Page 71 of One Last Shot
“Is this why you’ve been so insistent that you can’t stay?”
“Yes.”
“So, where does that leave us?” He sounds like he’s just lost something he worked his whole life for. Totally defeated. Which is ridiculous, because we’ve been sleeping together for less than a week. And before that, we hadn’t seen each other in fourteen years.
“I don’t know. I’ve worked my whole life for an opportunity like this.” Everything I do is about lifting up and empowering women—from the friends I keep, to the women I hire, to the types of events I plan. “This is my chance to really promote female voices, to help show young girls that women can overcome any obstacle, achieve anything they set their mind to. I want that kind of a show to exist in this world. I want something that women can watch with their daughters. Something that doesn’t focus on all the misogyny, but instead focuses on the beauty of the female experience.”
My phone buzzes in my hand as I speak, and Aleksandr’s name flashes across the screen with a video call.
“I needed to see you,” he says when I answer. He’s sitting in a chair in a hotel room, beige curtains hanging behind him. His thick, dark hair is wet and a few pieces curl down into his face. “There was so much passion in your voice just now. I need to know what you look like when you’re talking about something you’re so committed to.”
I glance at my video in the corner of the screen. I’m in a T-shirt, no makeup, and my hair is clipped back so it would stay out of my face when I was working. I watch a faint pink flush infiltrate my cheeks. I don’t fucking blush. What the hell is this?
“Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”
“Never apologize for your dreams, Petra,” he says. “And definitely don’t keep them a secret. Dreams are for sharing, for chasing, for achieving.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re being so supportive,” I tell him.
“Why is that?” he asks, and even through the phone I can tell his eyes are searching my face, trying to understand me.
“Because it means I can’t stay in New York and help you with Stella. It makes everything harder for you.”
“What kind of a selfish bastard would I be if I tried to crush your dreams to achieve my own ends?”
I don’t know what’s happening to me. My whole body feels like it’s melting from the inside out, like my heart has exploded and is oozing lava through my veins, disintegrating me from within. I expect that my skin will turn to ash at any minute, but it doesn’t. It’s just covered with a thin coat of sweat.
“You aren’t saying anything,” he murmurs.
I want to kiss his face, to hold it in my hands and run my lips over his forehead, his eyes, his nose, and his cheeks, ending with his mouth.
“I’m not sure . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words, “that I’ve ever felt soseen.”
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I say, noting how watery my eyes are. I don’t cry. Especially not over a man. But those words were the most honest, most touching thing anyone has ever said to me. “I just didn’t expect you to be so supportive.”
“I know what it’s like to have dreams you’ve worked your whole life for.”
“Did you ever believe you’d be this successful?” I ask.
“I always believed it, which is why it happened.”
I love that he doesn’t fake humility. He doesn’t say “I got lucky” or some bullshit like that. He’s worked hard for everything he’s achieved, and I’m glad he’s owning it.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I feel like my life has been me constantly reinventing myself, going from skiing, to modeling, to event planning, and now hosting this show. None of those things seem to have anything to do with the other, but I’ve let the things I’m passionate about dictate my path. I’ve worked hard for every one of those opportunities, networked my ass off to meet the right people and to be the right person in return. But the show did kind of fall into my lap.” I explain how I met Charley and how she hounded me until I agreed to audition.
“Did it fall into your lap? Or did all that networking finally pay off?”
“A bit of both, I guess.” I shrug.
“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice soft. “Don’t act like you don’t deserve this opportunity.”
I’m not sure I do. “I’m having a bit of impostor syndrome is all. I feel like this is the kind of role that should go to someone more experienced, and I’m still not entirely sure why Charley wantsme.” It feels good to voice what I’ve been keeping in my head all along. I’d never admit to anyone else that I’m scared.
“She obviously sees something in you and knows you’re right for this role. Trust her experience. Trust the process and don’t sell yourself short. Yeah, you’ve never done this before. But you’d never skied competitively, or modeled, or planned a huge event—until you did. Everyone starts somewhere, Petra.”
