Mine to Lose (7 page)

The alarm screaming next to me is the
only thing that pulls me out of bed to get up for work. It’s going to be a long
day, starting my new weekly routine sans Ryan. That thought alone is enough to tempt
me to crawl back under the sheets and call in sick. But an alert on my phone
reminds me that I’m supposed to meet with Mr. Miller, so I have to be on my
game.

I spent the entire weekend curled up in
bed crying my eyes out. Mom called to check on me, I ignored it. Joss and Cam
both texted me, but I only sent them a short response that I was okay. My
sister was relentless, calling at least five times, but I sent every single one
to voicemail. The only call I did take was from Ryan. I tried my best to sound
upbeat, but of course he could hear my sadness, and the concern was evident in
his voice. I just did my best to push through and feigned interest in whatever
it was he was telling me. The evenings felt so lonely without him; they still
do. But I know it’s only been a couple of days.

Fortunately, when I look at my reflection
in the mirror, I see that my eyes aren’t too puffy from crying although my nose
is a little red from the constant wiping. Nothing that a bit of concealer can’t
fix. I'm young, but everything about me just looks worn and old today. I draw
my blonde hair into a messy ponytail so I can clean my face, hoping to wash
away the tired appearance as well.

I make my way through our room to the
kitchen to make a cup of coffee and I notice that our tiny apartment feels huge
without him here. His side of the sink is noticeably vacant, I'm not tripping
over his dirty laundry piled in the corner of the small bathroom, and I don't
have to put the toilet seat down. Not that the toilet seat is a space issue,
but it
is
a convenience issue.

I examine my face in the mirror while I
run the shower to get the water warm, but as I'm about to step in, my phone rings.
My stomach drops when I see his name flash on the screen. I wrap a towel around
me and shut off the water before answering.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice tired and sad.

“Hey,” he manages back. I'm lifted
slightly hearing that he sounds as miserable as me. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Not too good,” I admit. “The first night
I could pretend you were gone for the weekend, but now reality is setting in.
I’ll be waking up every morning without you. How did you sleep?”

“Not so good,” he pauses and takes a deep
breath. “Shitty.”

I smile, knowing that he misses me, too.
“I have a big meeting with Mr. Miller, today.”

“Okay, I don’t want to keep you, I just
wanted to tell you I love you, Em.”

My voice comes out as a whisper. “I love
you, too.”

I stay on the line and listen for him to
hang up, and when he does I take a deep breath and exhale dramatically, keeping
myself in check.

Why can't things just be easy?

Why can't
I love yous
be enough?

And why can't time stop, because now I'm
running late for work.

* * *

“Excuse me, Elle,” I say, knocking on her
office door. “Do you have a second? I’m getting ready to meet with Mr. Miller
and wanted to go over a few things.”

“C’mon in, Emogen,” she says, motioning
to the seat across from her desk. Elle is a well-put together specimen of a
career woman. Before I met Ryan, she’s the type of woman I aspired to. Her
tall, thin frame and strong facial features make her appear intimidating, but
when you get to know her, she’s a kind woman and a great boss. “I needed to
talk to you about this meeting anyway.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to
check the status since this is the first account you’ve handled on your own. Is
everything going okay?”

“I believe so,” I say, pulling out his
client form. “The budget for T.M. is fifty thousand dollars, and with
everything Mr. Miller has requested, I believe it’s likely we’ll come in under
budget. I need to know if that’s how you want to go with this, or do you want
me to up-sell so we maximize profit?”

Elle sits back in her desk chair with an
impressed smile on her face before she shakes her head. She points a finger in
my direction. “You’re good, Emogen.
Very
good. That’s what I like to
hear. If our client has a set budget, I do like to stick within their
constraints, however, if we are able to offer additional things they didn’t
consider, that’s how I like to do things.”

“Great,” I say, as I stand up and straighten
my skirt. “I’m going to head out then and meet with him. I’ll be back to
formalize all of the arrangements and see where things stand after today.”

When I leave her office, I ask Callie,
our secretary, to give me direction to T.M. Enterprises. Even though we’ve
lived in Denver for the last nine months, I still don’t know my way around too
well. Callie has lived here all her life and knows the back roads, so I have
enough time to make it to the meeting with no issues. I’ve managed to avoid
being cornered by Cam so far. I know that she wants to make sure I’m okay, but
the question alone is likely to leave me in tears, so I keep moving.

Until she catches me.

I knew she had a meeting of her own
today, so I figured I would see her this afternoon. However, she breezes
through the front doors and heads straight for my desk. “Got a second?”

Glancing at my watch, I still have more
than enough time, and I curse how everything is in slow motion today. “Yeah, I
have to leave in about twenty minutes. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she repeats in annoyance.
“You’re boyfriend just moved away, I called all weekend to check on you, and
you didn’t pick up once. That’s what’s up.”

Now that I have been well chastised, I
cock my head trying to assess how I should respond. She crosses her arms over
her chest and rests her weight against the edge of my desk, letting me know she
means business. There’s no way I’m getting out of this. Exasperation takes over
and I do my best to relax before answering. “It sucks. No, it fucking sucks. I
slept like hell, I look like hell, and I have to leave to handle my first solo
client.” I stand up and gather everything I need for the meeting before
finishing. “I don’t want to talk about this at all, but,” I pause and look at
her, “come over for dinner tonight and I will talk. Joss is coming over; I got
the same lecture from her. Besides, it’s time you two met each other, then you
can both rip me apart for being an asshole.”

