Ah, yes, the promotion that changed everything. For the better part of two years, Alex and I had been the very picture of blissed out coupledom until the day he took a big step up the corporate ladder at Pinnacle PR and become a senior publicist with celebrity clients of his own. And that’s when our relationship started careening downhill. Suddenly, Alex was hyper focused on his job to the exclusion of everything else. He was on-call twenty-four/seven, all he thought about, talked about, or cared about was work. I tried my best to be understanding and supportive because I was proud of Alex and knew how important it was for him to do well in his new position, but I soon felt like an afterthought in his life.
He was constantly canceling plans, or running out on me because a client had an “emergency”—everything from a pap snagging a photo of an actress coming out of a gas station bathroom with toilet paper on her flip-flop to a director getting in a screaming match with a cop after getting pulled over for driving erratically qualified as an emergency when you were famous. Alex stopped showing any interest in what was going on with my job, friends, and family, forgot my birthday, wasn’t there to hold my hand when I had to get a root canal, and worst of all, our sex life, which had always been phenomenal (I’m talking multiple times a day, anywhere and everywhere we could, with orgasms so mind-blowing they were almost a religious experience), became perfunctory and unsatisfying emotionally as well as physically. There was hardly any foreplay and no cuddling or intimate pillow talk afterward and I missed all of that desperately, but was too scared of losing him to say anything. I thought if I just hung in there, he’d find his footing in his new job and everything would go back to the way it was. We’d reconnect and be us again.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Instead I got a harsh dose of reality when I dropped by Alex’s office after work one day to see if he had time to grab dinner. I walked into a celebration of another publicist’s engagement, who was flush-faced and grinning ear-to-ear as he received congratulatory slaps on the back along with convivial jokes about being whipped from his male co-workers and advice on the wedding from the females. Alex and I joined the party for a few minutes, raising a glass to toast Gerald and his future bride, but then he wanted to sneak back to his office to review a press release. I accompanied him and commented on how happy Gerald looked. Alex snorted in reply and said Gerald, who’d also recently been promoted to senior publicist, was “throwing his career away.”
When I asked him to explain, he said that Gerald would never make it as a publicist if he had a wedding, then a wife and kids to distract him. The job required flexibility and complete dedication, especially at the early stage of the “game” where Gerald was. I knew Alex was talking about himself as well and was stung that he now considered me a liability. When I argued that several of the top dogs at his firm were married men, he said, “Yeah, but they hardly ever see their families and have to put up with constant guilt trips from their wives. It’s all just a big hassle.” That’s when I realized my relationship with Alex had gone as far as it was ever going to go. Not that I wanted to run down to City Hall and get hitched, then immediately start popping out babies, but I did want marriage and a family at some point, and Alex was the person I wanted those things with because I was so deeply in love with him—at least the version of him who’d been so fun, loving, sweet, and generous prior to the promotion.
I told Alex exactly that, and he looked pained and said we clearly had different priorities. He did assure me that he loved me, although I had trouble believing his feelings were as strong and true as mine when he was valuing his job above our relationship. When he suggested we keep things status quo, which he thought was working great (for him maybe!), and just see how everything played out over the next few years, I lost it and called him out for being a selfish prick. I stormed out of his office, and that was the last time we saw or spoke to each other. I half-expected Alex to realize what a huge mistake he’d made and reach out to me in the days and weeks that followed, but I was doomed for disappointment because he let me go without a second thought. Just as he did with poor Astra tonight.
“Good thing I didn’t stick around to see if you’d change your mind or reach a point in your career where the idea of getting married held some appeal for you because here you are, all these years later, one of the top publicists in Hollywood, with a whole roster of clients that includes some of the hottest names in the business, but you’re still not open to sharing your life in a meaningful way with another person. Too bad you didn’t inform Astra of that at the beginning of your relationship so that she wouldn’t have invested so much time and energy, not to mention her heart, in such an egomaniac.”
Narrowing those thick lashed, gray-blue eyes of his at me, Alex says, “I have nothing to apologize for as far as Astra is concerned. We’ve been having fun together the last several months and agreed not to see other people, but there were never any expectations or ‘I love you’s exchanged. The only reason she proposed to me tonight is because her best friend recently got engaged, and Astra is highly competitive.”
“The two of you have that in common then,” I snipe.
Don’t even get me started on Alex’s thwarted dreams of becoming a professional athlete. He went to Stanford on a soccer scholarship and played forward on their winning team for four years, but even though he got picked by the San Jose Earthquakes at the MLS SuperDraft after he graduated, he tore his ACL during a pre-season practice and that was the end of his fledgling career in sports. By the time he had surgery and went through rehab, the team no longer wanted him and neither did anyone else. So he had to fall back on his degree in public relations, and that’s when he went to work at Pinnacle.
