Chapter 16
Sunday
Every time I fly American, I swear to myself that it’s the last time. Yet somehow, I get lured back in. This time, it was the appeal of a direct flight to Albuquerque rather than enduring a layover in Phoenix or Denver. I was once again left disappointed, this time by the two-hour delay.
It was two hours I could have spent with Andrew, who’s no longer attempting to hide his disdain for me missing his birthday.
Instead, I’m running round my hotel room like a headless chicken, trying to connect to the hotel’s Wi-Fi so I can jump on a Zoom call with the Brewed team.
I shift uncomfortably in the chair, trying to ease discomfort that’s no doubt brought on by flying for three hours in a middle seat, and has nothing to do with the fact that the Brewed campaign is barely hanging on by a thread.
“Where are you?” Chloe leans into the camera, looking at the souped-up electric limeade shade of green on the wall that is reminiscent of the Charli XCX Brat album cover.
“I’m in Albuquerque.” My tone is shorter than I’d like as I silently wish Hotel Andaluz was less descript.
“Albuquerque?” Caryn’s brows rise.
The lie’s already on the tip of my tongue, but I’m saved by the sight of one of Caryn’s children entering her room. Caryn mutes herself to shout at her son, giving me a moment to center myself.
Stay on topic.
Address their concerns.
Move forward with an action plan.
Simple.
I get it. The Brewed team wants reassurance that their brand won’t be pulled into any more scandals before we kick off the activation events next week. It’s a promise I can’t commit to, but I can at least try to assuage their concerns.
“Right. Let’s cut to it. I can see we’re all busy.
” My gaze drifts to Caryn’s door when her son reenters.
“Paul’s flown me out here to address your concerns.
” A half-truth at best. “He recommended meeting in person, rather than remotely, due to a recent hacking attempt on his emails.” And that is a full-out lie, but one I’ve rehearsed so many times I believe it myself.
“We had one of those just a couple of weeks back, just before the elections.” The tail of a black cat comes into shot. Chloe lifts her arm to stroke it. “It was a nightmare. Couldn’t get access to our files or anything while the IT department tried to assess what the hackers had gained access to.”
Chloe smiles at her cat as it moves away from the screen, but I know Caryn doesn’t suffer fools as gladly, and her hollow glance makes my jaw tighten. Maybe my lie wasn’t so convincing.
I look at my image on the screen. I really do need to work on my poker face.
“You’re on mute.” My three most overused words of the decade notify Caryn that none of us can hear her.
“What did they say?” Caryn repeats.
“Well, there’s good news and bad news.” I sit upright and move closer to the camera. I know how to play this game well enough by now.
“What’s the good news?” Chloe jumps in, like an eager student waving their hand with the answer to the teacher’s question.
Connie’s email, outlining the proposed details for the campaign activations, sits alongside the Zoom screen, and I skim the details once more to pull out the key information.
“Connie has secured interviews on both Good Morning America and The View for Wednesday. As I’m sure you can imagine, everyone and their mother has been trying to get an interview with Alexander after that video.”
“And that’s good news for us how?” Caryn crosses her arms. “We’re meant to start our campaign in…. Not now honey, go ask your father.” Caryn stops mid-sentence to address another child who bursts into the room to ask help with her homework.
I need to railroad her.
Offer her something they can’t refuse.
“Part of the deal Connie cut with both GMA and The View is that they also have to talk about the Brewed campaign during the segment. Both shows have agreed to have a server come out and deliver one of Brewed’s signature Christmas drinks to the hosts.”
The heat rises on the back of my neck.
I’ll worry about getting Connie and the TV shows to agree later.
Right now, I need to focus on getting these two women on board.
“That’s great news.” Chloe writes down what I’ve said, but Caryn remains stoic, almost unimpressed, despite the fact that I’ve just offered them two TV opportunities for the campaign that were part of their original list of requests.
I can hear the cogs turning in Caryn’s head, calculating what that means. They are the same cogs that turned in mine when Connie flagged the TV shows for me. Are they using this as an opportunity to clean up Alexander’s image? To sway Grammy voters? To milk the story for all it’s worth?
“And the bad news?” Caryn unfolds her arms.
“We’ll have to scrap the Albuquerque event, but I’m sure you can agree that the 2.4 million person audience from The View and 2.6 million viewers watching Good Morning America will more than make up for our change in plans.”
