Epilogue
Abby
Today’s meeting is going to be a chaotic one.
Tanya, who now works directly under me as my assistant in the VP of Marketing role, is off on her honeymoon and I’ve got Elaine stepping in to cover for her.
We always knew Tanya would be out this week.
After all, she and Manny threw a shotgun wedding last weekend that none of us saw coming.
I still can’t believe they actually got married.
It happened so fast and yet they’re disgustingly, ridiculously, make-you-roll-your-eyes happy. And honestly? I love it for them.
What we didn’t expect was for Kylie freaking Jenner to request an emergency meeting with our team to pitch her company’s next marketing campaign.
Kylie Cosmetics. Emergency. Meeting. When we talk “big fish” in the industry, that company isn’t a fish…
it’s a whale. A glam, filtered, contour-perfect whale.
Apparently there’s been some drama with her current marketing team.
I don’t know the full details and frankly?
I don’t care. All I know is that she’s going to be sitting in our conference room in less than an hour and I am freaking the heck out.
Also, I am one hundred percent going to be starstruck.
No shame. I’m a Kardashian stan. I mean, what self-respecting reality TV lover isn’t?
I gather all my materials, smooth down my blazer and head for the conference room. Elaine’s already in there and to my surprise, she’s setting up the most aesthetically pleasing tray of pastries and coffee I’ve ever seen in this office.
“Nice touch, girly,” I say as I step inside.
She turns around, beaming with pride. “Thanks! I heard Ms. Jenner likes raspberry-filled croissants from Becca’s, so I ran down and bought the whole tray this morning.” She giggles as she lines up the pastries like a little pastry stylist.
I laugh, giving her a thumbs-up. “I still can’t believe Tanya and Manny got married,” I say, shaking my head.
Elaine squeals, like this is the highlight of her week. “I know! Look, she sent me this.”
She holds out her phone and I lean in. On screen is a picture of the Bahamas, all blue skies and sunshine. Tanya and Manny are wrapped in each other’s arms, tanned, barefoot and glowing with post-wedding bliss.
“Aww,” I say, grinning. “They look so happy.”
Elaine gives me a quick hug, then goes back to fussing over the pastry layout like it’s the Met Gala of croissants.
Even though I’m technically half the office’s boss now, nothing has really changed between me and the team.
If anything, things feel better, more collaborative, more fun, less…
chaotic. Maybe because people are no longer whispering about whether I’m qualified to lead.
A year in the VP of Marketing role and I think I’ve proven myself a few dozen times over.
The office has been booming since I took over.
We’ve landed several new high-profile clients, ones that have not only exceeded our five-year revenue projections but made us one of the fastest-rising agencies in the city.
Every time we hit another milestone, Marcus congratulates me via email with a champagne emoji or tells me in person at our quarterly meetings.
He’s… fine. Polite. Handsome as ever, but weirdly non-threatening.
We exchange a few pleasantries, talk numbers and then he’s off to whatever rich-man thing he does next.
I hear he’s dating another model, naturally.
I don’t lose sleep over Marcus anymore. My job is incredible and I finally feel like I was made for this position. Just last month, we wrapped a campaign for Selena Gomez’s mental health platform and the team was so impressed they signed on for three more projects down the pipeline.
Which, yes, I managed to do without mentioning that Selena once got suspiciously cozy on the dance floor with my now real-life, no-longer-fake boyfriend, Jonathan Slack. Not that I’m jealous. I mean, come on. If given the chance, I’d probably shake it with Selena Gomez too.
That night, after the meeting, I came home and casually dropped it into conversation over takeout. “So, ran into your ex-dance partner today,” I teased as I popped open a container of pad Thai. Jonathan, unfazed as ever, just grinned and said, “She was a good dancer.”
I smacked his arm, maybe a little harder than necessary and he laughed, yanked me into his arms and proceeded to plant kisses all over my face like I was the prize in a kissing booth.
“But nothing compared to you, babe,” he murmured against my cheek, lips soft, eyes so annoyingly full of love it made my knees weak.
Do you know what it feels like to be in a relationship with your best friend? Because I do.
Jonathan Slack, my former nemesis, my favorite person to argue with, my fake boyfriend turned very real boyfriend, is now also my best friend.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding from a dream where we never got together and I reach across the bed just to make sure he’s there.
And he is. Sleeping soundly, snoring softly, one arm thrown dramatically over his head like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting.
That’s when it hits me all over again… this is real.
The last year with him has been real. He’s not a bit I made up for emotional survival. He’s mine and I’m his.
He’s no longer my work nemesis. Mostly because we don’t work together anymore.
I would never hold him back from an incredible opportunity and I didn’t.
After the great airport serenade incident of last year and two full days of doing nothing but “debriefing” in his bed, Jonathan still took the job in Boston.
But we made it work. Somehow, seamlessly.
He works from home three days a week, tapping away at his laptop with his glasses on and my pink coffee mug in hand.
The other two days, he heads into Boston for meetings or client events.
His new firm works almost exclusively with sports figures.
Just last month, he met Shaquille O’Neal and came home with wide eyes and a fresh existential crisis about his own height.
“I’ve never felt shorter,” he said, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “I felt like a toddler next to him.”
He doesn’t mind the travel. Actually, I think he enjoys it.
It gives him his own space, a little independence and when I can, I go with him and turn his work trips into mini getaways.
We’ve found the coziest hotel in Beacon Hill that does the fluffiest Belgian waffles and knows us by name now.
I pack my laptop and we work side by side, stealing kisses between client calls and campaign drafts.
We’ve figured out our rhythm. And it’s good. Really good.
Victoria lets me work remotely when needed.
She’s been incredibly supportive, possibly because our agency has never been more successful and she’s well aware of the numbers I’ve helped bring in.
The other day, while we were chatting about Tanya and Manny’s whirlwind honeymoon, Victoria sipped her oat milk latte and casually said, “I expect an invite to your wedding, by the way.” I laughed it off at the time because Jonathan and I are not talking about marriage. Not seriously. Not yet.
Sure, Jonathan talks about the future all the time. He’s a planner, a big-picture guy. And yeah, sometimes I catch him staring at me with that look, the one that makes my heart trip over itself a little. But getting engaged? Getting married? That still feels far off.
Or maybe… not that far. The truth is, as much as I try to play it cool, the idea of marrying him, of waking up next to him for the rest of my life; fills me with a warmth I can’t explain.
I didn’t think it was possible to love him more than I already do, but somehow, every day proves me wrong and if this is what the rest of our life looks like? Sign me up.
* * *