Julian
I’m at work and painfully aware that I haven’t shaved in two days. My shirt looks like I slept in it. Maybe I did. The tie hangs loose around my neck. I can’t remember the last time I looked this incomplete.
When I click refresh on the Pioneer’s website, another article appears. This one is with a shot of Carmella leaning toward me with her lips near my ear. The caption suggests she’s whispering something intimate, but in reality, she was saying, “Your ex-wife just walked in.”
Ex-wife. Elowen and I aren’t done.
But the truth is, I am falling apart.
My phone buzzes with a text notification. My heart embarrassingly leaps until I see it’s not from Elowen, but about her. It’s another local news story. “PLAZA’S EX SPOTTED AT LOCAL ANIMAL SHELTER SEEKING COMFORT FROM FURRY FRIENDS.”
I try Elowen’s number again. Straight to voicemail. Not even a full ring this time. She’s actively declining my calls now.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text from Elowen.
Please communicate only about the children.
I type responses, only to delete them. Nothing sounds right. Any response I give might be the only one she reads.
Deciding to stay simple, I type, We need to talk.
It’s the truth.
Waiting several minutes, I can only stare at my phone. The message shows as “Read” but no response comes. Eventually, I drop the phone onto my desk and push back my chair. The lack of control is killing me.
Virginia knocks timidly on my door. “Mr. Plaza? Your eleven-thirty is waiting. Should I reschedule again?”
Shoot, how many meetings have I postponed this week?
“No,” I say, straightening my tie. “Send them in.”
She hesitates, eyeing the newspapers sprawled across my desk, my day-old shirt, the cold coffee.
“And bring fresh coffee, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Plaza.” She retreats, closing the door softly behind her.
I gather the newspapers into a stack and shove them into my desk drawer.
Smile, Julian. Nod, Julian. Pretend everything’s fine, Julian.
For the first time, I don’t know how to fix it.
The meeting went surprisingly well, thanks to my general ability to compartmentalize. However, it’s getting harder to do so.
I am barely back at my desk when Carmella enters without knocking, completely bypassing Virginia. She’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a leather portfolio tucked under her arm. I’ve already had coffee today, and don’t need more.
“Julian, darling.” Carmella’s voice sounds forced. “You look terrible.”
I don’t stand to greet her, but I do check my tie. It’s straight, so she can just fuck right off. “I didn’t know we had a meeting scheduled.”
I’m officially cranky, and after blowing up my life trying to grab my wife’s attention, the woman that started the whole thing is the last person I want to see.
“We don’t.” She sets the coffee tray on my desk, nudging aside papers without looking at them. “But after the gala’s coverage, I thought we should discuss next steps.”
I need more friends. If only Trey hadn’t gone back home. Maybe I can talk strategy with him about getting Elowen back. Either way, I am not about to do so with Carmella.
“Black, two sugars,” she says, placing a coffee in front of me. It’s exactly how I take it.
“Thanks, that’ll be all,” I say, trying to get her to leave.
“I brought the proposal,” she continues, pulling documents from her portfolio and spreading them across my desk without permission. “I’ve added some notes on expanding their European markets. The merger potential is significant if we approach them correctly.”
We. As if we’re already a package deal.
Nah, forget training Virginia, Carmella needs to find another career field—one that doesn’t involve us working together so much.
It’s unbecoming, but I’ll admit I’m quite frustrated at the failed gala plan and am putting a lot of that failure onto Carmella. It was her idea, after all.
“Your assistant is trying,” Carmella says, glancing toward the outer office with barely disguised disdain. “But you need someone who understands your preferences.”
Ah, so maybe she’ll be agreeable in training Virginia, after all. But then I remember my wife’s face when she heard about the list.
“My business dealings aren’t your concern,” I say, not touching the coffee she brought. “And neither is my assistant.”
If she notices my coldness, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she perches on the edge of my desk and crosses her legs at the ankle.
“The charity board was thrilled with our appearance,” she says, changing tactics smoothly. “Donations are up twenty percent since the gala. They’re hoping we’ll attend the children’s art auction next month. I’m thinking Valentino for you, classic black. It photographs well against my red.”
I slowly blink. “There is no ‘our appearance.’ There is no ‘we.’ I’m not even sure if we should have a professional relationship anymore.”
Her smile doesn’t falter, but something cold flickers in her eyes. “Don’t be na?ve, Julian. The press coverage is exactly what we both needed. Your company’s stock is up three points this morning, and my client list has already expanded. This partnership has tangible benefits.”
Ah, a partnership. A business-of-convenience of sorts. I’ve been an absolute fool.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say, finally seeing what everyone else has seen: Carmella’s attempt to step into Elowen’s life. “Whatever partnership you’re envisioning is most definitely not happening.”
Carmella’s expression doesn’t change, but her body tenses slightly. “You’re upset about Elowen’s reaction, and that’s understandable. But she’s made her choice, Julian. She left you.”
“I’m not interested in a business or personal relationship with you.”
“You don’t mean that. You’re blinded right now. The gala was just the beginning. We make sense together…everyone sees it.”
“Everyone sees what you want them to, and what I naively agreed to. But none of it is true.”
“Image is reality, Julian. You know that better than anyone.” She gestures to the office around us. “Everything you’ve built is based on the perception of what you want the public to see. I’m simply helping you maintain your vision during this difficult time.”
“No,” I say, my voice stronger now. “You’re trying to capitalize on a ‘difficult’ time. There’s a difference.”
For the first time, her composure cracks in a flash of anger.
“I see.” She begins gathering her documents. “You’re not thinking clearly. We’ll discuss this when you’re rational.”
“We won’t be discussing it at all,” I say firmly. “Whatever you thought was happening between us isn’t happening. The charity gala was a mistake I won’t be repeating.”
She slides the papers back into her portfolio. “You’ll change your mind,” she says, not looking at me. “When you understand what I can offer that she couldn’t.”
“I already know exactly what I’ve lost,” I reply. “And it’s not something you can replace.”
Carmella stands, adjusting her suit jacket. Her expression is composed but cold, like water freezing over. “Call me when you’re ready. This emotional phase doesn’t suit you, Julian.”
As she’s opening the door, I get a helpful idea, “Carmella?”
She turns around and hope flashes across her features. “Hmm?”
“Perhaps try Tinder, yeah? Tell the algorithm you’re searching for a marriage-of-convenience.”
She huffs and storms out. I don’t know why, honestly. It was helpful advice. It’s not like I suggested Craigslist…not after the whole Craigslist Killer debacle.