20. Chapter Twenty
With the chaos of clothes and travel essentials strewn across my bed, I clutch my trusty checklist and tick off each item as it’s packed with a satisfying swipe of the pen. It’s like a treasure map to a well-prepared week in Los Angeles, complete with business wear, formal attire, a few casual outfits, and two new swimsuits I bought on clearance since I know my hotel has a hot tub. Because Lord knows I need it after the month I’ve had.
“Got your charger?” Mom yells from downstairs.
“Check!” I say, tucking the cord into my overstuffed carry-on. I zip it up, feeling a little zing of victory. I’ve got this packing thing down to an art.
“Sunscreen? You know how you burn.”
I pat the side pocket where the bottle sits snugly next to my sunglasses. “Double-check!”
“Snacks for the drive? Your dad gets grumpy when he’s hungry.”
“Triple-check!” I grab the gallon-sized bag of homemade trail mix, packed with enough mixed nuts and chocolate chips to fuel an entire troop of lively boy scouts. That should be enough to stave his hunger for the long drive to the airport and back.
We load up into Dad’s silver Buick, and I slide into the backseat, already missing the comfort of Toby sleeping at the foot of my bed each night.
Once we’re outside Sugar Plum, the usual small talk ensues to pass the time. Only this time, my mother proves her lack of skill when it comes to reading the room. “Rose, honey, any word from Henry yet?” She turns slightly to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. Her question may seem casual enough, but I can’t help but feel uncomfortable when she asks.
“Um, no. Not yet.” I stare out the window, watching the Texas landscape roll by—flat and void of excitement—much like my hopes that he might actually call.
But why hasn’t Henry called?
I think about all the rumors and nasty little whispers saying I’m using Henry to get back at Jace, my good-for-nothing ex. But Henry knows me better than that, doesn’t he?
“Maybe he’s just busy,” I say, more to myself than Mom.
“Or maybe he’s waiting for the right moment to sweep you off your feet,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows in the mirror.
“Mom!” I can’t help but laugh despite the tightness in my chest. “Henry Carter doesn’t do sweeping. He’s solid ground, not grand gestures.”
“I don’t know… solid ground can surprise you sometimes,” she says, offering a hint of wisdom with her words.
I nestle back into the seat, trying to push away the worry. Henry’s quiet strength is one of the things I admire most about him, but admitting it still doesn’t help me shake the feeling of uncertainty.
What if the rumors finally got to him?
The plane’s wheels touch down with an unceremonious thud, jolting me from my attempted power nap. Upon disembarking, I haul my carry-on behind me as a stream of passengers with their faces buried in their smartphones pushes me toward the terminal. LAX buzzes with the frenetic energy of a thousand lives intersecting, all in a rush to be somewhere else—somewhere better—and for me, I’m hoping that somewhere involves a little sand between my toes.
“Rose!”
I look up, and there’s Chanel with arms stretched wide and a grin that lights up her face like a marquee. It’s hard not to get swept up in the enthusiasm of our reunion. Her hug is tight and smells like expensive perfume.
“Ugh! It is so good to see you,“ I say, my words muffled against her luxurious mane of perfectly styled platinum blonde hair. “And your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
Chanel laces an arm through mine, steering us toward baggage claim. “Trust me, Rose, one week here with me, and you’ll forget all about old what’s-his-name.”
I laugh, but only at the irony, wondering which ‘what’s his name’ I’m trying to forget more.
The California sun shines bright outside, but it’s much more pleasant than when I left Texas. Here, the breeze is cool enough to keep you comfortable, but in West Texas, it just feels like someone is blowing a hot air dryer on you all day.
Chanel leads me to a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, where a driver holds the door for us and then neatly stows my luggage in the trunk.
“Wow, this is fancy,” I remark, sliding into the plush leather seat.
“Only the best for my favorite Texan,” Chanel says, winking. “Welcome to La La Land, darling.”
The cityscape whizzes by, a blend of palm trees and urban sprawl, as we make our way to the hotel, and I’m reminded of how different everything feels here. Everything feels so vibrant and alive. It’s almost surreal.
“Here we are. Hotel Celeste,” Chanel says as we pull up to a building that looks more like a palace than it does a place to spend the night.
I exhale, taking in the grandeur. “Whoa...”
“Wait until you see your room,” she says, leading me inside.
The lobby is a marvel of marble and gold accents, with a chandelier that could rival Paris’ Palais Garnier. We glide towards the elevator, and moments later, I’m standing in a suite that makes my apartment back in Dallas seem like a dollhouse.
“Chanel, this is... I have no words,” I stammer, gaping at the opulent decor.
“Your welcome basket,” she points to an arrangement on the bed that’s more like a treasure trove than a mere basket. Slippers, a silk bathrobe, chocolate, and Champagne sit nestled among silk tissue paper. “And I took the liberty of booking you a massage for Sunday. The spa here is to die for, and you’ll have to tell me what you think of Ramon. His fingers are like magic.”
