Chapter 11
Emma
It’s been over a week since quitting my glamorous-sounding, chaos-inducing job. I’ve gotten very little sleep over the last few nights, overthinking my rash behavior and researching everything I need to do to set up my new business because I’m an entrepreneur now.
When I told Sadie I quit and that I wanted to make Dream Space a reality, she was one hundred percent all in.
We both agreed she would still go to New York for the summer internship, both for the contacts and experience, and I would get our business set up, with her doing what she could from the East Coast.
I keep vacillating wildly between grief and excitement, regret and determination, fear and hope. I’m scared about the change, yet it feels like the right step.
But I’m also queasy with nerves at the idea of facing Sebastian when he gets back to LA. He left for a movie festival in Germany the day after I quit, so I haven’t seen him. Thankfully, I wasn’t scheduled to attend the event. That would have been one uncomfortable plane ride.
The messages flying back and forth are awkward enough.
He alternates between pretending I didn’t quit and trying to get me to stay.
On Monday, the day after I gave notice, he bribed me with more money. I told him no.
The next day, he told me I could take Fridays off. He said it would give me more time to pursue my “hobbies, like starting a business.”
A hobby. The jerk. I told him where he could stuff his offer.
Then he promised I didn’t have to be on call anymore. That he’d never bother me on my days off.
I turned him down.
Finally, he offered me the carriage house on his property. He explained I wouldn’t have a commute. And I’d have privacy in my own home on the estate.
Maybe that was a little tempting. But only because I love the space, with its whitewashed woodwork and soaring view of the Pacific.
I can imagine myself working there, setting up my business with that inspiring backdrop.
But despite Sebastian’s promises, I’d probably still be an overworked assistant.
An image of me running around, sourcing socks and handkerchiefs and planning Sebastian’s wedding to Allegra had me replying NO. In all caps.
Plus, this isn’t just about me anymore. Sadie is counting on me as well.
“I wish I’d seen Sebastian’s face when you quit,” Sadie says with a wide grin.
It’s eight on a Friday night as we sit at the tiny table I somehow squeezed onto my balcony.
It overlooks the parking lot, but it’s still nice to be outside.
I found the white wrought-iron table and two matching chairs on a secondhand, local message board.
If I squint, I could almost pretend it’s charming.
If I squint hard. Because the paint on the railing is cracked and peeling. And I learned the hard way that it was precarious when I almost fell four stories down after I made the mistake of leaning on it one day.
“We’re really doing this. I’ve already started pulling a branding kit together and designed a logo.
And you, my clever business partner, already have a lead on a client!
” She pops the bottle of a fancy champagne that I got for free at one of Sebastian’s industry events and have been saving to celebrate her graduation.
She officially moved out of her dorm today. Her internship starts soon. So we’re celebrating both our brand-new lives.
I pull a light wrap tight. My dress is thin, and the summer night is surprisingly chilly.
“It’s a long shot,” I say, not wanting to get her hopes up too high.
But a frisson of excitement moves through me.
Our potential client is a woman Daisy knows who is going through a divorce.
She’s about to get a substantial settlement because her very rich husband replaced her with a newer model.
So she wants to revamp her entire life. With four young children, she’s struggling with the transition.
If we were to land her as a client, I’d organize the move and set her up in a new home, with Sadie consulting from New York on the design.
If she hires us. And that’s a big if. We still have a lot to do to set the business up, and most of it will fall to me since Sadie will be in New York.
I’ll have to come up with a full range of packages and pricing, social media, a website, an accounting system, marketing, and on and on.
I’d prefer to hold off on taking clients until I tick off some of those items and Sadie returns to California, but I only have enough savings to float me for about three months.
Starting a business, even one with low overhead, is expensive. I need to pay for my health insurance, an eye-watering cost. We’ll have all the normal business expenses. There’s not even a question of renting office space, so I’ll have to work from home.
Not for the first time, I wonder what Sebastian would make of my shitty apartment.
Maybe I should have taken him up on his bribes to stay. I could work for another year, build up my savings, and launch my business then. That would be what practical Emma would do.
But practical Emma seems to have left the building.
