Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

1. Ouch. That’s going to leave a mark.

1 /

ouch. that’s going to leave a mark.

charlie

now

“Stop calling me, Robert. I’m not your girlfriend. I never was. You made that perfectly clear.” I breathe in a lungful of the warm Los Angeles air and immediately regret it. I came outside to clear my head. To go for a walk and forget about London and Robert for a bit. And now, I’m acutely aware of everything around me yet again.

What is that smell? And why does the bottom of my shoe feel sticky?

“You said you needed space. How much more space could you need? We’re on opposite sides of the planet!” His words instantly make my temples throb.

“You know that’s not what I meant. We agreed that you would give me time.” I huff out a breath, unsure of how many more ways I can find to tell him that I need him to leave me alone.

“Charlotte, stop acting like a petulant child. Come home.”

A few weeks ago, I would have .

I would have said I was a shoo-in for CFO at the company Robert and I work for. Worked for? I haven’t formally quit, but the thought has crossed my mind more than a handful of times in the seven months since my last visit to LA. I’ve earned this hypothetical promotion, though, and that’s why I haven’t handed in my resignation. As their VP of Finance, I helped Robert Thorpe, the current CFO, and voice at the end of the line, reduce costs and address operational inefficiencies. A job he has proven to be completely inept at. Now, Robert’s father is stepping down as CEO, and he’s gunning for the job. Instead of staying and fighting for my place as the company’s first female with a C-level executive position in its seventy-three-year lifespan, I asked for a leave of absence. Effective immediately. And then I got on a plane to LA. Again.

“Charlotte? Are you even listening to me?” Ugh. I hate that he keeps calling me by my full name. My mother calls me that. Well, my mother and Robert, who refuses to be called anything else. The Thorpes only do full names or obnoxious nicknames. There’s no in-between. My thoughts are slipping away again, so I know what the answer to his question is.

Nope. So not listening.

Squinting against the harsh sunlight, I realize that I forgot my sunglasses yet again on my way out the door. The sunglasses that are sitting on the kitchen counter, next to my to-do list, which includes a reminder to change my phone plan while I’m here because, this time, I am staying. This won’t be like last time when I only stayed for a few days before running back to Robert and whatever emergency he was feigning.

I wonder how much this call is costing me. And did I close the balcony door before I left?

I take a breath and decide that it’s fine. I’ll tackle the list later, and it’s okay if the door was left open. The flat is on the seventh floor, so it’s not like anyone can break in, and it rarely rains here, anyway .

Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t have come to LA at a better time. It’s been two weeks since I told my twin, Maeve, that I was finally ready for the change I claimed to need all those months ago. Last time I was here, she had just accidentally married the love of her life and then decided to officially adopt the baby who had been placed in her husband’s care. Owen’s gone through a lot, and a drunken Vegas wedding was apparently what they both needed to start their lives together.

Since then, both Maeve and our best friend Elaina announced pregnancies just weeks apart. Elaina and Adam had their baby girl on New Year’s Day, just two years and a day after they met. I’ve missed so much over the years, and it feels good to be here and witness all of the joy in Maeve and Elaina’s lives. They’re the two most important people in my world, and while they’ve been falling in love and growing babies, I’ve been living a monotonous routine of work, takeout, and a standing three-night-a-week date with my vibrator. I’m not jealous of what they have because I’m truly so happy they have found such joy, but I’m tired of hearing about everything over phone calls while I feel stuck living a life that isn’t exciting anymore. I want more for myself, and I know I deserve it.

Between our mum’s latest man drama and the announcement at the firm, I was being suffocated in London. I’ve always loved the city, but lately, everything there has felt wrong. Including Robert. Maybe, especially him. And that’s why I’m here. I need space, clarity, and to make sense of my life.

Thanks to my twin’s endless connections in Los Angeles, I was able to sublet a furnished place as soon as I got here. Maeve and Elaina have lived in LA since we graduated from NYU eight years ago. They asked me to come then, too, but the thought of living in another strange city just four years after moving from London to New York was completely overwhelming to me. Once I got the scholarship to Oxford for my master’s degree, it was time to head back to England and eventually back to London after I graduated.

LA made sense for them. They were pursuing jobs in Hollywood, and they’ve both made names for themselves in their respective careers. I’m immensely proud of them. I suppose I’ve done the same, just in London and in a career I’m not entirely sure suits me anymore. A career I picked because it seemed like the right thing to do. It was safe. Predictable, yet challenging. It seemed so perfect. And I’m so damn good at my job, but is all of that enough?

