Page 114 of Bound To Be Mine

I grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to wipe off the worst of it, but I knew it was hopeless. The rice trick might work for water damage, but frosting? No chance.

The rest of the wedding passed in a blur of stress and forced smiles. All I could think about was my dead phone and the conversation I was missing with Briggs.

By the time I finally made it home, it was nearly midnight. I was exhausted, frustrated, and on the verge of tears. I poured myself a generous glass of wine and collapsed onto my couch.

My laptop sat on the coffee table, mocking me. I could email him. It felt archaic, like I was some kind of cavewoman. But it was a step above sending him a fax. Or god forbid, a fucking letter. An email was better than nothing.

I pulled the laptop onto my knees and opened my email.

Subject: Phone Casualty

I’m so sorry I missed our call. My phone met an unfortunate end tonight involving an excessive amount of frosting and a groomzilla having a complete meltdown. Long story. The short version is that my phone is now more dessert than machine, and no amount of rice is going to bring it back to life.

I’m going to try to get a new phone tomorrow, but until then, I’m stuck communicating like it’s 1995. You’ve got mail!

I miss you. So much it hurts. I hate that we keep missing each other. I hate that we’re on opposite coasts. I hate that I can’t just call you right now and hear your voice.

I hope your day was better than mine. I hope you’re sleeping well. I hope you’re not as miserable as I am.

Talk soon.

I hit send before I could overthink it, then drained the rest of my wine. I poured another glass and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights spread below me.

Los Angeles. My home. But Briggs wasn’t here.

I took another sip of wine and let myself think the thought I’d been avoiding for days: what if I moved to New York?

It was crazy. Completely insane. I couldn’t just uproot my entire life for a man I’d known for less than a month. A man I’d accidentally married while drunk. A man who might not even feel the same way about me that I felt about him. He was a Blackwell. The women he spent his time with were so much more everything. Prettier. Wealthier. More successful.

But the thought wouldn’t leave me alone. What if I could make it work? What if I opened a second office in New York? I had enough high-profile clients now that I could probably attract east coast clientele. And with the Blackwell partnership, I’d have an automatic in with their crowd. I could hire a staff to run the operations on the west coast.

It was possible. Difficult but possible. It would take some serious training and I would have to come back a couple times a month to make sure my high standards were being followed.

But could it work?

I finished my second glass of wine and decided I was too tired to make any life-altering decisions tonight. I needed sleep.

I fell into bed and immediately missed his presence. I loved snuggling up to him.

The next morning, I woke up without my alarm. I was so glad I didn’t need an alarm because my phone was my alarm.

I dragged myself out of bed and straight to my laptop, checking my email before I even made coffee.

There it was. A message from Briggs, sent at five in the morning his time.

Mandy,

I’m sorry about your phone. I’m even more sorry I wasn’t there to witness the tantrum. It sounds like it was quite the scene.

I miss you too. More than I know how to say. This whole being-apart thing is killing me. I hate that we can’t seem to sync up. I hate that I can’t just show up at your door and take you to dinner.

I’m trying to clear some room in my schedule to come visit you. I don’t know when yet, but soon. I promise.

Get some sleep. Get a new phone. And when you do, call me. Day or night, I don’t care. I just want to hear your voice.

He was trying to come visit. That was something. It wasn’t a solution to our geography problem, but it was something.

I forced myself through my morning routine. Shower, coffee, attempting to look like a functioning human being. Then I headed to the phone store, where a very cheerful sales associate helped me replace my frosting-murdered device.