Page 81 of Just for Tonight

Am I making too much of too little? Am I rejecting a match made in heaven because of my pride or my stubborn need to manage every detail. (Yes, my mom said that.)

There’s only one person I know who walked away from what looked like a perfect match on paper, and by strange and wonderful coincidence, it’s the same person I want to talk to most of all. It feels disloyal and wrong to talk to Jake while I’m in BC, so I wait. I hope that Darcy will change my mind, but nothing changes for me that week.

My mom begs me to consider Darcy’s advantages and give him a chance when we say goodbye at the airport.

By the time I land at Pearson, I learn that she has given Darcy my cellphone number.

When I get home to Empire, I send Jake a text, even though it’s almost midnight.

Are you awake? I’d like to talk.

Then I hold my breath and stare at the screen, waiting.

23

Jake

Mackenzie’s on my mind.

She shouldn’t be. I’m the one who told her that a relationship was a non-starter between us. I’m the one who pushed her away. I’m the one who shouldn’t be thinking of her at all.

But I can’t stop.

I should be able to push memories and fantasies out of my mind. After all, I’m working a stupid number of hours. I don’t have time for the basic maintenance of life, let alone pleasure. My condo is a pit – I haven’t had time to find another cleaning lady. My fridge is empty because I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping. I’m living off Door Dash and leftovers. I haven’t had time for a proper work-out because my weights are buried under paperwork and I’m barely sleeping. This is not a healthy lifestyle, but I’m trying to push through it.

What’s so demanding?

First, there’s my job, which is busy right now. My boss has been giving me the side-eye for the amount of time I’ve taken to work on my dad’s estate – and she has no idea how much more there’s been, after office hours – and I do want to be considered for that promotion.

Who am I kidding? I WANT that promotion and that corner office and that pay boost.

So, in last week’s meeting, when she wanted to reassign the daily report on the Asian markets, I volunteered. It means I’m in the office two hours earlier than was previously the case, and still staying just as long at night. Who needs lunch? I now eat at my desk.

And then, in the evening, I crunch the numbers for my alternate legacy plan. They stink, at least so far, which means I have to modify the variables and work through them again. I can smell that this solution will work but thus far, it doesn’t. In the meantime, Paula duBois is building the real estate database of all time, on my dime, a speculative venture based on the assumption that I can make my plan work.

It’s July in Toronto, which means the days are hot enough to melt the asphalt and the air is as thick as motor oil. The humidity is killer. (Which reminds me: I have shirts to take to the laundry. If I don’t get to that tomorrow, I’ll be dressing casual at work, like it or not.) I haven’t even had time to stare out over the cool sparkle of the lake or fantasize about sailing.

I need to make the plan work.

I need to get my life in order.

I need to stop thinking about Mackenzie.

And then, at 11:53 PM on Wednesday night, my phone receives a text message.

Are you awake? I’d like to talk.

Mackenzie. I’m astonished. It’s like I conjured her up.

If I’d known yearning was that powerful, I would have let loose sooner. As it is, I nearly drop the phone in my hurry to grab it.

I send a thumbs-up emoji and my phone rings instantly.

“Tell me about her,” Mackenzie says immediately. I don’t even have a chance to wallow in the sound of her voice, to enjoy the fact that she’s calling me. Nope, she gets right to the point.

I open my mouth to protest ignorance, but she anticipates me.

“I don’t know her name, but you know who I mean. The least romantic person ever, I think you said. And you said it like it was a crime.”