I didn’t realize it until months after our breakup when my mother, ever the great analyzer of other people’s personalities and motivations, posited that the reason Alex was so hell-bent on excelling as a publicist was because he still had an athlete’s deeply ingrained need to win, no matter the cost or sacrifice. That knowledge didn’t make me feel any better about our love being a casualty of his ambition, but it did give me something to blame for how things ended between us.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Alex drags his fingers through his dark blond hair, which is cut in the popular style for men with short sides and longer hair on top slicked back with some product for a business look. “There was always an expiration date on my relationship with Astra. To be honest, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did since she’s pretty high-maintenance and the time I could give her was never enough.”
“That sounds familiar,” I retort. “The part about you not having time for a relationship,” I hasten to clarify, “because I was most certainly not high-maintenance.”
“No, you really weren’t,” Alex says with a fond smile. “You never whined, or complained, or made outrageous demands. Well, not until the end anyway.”
I swear, if he was within punching distance, I’d sock him in his dumb, handsome face right now. Instead, I say with mock sympathy, “How tiresome for you to have all these girlfriends who want more from you than interrupted dinners and the occasional orgasm.”
Alex smirks. “You must be confusing me with another ex if you think you were only satisfied by me occasionally.”
“You’re right. I misspoke. The last few months of our relationship it was rarely that you gave me an orgasm, but I’m not surprised you didn’t notice since you were all in your head whenever we had sex post-promotion, and I’d be willing to bet . . .” I scoop a handful of red chips off the blackjack table and toss them at his chest. “. . . that you were thinking about your clients’ brands and press junket itineraries the whole time.”
“That’s not true. You always had my full attention when we were in bed.”
“Did I? Because I remember you reading and responding to a text from a client while you were inside of me more than once.”
“I was multi-tasking,” he offers lamely.
I shake my head with disgust. “You’re the wo
rst, and Astra and I are both well-rid of you. Joaquin! Trent!” I call for the burliest of the men working here, and they enter the casino from opposite ends. “Mr. Farr was just leaving. Would you kindly escort him from the premises?”
Alex guffaws in disbelief as my hired hands move to stand on either side of him. “Are you seriously having me thrown out?”
“I’m through with this conversation, so yes, I am. And I plan to enjoy every second of it. I’m just sorry I don’t have my phone on hand so that I can record you being dragged out of here, then I could post it as a cautionary tale on Straight from the Hart’s Instagram account. ‘Beware people with penises: This is what happens when you string your significant others along without any regard for their feelings.’”
“You can record it on mine.” The dealer, who’s still in flirt mode, offers me his iPhone.
“Such a gentleman. Thank you, Trent.” I take it from him with a sparkling smile. “You may proceed.” I make a shooing motion with my hand, then hold up the phone and press the record button.
Joaquin and Trent each take hold of an arm, preparing to follow my instructions.
“Brute force won’t be necessary,” Alex asserts, yanking his arms out of the grasps of the other men, then tugging down the sleeves of his expensive jacket. “I can show myself out.” He turns to go, but before moving away, Alex swivels back around and says in a voice that almost sounds sincere, “It was nice seeing you again, Nessa.”
Alex’s use of his old pet name for me makes me shiver involuntarily, which angers me, so I snap back, “Rest assured I don’t share that sentiment.” Stopping the recording on Trent’s phone, I switch back to regular camera mode and snap a quick photo of him.
“Then why do you want a memento of our reunion?” he wonders.
“This photo . . .” I jiggle the phone. “. . . isn’t a memento. It’s an insurance policy I plan to keep on file so that I can show it to any woman who comes into my office complaining that her man is dragging his feet about making a commitment and confirm she’s not dating you. If she is, I can send her on her way and spare myself a repeat of tonight. Have a miserable, work-obsessed life, Alex.”
I present him with my back and busy myself with sending the picture on Trent’s phone to my e-mail address at work. Waiting until the sound of footsteps on the wood flooring has faded, I grab the half-full glass of red wine someone left behind on the blackjack table and raise it to my lips with a trembling hand, then proceed to gulp down its entire contents.
CHAPTER 9
I sit at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop screen while thumping my Montblanc pen against a note pad. My to-do list for today is a mile long, but I’m having trouble focusing and getting anything done, probably because the casino proposal fiasco has been keeping me up the last few nights. I’m just so irked my team and I spent all of that time and effort on a project that failed to net the result my client wanted.
Fortunately, Astra isn’t refusing to pay her very sizable bill or holding a grudge. When I spoke with her yesterday, she told me she was having a blast being a free agent again and admitted she might have jumped the gun on the whole marriage thing. She said she would definitely be using my services again when she had a more deserving boyfriend. Although I was tempted to commiserate with her about what a disappointment our mutual ex was, I decided it was best to keep her in the dark about my past with Alex/Xander. I would hate for her to think I had done anything to sabotage her proposal.
The only thing I sabotaged was my own peace of mind as I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Alex since our run-in. Seeing him again stirred up a lot of emotions I’ve kept a lid on for the last few years, and not just the bad ones. When I went into the break room this morning to grab myself a water, I saw Aubrey eating a blueberry muffin, aka the delicious breakfast item that brought Alex and me together, and I immediately got sucked back in time to six years ago when I was hopelessly young, saw the world through heart-shaped glasses, and had just started working for Jacqueline.
