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LIZZIE: Same.

DANNY: 1 pm meet me at La Grande Boucherie in midtown.

LIZZIE: French. How fitting.

DANNY: I think so.

LIZZIE: I can't believe this is real.

DANNY: Me neither, but let's just go with it. Perhaps we're both dreaming.

LIZZIE: Or hallucinating.

DANNY: Best fucking drug ever.

HAYDEN

I need this meeting to be quick. I have a lunch to attend, questions to be answered, and a woman to bed. Good fucking night that kiss was hot. She's the woman version of the girl I've dreamed of every fucking day since she stopped taking my calls. Since emails and texting halted and she broke my heart. I never should have left her last night. I didn't sleep, crazed by lust and the desire to know why my soulmate walked away.

I want this fucking job. I thought I'd be battle ready. I wanted to see what Bette looks like and see if that thing I felt for her the last couple of weeks translates in person. But mostly, I want this meeting over so I can get back to Lizzie. My mind is reeling. Dumbass move to leave her last night. I think I was in shock.

She shattered me, then disappeared off the planet. I mourned her like she was dead, and it didn't work. I still fucking thought about her all the time. Everything was perfect, then I was told not to get on that plane or speak to her again. Then Lizzie Fox disappeared completely.

I checked obituaries and social media for years. Never a mention of Liz or Lizzie Fox or Elizabeth Fox. Or Elizabeth Marjorie Fox. News of her father popped up for papers he'd published, but never a mention of her or even a picture.

I got the nerve up to call her father at work my senior year of college, after I ripped up my shoulder and any hope of the NFL was crushed. It had been three and half years since we spoke, and I still measured every girl to her. I wanted someone in my corner who didn't give a shit about football, or what I could do with it, but cared about me. I thought that was Lizzie.

He told me she was engaged to someone else. That's the moment I let hope die and turned towards a different life.

Then, there she was, in my arms and on my lips, as if not a moment had been missed. No ring on her finger, no resistance in my arms, and I walked away last night, trying to make sense of it all. Today she doesn't leave my sight until I get answers to why and what and how I can still feel so intensely about her.

I don't know where she lives or if she ever got married, but I do know a piece of me came back to life last night. That fucking kiss.

I need to calm down so I can nail this meeting. I take out my keys and stroke the Eiffel Tower key chain Lizzie bought at the flea market all those years ago. It's my talisman and perhaps it brought her back into my life. Today I get my dream job, bury my rival, and claim my love.

* * *

The dynamic duo of advertising gods—Eva and Rinaldi enter with a flourish. They're the ones who insisted upon creating this Thunderdome of a circus to vie for the top position. I'm anxious for Bette to arrive. I've been captivated by her but I'm captured by Lizzie. However, I still want to put a face with the fantasies in my head.

"Hayden." I give a quick back-pat hug to Eva. My head is solidly back in this game and away from Lizzie's lips.

"Eva, Rinaldi, you look as well as ever." They walk behind the desk, moving in tandem. Eva sits in the office chair while her husband/partner/lover—we don't really know what they are to each other—slings himself on the desk with one leg on the ground. They're both wearing slightly oversized white suits, as if they're a Talking Heads tribute band. They have homes in Aspen, Zurich, Belgium, and Paris. Ah, Paris. No. Focus, Hayden. Lizzie later. Crush Bette now. Rinaldi nods towards me.

Eva speaks and she's trilling her R's. "Hayden Corelli. Darling. Boy Genius. The hope of our future. The not-quite chosen one. Scamp. Rake. Prankster." She holds out the last "r" in that one.

"Again, I'm so sorry for the ping pong ball misunderstanding."

Rinaldi says, "Hardly a misunderstanding. A full-on assault and we secretly loved it. Your victim should be here any moment."

"She's hardly a victim." I defend her. I don't want her to fail because of fucking ping pong balls. But every moment she's late is a moment away from Lizzie. I'm on the edge of my seat waiting for the big reveal. I'm wearing a suit that matches my eyes and a tie that matches Lizzie's chartreuse ones. It's what I wear when I want to dominate.

I cross my legs. “Can we skip all of this and tell me my start date? You know that difficult woman from the Midwest can't possibly keep up with what Dax and I have been doing."

Sophie can stay but Bette goes. I need her gone. Damn, that sounded like Michelle Michelle.

I thrive on competition. I’ve always been grace under pressure. When I was signal calling, it was the thing the announcers remarked on. On the field or in this fucking room, I'm completely in charge.

“Hayden, not yet, tut-tut.” They waggle a finger at me. “Next round, we're switching creative teams. You must be able to work with anyone and do it quickly. Dax might retain his place, but today, because your campaigns were so similar, it gave us a deliciously wicked idea.” Eva climbs on the desk and kneels. She leans forward and it's both disturbing and intriguing.