“Thank you,” I say, wondering if she’s always so posh with her spending. It’s either that, or she’s really trying to win me over.
“Get settled, lovely,” Chanel says, already heading for the door. “LA’s going to heal you. You’ll see.”
The plush carpet feels like a cloud under my feet as I move around the room, unpacking my suitcase. The bustling sounds of the city below form a backdrop to my thoughts—thoughts that flutter around Henry’s unread messages and Jace’s last cold words. Shaking off the heaviness, I slip into the luxurious bathroom and let the hot water from the shower wash away my travel fatigue.
“Rose, darling, you look absolutely stunning!” Chanel’s voice is bright when she greets me in the lobby downstairs.
“All thanks to you,” I say, trying to match her energy.
“Tonight, we dine, we dance, and we most definitely dazzle,” she declares, ushering me to her sleek yellow Jaguar parked out front.
The new sushi fusion bar she takes me to is buzzing with life. The aroma of exotic spices mingles with the laughter and chatter of the city’s elite. We’re seated at a booth that offers a clear view of the dance floor, shimmering under the kaleidoscope of lights.
“Oh, you have to try the dragon roll with a twist of lemon. It’s divine. And don’t worry about the bill. Dinner and drinks are on me tonight,“ she says with assurance.
“Divine” barely covers it.
Everything we order is like a symphony in my mouth, and before I know it, the plates are cleared, and Chanel is tugging me onto the dance floor.
“Let loose, Rose! This is your night.”
The rhythm sweeps me into a pulsating beat that wraps around my senses. I’m twirling, laughing, and forgetting. And for a moment, there’s no more Jace, no more failed business, no more rumors about me and the man I spent over half my life pining over—just the music and a burning desire for something new.
“Looks like we’ve got an audience,” Chanel says, nodding towards a group of handsome bachelors who can’t seem to take their eyes off us.
“Let them look,” I reply, feeling a surge of confidence. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this free, this unburdened by the weight of expectation and heartache.
We dance for hours, each song a sweet escape as much as it is a move towards reclaiming the joy that seemed lost to me less than forty-eight hours ago when I was getting publicly shamed in the San Juan’s parking lot.
Finally, Chanel and I break away for a water and bathroom break. “LA suits you, Rose.” Her eyes beam, reminding me of what it feels like to be single and still thriving.
“Maybe so,” I shout back over the trance of the deep house music, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m genuinely excited about the possibilities ahead.
As the night unfolds, every laugh and cheesy dance move serves to loosen the grip Sugar Plum has on me until Henry and his quiet life fade into the background, replaced by the vibrant allure of the city. But amidst the thrill, a tiny voice inside me wonders—am I ready to trade comfort for the unknown?
***
Monday arrives with the kind of fanfare only a city like Los Angeles can muster. The sun peeks through my hotel blinds, promising a day as bright and bustling as the streets below, and I’m up and dressed in record time.
The Elite Encounters LA office is a hive of activity nestled amid the towering skyscrapers downtown. When I step into the lobby, Chanel is there waiting with fresh coffee and croissants from the bakery next door.
“Rose, you made it! Welcome to my humble abode,” she says, handing me a cup that smells like heaven in liquid form. “I’ve got so much to show you.”
She leads me through the sleek, modern office space and introduces me to a bevy of bright-eyed consultants who all seem to emulate the same enthusiasm for matchmaking I had when I first started out in the business.
“Everyone’s been dying to meet you,” Chanel says. We make our way to what she calls ‘the war room’—a glass-walled strategy center that overlooks the city. “They know all about your success rate back in Texas. You’re kind of a celebrity around here.”
“Stop it,” I laugh, shaking my head but secretly loving the feeling of being recognized for my work rather than my personal drama.
“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Chanel says once we’re seated at a round table equipped with all the latest tech gadgets. She flicks on a screen displaying an intricate web of plans for Elite Encounters. “You’re going to be spearheading our new consultant training program. We want them to have that Rose Taylor charm and instinct. But don’t worry. This week is just a trial run to smooth out any wrinkles and see if it’s a good fit for you, which I’m sure will be if you’re up for the task. No pressure, of course.”
“No pressure, huh?” I quip, the corners of my mouth turning up. Chanel is the type of woman who not only gets what she wants but also has a way of convincing you that it was your idea in the first place.
“None at all,” she winks. “Oh, and as for scaling… The name of the game is expansion. We’re going to take Elite Encounters international. London, Paris, Tokyo—you name it, Rose. We’ll have offices in all the major cities.”
“Wow.” It’s all I can manage, my mind whirling with the potential of it all. Could I really be part of something this big? It’s everything I ever dreamed of with my boutique agency in Dallas but on steroids.
“Think of all the love stories waiting to be written, Rose,” Chanel continues, her eyes glossy with passion. “And you’ll help write them.”
At that moment, my heart flutters, not just at the thought of new beginnings but at the idea of creating jobs on a global scale. It’s a win-win.
“Alright, then,” I say, determination surging through the center of my core. “Let’s start training some matchmakers.”