I must make some sort of noise because Robert sighs and continues. “Oh, good. You’re still there. Charlotte, you’ve got to come back. My father won’t step down until I prove I’ve settled down. We’ve talked about this. We’re the dream team. CEO and CFO power couple. Please, Lottie.” He’s the one sounding like a petulant child now. A spoiled rich boy who’s always gotten his way, and that has unfortunately included with me as well. Right down to the fact that I let him call me that ridiculous nickname, which he reserves for when he wants something from me.

He latched on to me the moment I started impressing our professors at Oxford. I caught his attention, intriguing him with my brain. My mistake was thinking he’d be interested in other parts of my body, but all he’s ever done is allude to the fact that he’s not ready to take that step yet. He loves to tell me how someday we’ll be the ultimate power couple, married and running the company his great-grandfather founded. Once he’s done enjoying being a bachelor, that is, because he’d hate to resent the woman he spends his life with. And I’ve understood it.

We met at twenty-two, and I didn’t want to get married then, either. I wanted to focus on school and my career. So when Robert said he wanted to wait until we were both ready for that final commitment, it made sense to me. And it made me feel like I had a safety net ready to catch me. I figured marrying the right man was worth the wait. And despite his many faults, Robert mostly understands me and accepts me as I am.

We decided years ago that an open relationship was the best thing for us. We knew we wanted to eventually fully commit to one another. Robert wanted to make sure we both got dating other people well out of our systems before we became exclusive.

Maeve doesn’t understand it, but for me, it always made perfect sense. I got the security of knowing I’d found my person, and I could choose to date other people if and when I wanted to. Though for the past couple of years, I haven’t wanted to, and Robert and I have spent almost no time together as a couple.

“Lottie. Babe. I’m ready now. What do I have to say to make you believe me?” His whiny voice cuts through the noise, and I shake my head, attempting to focus.

“Nothing. I’ve already told you I need a break. That’s why I’m taking this leave of absence. I need you to respect that this time.” My voice is firm, even if inside, I’m completely falling apart. “Two months ago you said that we’re not in a relationship. Now you want me to commit to being with you permanently because your dad is giving you an ultimatum?” My heart is racing, and my nerves are completely shot. Have I just left behind my one chance at the two things I’ve always wanted? A top position in my field and a husband. Those are the next goals to be achieved.

A husband.

Something both my best friend and sister have now. Well, Elaina will soon. She’s been engaged to Adam for over a year, but her pregnancy was so rough on her that she couldn’t bring herself to plan a wedding at the same time .

“Well, yes, Charlotte. I’m ready now because the CEO position is ready now. We both said we wanted to meet career goals before committing. We both agreed. We’ve waited years for this, and you know you’re the only one I could ever marry.” This fact is what had kept me going. Kept me waiting. I always thought Robert was a good guy for not pressuring me into a relationship when I wasn’t ready. He once told me that he knew the first time I smiled at him that I was the one. I don’t even remember the moment. Don’t remember the smile since it was probably fake. Likely because I was trying so hard to look like I belonged in the room, rather than fighting off the urge to put on headphones or leave and quiet my mind with a book or a walk. I had my mask on when I gave him that smile, but he doesn’t know that. Most people don’t.

“How long?” Robert’s voice barely registers among all the noise. In my head. Out here. I need to find somewhere quiet.

“What?” I ask, not even sure what he’s going on about.

“How long do you need?” His tone’s changed from cajoling to slightly annoyed.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps until Lainey and Adam are married? Once Maeve gives birth? I don’t know. I need space, Robert. I need space from you .” There. I said it. It might feel as though my heart is about to gallop out of my chest, but I said the words.

Robert clears his throat. “Oh. I didn’t realize. All these years, I thought, well, I thought you wanted this. Me.”

“I did. I…” I can’t force myself to say I do because I’m not sure that’s true any longer. “I did. I still might. But I can’t figure that out when you tell me we’re not together and then two weeks later decide you want to marry me because your dad has a position ready for you. Where am I in all of this? When do my feelings start to count?” I take an exasperated breath. “We made this decision years ago when neither of us were ready, and I’m still not sure that I am. I need to see for my self what the best thing for me is. Personally and professionally. And my sister might need me here. It’s a delicate time. There’s so much going on. I don’t want to miss it all.” My temples throb as the words pour out of me.

“I’m trying to understand, Lottie.” This time, when I hear the nickname that only he uses, my muscles relax. The familiarity is soothing. This is the conundrum I always find myself in with him. One moment he overwhelms me, and the next, he’s the familiar presence I need to calm down. But it never lasts with Robert. One way or the other.

