On Thursday, I have Joyce clear my schedule for the entire afternoon. Rori is scheduled to come by and present her concepts for the campaign, and I’ve been dreaming about seeing her again ever since I dropped her off at her apartment the other day. All our correspondence since then has been over email, and that just isn’t enough Rori for me.

After I’d apologized to her the other day, I’d felt something open inside me. I didn’t realize how long I’d been holding onto that guilt for. I’m sure she hasn’t forgiven me a hundred percent — that’ll take time — but at least she seems open to it. When we’d made love in the backseat, it had felt different than the other times. Like something that had been standing between us was gone now.

Of course, there’s still all the other stuff. And I have no idea how I’m going to deal with that — but for the first time, I feel strangely confident that maybe Rori and I are strong enough to figure it out. Together.

She’s supposed to be here for two o’clock, and by half-past one, I’m popping out of my office every five minutes and scanning the lobby area. Joyce raises her eyebrows every time before throwing her hands up in the air.

“Mr. Lake, is there something I can do for you?”

“No. Nope. Just waiting for my two o’clock.”

“I’ll be sure to alert you when she arrives,” she says, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated. “As I always do.”

Joyce has been with me for almost as long as I’ve been in this business. She’s brusque and efficient and pretty no-nonsense, but she’s always had a soft spot for me, I think. She never had any children of her own, even though she’s been married for many years. I’ve never pried, but I think she’s felt she missed out on that part of her life. So even though I wouldn’t say she mothers me, exactly, I think she does view me in a bit of a maternal way. She looks out for me. Every once in awhile, she even gives me a much needed dose of real talk.

“Right. Of course. Thanks.”

I go back into my office and force myself to sit behind the desk. I have a thousand things I could be doing right now, but instead I’m pacing around like a little kid on Christmas Eve. It’s actually a bit pathetic. Maybe I need Joyce to lecture me or something. Maybe then I could grow a pair.

Finally, at a couple minutes to two, my phone rings. I glance down and see right away that it’s Joyce.

“Yes?” I pick up the phone so fast I nearly drop the receiver.

“Your two o’clock has arrived.” Her tone is unmistakably amused.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Send her in please.”

I straighten my tie, smooth down my hair, and try to look cool when Rori walks in. And I manage it ... until someone walks in behind her.

“Hi Wes,” Rori says. “You remember my business partner Kyla, right?”

“Right, of course.” I stand up and shake Kyla’s hand, even though what I want to do is throw her out my office window. Okay, not really. But I wish I’d known Rori wasn’t going to be coming to this alone. At least I could have tempered my expectations. “Nice to see you again.”

I lead them down the hallway to the conference room, ignoring the feeling of Joyce’s eyes following us as we go. My personal life is none of her business, and she’d never dare ask, but I also know the woman isn’t stupid.

We get to the conference room and I hold the door open for them. The lights come on automatically, illuminating the room that’s designed in the same style as my office. White, steel, glass. Clean. Modern.

I flick a switch that lowers the projector screen, and then another one that raises the projector out of the center of the table. I see Kyla looking around, impressed, and Rori elbowing her. I bite back a chuckle.

“Just plug your laptop in here,” I say, gesturing to the projector. And then the floor’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Wes.” Rori has her professional voice on, I can tell. Not to mention that fucking pantsuit again, which is somehow so awful it’s sexy again. Or maybe it’s just the way Rori wears it. With those curves, the woman could make a lunch lady uniform look sexy.

She leans over to grab the cord for the projector and I get a glimpse of the cleavage hidden by her button-down. Damn. Does she want me concentrating on her presentation or not?

Rori gets the laptop connected, and a presentation appears on the screen. It’s just a powerpoint, but it looks nice, with a subtle marigold in the bottom corner. Rori and Kyla exchange a few whispers, and then Rori straightens up and faces me.

“Thank you for having us here today,” she says. I can tell she’s a bit nervous but she’s holding it together well. “I want to stress that these are our preliminary ideas, and obviously anything can be revised to suit your — GoldLake’s — preferences.”

I lean back in my chair and nod. “Sounds great.”

They exchange another look, and then Kyla takes over, walking me through a couple of similar campaigns that they want to target and why those worked. They’ve obviously put in the time and done their homework on this. They have stats and projections and even a break-down on the most cost-effective channels for reaching our target audience. When Kyla is done with the background and metrics, Rori takes over again.

“As I mentioned to you earlier, our plan is to focus on the actual new hires and let them tell their own stories — what their lives were like before and after starting at GoldLake. Maria Costa was a perfect candidate for this. Her story really touched me, and I think it will resonate with a lot of other women. So this week we met with Maria, with our videographer in tow, and let her do just that — tell her story.”

With a click of the mouse, the video launches into full-screen.

I don’t recognize the woman on screen — I haven’t actually met her yet — but I know it’s the woman whose resume Rori passed along a couple of weeks ago. Maria. She’s a pretty woman, youngish, with long dark hair that’s pulled back over her shoulders. Rori has good instincts — the woman on the screen seems warm and friendly and competent, exactly the kind of spokesmodel who would work well in a campaign like this. I lean back and watch the video play.

