Chapter 26

Claire

One month later...

I dabbed the corners of my eyes with my sleeves and swiped another pile of crumpled Kleenex into the trash can. I was sitting in my expansive corner office at Signature Advertising, bored out of my mind.

As the regional chair, all I had to do was make sure the directors were getting their jobs done and host a weekly mentoring session with a few associates. I’d thought that I would at least get a good laugh from those sessions, but the associates here were completely different from the ones at Statham Industries: They actually knew what they were doing.

Their ideas were amazing—way beyond their years. They could write ad copy within minutes, something that took my old associates hours to do. They hardly ever knocked on my door for assistance, and when they did, it was only to show me another remarkable idea that they’d come up with.

In fact, they were so perfect that I spent all last week in my office with the door closed and watched movies.

So much for having more responsibility and fulfillment...

Since I had so much free time, all I could think about was Jonathan, and I couldn’t help but cry. I was missing him. Terribly.

Each time my phone rang, each time my doorbell sounded, and each time there was a knock on my door, I hoped that it was him—telling me to come away with him, telling me that he wasn’t going to let me walk out of his life so easily.

I even woke up this morning reaching out for him, thinking we’d fallen asleep together.

It was for the best, Claire...It was for the best...

“Miss Gracen?” My secretary called my line.

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here demanding to see you. I said that you don’t have any appointments scheduled for the day, but—”

Jonathan?! “Send him in please.” I wiped my eyes and stood up, straightening my dress. I prepared myself to say “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. Let’s just pick up where we left off” as soon as he walked through the door.

The door opened; in walked Sandra and Helen.

Oh...

“Well, it’s good to see you too!” Helen laughed. “Could you try not to look so disappointed to see your two best friends?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to.” I sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re making sure you don’t bomb within your first ninety days.” Helen set down a cake that read ‘Sixty more days to go!’ on my desk. “Looks like you’ve been crying—again.”

“No, I haven’t...I just have—”

“Allergies?” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Please. Have you called him yet?”

I shook my head and the two of them exchanged glances.

“You know, I’m not a huge fan of the monogamous relationship thing,” Helen said as she sat on the edge of my desk. “That aside, I really think you should call him and tell him everything his mother was doing to you...I honestly think you two were made for each other—age gap and all. I’ve never seen sparks like that fly between people—and that’s saying a lot coming from me. I mean, I could literally feel the electricity whenever you were in the same room together, so you need to rectify this ASAP. Oh and random, who is the guy that sits at the side desk in the downstairs lobby?”

“Ashton?”

“Dark brown hair, green eyes?”

I nodded. “That’s him.”

“Is he single?”

“He’s nineteen...”

“Then he’s perfectly legal.” She eased off my desk and walked towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Sandra shook her head. “Why do we put up with her again?” She walked over to my side of the desk and patted my back. “I agree with everything she said about you and Jonathan...I’d never seen you that happy until you started dating him. You need to tell him about his mom.”

“What would be the point? She was wrong for handling it the way she did, but her main message was right. It would never work out. I’m too old for him, and I knew that from the beginning.”

“Okay, you really need to stop—”

“She knew exactly what to say to get to me...She knew throwing my age in my face would break me down. She knew that would make me leave him...”

“And you shouldn’t have let her do that...You should have told him as soon as it started.”

“I just...” I sighed. “He claims that he doesn’t care about his mother, that he sees her as a burden sometimes, but that’s not true...He wants them to have a good relationship. He’s wanted that his whole life. That’s why he always pays for her to go to rehab, that’s why he’s always hoping that this time is the time she’ll get it right, and I think she finally did. I didn’t want to stand in the way of that; that wouldn’t have been fair to him...I keep telling myself that I did the right thing, that I saved myself an even bigger heartbreak down the road but...” Tears fell down my face.

“Did you tell him that you loved him?”

I shook my head. “Why would I? We were close but...I didn’t love him. I liked him a lot and—”

“Claire...” She pursed her lips and gave me her stop-bullshitting-me face.

“I wanted to...I was going to tell him but—” I stopped and shut my eyes. “I knew I was going to break up with him the next day so I didn’t.”

“It’s going to be okay...Stop crying...”

“So! Ashton seems like he might be just the guy to break me out of my disappointing-dick-spell! He is definitely well endowed...” Helen walked back into my office. “He also gave me five packs of mini-Kleenex, so...” She tossed them over to me. “Let’s take you out to lunch, shall we? That’s step one to getting you back to normal.”