Cam steps aside and ushers me to the
entrance. “What time?”

“Six?”

“M’kay.” She nods. “I’ll see you then.
What can I bring?”

“I’m ordering in. We’ll just pick when
you get there.”

Once I’m safely away, I can’t help but be
thankful for the few friends I have out here. Moving away from everyone and
everything I knew was tough, but when Joss came out here three months ago, it
was as if something in my life finally went my way. And meeting Cam was just
icing. I really hope these two like each other.

* * *

T.M. Enterprises is nestled on the third
floor of an impressive building in the middle of downtown. The company is a
relatively new start up that handles public relations for some of the smaller
businesses in the area. My understanding is that the owner, Mr. Miller, worked
for one of the larger firms in town. He noticed how often the others were
overlooked because they weren’t Fortune 500 companies, so he branched out on
his own about two years ago, and now runs one of the trendier, sought out
firms.

Their office space is quite similar to
Elle E. Grant, informal but professional. Looking around the office, most of
the staff appears to be young, and the interior design is modern. Any research
I’ve done on T.M. Enterprises, up to this point, seems to be inaccurate.
However, despite my growing nerves and concerns about my lack of knowledge, I’m
determined to push past and prove that I have what it takes to pull off the
corporate event Mr. Miller is looking for.  I finally make eye contact
with the receptionist when it appears she must have asked a question.

“I’m sorry,” I respond, finally looking
at her. “Emogen Tate to see Mr. Miller.”

She nods and pushes a button on the phone
before speaking. “Yes, sir. She’s here. Okay.” When she looks back at me she
instructs me to take a seat. “He’ll be out in just a minute.”

I have a seat in one of the chairs,
trying to relax, but it’s hard when you’re getting ready to pretend like you
know what you’re talking about. Up to this point, I have only shadowed other
planners, like Cam, and while it’s been helpful, it’s different when you’re
going it alone. I try to appear confident, but I’m intimidated by thinking he’s
going to see right through me. I glance at the phone in my hand to check my
email and I have a few, one of which is from Ryan. I instantly smile, even without
knowing what it says.

“Emogen.” I look up, startled, to see the
man behind the voice, which I have heard numerous times. “Trey Miller.” He
extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.” I stand up, take his hand and return the
greeting. There’s something familiar about this man, although there’s no way
I’ve met him before. He seems to have the same reaction but covers it well.
“Why don’t we talk about what you’ve come up with before we drive all over the
city?”

I gather my things and follow him to a
spacious office down the hall.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you last
week, Mr. Miller,” I start before he interrupts.

“Trey,” he insists, “no one here calls me
Mr. Miller.”

I nod before continuing. “Trey.”
Referring to him as Mr. Miller, having now seen the man, seems strange, but I
prefer professional titles at times like this. He’s not much older than me, I’d
guess maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and what he’s been able to
accomplish at such a young age is impressive. I spread everything out on his
large conference table before explaining to him what I envision for their
corporate event. “As you can see, we have a few options, and depending on which
location you choose, we might be able to add some extra-”

“Where do I know you from?” I look up and
he’s studying my face with his eyes scrunched, trying to place me.

“I’m sorry. But I’m pretty sure we’ve
never met before.”

“Did you grow up around here?”

“No?” I say, caught off guard by his
question. “I’ve only been here for about nine months.”

He still isn’t convinced. “I’m certain of
it. I don’t forget a face.”

“I assure you, Trey.” My eyes widen when
I say his name because it feels much too informal. “We have never met before.
Perhaps I’ve worked an event you’ve attended or maybe I just have one of those
generic faces.”

He gives me a look that says he’s not
quite convinced by my explanation, but gestures for me to proceed with my
presentation. I continue explaining my vision and he seems impressed with what
I have laid out for his event. There are two locations that I plan to show him,
along with the two he mentioned to me before, but I feel that my selections
will likely be the best fit. When I have finished showing him what the plan is,
he leans back in his chair and appears to be mulling it over while nodding his
head.

“Well,” he states, pushing back his chair,
“are you ready to take a look at these places?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t we take my car, you can give
me the address.” I’m more than grateful he insists on driving, because I’m
still not confident in knowing where I’m going all of the time.

“That sounds great.” I stand and walk
toward the office door. “Let me get my other bag from the car and I’ll meet you
out front.”

Business must be going pretty well,
because I’m ushered to a silver Infinity IPL G, which is apparently new since
it still has the temporary license plates. He tells me more about how his
company started, a story I find interesting. The company began small two years
ago with five clients; but since then, it has grown to over a hundred. He hopes
that this party will introduce him to potential clients who will eventually
choose to sign with his company.

When we pull into the parking lot for Ivy
Glen, the old building that is situated on the back end of the lot oozes
character. It’s a two-story building that was once a bank but sold to a private
businessman in the eighties when the financier merged with another. The
intricate design of the deep reddish-brown brick and mortar, still original
from when it was built in the fifties, makes this place look more like a church
than a reception facility.

I hurry to get out ahead of him to meet
my contact, Lisa, while he takes a call. I’ve talked to her a few times and she
has been patient and guided me as I try to navigate the world of event
planning.

By her voice, I pictured a young, thin,
bubbly woman with red hair. The only part of that description that was correct
is the bubbly personality. Lisa is probably in her early forties, tall with
striking green eyes, dark brown hair, curvy figure, and a quirky sense of
style. From my conversations with her, she’s been in the Denver area for over
twenty years, so I assume she moved here after finishing up school.