But then she ghosted me and I let them fall away, branding them as fraud bullshit again.
Until now.
Something about knowing I’m going to see her again has reawakened my urge.
It might just be because I know she still reads them – she sometimes offhandedly mentions them on her blog – and it’s just a way to get close to her.
Whatever it is, it makes me think of the past.
And even if the past stings, it’s a sweet kind of sting sometimes, too.
I can see her so easily now, as though she’s superimposed over the dancing rays of sunlight in my office.
Auburn curls falling down to her shoulders, her azure eyes always flitting here and there as if searching for the best scoop … She had a habit of biting her lower lip, her pale forehead crinkling in concertation when she was reading a paperback novel.
I close my eyes, breathing slowly, trying to push her away.
I open them to my office, two wide leather couches surrounding a glass coffee table, my wide desk like a captain’s table laid out before me.
I have the blinds thrown open, letting in shafting rays of yellow morning sunlight. The windows sparkle, recently cleaned.
After knocking back my espresso and laying the blue patterned mug in the saucer, I turn back to the horoscope.
You’ve been hiding from second chances, but now it’s time to be brave and confront issues you’ve put off for long enough. You’re a capable person and can defeat any challenges you encounter.
“Yeah,” I snarl. “As if I didn’t already fucking know that.”
“Talking to yourself again, boss?” Nick says, opening the door a crack.
“Might as well get in here, mate, if you’re gonna loiter.”
Nick strides into the room.
My VP is a tall man with wide shoulders, an ex-rugby player with cauliflower ears and a twice-broken nose. His sandy blond hair sticks straight up with hair product. He nods at the desk, silently asking if he can sit, and I wave a hand, telling him he can.
“Imagine this,” I mutter, and then wince.
Imaginemakes me think of that childish game Grace and I used to play, a couple of love-struck dumb arses sitting under the football stands … or soccer, I should say, since I’m in the land of the free and the home of the brave now.
“A rugby and a football player working together.”
“I know.” Nick grins. “My old mates’d crucify me if they knew. On LinkedIn I’ve just got ‘fitness instructor.’ I thought you’d want to know … the guests are starting to arrive.”
I let out a growl, leaning forward to switch off the computer monitor. The horoscope blinks away and I sit back, moving my forefinger around the edge of the espresso mug. I can feel the slight heat from the coffee.
Nick sighs, placing his hands on the edge of the table. “I don’t get it, boss. If you don’t like this girl, why invite her?”
“I never said I didn’t like her,” I mutter.
I stand up and walk to the window that overlooks the fitness complex, my first real venture after a dirt biking fuck-up stole my football career from me.
Two large playing fields dominate the complex, surrounded on all sides by the dormitories where the guests will be staying. At the far end, there’s a large bespoke gym in a construction-style building, built especially for this event.
“Have you put the sponsors up in their special accommodation?”
“Yep,” Nick says.
“Did you tell them how many thousands of goddamn pounds it cost?”