Being the overeager employee I was, I had gotten to the office early one beautiful, spring morning and had some time to kill, so I stopped at the bustling café located in the atrium on the ground floor of my building. The blueberry muffins at this café had a cinnamon sugar crumble on top that was to die for, and my mouth was watering at the thought of feasting on one. Alas, every table in the atrium was occupied, and I was bummed I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the sunshine and lively atmosphere while indulging myself.
That’s when I saw him, sitting at a table in a prime spot by the atrium’s water feature, typing on his laptop with one hand while shoving a breakfast burrito into his mouth with the other. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to ask, I walked over to him, noting that his dirty blond hair was tousled as if he’d been in too much of a hurry to run a comb through it that morning, his suit jacket was hanging from the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up. I immediately pegged him as someone who was very industrious and wondered what profession he was in—this office building on Wilshire houses dozens of businesses, which run the gamut from life coaches and matchmakers to real estate brokers and financial investment services.
When I inquired if he’d mind me taking the empty seat opposite him at the table, he mumbled, “Sure,” with his mouth full of food, not even bothering to look up. As it was clear he was busy and didn’t want to engage in idle chitchat, I sat down and directed my attention to my food. Now I have no recollection of doing this, but Alex swore forever after that when I first sunk my teeth into that muffin, I moaned in a way that put Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally to shame. He did glance up then and said with a charming smirk, “I think I got the wrong thing for breakfast.” I guilelessly asked if he’d like a bite of my muffin, which did not sound dirty until it came out of my mouth, and he chuckled with amusement while I blushed so furiously my face was probably the same color as my hair.
You hear about love at first sight, but I’d never experienced it until the moment Alex’s eyes locked with mine and I was completely swept away. Time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was the two of us making a connection and getting to know each other better. We spent the next hour talking about anything and everything, forgetting where we were and that we had jobs to get to. I ended up being late to work, but I brought Jacqueline a lemon poppy seed muffin as an apology and told her dreamily that I’d just found my soulmate.
Alex and I met for breakfast in the atrium at “our table” every morning for the rest of the week, then graduated to a date on Friday night that turned into an all-weekend event, most of it spent in bed. From the get-go, our relationship felt like it was meant to be. We were in sync on so many levels. Since we were both so devoted to our jobs, we discussed them frequently, sharing the highs and lows of our days, offering advice and encouragement, and talking about our professional goals. I enjoyed spending time with Alex’s friends and their significant others and loved to root him on when he played games for the soccer club he belonged to. And it was a two-way street because he was always happy to hang out with me and my pals, attend Sunday brunches with my fam (he and my grandmother hit it off immediately and whenever she saw Alex, she’d say with a wistful sigh, “If I was twenty years younger . . .,”), and he was willing to try any activity I suggested, whether it was going to a new exhibit at the museum, wearing a couple costume for Halloween (we slayed as Gamora and Star-Lord, and Alex was totally turned on by me wearing an all-leather outfit), or taking cooking classes so that we could work side-by-side in his kitchen or mine making meals together. Even when we screwed up trying to recreate a dish at home, we would still have fun—laughing, kissing, and getting into food fights.
It really is painful to remember how happy we were, and how it all went so horribly wrong. The sad thing is I don’t think the Alex and Vanessa who fell so madly, passionately in love and were so good together even exist anymore. Now, he’s this slick celebrity mouthpiece who doesn’t get
attached in his personal life while I’m . . . I don’t know, older and wiser I suppose. Obviously, I still believe in romance and the transcendent power of love, or I wouldn’t be doing what I do for a living. I’m just not sure what type of man I need or want anymore. In an odd way, I feel like I knew my heart better when I was twenty-five. With age comes confusion, I su—
The door of my office flies open, and Cole hurries in, looking more frazzled than I’ve ever seen him. There’s actually a dark lock of his always perfectly coiffed hair hanging down in his face, and oh my goodness, are those pit stains on his Hugo Boss shirt? I didn’t think Cole had sweat glands!
“Nine-one-one! Emergency! Code Red! Defcon One, or is it Five? Whichever one is worse that’s where we’re at, and this is definitely not a drill!” he declares.
“Woah, take a breath,” I advise because my assistant is talking so fast I’m worried he’s going to hyperventilate and I don’t have a paper bag to give him.
“There’s no time for breathing! We’re under attack, and our livelihood is in serious jeopardy.” Cole smacks his hands down on my desk and leans forward with a wild-eyed expression. “You are not going to believe what that bitch has done!”
“Enlighten me.”
“I called Calliope Miller to see if she was ready to get started on plans for her twentieth anniversary in June. Remember when we last worked with her on that V-Day surprise for her hubs, she was so thrilled with how it all turned out that she wanted to go ahead and schedule us for her next big, romantic event?”
“I remember. Thanks for following up with her.”
“You’re welcome. Unfortunately, when I called, Ms. Miller told me she’s decided to use another romance concierge for her anniversary needs. I was flabbergasted! I mean, she’s one of our best clients and has always loved what we’ve done for her. Where’s the loyalty?”
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