---

My event planning business is a dud. Apparently, people are happy to use me to plan events as long as they don’t have to pay me. After countless meetings and following fruitless leads, I was ready to give up.

Then, last week I got a call from the Executive Assistant to the CEO of one of the largest talent agencies in the country—according to a quick Internet search. She said she had been referred by a friend of a friend and wanted to talk to me about planning their DC office grand opening event.

I panicked a little since I hadn’t planned an event of that magnitude yet.

Our initial phone call was a chance for me to figure out what they wanted. I had a week to get myself ready for our face-to-face. Ms. Haynes told me that their new CEO was opening the branch in May of this year to accommodate the growing film and television industry in the Washington metro area. He wanted this party to be one that would show his clients they didn’t need to fly to New York City or Los Angeles to find a great agent and that he was here to stay. It would be a sizable, but exclusive event and he was a stickler for budgets.

I’ve spent the week scouting venues, talking to vendors about food, linens, decorations, lighting and sound, and creating a vision I would pitch to her during our meeting.

If I could land this client, I’d be well on my way.

I went shopping for the meeting and bought myself a new suit. A killer, black power suit, that made me look the part of an experienced event planner.

Their office sits in DC’s Golden Triangle; it is the heart of the District’s business community and stretches from Dupont Circle to the White House’s front lawn. It’s a location that boasts power, access and money. I was twenty minutes early, so I sat in a coffee shop next door to settle my nerves and to go over my presentation.

All morning I’d been feeling like I was on the cusp of something big, not just a job, but a second chance.

Now, I'm sitting in the elegantly appointed reception area of The Definitive Artists Agency, staring at a wall covered in a mosaic made up of hundreds of famous faces.

On the sleek coffee table in front of me is a pile of this month’s Esquire magazine, arranged in a circle so that no matter where you are sitting one is facing you. On the cover is a man who I can only describe as a blond Adonis.

His unsmiling face is stunning. His eyes a green so startling, most people would think they are enhanced. Only I know they are not. They are wide set, heavy lidded, and lushly lashed. His skin is tan and rugged and his blond hair is swept completely off his forehead, revealing a broad, heavy brow that is perfectly proportioned to his high cheek bones and full mouth.

The caption right below his chin—his perfect with the dimple in the middle chin—reads “Winning. How Dean Orleans does it Without Breaking a Sweat.”

All at once, I feel dizzy, despondent, thrilled, hyper-aware, terrified. Dean. Is he a client of theirs?

He's even more beautiful than he was as a boy standing on the edge of manhood, and all of my old feelings come rushing back and completely consume me. I’d put Dean into a place in my heart that I never ventured to. His picture sits untouched in the bottom of the drawer by my bed. I had told myself that the love I had for him was gone because I knew nothing would ever come of it. Now I know that I was lying to myself. My feelings are exactly as they were. I want to shout in frustration. I don’t need this today.

I look down at myself to make sure the necklace, the one with the ring he gave me hanging on it, is tucked into my jacket. Even though no one who sees me would know what it means, I feel a tremendous sense of relief it’s not showing.

“Ms. Dennis, Ms. Haynes will see you now.” The young man who had greeted me when I walked into the office building calls from behind the reception desk. It breaks the spell that seeing Dean has cast.

I force myself to look away from the magazines and smile at him.

He walks toward me. “Please, come this way,” he says with a polite, but slightly stiff smile.

I follow him down a hallway of glass walled offices. The entire office is decorated in white leather and stainless steel. The only color in the entire space comes from the bold, abstract paintings on the walls. I barely notice them as I try to collect myself. Seeing Dean’s picture, having all of my old feelings come rushing back to me have disturbed my equilibrium.

He stops at the open door of an office which gives me the view of a woman who, judging by the gray threading her dark hair, appears to be middle-aged. She's sitting behind a large computer screen that obscures her face.

When he opens the door, her face peeks around the computer screen, and I’m greeted by a pair of warm brown eyes and a wide smile, set in a face so striking, I think she must have been a model when she was younger.

