Page 105 of Not You Again
“Well.” I slap my hands on my thighs. “That decides it, then.”
I stand and button my suit jacket.
“I knew you’d make the right choice, son.” Hammersmith smacks me on the shoulder. “Sarah has your flight information.”
“Tell her to forward it to Clyde.” I hold out my hand for him to shake. “I’m not going.”
Hammersmith pauses, then laughs. A deep belly laugh that ends in a wheeze. “That’s good. That’s very good. I almost believed you for a second.”
“Believe it.” I shrug, digging the keycard to the penthouse out of my pocket. I smack it on the coffee table. “Consider this my resignation. Effective immediately.”
“There is nothing worth blowing up your career with us for,” Hammersmith blusters, hot on my heels as I make for the door.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I open the door. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All that you’ve taught me. All the opportunities to see the world and grow my skill set. But I’m at a point in my life where no amount of money or promise of promotion is enough, not when I can’t enjoy the life it affords me.”
“You walk out that door and you will never work with the Colonnade again!” His shout echoes in the marble entryway.
I don’t flinch, instead setting my jaw. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
He glares at me, eyes bulging, face turning so red it’s almost purple. I’ve never seen him so angry. And I’ve never seen him look so small.
I reach my hand out as a peace offering. “Thank you for everything. But it’s time for me to go.”
I wait for him to take it, but he never does. I let out a sigh, give him a nod, and say, “Goodbye, Hammersmith. Best of luck.”
As the elevator doors close behind me, I can’t help but smile. The man reflected by the elevator door is not afraid of what will come next. He can handle it. He’s happy. Bold. Free.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVEANDIE
“Okay,” I say on another turn of my studio, “tell me where we are.”
It’s early in the morning, with five days to go until I show at Fashion Week. The pressure is on. The coffee in my hand and the sun spilling through my wall of windows do nothing to calm my crackling nerves.
“Dresses two, seven, thirteen, and eighteen were finished and bagged up yesterday,” Ruby informs me, swiping at her tablet.
Kit was right about me needing help, and he’d already paid for some. After Jamie reviewed my plans and said he was in, he came with reinforcements, bringing Ruby and Catarina along with him. I have an actual team, and while it comes with new stresses, it does mean I can delegate.
“That means dresses one through ten are done, completely.” Catarina crosses off a couple of lines in her notebook. “I have a lineup of models coming through tomorrow, and you can make your final choices.”
“This has to be perfect,” I say for the thousandth time this week. Jamie nods knowingly from one of the dress forms, where he’s working on completing the beading on a bodice.
Ruby and Catarina don’t comment on my neuroses. They’ve seen enough of it by now to know it has nothing to do with them; they do some goddamn amazing work. They keep their heads down and their focus sharp. I love them for it. Where did Jamie find them?
“We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to make your appointment this afternoon,” Catarina keeps going.
He’s not here to see it, but I imagine Kit would be proud I squeezed in some time for self-care in the days leading up to the main event. In addition to going to bed by ten every night, I’ve been building in time for myself during the day. Yesterday, I had my hair done. Tonight, it’s a manicure. Maybe one day I’ll be able to erase his touch from my skin.
My heart throbs with the thought of him. Everything is so raw, still. Even now, I look at the windows and think of him begging me to let him in, to let him know what I need. I wish I’d been better at expressing it that night, or even by our fight before decision day.
Maybe he’d have chosen to stay if I had.
Yesterday, Optimax emailed saying they would cut me a check for damages as soon as a copy of the divorce papers was returned to them. But only with both signatures. Kit hasn’t signed. Or at least, he hasn’t done me a solid and sent the document to the show’s lawyers. It’s one last, tenuous connection to him, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
My eyes fall to his drawing on hotel paper; I taped it to my drafting table after we moved out of our tiny apartment, and I can’t bring myself to remove it.
“Hey,” Jamie acknowledges me when I walk over to observe his work. It’s perfect. Because of course it is.
“Hi.” I force a smile. “Have I told you today that you’re a lifesaver?”