Chapter Twenty-Six
Elliot wasn’t in the office the next day, or the next couple of days after that.
He remained on the Woodstock set up in the Bronx.
RJ’s issue with his director had deepened into a wider conflict with the network so Elliot’s diplomacy was in high demand.
I filled my time sketching out ideas for the remaining scenes and emailing suggestions to Elliot, all of which went unanswered, as did my repeated calls and texts.
I couldn’t erase the image of Elliot’s wounded face from my brain.
I’d done that to him. I’d made him feel that way.
I hadn’t intended to, but I had to face facts; he’d have been well within his rights to never speak to me again.
I rattled around the office uselessly, praying RJ gave more feedback that could at least divert my attention away from the gnawing, relentless hurt that burned in the center of my chest, but RJ was too occupied with All Kinds of Killing commitments plus the drama on Woodstock to say anything other than “Soon.” The weekend was fast approaching, and I was facing two solid days of moping.
I planned to lose myself in isolation, box sets and cheap wine.
It didn’t matter that I had limited time left in this vibrant and dynamic city.
Just like my situationship with Elliot, what was the point in getting invested in it?
It was a relief when an overworked Michelle asked me to help with some last-minute premiere details.
In all the drama, I’d forgotten that the All Kinds of Killing premiere was next week and it felt good to put my event-organization skills to use.
And what an event – taking place at the New York Botanical Gardens, the plan was for the red carpet to lead into the new ‘Killer Plants’ exhibit that was opening the same week.
The concept art looked beyond fabulous, but although I tried to care about taxis and photo lines and glamor, I just couldn’t dial up the enthusiasm, no matter how much I tried.
Eventually, Michelle threw her pen down and turned to me.
“What’s with you?” she said, not unkindly.
“Nothing.” I buried my face in the email I was reading. “I think we should make RJ’s call time thirty minutes earlier though.”
“No.” She reached across, slammed my laptop lid down. “Something is up, and I want to know about it now.”
“I’m fine,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “See?”
“Lucie.” Michelle fixed me with an authoritative stare. “You’re not yourself. I’ve asked you three times now to send me the car allocation and you haven’t. We haven’t known each other that long, but it’s obvious something is up.”
I bit my lip. I desperately wanted to confide in someone about Elliot, but I couldn’t bear the thought of people judging him for our relationship after I’d left.
“I’ve decided I’m leaving New York,” I said. “As soon as the pitch is done. My best friend is pregnant, and she needs me to help with a very last-minute wedding.”
“Whoa.” Michelle nodded somberly. “And it has nothing to do with a certain assistant?”
I gaped. Did she know? “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Well, Riley shared her suspicions with me.”
“Goddamn it, Riley,” I hissed under my breath.
“Don’t blame her,” Michelle said. “Look, I’ve known the guy for years, he’s the best, but … he’s always walked like he’s carrying a weight, you know? And then you.”
“And then me what?”
“There’s a lightness now. He smiles. I mean, he’s always smiled, but he smiles differently around you,” Michelle said. “I noticed it day one. And every day since.”
I blinked away an unexpected tear. “I think I’ve really hurt him.”
“How?” Michelle said. “Because you’re leaving?”
“Because what’s the point of it?” I replied, desperately.
“Ouch.” She winced. “You said that to him?”
“Not in so many words,” I said. “But … once the pitch is done, I’m out of here. I have to. So, you know—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
“Well, let me explain!”
“No, I think I get it,” Michelle said. “Your career comes first.”
“Well, in this case, it’s my best friend,” I said. “She needs me. And … yeah, I need to sort out my career.”
“Romance is a risk,” Michelle murmured.
I flashed back to the baseball game, Riley laughing at me not being a risk-taker. Elliot had accused me of it too. I hung my head. “I’m hearing that a lot lately.”
“Look, it’s none of my business,” Michelle said. “But nowadays? An ocean, a time zone … that’s nothing compared to love.”
I jerked my head up. “Love? Whoa.”
“Could it be?”
I opened my mouth, quick to say no, but then I stopped. I wasn’t sure about love, but what I felt for Elliot was more than anything else I’d ever felt in my life. “I hadn’t thought – I don’t know.”
“So we come back to risk,” Michelle said. “Elliot’s a good guy. Someone you can count on. A man like that is worth the gamble.”
I nodded. Michelle hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know, deep down. “He might be the perfect person for me, it doesn’t change the fact that I still have to go back to London and deal with some stuff there. It’ll be a lot.”
