Ignoring me, she drives cautiously through the parking lot and maneuvers the RV clumsily into an oversize parking space.
“Nailed it!” she cries, beaming like she just won Olympic gold.
I’m about to ask if it’s her first time parking the RV, but then I decide I don’t actually want to know the answer to that question.
Lucy swings her door open and hops out before turning to stare at me, squinting against the bright sunlight. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m fine.” I reach for my laptop bag on the floor in the back seat. “I have a Zoom call, and I don’t want to be late.”
She just shakes her head and collects the empty coffee cups before turning on her heel and heading for the sprawling rest stop, hips swaying every step of the way.
When she disappears safely into the building, I open my laptop and fire up the hotspot. In less than a minute, I’m connected to Zoom, waiting for the host to kick off the meeting. There’s a flurry of high-energy chatter as the Triada marketing team makes small talk with the agency folks. Normally, I’d join in—effective leadership requires accessibility—but today I leave my camera off so I can keep an eye out for Lucy without distraction.
A dozen people come and go from the main building.
Families with small children. Truck drivers. Professionals driving roomy sedans in muted shades of gray, beige, and maroon.
But no Lucy.
What the hell is taking so long?
I get that she’s not in a hurry, but this is ridiculous. Is she trying to make a point? If so, message received. I make a mental note to never comment on the timing or frequency of pit stops in the future.
Or buy her coffee first thing in the morning.
“It looks like everyone’s here,” Hillary says, voice floating up from my laptop. “Let’s get started.”
Reluctantly, I switch on my camera and do my best to focus on the discussion while keeping one eye trained on the welcome center.
I make it a whole five minutes before I pull out my cell and text Lucy.
She doesn’t reply, and I have no idea if she even read the message because she’s turned off her notifications.
Or maybe she’s just turned them off for you.
Doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s not answering.
I check the time again. She’s been gone at least fifteen minutes. That’s a long time for a bathroom break, right?
It seems like a long time, but what do I know?
Maybe she’s dealing with women’s stuff. I’m not exactly an expert on that sort of thing. Hell, I’ve never even spent the night with a woman, let alone had any sort of relationship that would give me insight into female bathroom rituals.
My entanglements are short, sweet, and entirely pleasure based.
Just the way I like it.
“Miles?” Hillary’s tinny voice pierces my thoughts, dragging me back to the meeting. “What do you think?”
Fuck.
I don’t have the faintest idea what she’s been talking about.
“Can you run that by me again?” I ask, feeling like a complete asshole. “I’ve got a weak signal, and I didn’t catch it all.”
The agency rep starts rattling off a list of potential spokespeople along with the attributes of their respective brands and how they’d benefit Triada, but it’s hard to concentrate when Lucy’s still MIA.
Where the hell is she?
