“No, no.” He dropped my hand to fold his arms. “I knew you were only here for a little while; I shouldn’t be too shocked.”
“Bex is pregnant. She needs me back in London. So maybe this—” I gestured between me and him “—is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“A disaster?” He reeled back. “That’s – okay, wow.”
“I’m sorry, I’m saying this all wrong.” It was new to me. Talking to a man who drove me so crazy with desire I could barely see straight was entirely foreign territory. “I’m not sure it’s wise to get involved in anything when I’m leaving soon.”
“Right.” Elliot’s Uber pulled up beside him, but he didn’t move.
“I’m only trying to do the right thing,” I pleaded.
“I just—” His lips thinned as he searched my face. “I guess I was hoping for more and that’s on me. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I insisted. “I really wish things were different.”
“If you say so.” He yanked open the car door, threw his rucksack in.
“I do say so.” I gulped back tears. “You think this is easy for me?”
“I think you’re being practical,” he said harshly.
“If it’s practical to care about my best friend then, fine, I’m being practical,” I said hotly.
“Or you’re doing the exact thing Bex has been warning you about,” he said. “Letting life pass you by because it might steal focus from the one thing you want to concentrate on.”
“For once I’m choosing my life over my career,” I said. “Bex is all I have!” I’d never felt this way about a man before, and I didn’t know what to do with that. But two things I did know to be true were that Bex was in trouble and that my visa would end soon. Both those problems could be solved by me going home. Adding Elliot into the mix was a complication I wasn’t sure I could handle.
“All you have?” he repeated impatiently. “Maybe that’s because you won’t make space for anyone else. Like, right here, right now. You don’t know yet what we could be.”
“That’s right, I don’t know.” Elliot had been in my life a matter of weeks. Did that mean he was mine? How could he be so sure, so soon? “Elliot, we had one kiss. I’m still figuring things out.”
He stepped back, shaking his head. “You don’t want to try.”
“What? No!” He thought I was being cruel. “I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
“What’sright?” he repeated. “You are so infuriating! The right thing is staring you in the face and you’re ignoring it.”
“Please,” I begged. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“Then let me make it easier.” With that, Elliot climbed into his taxi and slammed the door shut.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elliot wasn’t in the office the next day, or the next couple of days after that. He remained on theWoodstockset up in the Bronx. RJ’s issue with his director had deepened into a wider conflict with the network so Elliot’s diplomacy was in high demand. I filled my time sketching out ideas for the remaining scenes and emailing suggestions to Elliot, all of which went unanswered, as did my repeated calls and texts. I couldn’t erase the image of Elliot’s wounded face from my brain. I’d done that to him. I’d made him feel that way. I hadn’t intended to, but I had to face facts; he’d have been well within his rights to never speak to me again.
I rattled around the office uselessly, praying RJ gave more feedback that could at least divert my attention away from the gnawing, relentless hurt that burned in the center of my chest, but RJ was too occupied withAll Kinds of Killingcommitments plus the drama onWoodstockto say anything other than “Soon.” The weekend was fast approaching, and I was facing two solid days of moping. I planned to lose myself in isolation, box sets and cheap wine. It didn’t matter that I had limited time left in this vibrant and dynamic city. Just likemy situationship with Elliot, what was the point in getting invested in it?
It was a relief when an overworked Michelle asked me to help with some last-minute premiere details. In all the drama, I’d forgotten that theAll Kinds of Killingpremiere was next week and it felt good to put my event-organization skills to use. And what an event – taking place at the New York Botanical Gardens, the plan was for the red carpet to lead into the new ‘Killer Plants’ exhibit that was opening the same week. The concept art looked beyond fabulous, but although I tried to care about taxis and photo lines and glamor, I just couldn’t dial up the enthusiasm, no matter how much I tried. Eventually, Michelle threw her pen down and turned to me.
“What’s with you?” she said, not unkindly.
“Nothing.” I buried my face in the email I was reading. “I think we should make RJ’s call time thirty minutes earlier though.”
“No.” She reached across, slammed my laptop lid down. “Something is up, and I want to know about it now.”
“I’m fine,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “See?”
“Lucie.” Michelle fixed me with an authoritative stare. “You’re not yourself. I’ve asked you three times now to send me the car allocation and you haven’t. We haven’t known each other that long, but it’s obvious something is up.”
