Divorce.
I shook my head slowly. “I’m not saying I’ve always made the right life choices,” I said. “But the decisions I made, I made so I wouldn’t end up like them.”
“There are no guarantees, Liv. You may have to let go of your fears around the ‘D’ word. Your experience wouldn’t be the same as your parents’, you know. You don’t have kids.”
But if Bill had his way, we would—and then I’d never leave. I couldn’t put a child through the heartache I’d lived. How much longer would Bill wait for my answer?
And just like that, the decision ahead of me had nothing to do with David at all. Maybe it never had.
I hadn’t considered that my decisions might be reversible. And if they were, I only needed to ask myself one thing . . .
What kind of life did I want?
23
Gretchen’s advice to stop stressing over event minutiae and enjoy the Meet and Greet turned out to be spot-on. The past hour, I’d been all around the event, checking in with the necessary people and mingling with guests. The party, now in full swing, was a success.
I squeezed my way through the dancefloor where Gretchen moved against Graham Broderick with closed eyes and a blissful smile. The Gryphon Hotel’s rooftop venue had opened all its sliding doors. The tallest buildings of Chicago’s cityscape backdropped the patio’s fire pits, a lush, vertical garden of plants that made up one wall, and all-black chairs with overstuffed cushions.
My boss gestured at me from where he stood at a two-top table. Edison light bulbs glowed above him, strung from a lattice covering. “I must say, I’m pleased with what you’ve done here,” Mr. Beman said as I approached. “Not too over the top and an impressive guest list. How’d you manage to get Graham Broderick? There are actually paparazzi out front.”
“Oh, I called in a favor with a friend,” I said, waving my hand with the slight exaggeration.
He smiled tightly as his gaze jumped over my shoulder. “Here comes one of your bachelors now.”
David.
My chest tightened. His non-presence had been almost palpable to me, but if I was honest, I’d known he’d show up. He wasn’t the type to let things lie.
And by the way my heart skipped, I was grateful for that. I turned slowly as footsteps approached, but instead of David’s warm brown eyes, I met sparkling blue ones and a tan face belonging to onedistinguished beach bum. Brian Ayers, the surfer and photographer David had recommended I add to the feature, shook out his bleached, shoulder-length hair. “Evening, Olivia.”
Mr. Beman started to stick out his hand, but when he noticed that Brian carried two wineglasses, Beman tightened his already taut tie instead. “Thank you for agreeing to do the feature, Mr. Ayers,” he said. “I’ve so enjoyed perusing your photography.”
“Call me Brian.” Brian turned to me. “And when can I addyouto my collection, Olivia?”
Almost every wall of Brian’s studio apartment had been covered with gritty, intrusive portraits of people from all walks of life. Like David, Brian had a way of looking past people’s facades and capturing deeper emotion.
Which soundedawful.
“How about on the tenth of . . . never,” I said and smiled as he laughed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” my boss said and hesitated before nodding at me. “Very nice turnout, Olivia. Keep up the good work.”
I exhaled a breath of pure relief. With David’s help securing the venue at a steep discount, and with strong sponsors and an A-List guest list . . . it was fair to say I’d pulled it off. And that I was squarely in the running to nab this promotion.
Brian held out one of the glasses of white wine. “Cheers.”
“For me?” I asked.
He nodded. “Chardonnay. I remember that was what I served you during our interview.”
I almost laughed but a pang in my heart stopped me. David would scold me with a look for accepting what others expected of me. Despite tonight’s wins, his absence lingered, a dark cloud overhead. As the clock ticked down, it became more apparent that the only man who’d ever thought to question my chardonnay had truly walked away.
Maybe the alcohol would numb the disappointment—and the pain of the last twenty-four hours.
Davena. I blocked the name from my mind and accepted the glass. It wasn’t like me to drink on the job, but tonight, relaxing my control even a little felt like a reward for a tough week.
I forced a wide smile, clinked my glass with his, and took a large sip. “I can see why everyone says you’re so charming, Brian Ayers,” I said. “You always come with alcohol.”
