“Go bring her home then.”
Hope swells within my chest when I glance down at the slip of parchment to find an address in black ink staring back at me.
Jade made a mistake thinking I would let her leave, that I would be the same as everyone else who had put themselves before her. She would always come first; there was no other alternative when she engraved herself so deeply into my soul.
So, I hug Archie, pocket the piece of paper, call Lottie to ask her to take care of Pebble, and drive straight to Heathrow.
Jade might think distance will be enough to make her forget about me, but I won’t go down without a fight.
My soul feelslike it’s slowly dying sitting at the head of the boardroom table in Jaded’s downtown L.A. office. Outside the window, the sun shines as a bird flies by, carried by a warm breeze beneath shimmering wings, and all I can think about is how I’m longing for the damp grey skies of England, for a warm bed in a cozy flat that actually feels like me, tucked into the arms of the person I love with our dog at our feet.
My stomach has been in knots since I left my dad’s house, promising to check in as soon as possible.
Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never love at all was a raving lunatic, because I feel like someone reached into my chest cavity and ripped out my heart. I haven’t been able to eat, sleep—function—since I left. Not that I’ve had the chance. The second my plane touched down, a car was waiting for me at the airport, ready to whisk me straight to the office. I didn’t even get to go to my house to drop off my bags. Maxine made it clear I hadmore importantthings to do, and the basic luxury of an after-flight shower was not one of them.
Now, I’m listening to the head of marketing drone on about actionable engagement, launch events and key performance indicators, wondering when the job so many people dream of started to become anightmare to me. I used to love this—I thrived on the rush at one point in my life, and now, I felt like it was eating me alive, sucking the life force out of my body to sustain itself.
Did I feel this strongly before I moved to England? Or was it because now that I’ve had a taste of a different reality, this one seemed like flavorless dust on my tongue? I’ve only been back for a few hours, and already, it was hard to stomach.
I don’t know how to get back to loving this part of my life—if I even can. In hindsight, I don’t think I realized how much it drained me until Tieran showed me what life could be, back before I spent my free time fantasizing about going on vacation during the off season with him, or the simple act of coming home and being greeted with Pebble at the door and Tieran uncorking a fresh bottle in the kitchen, his lips on my temple as we snuggled on the sofa to watch a movie, not a single phone in sight. I’m consumed by a tortured maelstrom of thoughts. Around and around, scenes play out; me in maroon, cheering Tieran on at every game. Sunday night roasts with his family, weekends out with Lottie and Aanya, Saturday morning classes at Flex Appeal, a coffee from Flick the Bean before we stroll the farmer’s market for that week's groceries—hell, I’d even take another crochet class if I could justgo back.
Back to London, back to walks with my dad, back to Tieran and his stupid dimples—backhome.
Except it isn’t my home anymore, Los Angeles is, and I have to accept that. I did what I had to do to make sure Tieran gets what he deserves, and I won’t be the thing to hold him back now that he’s playing well again.
“Jade?”
I snap out of my reverie, feeling cold and a little bitter. “Yes?”
“I asked if you thought the deliverables were attainable for you to complete within the next couple of days? It’s imperative to get the photoshoot booked and underway sowe can get all the imaging to design for them to complete the marketing assets for the Spring line.”
I look around to a room full of people, all staring at me, the weight of their gazes pressing down on my shoulders in a way that has me shifting to sit up higher in my chair. Usually, I’m the one in control, and it’s my scrutiny that makes people nervous, but with their eyes on me, it feels like they’re passing judgement. I suddenly feel like I’m the size of a thimble.
“I’d like to use more models instead of myself as the central ad campaign,” bursts out of my mouth unbidden, and the only sound in the room is the central a/c running through the vents.
It was the natural idea for me to be the face of my own company. I never thought it needed to be any different. It’s my company, my name, my face attached to the label, and the best way to have control over how it’s perceived by the public is to have my hands on every facet. But distance has a funny way of giving perspective, and I’m finding that, for the first time in my life, I wanted to…delegate.
A thought so absurd, everyone in this room is looking at me like I’ve sprouted a tail.
As I sit in this boardroom, in my starched, all-beige business suit, as I listen to everyone talk about the same shit we talk about every week, I come to a realization—this isn’t what I want anymore.
I want color as vibrant as a sea off the coast of Mallorca. I want the sounds of my closest friend playing her guitar humming through the door when I come home. I want the smell of petrichor and grass floating through the air on a rugby pitch after it rains. I want the taste of homemade blueberry lemon pancakes on a Saturday morning. I want the feeling of warm, tattooed arms banded around my waist as a soft, dimpled smile brushes against my neck.
I want a life.
And I’m allowed to want those things—Ideservethem.
Years of never considering what I truly want because asking for more was selfish when I already had so much, and all it took was a few months in London to understand I never had anything at all. Nothing that really mattered, at least. And like an idiot, I let it all go.
“You want to use models?” the head of our production line asks.
“Yes.” I sit up abruptly, the people around me startling. “And I think… I’m sorry, I need to go,” I say, standing and grabbing my bag, frantically shoving my laptop inside.
“Jade, are you okay?” Our head of marketing’s voice is confused, edged with a tinge of panic.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I look out the window, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. “It’s really beautiful out. I think I’m going to go for a walk.”
“But…we’re in the middle of a meeting.”