“Ms. Dennis,” she exclaims as she stands up and rounds the desk. She's even taller than I am, and willowy.

Dressed in all black, she looks like what you would expect someone to look like who works in a talent agency. I give myself a mental high five for purchasing this suit.

Her smile is all warmth and grace as she ushers me into the chair on the other side of her desk.

“Please, call me Milly,” I say reflexively.

Her smile broadens and she says, “Good, you can call me Cristal.” She extends her hand and I reach out to shake it. Some of my nervousness eases.

Instead of going back to sit behind it, she sits in the chair next to mine. She gets right down to business.

“You have a budget of thirty-five thousand dollars. You cannot spend a penny more. Not a single penny.” Despite the briskness in her tone, she's smiling and it helps calm the swarm of nervous energy in my chest.

“This party is important, we want it to be just like everything else we do here—elegant, luxurious, without a hint of a gaudiness.” She leans back, still smiling and says, “Tell me how you are going to blow our minds.”

It takes super human strength not to gulp. I reach into my briefcase and pull out my party planner and the design sheet I’ve already created.

I lay it on the table between us and say, “I can do even better than that. Let me show you.”

---

An hour later, we’ve signed a contract and she doesn’t even blink when I mention my fee. She has another meeting right after mine, so we agree to touch base in a couple of days to work out more details.

I start to put my papers back into my bag. I can’t wait to get home and tell my mother how things went today.

“This is going to be great. Dean will be thrilled.” She grins at me, claps her hands together, and stands to walk back to her desk.

You know that phrase, “the world stops spinning”? Well the opposite happens to me. My world begins spinning so fast that it flies off its axis. The papers in my hand flutter to the ground. I look at her incredulously, hoping my expression doesn’t belie even a quarter of the turmoil that is building inside of me.

“Dean?” I squeak.

She looks at me quizzically. “Yes, Dean Orleans. He’s our new CEO. It hasn’t been announced yet. That is one of the items on the agenda for this grand opening. This party is really important to him. To all of us,” she says as she sits back down behind her desk.

I try to recover and bend to pick up the papers on the ground. I cough and then force myself to say nonchalantly, “Oh, I didn’t realize. I saw that magazine cover and thought he was a client.”

She laughs, a genuinely amused laugh. “He looks like he could be one, but no, he’s the boss. Not just a pretty face.”

I don’t imagine the admiration I hear in her voice, and I'm annoyed it makes me feel jealous. Knowing Dean so well used to be a privilege I enjoyed, and now I’m worse than a stranger.

Just then, the door flies open and as if conjured by our conversation, the subject of it walks through the door.

The atmosphere in the office changes, immediately and drastically. All of the oxygen seems to fly out of the open door, and I struggle to steady myself.

I have often imagined our paths crossing. I wondered how I would feel, and I wondered how Dean would react. Nothing could have prepared me for the riot of emotions which starts to gallop, like unbroken mustangs, through my chest.

At a loss, I look at Cristal, she looks completely relaxed, so I know it’s just me who feels the effect of his presence like the heat of a furious fire.

He stands in the doorway, looking like the god Achilles, and his gaze sweeps the room before it settles, like a green laser beam, on me.

The collision of our eyes, transports me to the past, and suddenly, Dean and I are back in my bedroom on the last night we saw each other. The last time we kissed, and the night I made promises I went on to break only days later.

I see that boy, and I forget myself. I take a step toward before I even realize I’ve moved. The shuttering of his expression and the quick shake of his head wakes me up.

I look at Cristal and blush when I realize she's watching me. She looks curious, and I don’t know what to say. So, I just look back at Dean.

The picture on the magazine cover does him no justice. He's tall, much taller than me, even in my heels, and muscular but lean.

He's dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and red tie. His blond hair is longer than in the picture and swept off his face. His eyes, green and clear, remind me of the bottle of sparkling water I just finished drinking.

Those eyes, icy as wintergreen trees, are currently on me. He’s studying my face. His expression is one of cold impassivity. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me. Then, as if I'm a person of no consequence, he simply looks away.