“And the rest of the activation events?” Her tone is brisk, like a breeze trying to force me off a tight rope strung across the Grand Canyon.
In my mind, I dismiss her briskness.
Caryn’s always been lovely to me. A straight shooter but lovely.
Maybe, like me, she’s just over this drama.
“All the other activation events from Wednesday through Sunday next week can still go ahead as scheduled. We just need to readjust the routing to and from NYC.”
“Are Alexander’s team expecting us to pick up the costs?”
“A contribution. I can send through what the expenses would be.”
Paul has already pushed me hard to get their flights, hotels, and ground transportation for the interviews to be picked up with nothing in return. Which gives me room to negotiate for Brewed to be featured on the TV shows, if I can get Brewed to agree to a contribution.
“Please do. I’ll run it by the team first thing and circle back,” Chloe notes.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Caryn’s eyes give me a once-over.
“No. That’s it.” My voice cracks slightly.
They don’t need to know about the rest of Connie’s email.
A flurry of fireworks in my stomach is set off simultaneously when Alexander, naked except for a towel, greets me at his door.
I grip the door frame tightly at the sight.
Despite everything that’s happened between us and his changing looks, the attraction hasn’t wavered or left.
It’s permanently on, like an annoying car alarm that can’t be silenced.
“Hey.” His Oscar-winning smile lifts his beard upward.
“Hi.”
My pulse quickens as I enter the room before anyone in the hall can see. I’d already declined his offer of booking adjoining rooms to avoid detection. The temptation of being next door would have been too much. Instead, I chose a completely different floor, at the opposite end of the building.
Healthy distance.
Healthy boundaries.
Alexander looks fresher than I expected. His physique is slimmer, yet he is still ripped. The drawn face that greeted me in September now looks much more rested. His sparkly blue eyes are no longer bloodshot and wired. Maybe I could do with two months at a treatment facility.
I stretch my neck and follow him through his suite over to a brown leather couch. The cream walls are much nicer than the green ones in my room.
“Wanna wait here, while I change?” His gaze sizes me up.
“Yes.” I fight my body’s urge to follow him into the bedroom.
There are enough land mines between us that could go off at any moment and make him relapse. I don’t need to throw a grenade into the mix by jumping straight back into bed with him.
Alexander leaves the door open, pulling my attention his way.
Nope. We’re not going there.
I pry my gaze away, turning my attention to CNN playing on the widescreen TV. The latest presidential scandal plays out on-screen.
“You want a water?” He shakes a bottle at me, throwing it when I nod before joining me on the couch. His oversized white T-shirt and grey sweat shorts look a lot more comfortable than the black jeans and charcoal polo shirt I’ve chosen to wear.
I reach for the remote, mute the TV, and turn to him.
“How have you been since you posted the video?”
The conversations about us, about the contents of his letter, those can wait. This low-hanging fruit is a much easier place to start from and will let me settle my nerves.
“Mixed.”
He lets out a heavy sigh as he pulls his legs up onto the couch.
If it helps him to talk through whatever’s plaguing him, I’ll play along.
“How so?” I turn my body round to face him and pull my legs up too.
“Do you think I made a mistake? Mentioning my father in the video?”
I push down my true thoughts—that Alexander always seems to throw someone under the bus—and remain diplomatic.
“I think you had to do what was right for you.” My deflection isn’t an outright acknowledgment that what he did was right, but it’s enough to reassure him.
“I don’t know.” Alexander picks at his cuticles.
“I’m sure your father just needs some time, that’s all.”
I lean across and place a hand on his knee briefly.
“Like the time you needed? You still need?” Tears shimmer in his eyes and his lower lip quivers. The softness of his words hits a different chord, one I’m willing to play along with.
“We all process things differently.” I grab the bottle, open it, and swallow down some water. “I’m still processing everything myself. Honoring your truth, while also making space for mine. But I’ve realized I can do that here with you, rather than separate from you.”
I return my hand to his knee and keep it there this time.
Our eyes meet and mine say what my mouth doesn’t need to.
It will be okay. We’ll be okay.
You and your dad will be okay.
“But what if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“Families argue. Families need space sometimes. You can’t tell me there hasn’t been a time when you’ve gone for a while without talking to them. You just need to be a little more patient.”