“Thank you. Are you all right?” The words stick in my throat. I know I need to do this, but Robert has been a constant in my life for years. Other than Maeve and Elaina, he’s the person who knows me best. Who mostly understands my need to get away; my difficulty with sensory overwhelm. It’s hard to simply let a person like that go, especially when I’m not very good at letting people in.

“Yeah. Fine.” His voice is a bit harder again, and I’m back on the Robert roller coaster. Is it too much to ask for to simply be understood? Fully? “Is this you trying to get back at me? Because we agreed to an open relationship until we were married, Charlotte. It’s not my fault you chose to stop dating other people, and I didn’t. But if what you need is for us to be broken up so you can shag some LA boys before you come home to me, then fine. Get it out of your system.” He’s completely serious, too.

It’s never bothered him to think of me with other people. I thought it was sort of progressive, even if it did always feel like a bit of red flag hanging limply between us. Now that red flag is practically glowing, waving aggressively and warning me to stay away.

He’s partially right, though. It’s not his fault I chose to stop dating, but now, I feel completely unprepared for the possibility of a permanent relationship. With anyone.

“I should go. I’ll call you when I’m ready, all right?” I’m about to say goodbye when I hear the telltale sound of the call ending. He hung up. I keep the phone to my ear, embarrassed.

Do the people around me know I was just hung up on? Can they tell? I say goodbye, pretending that didn’t happen and willing the burning sensation in my cheeks away.

It doesn’t work. The whole interaction throws me off, and I end up pacing back and forth on the sidewalk for several minutes. My phone is clutched to my chest like a security blanket as I dwell on every single word we just said to one another. My heart rate is still accelerated, the whooshing sound loud in my ears. Sweat is trickling down the back of my neck, making me itchy. Tears sting my eyes, but I can’t let them fall. There are too many people, and I can sense their eyes on me, so I start walking.

What am I doing here? I should have stayed in London. What if I go back and they don’t want me? I won’t have a job. How will I make money?

I should have moved to LA a long time ago. I haven’t been happy in London for ages. Have I ever been happy? Why don’t I know the answer to that? What is wrong with me?

What if working in finance is my entire purpose, and I’ve just messed it up? I should go back. But what if I hate it? Do I have to do it for the next several decades?

I owe it to myself to figure this out. That’s why I’m here. But what if I don’t? Do I have to suffer through living in this limbo forever?

Why am I so indecisive that I can’t just pick something and someone and live a happy life? Why am I so stupid and unable to handle simple things like everyone else can?

When I find myself in front of a small park, I spot a woman running, and I remember the reason I left the apartment to begin with: to escape. While the world of finance is where I've always excelled, writing is what brings me home.

On my walks, I often get lost in the characters I’m reading or writing about. What started as a hobby, quickly turned into a hyper-fixation, and has now morphed into an all-consuming, secret side hustle. I write the love stories I wish I lived myself. I write the happy endings I hope everyone gets to have. The one I never saw my mum get because she was so selfish and always seemed to pick unavailable men. I live in both worlds, but this one that I’ve created, with flawed but beautiful characters, I get to keep to myself. I get to control it.

I tuck my phone into the pocket of my pants and take in my surroundings. The relief is almost immediate as the thoughts fall away, and I focus on my breathing and the movement of my legs.

Soon, my thoughts trail to the characters I’m writing. I get lost in the mental planning of the settings, the mood, and how I want things to feel. I let myself get lost in getting to know these people.

I walk for so long that my legs are almost numb, but I can’t stop now. Not when my mind finally clears. I need to hang on to this feeling.

I close my eyes for a second. Just a second. And my body comes in full contact with a wall. Then, the pavement. I open my eyes just in time to feel my elbow hit the sidewalk.

Ouch. That’s going to leave a mark.

I lay my head back on the floor and drape one arm over my face to hide from the embarrassment of walking with my eyes closed. I’m acutely aware of the shooting pain in my other elbow and the soreness in my lower back since I landed mostly on it. Words are leaving my mouth, but I couldn’t tell you what they are. And is someone talking to me?

“Can you tell me where you’re hurt?” The voice is soothing and sounds a little closer now.

“I think it’s mostly my ego if I’m honest. I’m so very sorry. I was just getting into this groove, and I closed my eyes for only a second, I swear?—”

“So, you did have your eyes closed.” My whole body tenses. Recognition hits me harder than the pavement beneath me. I know the sass in that tone. I can practically see the arrogant smirk painted on the face of the jerk it belongs to.

Rafael Machado.

You have got to be bloody joking me.