“Em, don’t spiral. We’ll be fine.” Sadie hands me a glass of champagne, which I take gratefully.
My sister knows me so well. I take a sip. It’s good stuff.
She makes a toast. “To the future. And to new adventures.”
I clink my glass with hers. “To new adventures.”
We’re silent for a few minutes, processing the crossroads we’re at. “When does Sebastian come home?”
“He was supposed to be back two days ago. But he never arrived.” I shake my head. “And since I turned down his last bribery attempt, he’s been incommunicado. He hasn’t even answered my texts or phone calls about where he is and when he’ll be back.”
“Is that normal?”
“I mean, he changes plans all the time. But he usually calls and messages me thirty times a day. More. He’s never gone silent. And I have work I need to coordinate with him. I don’t know if he’s sulking. Or lying in a ditch somewhere,” I say.
“Well, you told him you wouldn’t change your mind. Maybe he wants to give you some space.”
“It feels weird. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since I started working for him.”
“It’s only natural to miss him, Em. He’s been a central part of your life for a really long time.”
And that’s exactly why I need to leave.
Because while I’m just a friend and employee to Sebastian Blake, I hate that my heart wobbles every time he smiles. Or that he knows to turn on my emotional-support television show when I look stressed. And I especially hate that I notice every time the ridiculous man takes off his shirt.
I don’t say anything. And my sister doesn’t press. Because my nonanswer is a confirmation that I do indeed miss him and probably will for a very long time.
But that’s why this change is so important. It’s why I need to break from the codependent relationship we’ve been enmeshed in. As frustrating as it’s been, it’s also been safe, in a way. I’ve been in a relationship with someone without really being in a relationship.
I curl my legs onto the chair and rest my chin on my knees, looking out into the night.
Sirens blare in the distance. A couple argues loudly on the corner. The sound of a breaking bottle on concrete is unmistakable. Just another evening in my neighborhood.
Once I can afford it, I might even be able to move. I’d have more flexibility because I wouldn’t have to worry about living somewhere within commuting distance of the insanely expensive Malibu.
And suddenly, I get a burst of energy. Or is it restlessness?
“Sadie, wanna go dancing?”
“Hell yeah, babe,” she says, like I knew she would. She’s always asking me to go out with her, and I usually decline, being either too busy or too tired to indulge in her shenanigans.
I’m still too busy. I have a to-do list that I should tackle. But I need the break.
We polish off the bottle of good champagne since we won’t be able to afford anything decent at whatever bar or club we decide to go to.
And then we get ready together, giggling and trying on outfits like we’re teens.
Sadie forces me to wear one of her dresses because she says I look like Business Barbie in my outfit.
Which is silly. I’m way too short and not blond enough ever to be mistaken for Barbie. Plus, there’s my resting bitch face.
But she’s right about one thing. I don’t own any single-girl clothes suitable for a night on the town. So I let her dress me for our outing because committing to change means getting out of my comfort zone.
Which is why I also let her order our drinks when we’re at the club.
But I forgot one thing when I put myself in her party-loving hands.
My sister has a freakishly high tolerance for alcohol. And I rarely drink.
And that’s how I get into trouble.
I have fun for the first few hours of the night. I dance, even though I’m not great at it. Mostly, I feel awkward and uncool, and I don’t quite know how to move to the beats masquerading as music. But eventually, I get enough alcohol in my system to lose myself to the rhythm.
I also attempt to flirt with the few guys who approach. I’m just as bad at flirting as I am at dancing. But I still throw myself into it because it’s not okay that I only feel comfortable in a suit or making bitchy banter with my celebrity boss.
I need to learn to operate in the real world, which entails relating to average men in non-cashmere socks.
So, the first half of the Emma at the Club experiment is a success.
But then I make two strategic errors.
The first is trying to match Sadie drink for drink.
The second mistake is looking at my phone while I take a break at the bar as my sister dances with a hot guy who’s been eyeing her for half the night.
I stand there, a little bored, well past tipsy. Just a drunk girl and her phone.
I should have realized the impending danger.
I narrow my eyes, staring at my device as if it’s done me wrong.