Chapter 149

Did I push the wrong name on the contact list? Or had I subconsciously gone for the person I knew would provide me the most comfort?

I should have called Cynthia or Hugo, but I didn’t. My heart made the choice for me.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miles…”

“It’s not bother. You can always call me whenever you want, you know that. I’m just surprised.”

“Me, too, honestly.” I laugh a little, though it doesn’t last.

“Is something wrong?” Miles asks.

“It’s nothing serious,” I tell him at once, to ebb some of the worry I hear in his voice. “Something happened at work today.”

“You want to talk about it,” he said, a statement, not a question. “I’m ready to listen.”

Miles’s voice instantly puts me more at ease than it has any right to. I don’t know what it is about him, but my body’s natural reaction around him is to relax first, ask questions never.

It’s such a stark contrast to how I feel when I’m around Hugo. Not that I’m uncomfortable around Hugo, but with him, I have to put in more of an effort. With Miles, everything comes naturally.

So I tell him the whole story about Sabrina stealing my work, and now her being published. The only thing I leave out are her comments about me running to Hugo. For whatever the reason, I’d rather not bring up Hugo at all in this moment with Miles.

When I finished my story, Miles’s voice twists with obvious disgust. “And what is Hugo doing about this?”

So much for not involving Hugo…

“I haven’t told him, and I’m not sure I will. If he moves to defend me, it could look bad for both of us. I don’t want our personal relationship to affect our business one,” I say.

“Well, if he’s as useless as he seems, then I’m happy to step in and set things right,” Miles says with a huff of anger.

I know that anger is not directed toward me, but to Hugo.

“Thank you,” I say genuinely, hoping to cool his ire. I really don’t want to argue about Hugo right now. “But that wouldn’t look good either. Besides, I can’t have everyone step in for me every time there’s a problem.”

“Without proof, you won’t be able to defend yourself.”

“Then maybe I have to accept this defeat.”

Miles goes quiet for a moment. “That’s not like you, Esther. You don’t typically give up.”

“It’s not giving up, exactly… It’s more like it’s just a sign that I need to move on.”

“You want to leave Harbinger’s?”

“Yes,” I say. I still haven’t decided on what to do about Hugo, but even if we don’t work out, I don’t want to be attached to a job that I don’t enjoy. I studied to be a journalist, but is that truly where my working heart lies? I need time to consider my options. “I’ve already been job searching.”

Granted, I haven’t had much luck just yet, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something out there for me. I just have to find it. When I do, I will succeed, I’m sure of it. The problem is the finding it.

“Listen. Esther,” Miles says. “Why don’t you meet me for dinner tonight?”

“That’s not a good idea, Miles.”

“We can talk about this. I might have a few connections for a few jobs that I think you would enjoy and you’d excel at.”

“I don’t know…” It’s really difficult to say no to Miles on the best of days, especially when he’s trying to be convincing.

“Wouldn’t it be great to see each other again? What’s the harm in one dinner?”

The harm, of course, is that seeing Miles in person would trigger an instinctual response in me to be closer to him. To hold him and adore him and never let him go again, even if he’s engaged. Especially now that I’m sure the relationship between Miles and Selena isn’t real.

It’s dangerous and I know it. Even so, the temptation is too great. I already miss Miles since the last time I’ve seen him.

My heart is weak, which is how I find myself agreeing. “Alright…”

Miles texts me the address of a restaurant that seems to be on the highest floor of a high rise downtown. Seeing the address, I suspect this isn’t the kind of place where I’d want to wear jeans and a t-shirt, so I raid my closet, looking for something more formal. I decide on a dress.

Since leaving Garnar, I’ve made efforts to expand my wardrobe. For years, Garnar insisted I wear plain clothes with simple earth tones. Now my closet is a rainbow of colors, shirts, skirts, dresses. Sequins, glitter, and lace. I love the color, though I make I have enough neutral tones too, for work purposes.

For tonight, as I peruse my closet, I stop on a familiar cocktail dress of blue sequins that shimmers under the light.

This is the dress I wore that first night I met Miles.

I shouldn’t wear it now. For one, it’s club-wear, really, with a short shirt. For two, it would likely remind Miles of the first time we were together, which would send a mixed message.

The memories are good, but I can’t bring them up right now, so I leave that dress and go for one that’s deep purple with billowing translucent sleeves. It’s cute, and more respectable. The kind of thing one would wear to a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant.

After slipping on the dress and fixing my hair and makeup, I enter my car and follow the GPS directions to the address of the hotel. I’m greeted at the door and then directed to an elevator. This elevator has two buttons only – one to take it to the highest floor, and one to take it back to the ground floor.

I press the button for the restaurant.

As the elevator rises, my nerves start to itch. I’ve been chastising myself ever since I first accepted this invitation. Nothing good could come of this.

Even so I don’t turn around.

At the top floor, the elevator doors open and I step into the waiting room of the restauarant. I notice a few familiar faces there, Miles’s security. A host waits at the podium. When he spots me he comes around.

“If you would follow me, Miss,” he says and turns.

I follow him into the dining room, surprised to find that there’s no other people here except Miles, sitting alone at a two-person table near the window. He’s looking out at the lights of the city beyond, seemingly lost in thought.

“Your guest has arrived,” the host says.

Miles turns to look at me. He stands.

“Esther, you’re here.”

He seems vaguely surprised. I told him I was coming. Did he expect me to stand him up?

“I’m here,” I tell him, then motion around. “Isn’t this a popular restaurant? Where is everyone?”

“I bought out the entire restaurant so we could meet and talk without being seen or overheard,” Miles says. “I know we both value our privacy.”

How much must that have cost? And he did all that while suspecting that I might stand him up?

“Miles…”

“Please, Esther. Sit.”

As I move to my chair, Miles comes around to pull it out for me and then pushes it in as I sit down. Then he returns to his own seat.

The host confirms that I will be sharing the bottle of wine already on the table, then makes his exit, leaving Miles and I alone in this empty restaurant.

Looking at him is akin to looking at the sun, so I try to avert my gaze.

“I have a proposition for you,” Miles says.

“What?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst. Is he going to suggest a relationship between us again?

Instead, he says, “Be my campaign manager.”