Three dots appear, disappear, appear, disappear.
Then my phone rings.
“Spill,” Jess demands the second I answer. “Every detail.”
I sigh. “Remember that guy I dated five years ago?”
“The one who was ‘complicated’ and we don’t talk about him?” Jess asks.
I smile wistfully. “That’s the one.”
“What about him?” How can she sound both accusing and exasperated at the same time?
I take a breath. “He’s here. On Eleuthera. I ran into him on New Year’s Eve and we had sex and then this morning he offered me a six week contract position and I said yes.”
Silence.
After a moment, Jess says, very carefully, “I’m going to need you to walk me through that again. Slower this time. With more context.”
So I do. I tell her about the lantern, the beach conversation, the cottage, leaving at dawn. The brunch ambush and Corin’s proposal for the legal clinic partnership.
When I’m done she’s quiet for a long time.
“Amara,” she finally says. “Is this healthy or are you punishing yourself?”
The question lands like a subpoena I wasn’t expecting.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The money’s good. A hundred K for six weeks? That’s insane compensation even for Manhattan rates. And the work is legitimate. Helping locals with predatory contracts. That’s exactly the kind of stuff I’ve always wanted to do more of.”
“But,” Jess prompts.
“But I also just agreed to spend six weeks in close quarters with a man I’m apparently still wildly attracted to even though he represents everything I’ve spent five years trying to avoid.”
“And you think you can keep it professional?” she presses.
I laugh. It comes out slightly unhinged. “We shook on it. Literally. Strictly professional. No personal entanglements. I even made him agree to it out loud.”
“Uh huh.” Jess sounds deeply unconvinced.
I close my eyes. “Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake.”
“I can’t do that,” she says gently. “But Icantell you you’re one of the smartest people I know and if anyone can navigate this it’s you. Just promise me you’ll be careful. With your heart, I mean.”
My throat feels tight. “I will.”
“Good. Now tell me what he looks like again because I need to know if he’s worth this level of emotional chaos.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. “Look him up. He’s a billionaire, like your Marco... shouldn’t be hard to find some recent tabloid photos. Imagine someone took a corporate lawyer and a Greek statue and combined them into one person. That’s Corin Saelinger.”
“Damn.”
We talk for another twenty minutes about nothing important. Her daughter Ben’s latest art project. Her husband Marco’s restaurant expansion plans. Normal life things that make me feel slightly less unmoored.
When we hang up I feel marginally better.
Marginally.
Then my email pings.
