Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Which is another part of the problem.
My outside doesn’t match my insides.
Not at all.
“Seriously, Maya,” I add, my throat tightening as I turn away from the window. “I think Oliver might be perfect. Like…for me. And that he might think so, too.”
Maya makes an appropriately concerned sound, before ruining it with, “Oh, no, Em. A kind, funny, sexy as hell man with a panty-melting accent and ridiculous amounts of money wants to date you for real. How awful. Let me go fetch the world’s tiniest violin.”
“Maya, I’m serious,” I say, flopping back onto the bed with a huff, staring up at the elegant crown molding on the triple-trayed ceiling. Even his ceiling is ridiculously fancy.
As fancy as I am not.
Not really. Not in real life.
“So am I,” Maya says. “Hold on, I’m putting resin on my bow now.”
“Seriously, this can’t happen,” I push on, ignoring the screechy “tiny violin” sounds she’s making on the other end of the line. “Our business is hanging on by a thread, I’m already on the edge of burnout, and this is just the beginning of the marathon. We have miles to go before we rest, and I can’t bring that level of hustle to my professional life, while navigating a high-profile, long-distance relationship in my private one.”
“Okay. So?” she asks, thankfully ceasing her painfully squeaky version of “What Child is This.”
I blink. “What do you mean, so? So…I can’t date him. That’s it. Even if he actually wants to, and I’m not being crazy. I just can’t. We’d be doomed from the start. The business has to come first.”
“Why?”
My heart record scratches to a stop in my chest, only to start pounding harder again a second later. “What?” I croak out, panic fisting around my throat. “What does that mean? You don’t want to give up, do you?”
“No, of course not,” she says, sending my breath rushing out in a huff of relief. “But that doesn’t mean we have to let work take over our lives, either. I’ve been talking to my mom a lot the past few days, Em.”
“Oh yeah? And what did the doc have to say?” I murmur. Maya’s mom is a psychiatrist, the only nice psychiatrist I’ve ever met, actually.
Most of the other ones I’ve encountered give strong sociopath vibes, but maybe that’s just a New York City thing. You have to be pretty crazy to practice psychiatry in one of the biggest, more feral cities in the world.
“She said that the years go by way faster than you think when you’re young,” Maya says. “And that, looking back on my life when I’m her age, I’m never going to wish I’d worked more. I’m going to wish I’d played more, dreamed more. Loved more.”
My ribs squeeze around my fluttering heart. “Yeah. That sounds right, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Maya murmurs. “And true. So…I say we keep pushing hard for the next few weeks, book what we can book, and if we aren’t in a better place by the end of the year, we talk to the management company about breaking the lease.”
I bite my bottom lip. “They could go after us for 22 months of unpaid rent, Maya. All at once. We’d be ruined.”
“They could,” she agrees, “but I seriously doubt they will, not if we agree to pay a penalty fee and forfeit the deposit. And yeah, that would hurt, but it wouldn’t break us. Then, we go back to meeting high-profile clients over lunch for a while, until our bottom line recovers. People love lunch, and buying lunch is a lot cheaper than a lease on an office space in DUMBO.”
I nod, knowing she’s right and…hating it at the same time. “It feels like failure, though, doesn’t it? A little?”
“It does, but it would be a bigger failure to sacrifice what’s left of our twenties to the Gods of Capitalism.” She pauses before adding in a more pointed voice, “Or miss out on the guy of our dreams because we’re too busy working ourselves to the bone just to keep our heads above water.”
I exhale another shaky breath. “Yeah.” I swallow hard before confessing in a smaller voice, “But I’m still scared.”
“Of course, you are. If this goes hideously awry, it’s going awry with the entire world watching. The paparazzi will probably snap pictures of you crying at the airport on your way home after the breakup. And of you stress-eating an entire pizza in The Village. And of you having a bad hair day in Central Park, while Oliver’s already moved on with the Princess of Peru or whatever.”
I sit up, frowning at the darkened window again. “Thanks for the visuals, friend. Now, I’m considering making a break for the elevator right now. Or just hurling myself out the window and being done with it.”
She has the nerve to laugh, the wretched woman. “Sorry. But I’m here to keep it real. That’s why you called me.”