“Take pity on me? The walls at our place are thin.” Liam says, rocking back on his heels with hands shoved deep in his pockets. Standing so close to him I can tell he’s tall, but he holds himself so his shoulders are curled in and he looks far shorter than he actually is.
“I guess I can show you where the magic happens.” I slip my arm through his and nudge him forward. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
5
Henri
Ten thousand steps around the city? Easy.
Five flights of stairs? I become the monster from the black lagoon—sweat drenched and heaving as I desperately suck air into my burning lungs. You’d think after five months it would get easier, but it never does.
When we reach the top I catch myself against the wall.
“Just give me a moment,” I pant, my hand fumbling in the endless depths of my bag for my keys.
“Fuck. I swear I workout,” Liam says, hands braced on his knees next to me, eyes pinched shut. “If my siblings saw me right now, I’d never hear the end of it.”
“They wouldn’t be with us, wondering if they also need an adult asthma diagnosis?”
“Athletes.”
“Oh, those fuckers.”
He huffs a laugh. “You’ve never met them.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel insulted by the mere suggestion of their superior lung capacity.”
Managing to grab my keys, I finally open the door. I walk in, sweeping my arm wide to present the space. The apartment was a good deal and came pre-furnished, thanks to the support we received from Iris’s travel nurse agency, but it’s still small.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it up by the door.
“Is that . . . ?” Liam, cocks his head toward my office.
“Where I mastermind all of my schemes? I’ll give you a look if you want,” I say and his eyes catch with mine.
“For the interview,” he says, as if reminding himself.
“Yeah, for that.” Somewhere along the way, this started to feel natural. Like the two of us have done this before. I can’t remember the last time something was so easy with someone. Even with Iris, it took work. But Liam with the silly pen tucked behind his ear and his genuine curiosity has snuck up on me.
“Each set of index cards has the basics of the people I’m still working with,” I explain, tapping one for the tech mogul’s son. “Names I need to remember, timelines of the relationship, who I need to be for them to get the most out of the experience. I was with this guy on Thanksgiving, but I’m going to be texting him a few times over the next week and call him while he’s around his family once before I break it off.”
“Why do you break it off? Why not them?”
“That way I’m the villain.” I shrug. “Juliet isn’t the star of some rom-com, she’s part of a tragedy. She kills Romeo in her own roundabout way, so that’s what I do. I kill the relationship and my clients are in the clear.”
Clean cut. I leave exactly when I plan to. I’m never the one people walk away from. Not anymore.
“After that, what do you do? They get to go on with their lives, but what about you? It must be draining to constantly be carrying such large emotional loads.”
I’m so taken aback by the question that I just blink at him for a moment. “I have to keep going. So I do.” Work and keep workingbecause if I don’t, the emotional exhaustion sweeps me under like a riptide and threatens to drown me. I force the corners of my lips up and push past the melancholy starting to take hold. “Want to see something cool?”
“Don’t tell me, someone asked you to impersonate a lounge singer,” Liam says from where he’s perched on the edge of the full-sized bed, the only surface in my sparse room that’s not covered in clothing. He lifts his phone to take a picture of me that he swears he’s only using for reference and won’t include any in the actual article.
With my hands draped one over the other, I lean dramatically against one of the four clothing racks that line the perimeter of the space. The low-cut, floor-length red dress pools at my feet since I’ve neglected to wear heels. I designed it myself and it fits me like a glove.
“Oh, come on, this is obviously anI need to make my ex jealous and prove to her I won’t die alone because I have a hot girlfrienddress.” My voice tips up into a perky infomercial pitch. “Perfect for occasions such as weddings, high school reunions, or upscale outings with mutual friends. You work at a women’s magazine; you’re supposed to know these things.”
The dress is the fifth outfit I’ve tried on after showing him my bedroom and he’s taken this fashion show in stride. I don’t ever get the chance to show off this passion and he’s intent rather than dismissive, making me want to keep going.
