13. EMERSON
13
EMERSON
Now
“Can you tell me again about this new client?” I ask Blake. “No, never mind, just the project. I know Margot said it was a hotel brand.”
Blake runs through the inquiry Margot briefly discussed with us this morning as we walk to lunch at The Cleopatra. The restaurant opened in February on the first floor of a boutique-style hotel opening in early fall.
The meeting was supposed to include an onboarding manager for new clients, but she was already booked for this afternoon. Margot asked if I could attend the initial meeting since I will manage the entire marketing plan and account.
Chicago is warm with blue skies. I didn’t mind the excuse to get out of the office for a little or have lunch at The Cleopatra, a restaurant named after my favorite historical figure. I’ve been dying to try it since its grand opening, but reservations are hard to come by, and the wait is consistently two hours or more.
The restaurant features an extensive wine list and shareable plates. The tapas are from various cuisines, including two Egyptian foods, even though everyone forgets that Cleopatra wasn’t Egyptian. Natalie went in March and said it was the best tapas she’d ever had.
“Did I tell you that Ben works for them? That’s why they reached out to us,” Blake informs me.
“Explains why we are branching out from consumer products.”
“Trialing,” Blake corrects me .
“Let’s be real. Margot is probably jealous she didn’t find the client herself. It is inevitable that we’d branch out.”
“About time, though. I’ve always thought we were missing out by chaining ourselves to consumer goods.” She sips on her iced matcha.
“That makes us experts in what we do,” I challenge her.
“I suppose.” She shrugs. “If I were to start my own company, I wouldn’t specialize in one thing. How can you be the best at all of it if you don’t work with all of it?”
“Are you thinking about leaving?” If she is, this is news to me. Blake appears happy and dedicated to anything that crosses her desk. I would never have suspected she would want to step out alone.
“Oh, no.” She’s hesitant. “Not at all.” Blake cuts her head in my direction. Trying to quickly assess my level of buy-in before revealing more of her secrets to me. “But if I did, would you come with me?”
“I’m not sure.” Yes, is what I want to tell her. I would risk it and go with her, I think. Maybe, finally, be behind the camera full-time instead of directing it.
“Don’t tell anyone I said that or have the smallest glimmer of an idea. Please.”
“What idea?” I wink. “Your secret is safe with me, I promise. Back to our current project. I am excited about it. The ideas are brilliant. This is the type of place I would stay at when I used to travel with. . .” I trail off.
Liam.
When I would travel with Liam during the summer.
“I know. The owner is brilliant. He’s only been working in Chicago for about a year. Ben says that they’re working to acquire three more properties. Another here and two others in New York.”
The thought gears turn in my head.
“Hayes Hotels, right?”
“Yeah! ”
“How long has Ben been working for them?” I ask suspiciously.
It could be a coincidence. It has to be. The only Hayes in the hotel industry I know is in London, not Chicago. But also said Hayes always wanted to expand outside of Europe. And said Hayes was in a coffee shop last week.
“He was their first employee. Well, technically, second. Callum was first.”
It’s not a coincidence, and it all clicks.
I stop walking. My feet stuck in their place. Blake is a few strides in front of me before she realizes. She stops and turns around to face me.
“Does he work for Liam Hayes?” I ask.
“Yeah! Do you know him?”
My face falls flat. All the oxygen gone from my lungs. I ignore her question.
“You said a year ?”
“Yes. . .”
“This company has been here a year.” I point to the ground. “In Chicago? A year?”
“Yes.” Blake gives me a weird look. “Em, is everything okay?”
“I don’t know if I can take this meeting.” I swing my tote bag forward, one of the two straps resting on my forearm, pulling out the folder and my work iPad. I pass them to Blake. “Do you think you can take it?”
“Um, sure.” Flustered, she takes the materials out of my hands. Fumbling with her matcha in one hand, she tries to tuck them into her too-small bag, with the top of the manilla folder and iPad sticking out. “Are you feeling okay?”
Knowing that he’s been here for a year has me sick to my stomach.
“No. My breakfast isn’t sitting well. I think I’m getting sick.”
I take a deep breath, and the air fills my lungs, having the opposite effect .
Blake watches me with sympathy. She shifts on her feet uncomfortably.
“I’ve never taken a client meeting by myself before.”
“Ben will be there, yeah?” I say between breaths. Despite their lack of support, I have to breathe. I force myself to; otherwise, I know where this is heading.
“Yes,” Blake says.
“Blake, you are talented, and your people skills are unmatched. You have nothing to worry about going in there. Review their inquiry and campaign questionnaire first. Then, review how our campaign planning works, the timeline, costs, and where their engagement is required. When you are done, let them ask questions. Jot everything down. Liam might initially come off as intimidating, but that’s just his jawline and gaze. Don’t let it fool you; he’s a softy on the inside—I promise.”
“I’ve met him a couple of times, but do you know him?”
“More than anyone realizes.” My voice drops.
“Did you two date or something?”
No, we didn’t date. No, we were never in a relationship. But I loved him. I loved my best friend.
Liam is always going to be someone to me.
Liam is always going to be the boy who showed me the first glimpse of love. A taste of what it would be like to be happy with someone else.
But no, we didn’t date, but we were good at pretending we were.
There are days when I wish it was because of him—and believe me, he is at fault. No one is perfect, not even Liam Hayes. But it’s my fault. Even when I thought I could bet on myself—on us, I was wrong. I couldn’t get to the point he needed. I couldn’t be the girl—the love—he thought I was.
“No, we didn’t.”
“Then why are you avoiding the meeting? Are you even feeling sick? ”
“We have a history I’m not ready to revisit.” I give Blake a quick synopsis of said history. Her understanding was comforting, and she agreed to cover my absence.
I understand that this isn’t professional and that I should separate personal from business, but this feels way too personal. Blake said Ben reached out.
Did Liam know? Is he using work as a ploy to reenter my life? There are a lot of questions floating around in my brain, making their way to my mouth, but I withhold from asking them.
“I’ll take care of it,” she says softly. Blake smoothes out her pencil skirt with her left hand.
Instead of facing one old friend, I face another—my panic, my anxiety. The most intimate relationship I’ve ever had has probably been with them.
The first time I experienced this was the summer of my thirteenth year. At first, they were more common. I forced myself to become good at hiding them. My mom, or Natalie, never knew. In college, I saw a therapist who taught me techniques to master my triggers and work through an anxious episode.
By my junior year, I was healed—that’s what I used to tell myself. Managed. Under control. Conquered. My panic attacks and sleepless nights became rare. They stopped—sort of. They weren’t controlling me, but there was always the slightest concern that they’d return.
Then I met Liam.
My grasp on control slipped the further I fell for him. With each step I took toward him, my inner monsters took two—more like three or four. They caught up to me and drained every ounce of love, possibility, and strength I had.
Then vanished—going back to therapy helped—till today.
I’m not sick to my stomach over food.
My head is spinning, and my vision is speckled.
I know what will happen next, and he is the last person who should see it or can help .
“You’ve got this,” I reassure Blake—and maybe myself.