––––––––

I walked down to the edge of Ocean Beach, so far that I could see Jonathan’s beach house in the distance. I thought about running towards it and knocking on the door, but I held back.

I’d been doing this every weekend since we broke up: going to the deserted part of the beach, lying out on the sand, and thinking about all the things we’d done together.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the small box he’d given me the day we broke up. I’d been carrying it around with me every day, but I’d held off on opening it because I didn’t want to be reminded of how foolish I was for breaking things off with him.

Unable to suppress my curiosity any longer, I sank down to the sand and flipped the top open: Inside was a beautiful golden necklace with a single anchor charm. Next to that necklace was another one—a silver one with several shimmering charms: There were white and red flags—melded together with “Claire & Caroline” etched onto the back, a silver yacht, an anchor with the words “Yours, Always” signed into the sides, a bottle of wine with our initials on the label, and then there was an “M” and an “L” that were intertwined. The “L” was bolder than the “M” and it was covered in a bright pattern of crystals.

“ML”? What does that mean?

I couldn’t think of any place we’d been to that had “M” and “L” in the title, and I couldn’t remember any conversations we’d had about those two letters.

“My love”? “Mid-life”? “My love” probably...

I placed it around my neck and ran my fingers along the charms, wishing that he was here—explaining what every charm meant and making love to me out in the open...

––––––––

“Miss Gracen, is everything okay? Is something wrong with my idea?”

“What?” I snapped back into reality. “No, Tiffany...Your idea is perfect.” As usual...

“Well, thank you! That means a lot coming from you! And thanks for letting all of us meet you in a coffee shop. Our old director never did anything like that.”

I smiled. “My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your day.” I shook her hand and watched her walk out of the shop.

I’d spent all morning meeting with my associates at the Starbucks across town. I’d told them that they needed to show me their ideas, make a short pitch, and once we agreed on it they could have the rest of the day off.

Was she the last one I had to meet today? Doesn’t that make fifteen? God, I’m losing it...

I was trying to do everything I could to break my routine, to start getting over Jonathan and anything that reminded me of Statham Industries. I hosted staff meetings at pastry shops, found a new park to do my weekly running, and drove out of my way to go to a different beach when I wanted to relax.

I even asked Helen and Sandra to set me up on group dates on the weekends to prevent me from sulking alone at night. But, no matter how nice some of those men were, none of them compared to Jonathan. At all.

I stood up and ordered another cup of coffee, stopping once I saw the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The headline was “Too Good to Pass Up!” and Jonathan was on it. He was smiling in a well-tailored tuxedo and standing on stage addressing his employees at the IPO ball.

Don’t pick it up...Don’t pick it up...You have to get over him, you have to get over him...

I grabbed my latte and sat back down. I desperately wanted to text him “Congratulations” or ask “How does it feel to finally be public?” but I wasn’t sure if he would text me back. And I knew that if he did, I would disregard whatever he said and write “I miss you.”

I opened my folder and started going though the directors’ proposals, making small notes here or there, shaking my head at how perfect their work was.

“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice said.

I flipped a page and didn’t bother looking up. “No, not at all. You can take it away.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking it away. I wanted to know if I could sit down with you.”

I lifted my head up and my eyes widened as soon as I saw the man’s face.

Jesus...

This man was perfection in every way. Every. Single. Way. With his deep brown eyes, dark and sexy bedhead hair, and tanned skin that I could see underneath his unbuttoned shirt, he made me forget whatever I was working on.

I was trying to figure out how old he was; he looked young, but not ‘Jonathan-young.’ As a matter of fact, he looked like he could be my age or maybe—he licked his lips and my thoughts immediately stopped.

“So...” He pushed a few dark locks away from his forehead. “Can I join you?”

I nodded.

“Thank you.” He smiled and sat down, looking at my notebook. “You work for Signature?”

I nodded again.

“My company used them for our phone campaign last year. They do pretty good work.”

I cleared my throat. “What phones? And what company do you work for?”

“The iPhones, Apple. But I don’t work for them. Everyone works for me.” His eyes gleamed.

“You’re Damien Edwards?”

“Yes, and you’re stunning.”

I blushed. “Thank you...”

“What’s your name?”

“Claire, Claire Gracen.”

“Pretty...” He smiled again. “Am I interrupting something important?”

I shut my folder. “Not at all.”