“Dean hates you.”

His mother’s harsh declaration rings in my head. Given the reception I just received, I guess he still does.

“Cristal, we have a meeting,” he says curtly. I look away and get back to packing up my things.

“Good afternoon, Dean,” she says sarcastically. “Yes, we do. But not for another ten minutes. I was just meeting with Ms. Dennis—I mean Milly—about our holiday party.” She walks over to stand by me. “Your timing is actually perfect, now you can meet her yourself.”

I fix a smile on my face and look back up at him. He’s still not smiling and he’s studiously avoiding my eyes.

I’m not sure if I should say anything. He must recognize me, but doesn’t want to acknowledge me.

I wonder if he will embarrass me by having Cristal cancel the contract now or wait until I’m gone before he drops the ax. Because I’m sure he doesn’t want me working for him.

The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. Cristal looks between us and then says, as if we are both aliens she has never seen before, “Milly Dennis, this is Dean Orleans, our CEO, he's not normally so preoccupied.”

His eyes flit to my face and I feel desperate to say his name. I want to walk over and put my arms around him. Those are the eyes of the man I love—the man I’ve never stopped loving. Even with that cold expression, those eyes were once my sanctuary, my safe harbor, and I feel tears welling in my own eyes as he looks at me.

His expression softens slightly for only a second before he says, “Hello, Milly.” His tone gruff and short.

He looks back at Cristal. I want to scream for him to turn back to me, I want his eyes back on me. I have so much to say. My heart is in my throat, my pulse is wild, as rivers of adrenaline rich blood rush through my body.

Everything about me recognizes him as my other half. How can he not feel it? How can he tear his eyes away from me?

I have so many questions and yet I just stand there, watching the man who I never got over act like I don’t exist. The man whose picture I pull out of my drawer and stare at when I need to remember what it feels like to be loved. Whose promise ring is hanging around my neck, laying on my chest right now.

His voice, so familiar, cuts through the silence. “Let’s move our meeting to tomorrow morning. Something has come up.” He looks back at me, and I swear I see a flare of something in his eyes. When I blink, though, his expression is totally blank. I glance down at my bag and pretend I’m looking for something.

Cristal sounds mildly annoyed when she says, “Okay, but you’re supposed to be in New York tomorrow. We’ll have to set up a conference call.”

Dean responds with a distracted, “Fine.” Then, I hear the door open and shut. It’s only then, that I look up from my bag.

I feel a nauseating combination of relief and sadness congealing into a sickening lump in my gut. I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he was here. I can’t tell what he was thinking, but it couldn’t have been anything good. He didn’t greet me like a long-lost friend, and I followed his cues. I just need to get out of here.

Cristal walks back to her desk seemingly unaware of my state of total discombobulation.

“I think he’s got a lot on his mind. Some personal stuff. So, excuse him. He’s normally a lot more personable than this. I’m surprised though, since he asked me to personally bring you in.”

I don’t even know how to process what she said or how I should respond, so I just smile, my stomach sinks and I feel a sense of dread wash over me.

“What do you mean?” I ask her slowly and as nonchalantly as possible.

“He sent me your details. Said he’d received a referral from someone you’d worked for.” She glances at me casually.

“Oh, okay. I see. I didn’t realize. I’ll have to find out who and thank them.”

I know my smile must look crazy, because I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, which are probably reflecting the horror I’m feeling.

Dean knew I would be here. He received a referral? Unlikely. I just know I need to get out of here.

“Well, I’ll do my best to make sure I impress him with my event planning skills,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You do that and you won’t have a thing to worry about when it comes to him,” she says kindly, clearly oblivious to my rapidly growing anger.

“While I have you here, let’s just bang out a few more details. I was going to work on them tomorrow, but since my meeting has been canceled, why don’t we just continue ours?”

She gestures at the chairs in front of her desk and I sit back down.

I'm nervous about being in the same building with Dean, but I can’t afford to lose this opportunity. And now that I know how I got it, I want to stick around long enough to confront him and ask him why.