Laura beckoned, her perfect eyebrows arching. Pam nodded at me.
Okay … I knew this scene. They would feed me some lines about a gap in my skill set, or disappointment with my progress, their hope for more growth. This isn’t working out, Hannah.
“Great to see you, Hannah,” said Laura. Laura was a leggy brunette, in her fifties at least and alarmingly attractive.
My boss, Pam, looked stern as usual.
I perched on the edge of the offered chair.
“Nice to see you as well,” I said. Be brave. Go out with dignity. I tried to smile at Laura, though I think I grimaced. “How was New York?”
“Same old,” she drawled, her city accent thick. Though the Granite Wing Agency was Denver-based, Laura spent weeks on end in New York City. “I got you something.”
“We got you something,” Pam put in.
They laughed together.
A small turquoise box with a white ribbon sat on the desk. I lifted it and read the lid: TIFFANY & CO. “Oh … thank you,” I managed. My stomach gurgled and my hands shook as I untied the ribbon. Stupid fucking nerves.
Inside the box was a long felt pouch, and inside of that a classic Tiffany T-clip pen, all sterling silver except for a thin blue accent.
The pen lay cool and heavy across my palm.
I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Then I stared at Pam as she said, “Hannah, Laura and I would like to bring you on as an associate agent here. What do you say?”
I looked between Pam and Laura, back and forth, blinking owlishly. I wasn’t getting canned. I was getting the promotion I’d coveted for months.
“Do you think I’m ready?” My fingers closed around the pen.
“I’ve been very impressed,” Pam said. “You’ve been with us for almost a year. You learn fast and your dedication is obvious. Excepting your recent absence—” Pam sniffed. Oof, my absence. She meant the three weeks in April when I broke up with Matt and hid at an Econo Lodge and drank way too much gin. “You’ve shown great aptitude for this work.”
“This is what I want,” I said.
“Then congratulations, Hannah.” Laura shook my hand.
I stood and shook Pam’s hand. I hoped my expression looked halfway professional, because inside I was screaming and lighting fireworks.
We talked about my contract, expectations, and even “building my client list,” a phrase that thrilled me. By the time I returned to my office, I had forgotten entirely about the woman outside the deli and her “weird stuff” comment.
My God … I was an associate agent at the Granite Wing Agency.
The workday sailed by in a rose-colored haze.
I left at six and rushed home, but my energy fizzled as I climbed the stairs to the condo. Matt and I hadn’t had sex, much less kissed, since his cryptic announcement five days ago.
You don’t really know me. Hannah, I want things that …
Things that he wasn’t willing to discuss, apparently.
I let myself into the condo and found Matt looming in the pantry, a cup of noodles in hand. Freshly showered and shaved, wearing only loose gray sweats, he looked like sex itself. Seriously—my boyfriend, Matthew Sex Sky Jr. Or was it Matthew Asshole Sky Jr., who viewed everything from death to marriage as a game?
“There you are,” he said, smiling tentatively.
I pried my eyes off his naked torso.
“Ramen for dinner?”
“I was considering it. I could find something else to eat.” He moved into my personal space. I breathed in the scent of his clean skin and aftershave. “Little bird…”
“Hi.” I stared at his chest. Something else to eat. His suggestion wasn’t lost on me.
“How was work?” He tucked my hair behind one ear, then the other, the pads of his fingers brushing my cheeks. I resisted the urge to nuzzle his palms. I knew how persuasive those hands could be, and I wasn’t in the mood.
“Fine. Good.”
“Yeah?” He stroked my neck and I shivered.
“Uh, yeah. Look at this.” I shifted my purse between us and displayed the Tiffany pen. Of course I’d Googled the pen in the privacy of my office. It cost nearly two hundred dollars and sold as a “writing instrument.” An instrument! How luxurious. But the high price and fancy name meant nothing to me. To me, the pen was priceless. It seemed to embody the elegance and professionalism I associated with Pam and Laura, and when I slid it across a page for the first time, writing my name in smooth blue script, I felt the beginnings of a story inside me.
My story.
“How chic,” Matt murmured. “Is Pam trying to seduce you away from me?”
“She promoted me. I’m … an associate agent.” My voice sounded dreary. I knew my expression matched. This should have been exciting news—we should have celebrated—but everything felt wrong. Matt isn’t sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. That was the essence of his announcement on Friday, no matter how I looked at it.
And I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
I wanted him more than he wanted me.
I winced as that knowledge cut into me again.
“Babe, that’s fantastic news.” He wrapped me into a hug, crushing my body against his. I stood still for a while, perplexed by his tone, and then I leaned back and eyed him.
“Did you already know?”
“Hm?” He trained his dark green eyes on a cabinet. After a beat, he disentangled himself and wandered over to inspect the knob.
I huffed. This, I forced myself to remember, was progress: Matt acting like a child instead of immediately resorting to lies.
“So you already knew,” I prompted.
“Pam and I go way back.” He opened the cabinet and pretended to tighten the knob. “You know, she called to ask—to tell me. Sure, she mentioned it in passing.”