Page 99 of Smoke and Glitter

Me: working on flights for the shower. what time do you actually need me there?

Her answer comes almost immediately.

I smile.

Me: Summer.

Summer: Fine. Friday would be nice but Saturday morning works.

Another message follows before I can answer.

Summer: you are coming right

I look back at Amsterdam.

That part is easy. I put the phone down and turn back to the routing. Amsterdam hasn't moved, and neither has the answer. Gemma can do it. I've known that for the last half hour. I've just been treating the possibility like admitting it will make six weeks of my work disappear.

It won't. She knows the campaign, she knows Nix, and more importantly, she doesn't need me standing behind her telling her exactly how I would do it. That last part is considerably less comfortable.

I open a message to her.

Me: I want you to take charge of Amsterdam. It's yours if you want it. I need to be in Chicago.

Her reply comes quickly.

Gemma: Of course I want it Babe, are you serious? do you want me to use your file or build my own?

I sit with that longer than I should. My file would be easier. The contacts are there, the notes are there, every decision I've already made is there. It would also mean Gemma spending the whole day executing my version of it instead of making the day hers.

Me: build your own

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Gemma: okay

I set the phone down, then pick it back up before I've made it ten seconds. There are at least four things I could tell her. People to watch for. A question one reporter always asks. The order I would schedule the room. Gemma's got this, I know she does.

Chapter nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Sam

The signed paperwork hits my inbox that morning. His name is at the bottom where it should have been three years ago, black against white, boring as hell for something that managed to hold up this much of my life. I read the page once, forward it to Doug and the attorney, then lean back in my chair. The call didn't fix anything between us and his apology sure as hell didn't. I woke up the next morning still angry and spent most of the week that way, but the company is finally moving toward dead and Pilsen gets to move with it. Autumn's way worked, and that part has been harder to sit with.

I'm still staring at the email when somebody knocks on the locked front door. We don't open for another few hours, and whoever it is knocks again before I get out of the office. I make it halfway across the club before I see him through the glass and stop.

Three years is a long time to avoid somebody's face. It turns out I remember his just fine.

He has an envelope in one hand. For a second I consider leaving him there, then I unlock the door without opening it any farther than I have to.

"What are you doing here?"

"Original signatures." He holds up the envelope. "My lawyer said you'd need them."

"You could've mailed them."

"I could have."