Michelle smiled sadly. “You book your flight yet?”
“No,” I said. “I think Vivian has to do it with the corporate card.”
“Yeah, probably,” Michelle said. She flicked up my laptop lid. “Tell you what, let’s finish this, then I’ll let you leave this office and go ask Vivian to sort your flights if she’s still here.”
“You’ll let me?” I said with a laugh.
“Lady, for the next few hours, I own you,” she shot back. “So dry your tears and get to work.”
The office was quiet when Michelle and I finally finished.
She rushed out of the door to a date she was already late for, and I packed up my bag to leave.
But as I walked towards the exit, I saw the light on by Vivian’s desk and heard voices.
As much as engaging in conversation with Vivian was like a really specific form of torture, I figured I could at least give her my travel dates now while it was on my mind.
And then back to my lonely little flat to binge on the trashiest box set I could stomach.
Vivian wasn’t at her desk. But her bag was, her Chloé blazer draped elegantly across the back of the chair. I heard a noise from RJ’s office, a thud and what sounded like her voice. The door was a little ajar, so I poked my head around.
At my first, my brain didn’t comprehend what I was seeing; the room was dim, lit only by the awards shelf’s dedicated strip lighting.
There seemed to be some kind of dark mass on RJ’s desk, a long, pale limb and then …
sloppy kissing sounds, a flash of wheat-blond hair, a deep chuckle.
Oh God. I withdrew my head so quickly I stumbled.
That was Vivian and Ralf. And although I hadn’t seen anything explicit – thanks, baby Jesus, for that – I’d seen enough.
I decided I’d better leave them to … whatever that was.
I turned to make my way out of the office but was in such a hurry I knocked my hip against Vivian’s desk. Her ostentatious Stanley cup wobbled, I dived to catch it, only to send her keyboard skittering off the desk.
“What was that?” Vivian breathlessly demanded.
“Hang on.” Ralf’s belt buckle jingled, and I swallowed the wave of nausea that accompanied the mental image.
I was very keen to avoid any awkward conversation about this entirely unhinged coupling, so I darted into Sadie’s office, which was next to RJ’s, and tucked myself in a corner where I could peek through the gap in the blinds.
Ralf emerged into the hallway, his hair uncharacteristically mussed.
“You see anything?” Vivian hissed, scurrying to his side. Apart from her silk blouse being buttoned incorrectly, she looked as chic as ever.
“No, just your keyboard.” He pointed to where it lay on the floor.
“Weird.” Vivian stalked over to retrieve it, scanning the office predatorily.
“Hello?” Ralf called nervously. “Anyone here?”
Vivian tutted. “Sure, Ralf, like an axe murderer is really going to answer you back.”
“What would an axe murderer be doing in a Chelsea office?” he asked defensively.
“Axe murderer, hobo, vape-smoker …” Vivian shuddered. “You never know who might be lurking.” I shrank back against the wall of Sadie’s office.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Ralf suggested.
“And go where?” Vivian said. “Baldemar’s hosting his geriatric investor’s club at our place.”
“We could go to mine?” Ralf looked down at her with hope shining in his eyes, the first wholly honest emotion I’d seen him display.
“Ralf.” She tutted at him. “You know I don’t do Brooklyn.”
“Hello, it’s Park Slope,” he said.
“Whatever. You know I can’t. There’s a reason we … do things the way we do,” she said with a sniff. “The discretion, the—”
“Sneaking around, the two-ring-booty-summoning,” he interrupted. I stifled a giggle as I remembered hearing his phone ring twice and then stop. That had been Vivian, booty-calling?
“Booty? Ralf, that’s crass,” she said.
“Well, what would you call it?”
Her eyes turned murderous. “Survival. Like everything I have to do right now.”
“Relax.” He gripped her shoulders. “We’re almost there—”
“Do you really think we can make this work?” she interrupted. “It’s a risk.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Ralf said. “You know me – I see an opportunity, I take it.”
“Is that what I am to you?” Vivian said. “An opportunity?”
“Baby, you’re so much more,” he told her. He then gestured at her blouse. “You should fix that before you go.”
“Ralf?” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft as he walked away.
“Yes?” I couldn’t see him anymore, but I heard a lifetime of longing in that word.
She hesitated, flicked her hair. “See you tomorrow.”
I decided my flight request could wait until the morning.