“They’ve agreed to everything we pushed back on?”
My back stiffens in the car seat. After the last week of constant back and forth, having him concede so quickly, without any pushback, makes me feel like Paul is up to something.
“Yep. The sunset clause is back to five years and the tour commission is cut out of the post-term agreement.” John’s voice emanates from the speakers and echoes around the car.
I can barely contain my excitement and I pump the roof of the truck with my fist.
Christopher smiles widely and squeezes my leg.
“And you’re sure he’s not up to something, plotting some kind of revenge?”
“The NDA alongside the post-term agreement will ensure that can’t happen.”
“Are you telling me that I’m finally free from Paul?”
“Yes,” John says matter-of-factly, never one to joke.
I bite my lip to stop a squeal from leaving my mouth as I jump up and down in my seat. I feel like a prisoner who’s been granted early release for good behavior.
“Thank you, John. Thank you. Thank you.”
My fist meets the horn and I startle the woman removing her suitcase from the trunk of the taxi in front.
“Do you want me to email over the paperwork to sign now, or do you want to come in tomorrow, where we can also discuss me coming on board as your manager?”
My jaw hits the floor and my stomach fills with butterflies.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You’re officially going to come on board as my manager?” I need reassurance to make sure I’m not misunderstanding.
“Yes, I’ve spoken with my wife and if you and I can agree to everything, then I’ll let the law firm know I’m going to be leaving to manage you.”
My heart skips a beat as I look at the screen on the dashboard.
It’s not Christmas for another week.
“Oh my God, thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.” Excitement lines my every word.
A bang on the window startles me and I tense up. My immediate fear that a fan has recognized me is alleviated when I see a traffic warden motioning me forward instead.
“I’ve got to go, John. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone and drive down to the British Airwaysdeparture sign, pulling into a spot so I don’t have to rush to say goodbye to Christopher. I turn the engine off and turn to him.
“Can you believe it?”
“I believe it more than I believe you actually chose to wear that.”
He looks at my matched stonewash multicolored hoodie and shorts as he reaches for the door handle.
My shoulders sink, not from the diss, but from the fact that he’s finally back to his usual sarcastic self. I’ve somehow missed his subtle insults, even though they’re often at my expense. Hopefully we can finally fully get back in sync, into the rhythm we’d established back in June, before our worlds turned upside down.
“Hold on.” I reach for his arm, then lean over and retrieve an envelope from the glove compartment. “This is your other Christmas present.”
“What is it?”
