21. Emzee
EMZEECHAPTER 21
S ince Ford had no problem ditching me to go party it up with Claudia and the mean girls, I figured I might as well do my own thing too and be with the people I loved most—my family.
But it just so happened that my brothers were spending the weekend at the Borderless Business Convention in New York.
So that was where I had ended up.
After Ford had taken Claudia’s arm and left me in the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, I’d called Stefan and jumped into action.
By the time I’d packed myself a bag and gathered up Munchkin to drop off with Brooklyn, Stefan’s assistant had already booked me a late flight into JFK and a hotel room at the convention center.
I arrived at the hotel with just enough time to shower and roll into bed, completely exhausted.
The next morning I took advantage of a quick room service breakfast and then headed down to the convention floor to meet my brothers.
“Glad you could make it,” Stefan said, giving me a quick squeeze before handing me my nametag lanyard.
“Nice suit by the way.”
“Thanks. It’s Alexander McQueen.” This was my first big business convention, and I was relieved the dark plaid met with his approval.
“Rock’n’roll aesthetic on point as usual,” Luka said as we strolled past the booths.
“What made you change your mind about the convention?”
Shrugging, I fibbed, “Just thought it would be good to do a little networking outside of the greater Chicago area. Plus, it’s New York. You know I’m mostly here for the pizza.”
They laughed, and we got into a brief but heated debate over the merits of Chicago deep dish vs.
New York style pies.
It was great seeing them, even though I knew I’d probably be on my own for most of the day.
After making loose dinner plans, we split up.
Just as I’d suspected, they both had lots of meetings and seminars on their schedules and all the usual industry people to visit with.
Meanwhile, I was tasked with exploring the convention floor to suss out if there were any new connections to be made—particularly outside of the agenting world, since Danica Rose already had those networks covered.
At first, I felt pretty useless.
By 9 a.
m.
, the convention center was packed.
I was doing everything I could to fend off my anxiety as I wove my way down rows of buzzing booths, reminding myself to smile at every passing stranger.
Large, noisy crowds always made me feel small.
Like I was an awkward teenager in school again, wondering if every aside or giggle was about me.
What made it even harder to concentrate on my deep breathing (and generally acting professional) was that all I could think about was Ford.
How his night out with Claudia had gone, and whether he’d even made it home afterward.
Maybe they hadn’t even made it to the bar for Roxana’s birthday.
Maybe the “birthday” was just an excuse for them to run off together.
Trying to shake off my worries, I dragged myself to the keynote address.
Then I went to a panel on search engine optimization, after which I wolfed down a bagel in the food court while checking my phone for the umpteenth time, but of course there was still nothing from Ford.
Why hadn’t he called or texted me by now, even just to say he’d gotten my note?
What was he doing?
I was sick at the possibility that he’d slept with Claudia—and that I was at least partly to blame.
Had I done the wrong thing by leaving town?
Had I pushed my husband and his ex back together by refusing to be a part of Ford’s lifestyle?
I still couldn’t believe how brazen Claudia had been in her flirting—but the thing that really hurt was how Ford hadn’t seemed to mind at all.
And how, ultimately, it didn’t matter how flirty they’d gotten or how inappropriate their behavior was.
Because Ford wasn’t really mine.
I needed to get that through my head once and for all.
Okay.
Chin up.
Time to focus on the task at hand: promoting Danica Rose.
Not zoning out during every seminar I could duck into and mooning over my fake husband.
Or maybe I should just track down my brothers and see about tagging along with them.
That would keep me on my toes.
I’d just step out to the lobby and give Stefan a call.
Whipping around abruptly, I walked right into someone, bouncing off a hard male chest.
“Well, if it isn’t the last person I expected to bump into here,” an amused voice said.
“You okay?”
I looked up—right into the deep blue eyes of Andrew Apellido, of lookingglass magazine.
“Andrew!” I exclaimed, immediately comforted by his familiar face.
“How are you?”
“Even better than I was five seconds ago,” he said.
“Delighted to see you, Emzee.”
He gave me a hug and I returned it, though I wondered if his excitement in seeing me wasn’t solely because he was interested in talking business.
“You should have told me you were in New York,” he said.
“There’s nothing I love more than showing off my city to people from out of town.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” I said.
“I didn’t know I was coming until last night.”
“A great decision, in my opinion,” he said.
“These conferences are always hit or miss, but when you have the right person to explore them with, they can be a whole lot of fun.”
“Oh yeah?” I said.
“Prove it. I’m totally overwhelmed.”
Andrew grinned.
“See now, we can easily fix that. Drink? The lobby bar is great.”
If I couldn’t save my marriage or even my relationship with Ford, I was at least going to do what I could to keep my professional career afloat.
Plus, I liked the guy.
“I’m in,” I said.
I was grateful to get out of the crowd and retreat to the bar, which was much quieter and calmer than I’d expected.
“My brothers love your magazine,” I told Andrew once we’d gotten our drinks.
“I appreciate it,” he said.
“But I’m much more interested in hearing what you think about my magazine.”
He was clearly flirting, but he also seemed genuinely interested.
“I’m a fan,” I said.
“From what I’ve seen, I think it has a lot of potential. Beyond just the images, the articles are thought provoking, almost like what Playboy used to publish. It could really make some waves, depending on what direction you take it in.”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He took a sip of his drink, a simple tequila on the rocks.
“My goal is to create the kind of magazine that everyone talks about. Publish work that’s risky—to shock and inspire our readers, make sure we’re a magazine everyone knows.”
“I’m into that,” I said.
