of dry-erase color.
In the conference room, Jake moves around the table with easy confidence, sleeves rolled up, focus unwavering as he sketches concepts and jots notes with quick, sure strokes.
Leadership suits him. He’s not the aimless, indecisive teenager anymore, the one who used to bristle when I talked about my plans after high school, like my dreams were an offense.
But look at him now. Maybe some of what I said lodged beneath his skin. Why else would he choose marketing?
It’s surprising, the ease between us as we work, like slipping into an old sweater I’d forgotten I owned, soft and familiar in all the wrong ways.
Every idea I pitch, he builds on. Every challenge he throws my way, I solve.
Together, we shape something neither of us could have managed alone, and I hate how natural it feels, how seamless, as if the four years between us never happened. As if he never broke me.
Across the room, Amanda watches our exchanges intensely, her lips pressed into a thin line whenever Jake leans closer to examine my notes.
Though she never says anything directly, her disapproval radiates like heat from asphalt in August. I have a distinct feeling that if it wasn’t for the no-office romance rule Judy has imposed upon us all, she’d be all over Jake.
I do my best to stay out of her way, which seems to work.
With mock-up photoshoots scheduled back-to-back, we barely have time to breathe between setups. Jake commands the room, directing photographers and models with a quiet authority that draws everyone’s attention. His eyes light up when the perfect shot comes together.
Against my better judgment, I find myself smiling back. It’s strangely satisfying—us working together. There’s no time to reminisce about the past. Our focus on the task at hand is unwavering.
By Friday evening, we’ve hit our first major milestone, and Jake suggests celebrating at The Rustic Oak, one of the more raucous bars downtown. The team eagerly agrees, collectively exhaling the tension we’ve been carrying all week.
At the bar, warm amber light spills across dark wooden tables as our team unwinds, cocktail glasses clinking in celebratory toasts.
Perched on a stool beside Wendy, I nurse my third gin and tonic, the tart bite catching at the back of my throat.
My gaze drifts to Jake for the fifth, or maybe fifteenth, time, watching him talk to girls.
“All right, spill it,” Wendy nudges me, her knowing smirk caught in the bar’s soft glow. “What’s the deal with you two? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because that’s the fourth time you’ve stared at him in the last five minutes.”
“What?” Heat floods my cheeks, and I drop my eyes to my drink, twirling the lime wedge with my straw. “There’s no deal. Absolutely zero deals happening.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m secretly a unicorn.” She takes a sip of her cocktail, eyebrow raised.
With a defeated sigh, I slump against the bar lid. “Fine. We were high school sweethearts. The whole nine yards, matching prom outfits, sneaking out to meet at midnight, planning our future together.”
“So what happened?”
“He broke my heart.” The words scrape my throat, still sharp after all this time. “Lousy goodbye. Said I never mattered. Just…out of nowhere. I even went to his mom’s house like some pathetic, lovesick teenager, only to be turned away.”
Wendy’s eyes widen. “Seriously? He never even told you why he did it?”
“Nope.” Another gulp burns down my throat, the bitter taste fitting the memory a little too well. “Guys are selfish, Wendy. Always have been, always will be. When they look at us, they want only one thing.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Not all guys, Sarah.”
“Believe me,” I counter, setting my empty glass on the bar. “I’ll prove it. Pick any guy in this place.”
Wendy scans the room, amused. “You’re absolutely nuts.”
“Come on. Pick one.”
“Hmm.” She points to a guy sitting at a table near Jake. “Him.”
He’s not as tall as Jake, but handsome enough. His black hair gleams beneath the bar lights, slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck. Confidence rolls off him as he laughs with his friends, easy and unguarded.
Fueled by liquid courage, I push to my feet, and the room promptly slants at a rude angle. That gin was stronger than I realized. Wendy follows in my wake, equal parts concerned and amused, as I make toward their table.
The guy looks up, startled by my sudden appearance.
“Hi,” I say, flashing my sweetest smile. “You want to date me?”
His eyes widen to comic proportions. “Uh...what?”
“No? Cool. How about a booty call, then? When I’m in need, I’ll call you, and you do the same. No strings attached.”
His expression morphs into sheer panic, eyes darting to his friends like they’re the ones pranking him. Behind me, Wendy dissolves into laughter.
“So, what’s it gonna be?” I ask.
The guy stammers incoherently before his face suddenly brightens like I’ve offered him a winning lottery ticket instead of casual sex, and he manages to say, “I’m game.”
Wobbling on my heels, I spin back toward Wendy, one triumphant finger in the air even as the room pirouettes around me in a dizzying waltz. “See? What’d I tell ya?”