Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CLAIRE
"You'll never guess what I'm holding in the palm of my hot, little hand."
"Molly, I'm very busy right now and can’t talk. I’ll call you later tonight, once I wrap up this project." Claire balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, shuffling the papers on her office desk into some semblance of order.
"Not one, not two, not even three, but four of the hottest tickets in town!"
"For what?"
"Oh, it's nothing special really. Just third row… to Nancy Chen." Molly squealed.
"Wait, what?" Claire stopped.
"We'd like you to solicit the gentleman of your choice. Drinks before the show and dinner afterwards, courtesy of your dear uncle."
"That’s a very tempting offer, like you have no idea how tempting, but—" Claire started.
"Listen. You adore Hamish. You adore me. And you adore Nancy Chen. It's an evening of adoration. We'll meet you and a date at six," she said resolutely.
"I can't go, Mol. I’m sorry."
"Yes you can. It’s easy. You go home, change into something fabulous, and then have the handsome man of your choice meet us there."
"I have a deadline to meet and I’m not even close. I can’t leave, not even for Nancy Chen."
"Damn it, Claire! Can't you talk to Isaac? You know you have carte-blanche where he’s concerned. He’s in love with you and can’t tell you no."
"He's not in love with me! And I couldn’t ask him even if I wanted to."
"Why the hell not?" she asked, clearly frustrated.
"Because he left early.” Claire sighed. “He’s got tickets to see Nancy Chen, too.”
“That jerk,” Molly huffed. “And he didn’t even invite you?”
“No, Mol, because we’re not a thing. Move off it, please.”
Claire ended the call and turned her cell phone off.
She shoved it into her purse, secured her hair on top of her head with the aid of two unsharpened pencils, and dove back into the tasks at hand.
For hours, she poured herself into her work.
By the time she stood to stretch her legs and refill her coffee mug, the entire floor of Avi London sat deserted; the only sounds were that of the cleaning crew emptying wastepaper baskets and vacuuming the common areas.
When she marked the final item off her To-Do list, it was after nine and she was the lone body on the floor.
With a yawn, Claire slipped her bare feet back into her shoes and began packing up.
Inside the elevator, she powered her cell phone up, hoping against hope to find a text or voicemail from Jay.
Instead, she found a text from Molly waiting—a picture of her Nancy Chen program with the hashtag #wywh and a sad face emoji.
Her chest grew tight with disappointment.
Me too. I wish Jay and I were sitting side by side, hand in hand, marveling at every masterful note and trading knowing looks every few minutes.
Hands full, Claire struggled to pull her keys from her purse.
Once safely inside her flat, she stepped out of her heels, closed the door with her foot, and fumbled through the darkened space.
The lamps that lined the street below let in just enough light to mark a path from the entry to the kitchen.
She dropped her mail on the table, along with a half-eaten box of curry takeaway, and walked straight to the fridge.
A new bottle of wine sat waiting. Deadline made, time to celebrate.
Claire grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it to the rim, and quietly toasted a very long but honest day’s work.
She quickly freed herself from the rest of her work attire, leaving a trail of clothes from the kitchen to the bathroom.
The soothing power of the tub called to her and within minutes, she slipped into a mass of warm bubbles.
Her thoughts returned to Jay. She silently congratulated herself for keeping her mind off him for a good chunk of the day.
I bet he’s at the Nancy Chen concert too.
God, they’re probably close friends. She probably gave him backstage passes and front row center tickets.
I could call him and find out how it went.
Maybe ask him out for coffee? Invite him over for dinner?
Would that be so wrong? He’s probably lonely and could use a friend.
“I don’t have time to get involved with a grieving man—or any man, for that matter,” she said out loud.
Wine in hand, Claire focused instead on the coming days at Avi.
Several meetings with company execs and a possible trip to the New York office loomed.
She made a mental checklist of preparations then turned her work brain off for the night.
Her eyes had just fallen closed when her cell phone pulled her from a peaceful place.
Out of the tub, she wrapped herself in a towel, leaving a white soapy trail to her bedroom.
“How was it?" Claire answered, eager to get Molly’s take on the concert.
"Fabulous,” Molly said. “You would have loved it. Did you make your deadline?"
"Have you ever known me not to?"
"That’s my badass girl. Glad all is well. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Give my love to Hamish," Claire said.
"I will. Hey, real quick—did Jay call?" Molly asked.
The ends of her wet hair released tiny droplets that ran down her back. She eyed the ivory embossed dance card sitting next to the clock on her bedside table.
"Claire?" Molly said. “You there?”
"Uh, no… he hasn’t called," Claire said with a disheartening sigh.