It aligned exactly with the vision I had for my own work.
I craved the freedom to push boundaries, to try new things without fearing rejection from the mainstream.
“I want us to tackle the tough issues!” Andrew went on.
“Not shy away from discussing what’s controversial or intense. I want to be controversial. How would you like to spend thirty days documenting the effects of climate change right here in America’s backyards, for instance?”
Nodding, I said, “Love to. It’s too easy for people to ignore photos of melting icebergs.”
“Exactly! You have to be more immediate. Get in people’s faces a little bit, or a lot.”
I was so inspired by his words, my mind had already begun churning with all the ways I could contribute.
“My brother was floored by the piece about European influence here in the States,” I said.
“Photo essays have the potential for incredible impact. Have you thought about pairing writers and photographers together during development? To make the projects more cohesive.”
Andrew looked at me intently.
“You know, what I really need is a photography editor-in-chief of sorts, someone who understands the role of images in storytelling. Who can work closely with me to make sure the visual needs of our stories are met.”
My stomach was doing little somersaults.
It was as if Andrew had just created my dream job out of nowhere.
The thought of working with writers and photographers to craft narratives was exactly the kind of thing I was passionate about.
“What else are you thinking?” he asked before ordering us another round of drinks.
I pulled out my phone.
I didn’t want to obsess, but I couldn’t stop myself—nothing from Ford.
I tried to ignore my disappointment as I pulled up the magazine’s Instagram feed.
“You could be doing so much more with your social media presence,” I told him.
“Sure, of course.” He leaned forward to look at my screen.
“Like what?”
“For one,” I said, “you should divide your Instagram feed. One can be devoted to promoting the articles, as it is now. But then another should be purely photo. Eye candy.”
I almost volunteered to manage it, but caught myself before I could offer.
No matter what was happening with me and Ford, I’d agreed to stay married to him for at least a year and I was going to stick to that promise.
No relocating to New York just yet.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t start planting the seeds for the future.
“Brilliant,” Andrew said.
“You really know your stuff.”
“I just love photography,” I said.
I reached to take my phone back, but he was looking at my own IG account now.
It was mostly travel photos, beautiful plates of food, and Munchkin.
“Ever thought about taking your own advice?” Andrew said with a smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, these are great—but you could be showing off your real work on your page. Go public.”
He was right.
I should post more of my professional work on social media, for the whole world to see.
But I always hesitated.
I worried my life would start revolving around the number of likes and comments I managed to get, and the possibility of getting trolled or harassed.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to deflect.
“Seriously,” he said, his voice going softer.
“What kind of photos would you want to fill your account with? If you knew nobody would judge you?”
“Hmm,” I said, sipping my drink while I mulled it over.
“I think I’d put up photos I’ve done during my off hours. I work with a lot of beautiful models, but I like showing them in a different light. Not just shooting them for the sake of a pretty picture. Some of them have the most incredible bone structure. I like exploring different kinds of beauty, I guess.”
“I love that,” Andrew said, completely rapt.
I knew I might be crossing a line, continuing to engage with him—especially since our conversation was moving away from the magazine and work—but I needed the distraction.
Andrew wasn’t taking my mind off of Ford entirely, but at least I had something to do.
After all, my brothers were still busy schmoozing and making contacts with people who might be able to help Danica Rose, leaving me to fend for myself.
Or maybe this conversation with Andrew was exactly the kind of networking that Stefan and Luka wanted me to be doing.
Andrew looked at his watch.
We’d been at the bar for a few hours already, talking and nursing our drinks.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I’m totally monopolizing you.”
“Not at all. Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner? My treat.”
“I’d love to,” I said, telling myself it was still all about business—because it was, right?
And even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter what Andrew wanted out of it.
I was going in a purely professional capacity.
I shouldn’t have to feel guilty.
Ford going out with Claudia sure as hell hadn’t been business.
First, though, I needed to get ready and text my brothers to let them know I wouldn’t be meeting back up with them.
“I should change,” I said.
“I’ve been sweating in this wool suit all day.”
“Good idea,” he said as we paid our tabs.
“Let me walk you to your room and I can pick you back up in an hour or so.”
As we rode up to my floor in the elevator, we talked more about the power of Instagram.
“People scroll through their feeds so mindlessly now, you have to grab them as quickly as possible,” I said.
“Every image has to be its own story.”
Andrew nodded and I could tell he was listening, but I also knew that he was focused on what would happen at my hotel room door.
If I asked him to, he’d probably come right on in.
All I had to do was give him a sign that I was interested.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
I hesitated.
“Shall we?” he said.
“Right. I’m just at the end of the hall,” I said.
We headed toward my door, and I could feel a subtle tension building between us.
I couldn’t help fantasizing about how different it would be to kiss a man who was actually interested in me.
Who wasn’t doing it because of some stupid hoax.
Who wanted to kiss me because I was me.
Not because I was the solution to some problem he had.
But even in my fantasy, and even with Andrew right in front of me, when I imagined kissing him, he ended up looking like Ford.
We reached my room.
I slid my keycard into the reader, and the green light blinked.
Andrew was lingering just a little too close.
“I’ll, umm, see you soon?” I said, looking up.
And that was when he made his move.
Leaning in, it was obvious he meant to kiss me.
Without even asking.
Startled, I put my hand on his chest to push him away.
It was at that exact moment that the door— my hotel room door—opened.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
I turned and found Ford standing in the threshold of my room.
Had he seriously flown to New York to surprise me?
Well, I was definitely surprised.
And I wasn’t the only one.