Brad checked his watch. “Meg, I sympathize, truly. But this meeting represents months of work. Your future at this firm.” He gestured toward the conference room. “Mr. Reeves specifically mentioned your Marketing Weekly profile. They’re expecting you personally.”
Meg nodded mechanically, her thoughts tangled between the presentation materials in her hand and Margo standing behind the grill at eighty years old with no one to help her.
Meg hadn’t seen her in years—but she still remembered the smell of rosemary on Margo’s hands, the way she’d let Meg work the summer lunch rush like it was a privilege, not a chore. Margo had taught her how to flip grilled cheese without tearing the bread. How to pinch basil, not cut it. How to listen. If something happened to her—Meg didn’t know what she’d do. And that surprised her. More than it should have.
“Let me just get through this meeting,” she said finally. “Then I’ll figure out what to do.”
“That’s my girl.” Brad squeezed her shoulder briefly. “You’ve worked too hard to let anything derail this opportunity.”
As they entered the conference room, Meg slid her phone to silent mode and placed it face-down on the table beside her. She smiled, extended her hand to the San Clemente Resort owner, and launched into her carefully rehearsed introduction.
For ninety minutes, Meg was flawless. She walked the clients through market research, competitor analysis,and her vision for authentic coastal experiences that would transform their dated property into a destination for affluent travelers seeking connection to local culture.
“What impressed us most,” she said, displaying before-and-after mockups of their rebranded website, “is how deeply rooted your family is in San Clemente’s history. That’s not something a corporate hotel chain can replicate. It’s your genuine competitive advantage.”
Mr. Reeves, the silver-haired patriarch whose father had built the resort in the 1950s, nodded appreciatively. “You understand what makes us special.”
She pushed the thought away, focusing on the final portion of her presentation.
When the meeting concluded, handshakes were exchanged, and Brad was beaming. “They loved you,” he whispered as they walked the clients to the elevator. “I could see Reeves mentally signing the contract.”
The moment the elevator doors closed, Meg grabbed her phone. Three missed calls from Tyler and a text:Boarding now. Please tell me you’re coming.
“I need to make a call,” she told Brad, already walking toward her office.
“Wait.” Brad followed her. “The committee wants to debrief while everything’s fresh. This is the final hurdle, Meg.”
She paused, torn between immediate professional obligation and the increasingly urgent family situation. “Give me five minutes.”
Tyler had always floated in and out of things—surfing,photography, odd jobs. But for the past year, he’d quietly become Margo’s right hand. Not flashy. Just dependable. Like the tide.
In her office, she closed the door and called Tyler, who answered immediately. “I’m at the gate. What’s happening?”
“I just finished the presentation that could make my career,” she said, pacing. “Your timing is awful.”
“I’m sorry.” The background announcement of boarding groups confirmed he was at the airport. “But Margo needs help.”
Meg rubbed her forehead. “How long will you be gone?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.” His voice lowered. “It’s complicated, Meg. I can’t explain everything now.”
“A month?! Tyler, I can’t just abandon my job for a month.”
“I’m not asking you to stay the whole time. Just until I can figure out something permanent. Margo’s too proud to admit she can’t handle it anymore, but she’s exhausted, Meg.” There was a pause.
“What about remote work?” Meg bargained. “I could come down for a week, get things organized, hire temporary help.”
“Try it,” Tyler said, relief evident in his voice. “Just... be there, okay? Her birthday dinner is tomorrow at six, and she’ll pretend everything’s fine, but I can tell she’s struggling.”
Meg closed her eyes. Of course, it had to be now.
“I have to go. We’re boarding now,” Tyler said. “Thanks, Meg. I knew I could count on you.”
The call ended before she could respond. Meg stared at her phone, then at the folder on her desk.
A knock at her door preceded Brad’s entrance. “Everything okay?”
“I need some time off,” Meg said. The words felt foreign in her mouth.
