"Hey, Linds! What's up?" This was good. She needed a distraction. Emma exited the bathroom and started folding her unused wardrobe strewn on the bed.
"Did you get the email?" Lindsey asked.
Emma frowned. “I haven’t been on my phone—”
“I’ll wait. Check it.”
Emma put Lindsey on speakerphone and swiped to her email, her mind buzzing. What could’ve come through to make Lindsey this intense? A new contract? A complaint? Ugh, she hoped it wasn’t another complaint. They’d shot for three different small businesses in the past month, and she knew one of them was going to come back based on their feedback during approvals.Could you make the colours a bit more vibrant?They were shooting baked bread. What did they want? Her to dust the crust with gold?
Emma found the email Lindsey must have been referencing sandwiched betweenThese summer tops are ‘fire emoji’andHottest dirty talk to make your man obsessed.How did her phone always know?
“Got it. Opening.” It was from Greg Mackintosh, which was strange. He was the owner of their photography studio. Normally their job menu came from Pam, the studio director. The text populated on her screen, and Emma began to read.
I hope this email finds you all well. As we’ve always been more than just colleagues—we’ve been a family—I wanted to share some personal news with you transparently and directly.
For a few years now, Tina and I have been contemplating the idea of selling the studio space. Our desire was always to retire and move to Kelowna, which you already know.
That tidbit was difficult to miss since Greg brought it up almost every time he stopped by to pick up supplies. They’d be in the middle of a product shoot, and she’d hear, “It’s fifteen degrees warmer in Kelowna right now. Did you know that?” She kept reading.
Unfortunately, the commercial real estate market hasn’t been in our favour, and we’ve been waiting for the right opportunity. Recently, we received an offer from a yoga studio interested in the space. After much consideration, we’ve decided to accept the offer and take this as our sign to embark on our new adventure . . .
What. The. Hell.Emma began to scan.Two weeks. Build out starting on Thursday. Contracts reassigned to Chinook Marketing—
“You still there?” Lindsey’s voice pulled her up to the surface.
“Yeah.” Emma closed the app, turned off the speakerphone, and put the phone back to her ear. Lindsey’s exhale hissed through the speaker as she stared at the swirls of blue in the floral painting that hung over her dresser.
“So. We’re out of a job. He’s giving us residuals, and there are two gigs on location in May that are still ours . . .”
Emma nodded, Lindsey’s words like water trickling over clay soil. Her panicked thoughts clashed with questions, creating a clog in the pipeline between her ears and her brain. She was so shortsighted. Why had she relied fully on the studio to build her portfolio? Why hadn’t she continued to network and build relationships—at least run a social media page?
Lindsey sighed. “I know this is a lot. I’ve had about an hour to process—”
“Have you told Vaughn?”
Lindsey groaned. “He’s my next call. Unless you want to do it.”
Emma looked at the clock next to her bed. Tyler was going to be here any minute. She rushed back into the bathroom and untucked the front of her shirt from her jeans. This day already called for more deodorant. “I have an appointment here in a few minutes. I can call him after.”
“No, he needs to know now. What appointment?”
Emma swiped her armpits, then retucked her shirt. “I really need to go, Linds. Talk later?”
“Got it.”
“We’ll figure this out. I’ll start sending emails—”
“I’m already searching for rentable studio space. Vaughn’s parents still have that shed out back.”
“Maybe this is the push he needs to let us convert it?”
“Exactly my thoughts. This appointment isn’t for something serious, right? I didn’t think your gynecologist’s office was open on Sunday.”
“Not serious. Promise. I’ll call you tonight.”
“You know you can always tell me if your ovaries are malfunctioning.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Emma hung up. Guilt niggled at her as she flew out the door and ran to the lift. Lindsey would be the first to know about anything important, but this wasn’t important. This was a repayment of a fake dating debt, nothing more.
