Tessa

Five days have passed since I last saw Barclay in his office. I overheard he had a sudden business trip overseas, and I welcomed the fact that he wasn’t walking around the same office building as me, not to mention the Hammond Hotel—my soon-to-be permanent home.

I dove into my work, spending ten hours a day at my cubicle. The learning curve overwhelmed me, but I tried to focus on one item at a time on my to do list.

My college advisor told me a boss determines how much you love or hate your job, and fortunately, I couldn’t have asked for a better one than Ms. Young. She encourages me to be creative and not be afraid of making mistakes.

“What are you doing here?” Ms. Young says, leaning over the wall of my cubicle. She peers down at me, shaking her head. “It’s Friday after five. There’s a happy hour somewhere in this city with your name on it. Turn off your computer and go. Scoot. Boss’s orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, giving her a high salute.

“See you Monday morning. And, Miss Holly, great work this week,” she adds, and I exhale, feeling my shoulders ease. I want to make a good impression, more than earn my keep, and hopefully she believes I have.

“Thanks for the opportunity and being so helpful.”

“We’re going to do great things.” She gives me a quick nod before leaving.

After saving the document I was working on, I shut down my computer and grab my bag. It’s my first weekend in the city as a true New Yorker rather than a wannabe.

I walk the few blocks back to the Hammond with a spring in my step, excited I get to move into my furnished apartment tonight. I have so much to be thankful for.

Maggie plans on joining me here later this month. Her mother owns a spa in Monroeville and needs help while one of her massage therapists is on maternity leave. I can’t wait until we are living in Manhattan together.

Hammond Press is even covering the cost of shipping my meager belongings to the city. My mother has packed them up for me and arranged the shipment here with Fed Ex. All five boxes will arrive next week.

When I enter the hotel, the manager waves for me to come to the front desk. “Good evening, Miss Holly,” he says. “I have something important to share with you.”

“Hi, Mr. Presley. What’s up?” I wonder if my brother called him to check up on me again. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

“Mr. Hammond called earlier today.” Every muscle in my body stills like I’m sitting on a precipice. “He asked us to bring all your personal items up to the new apartment from your hotel room, along with fully stocking your fridge. Both were completed this afternoon, so you’re all set.”

“Wow. This is very unexpected. Thank you,” I sputter in shock.

I find it hard to believe Barclay did this for me after he said we were over and hasn’t made any contact with me all week. I thought he’d cut me off cold turkey. Maybe he’s feeling guilty and this is his way to say he’s sorry we had to end it. I’ve never dated anyone seriously and need a roadmap to find my way with him.

“Just doing my job. You should thank Mr. Hammond. It was all his idea,” the manager explains with a smile. “Have a great weekend, miss.”

“You too.”

Should I thank Barclay? It’s a no-brainer. My southern manners will nag at me until I do.

With no need to go back to my hotel room, I fish my apartment key out of my bag and ride the elevator up to my new floor. Mrs. Ratner mentioned a young accountant named Mark, who’s also a recent hire, lives across the hall from me. She said it would be nice for us to meet, under the circumstances of us both being new to the city. I’m certain she was playing matchmaker.

Exiting the elevator, I notice the hallways are cozier than the modern hotel floor I’ve been staying on. The walls and carpet have soft, muted colors. There’s even a conversational area with couches and tables near the elevators.

I find my door and stand in front of it. My hand shakes with excitement as I turn the key, entering my own apartment in New York City!

I flip on the light switch for the main living area, and I’m hit with a vision of pink. Pillows, accent covers, an upholstered ottoman—all in the shade of my favorite color. It looks like Lily Pulitzer moved to Manhattan.

Behind me, I hear someone say my name. “Hi, Tessa. Do you mind if I come in?”

It takes me two seconds to recognize Mrs. Mackenzie’s voice. I spin around to see her smiling face. She stopped by my cubicle and congratulated me on the job the day after I left Barclay’s office in tears.

“Yes, please.” I motion for her to cross the threshold. I forgot to close the door in my hurry to get inside.

“I’m sorry to drop in uninvited, but I wanted to give you an apartment warming gift.” She hands me a pink gift bag, the long kind used for bottles of wine.

“Thank you. You really didn’t need to do this. Would you like to come in and sit down?” I ask.

“Maybe another time. My husband and I have dinner reservations soon and he doesn’t do late.” She laughs, clutching her pearl necklace. “Besides, you need to get settled in. It’s your first night here, right?”

“It is. I actually just walked through the door for the first time.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, but I wanted to tell you something first. If you can spare a minute?” she inquires in a serious tone. Her bubbly mood has disappeared.

“Absolutely. Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

“It’s best I don’t. What I have to tell you concerns Barclay. And you.” She pauses, and I know in an instant what she’s really referring to. I nod, unable to deny it. “I’ve never interfered with his personal life, but this time, I must. He’s been a ‘complete bear,’ those are Don Black’s words, since you left his office on Monday. I don’t need the specifics between you guys, but wanted to ask if you’d reach out to him. He needs a friend.”

“But the rules,” I declare.

“The rules don’t say you can’t be Barclay’s friend. It would be better than nothing. Don’t you agree?”

I can’t decide if she’s pushing us into dangerous waters or ones where Barclay and I can stay afloat, never crossing the lines.

“I appreciate you telling me this. I haven’t heard a thing from him since Monday, then he left the country.”

“The trip wasn’t really needed for business. I believe he wanted to escape the feelings he has for you. He landed back here around three this afternoon. Think about what I said, dear. I better go, or my husband will be in a sour mood.” She gives me a motherly hug, and I fight back tears.

After she leaves, I open the gift bag and take out a bottle of red wine. I don’t even know if I have a corkscrew in the kitchen, but I find one in short order and pour a glass. The wine tastes smooth on my tongue—and expensive. I sip it while I put away the few things I have in my suitcase, which doesn’t even fill-up one-fourth of the closet.

I have another glass of wine and sit on my couch, gazing at my phone. The text thread I’ve had with Barclay is displayed and my finger hovers over the screen. Finally, I decide to reach out to him, starting with a sincere thank you.

Hey. Thx for the help w/ my apartment. I <3 it. PINK

An hour passes without a reply from Barclay. I resort to viewing TV on my laptop, because the one in the apartment didn’t come with a dummy manual. I suck at technology.

I watch a couple episodes of Sex and the City, and for a good reason. If anyone knows about man trouble, especially in New York City, it’s these women. I’m drinking my third glass of wine without any food, so I eat some microwave popcorn: the dinner of lazy couch potatoes.

My phone pings, and I jump, spilling the popcorn all over the floor. At least the wine stayed upright.

My popcorn-greased fingers fumble with the phone. I peer at the preview screen and gasp.

It’s Barclay.

Can I call you?

Sure.

Oh my God.