“I came here from Brazil three years ago,” Maria is saying. “But a year later, I lost my husband.”

She keeps telling her story, about the death of her husband and how she’s worked to support her son, how he’s struggled to fit in at his school. I don’t mind admitting that my eyes mist over a little as she talks. Her story is hard to hear, and Rori and Kyla have layered it perfectly with still photos of her family and some instrumental music. Nothing too over-the-top cheesy, but enough that it pulls at the heartstrings. The video plays on, the music shifting and getting more upbeat.

“We’ve made it work, though, my son and I. We found an apartment at Elmwood Gables, which is part of the state’s community housing initiative. And I found a volunteer job at the community center just down the street. I’m helping get the community garden off the ground — and my son, Bruno, loves coming to work with me on the weekends and playing in the dirt.”

Maria smiles, and I feel my stomach turn over. The video cuts to footage of Maria and her son, walking through the community center, waving at someone, and then emerging out into a blooming garden. But I can barely focus on the screen. Nausea creeps through me. I clench my fists under the table as the video plays on, showing off more shots of the community garden. It segues from there into shots of the GoldLake offices, Maria talking eloquently about how happy she is to be working here, growing her skills and learning from her mentor.

It’s exactly the kind of testimonial we wanted. But of course — of fucking course — Maria’s apartment and the community center are right in the middle of our target demolition area.

My mind is whirring. We can’t have an ad featuring someone who’s going to be displaced by our development project. I mean, the whole point of this hiring initiative is to make us look like the good guys, despite the fact that we’re tearing down community resources. This is going to completely backfire on us if we go this route.

I force myself to stare unblinking at the screen while the video wraps up.

“Getting this opportunity has been life-changing,” she’s saying now. “As a project manager, I’m already getting to work with some of the best in the business. GoldLake has really changed my life. For the first time in a long time, I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

The video fades to black and Rori smiles at me expectantly as Kyla flicks the lights back on.

I scrub my hand over my jaw, pretending to think. Rori keeps smiling, but as the silence stretches on, her expression starts to get more and more tense. She twists her hands together.

“We used our own videographer for this, but obviously we could go with a more professional company if you prefer. We liked the sort of hand-held look, but if that’s not your thing we can ...” She trails off, studying me.

I set my hands down on the glossy white table in front of me. “I’m just not sure it’s the right approach,” I say.

“Oh.” Rori’s face falls and she and Kyla exchange a nervous glance. “Is there any particular reason?”

I shake my head. “I’m just not feeling it.”

They exchange another look. Rori licks her lips nervously. “It’s just, any specific feedback you can give us will help us make tweaks to get it more to your liking.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just wasn’t feeling the video. Too touchy feely for me. It’s not on brand for GoldLake.”

Rori nods, latching on to my comment. “Okay. Thanks, Wes. We’ll take this back and work on something else. When would you like to see a revised proposal?”

“Next week is fine. Do you need me for anything else?”

“I ... I don’t think so.”

“Good.” I stand up. “Thank you for time. Please set something up with Joyce for next week.”

I leave them standing there in the conference room as I stride back to my office. My stomach clenches with guilt for the way I shut down their proposal, but this whole thing is just a fucking disaster waiting to happen. The whole point is to draw attention away from what we’re doing it, and somehow Rori has managed to create a video that does exactly the opposite.

I try not to think about the expression on her face as I walked out of the room, though. I know Rori well enough to know that she puts her heart into everything she does, and she no doubt is taking this personally. But there was no way I could tell her the real reason we can’t use the video. Not unless I want to tell her everything and that … well, that can’t happen. Not yet. Not until I figure out how to do it without destroying everything we have.

As soon as I get back to my office, I close the door and go to the window. I watch the city sprawled out below. I try to remind myself that GoldLake is on the cusp of something huge. That this project is the culmination of my life’s work to date. It would be crazy to let my feelings for Rori get in the way of that.

So why do I feel like handing in my fucking resignation and whisking Rori away to a remote island where we never have to talk or think about Elmwood Gables again?

As I stand there, I promise myself that I’ll make it up to her this weekend. At the wedding, where we can get away from this city and from work. Where it can just be the two of us, alone in a cozy bubble, free to be together the way we were maybe always meant to be.

And then when we get back … well, when we get back I’m going to figure out what the hell to do about everything else.

In the meantime, I think of something concrete that I can do. I think of Maria in that video, helping her son with his homework the same way my mother used to, walking him to a public school that looks like it’s two steps away from being shuttered. My mother deserved more opportunities back then, but maybe so did I.

I go out into the reception area to find Joyce.

“Yes, Mr. Lake?” she says, without looking up from her typing.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yes?”

“Find the best private schools in the vicinity of the Elmwood Gables Community Housing zone. Elementary and high school, both. Find out how much it would cost for a kid to go to school there, uniforms, tuition, books, whatever. The total cost of the entire education. Pick the two best, most expensive. Then get me a meeting with the schools’ heads. Or director of the board. I don’t care — whoever they’ve got making decisions over there.”

Joyce is looking at me curiously, but I’m already disappearing back into my office.

“Can I tell them what it’s in regard to?”

“Yeah. Tell them I want to do something good.”