He flips a page on the clipboard. “Also, your flight itinerary’s been updated. Looks like you’re now set to leave Tuesday morning?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah…that’s correct.”
And the clock starts ticking again. Loud and unforgiving. The reminder I’ve been trying to outrun is now standing right in front of me in head-to-toe company khaki.
The pitch is this weekend. Just a few more nights under his roof.
“Thanks,” I manage, signing for the suitcase.
The man tips his cap and drives away, snow and mud kicking up from his tires as the van disappears down the path.
I glance at Eli.
He’s still. Like the quiet has hardened into something heavier now. His eyes are locked on the ice where the van had been parked, but he doesn’t say a word.
The silence stretches until his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and finally exhales through his nose.
“It’s Drake,” he says, eyes still on his phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask, folding my arms so I don’t reach for him. He looks like he could use me right now, and I don’t know if that’s something I’m allowed to offer or something he’d accept after this harsh reminder of our ending.
He nods, but it’s mechanical. “Yeah. Just reminding me to send Lara updates for my part of the presentation deck for the pitch.”
I arch a brow. “Drake and Lara working together?” I tease lightly. “Burning the midnight oil these days, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says, distracted. “I’ve never seen Drake this focused.”
I smile to myself, because I work quickly. The plan is unfolding exactly the way I’d hoped.
First, I set Lara up with a profile. Casual. Low-pressure. Then I made sure Drake overheard us talking about it around the office. After that, convincing him to sign up was easy once I described the kind of women who frequent the app. Once he joined, I did what I do best. I let the custom algorithm I created keep showing him Lara’s profile.
I gave Lara a tip about simply viewing his profile a few times to make sure he sees she noticed him. It worked like a charm.
I honestly can’t wait to see how it plays out, mostly because it’s already working faster than I anticipated since the two are working so closely.
I smile to myself.Maxine Palmer. Canadian Cupid.
All Glowy and Shit
Max
Iprop my phone against the flour jar on the counter and tap FaceTime just as Eli’s axe comes down outside with a solidthwack. The rhythm of it carries through the house, even though the doors and windows are closed.
Lara is coming to get me later so we can head out to find all the necessities for the gala, but I didn't want to leave Eli to fend for himself this morning. I’m currently balancing on the edge of productivity, attempting to make him breakfast while simultaneously multi-tasking a long-overdue catch-up session with Timantha. Between the sizzle of the pan and the gossip through my earbuds, it's a miracle I haven't burned the house down.
I stir the cheese into the grits, bacon popping behind me, and Timantha’s face fills the screen.
“Well don’tyoulook all glowy and shit!” she says, squinting like she’s offended on principle.
“Whatever,” I say, reaching for the pepper. “Did you or did you not tell me to get some actual rest while I was here?”
She laughs. “Yes. But I didn’t think you’d really do it. You’re Maxine.”
I frown. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re always working! And while you started out the week at full-speed Max, the team says they could barely reach you these past few days.”
I shrug, scraping the bottom of the pot. “What was it you and Eslin said? That Eli was going to rearrange me?”
